PROMISED LAND

Zion Potter. The Boy Who Rose.

[zionpotter-blog]

task 001 ⇢ THE POTTER FAMILY .

Dark-haired, green-eyed, pure of heart and blood. They made a good-looking, formidable unit, those Potters. They were philanthropists and stern advocates for the equality movement - and their wealth was matched only by their benevolent ambitions.

[zionpotter-blog]

TIME: Early evening, nearly sunset.

LOCATION: Upper East Side (Malfoy Residence)

AVAILABILITY: @aeliusmalfoy​

He hadn’t visited once, since they both arrived in New York City. Something about standing in a home that belongs to Aelius - but not him, too - feels distinctly like defeat. He dithers and paces in front of the door, wringing his hands like a restless little schoolboy. He doesn’t want to be here: would rather be grabbing a pint with Leon, would rather have crawled into bed early tonight, would even prefer an icy exchange with Ophelia over this, here, now.

And yet. He can’t forget what he’d found at the Plaza, after Gaunt’s body was removed. In the bathroom, in the sink, in the drain. Plenty of people are blond, the rational part of him insisted. A lock of golden hair means nothing.

But Malfoys always did have a penchant for blood, didn’t they? And, the most hurtful, most infuriating part of all of this: that Aelius had become a suspect in Zion’s mind at all. Where once, years ago, he would have turned his back on the world to defend his best friend’s honor, he now finds he cannot extend the same privilege.

So, instead, he extends a curled fist to rap once, twice on the mahogany. He doesn’t want to lose courage - so before it even swings completely open, Zion speaks. 

“We need to talk,” he says plainly. Firm, cold, and wholly affected. 

[zionpotter-blog]

Love Me :)))

LOVE ME.

He’d crept down from the Boys’ Dormitory, and found her: a small, solitary thing curled by the green fire of the dungeons. She was a pale, lovely smudge of color, and she looked strange in this realm of day-night, like a flower bloomed into twilight. At the sound of his footsteps, she jumped. Her eyes flicked up quickly to meet his, before she broke into a small, relieved smile. 

Zion sidestepped a discarded Slytherin sweater to settle beside her on the ground. He prodded her side gently, and earned an indignant giggle. “It’s a little late, don’cha think?” 

“It’s a little early,” she corrected.

He wrinkled his nose. “You’ve been up all night? Merlin, was the Potions homework that morbid?”

“No, I copied off Aelius,” she whispered.

“Attagirl.”

They exchanged smirks, warm and gleaming. It was an affectionate, comfortable thing that dwelled between them. Serpentine friendships were so often built on barbed sarcasm, on rueful glares and rough play: but Zion could never be anything less than tender with her. Ophelia was, after all, the House darling. (His darling.) She shifted a little closer to him, and like a home, he made room for the slender shape of her body, tossing an absent-minded arm around her. 

“So, what’s the occasion? ” He gestured around the abandoned commons. “I’m hurt you didn’t invite me to the party.”

Ophelia huffed a laugh again. She was easy to delight - but each smile felt like the sun on his face, sparkling and precious. It was difficult not to adore her: spoilt rotten, sweet enough to give you a toothache, vivacious and magnanimous and so, so charming.

“It’s Gen’s birthday, tomorrow,” she said. Something warm crept into her gaze as she, from the folds of her cloak, procured a bound book. “I’ve just added the finishing touches to her gift. It’s a scrapbook, see?”

“Wood, from Ravenclaw?” Zion leaned forward to examine the present closer. “Scary girl.” 

“I’ve Charmed each page,” she continued, flipping it open to a photo of the pair of them, bright and smiling in second year Herbology. “If I’ve done it right, my voice’ll come out and make smart little comments. She’ll find it amusing, at the very least.”

“Clever thing,” Zion whispered.

Ophelia flushed a little. He’d noticed she’d begun to do this more and more: where once, she might have jabbed him or rolled her eyes, she now preened at the playful quip. She looked so soft, so shy and uncertain.

“You’re pretty in pink,” he drawled.

A beat.

“And red, too.”

“Zion!”

[mimosaas]

“I belong to quick, futile moments of intense feeling. Yes, I belong to moments. Not to people.”

— Virginia Woolf, A Passionate Apprentice (via archaeologicals)

[dahliaborne]

@sirenoirs

[sionnachwrites]

“A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed. It won’t stretch to make room for you.”

— Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns (via insp0s)

[zionpotter-blog]

AELIUS ‌:

Instinct causes Aelius to try to grasp at Zion’s fingers, the twitch of his own hand grossly misreading the situation in a way only someone like Aelius, so self-absorbed, so drowned in his own misery, could. That was always his greatest weakness: even for those he loved, he could never look far enough past himself to see them.

Aelius’ eyes are pleading with him, “please don’t go, please don’t leave me here,” but it’s another battle he’s lost because he cannot open his mouth to form his feelings into words. He wants to, he wants to yell “stay with me, I love you,” but he can’t, so he says nothing. Zion stands and Aelius can measure the distance between them. It’s killing him.

By the time he has mustered the courage to say what Zion has been wanting to hear, he is gone. He looks around the room, taking in the faces of strangers who would never mean any bit as much to him as the boy who just left. The room is full of lovers, men and women alike who look upon their companions the same way Aelius used to: like this was all that mattered, like they would never look at anyone else the same way. How can they smile and laugh like they don’t feel the knife in his heart? How can they look so happy while Aelius thinks he truly might want to die, right here at this table where Zion left him?

“I’m sorry.” Aelius’ apology is pushed into the air with no one around to receive it. It is meant for Zion, but he is too far away now, too hardened from the pain Aelius caused to accept it, anyway. A wave of sadness crashes over him, and he feels entirely hopeless. Tonight he will return home to sleep on a couch while Ophelia does her best to pretend he’s not there. Where once Aelius felt nothing but love in his life, he is entirely alone.

It’s his fault.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, to no one. It doesn’t matter. Apologies are nothing but words when there is nobody to hear them. He has another drink. Then two, then three, then he doesn’t remember why he started drinking in the first place.

Is this what his future looks like? It’s a cycle of self-loathing, a circle that ends with Aelius dying alone, save the drink in his hand. A long time ago he daydreamed about an entirely different picture, one where he and Zion and Ophelia lived happily together. The fifteen year old version of him would be disgusted to see how horribly it all turned out.

FIN.

[zionpotter-blog]

AELIUS‌ :

Though the years have worn him down, bent him out of shape and molded into something ugly and cruel, Aelius can still look at Zion and remember who he once was: a friend, a lover. Someone to be admired, even. Zion had a gift for making others feel special, and Aelius always did. Like he was the only one that mattered, even amidst all the politics and the bullshit. That’s all he’d ever wanted. To matter to someone. 

Who did he matter to now?

Aelius loved Ophelia too, yes, once – the three of them would roam the halls of Hogwarts, arms linked, speaking their own secret language, a golden trio if there ever could be one. But at the end of the day it was always Zion: the beautiful boy with the crooked teeth and emerald eyes. In all his work, Aelius would never find a gem to match them. 

“Not somebody,” Aelius says quietly. His voice is barely above a whisper, the confession burying itself beneath the layers of laughter and music. 

“You.”

You terrible, beautiful, selfish man.

Zion doesn’t pretend he isn’t wounded. How could he feign callousness, when Aelius looks upon him now, so grievous and tender? How could this man - the very one who’d once made room in his body for Zion to occupy, who’d faithfully written to him each summer, who’d licked into his mouth between the folds of a fated evening the way a drowned man might gasp for air - now place so indelicately at his feet: would you kill me?

I couldn’t. You’ve already killed me.

“Me?” Zion shakes his head. His voice is steely, is hard - so it won’t shatter under the strain of trying to not touch Aelius. To knock a fist into his mouth, then kiss it - “And what is it about me that’s led you to believe I would be so generous?”

He sets his empty glass down gingerly. The firewhiskey sits like a detonation in his belly, red and burning. “Or,” Zion bites. The thinnest rivulet of hurt leaks out of him. “I should say, what’s led you to believe you could be so cruel with me?”

Now, he stands up. Another moment longer, and he’ll suffocate. Another second spent standing in the presence of his lover-friend-enemy, and he knows he’ll never leave. He knows this - and yet, he chooses to linger. He chooses to intentionally brush against Aelius’s hand, when he collects his coat and wand. He chooses to smile when he says:

“No, Aelius. I wouldn’t, because you won’t be foolish enough to put us in such a situation.”

( And if this statement is not a statement at all, but a question, a plea, a demand - do not be so cruel, do not hurt me that badly, do not ever ask again - Zion can only hope Aelius understands. Merlins knows he could never say it out loud. )

[zionpotter-blog]

AELIUS‌ :

The petty complaint falls flat between them, as almost everything does these days. Aelius finds he can’t look his closest friend in the eye. Here they are, drinking together in a pub like nothing’s changed at all, but of course everything has. Aelius stares at the bottom of his drink. It’s the only place he can look to keep away from Zion. It’s like if he can’t look him in the eye, he won’t see what Aelius has become: a liar, a failure, a Malfoy.

Once upon a time, words were traded between friends with ease. Aelius and Zion, the pair of them, could spend hours lying under the trees near the Black Lake talking of everything and nothing without even noticing how time ticked by. They relished their time together, even in silence. But time had failed them – or was it Aelius who had? – and their encounters were no longer clouded by a blissful haze. They were shrouded in bitterness. 

It was tragic, really, what had become of them. They were just children when they met, doe-eyed and naive and in awe of one another’s presence. Aelius had fallen in love with him so quickly he hardly even noticed it happened. And then…what? It was as if he blinked and they were old and tired and broken. He knows it’s his fault– his own cowardice drove a knife between them, his wedding to Ophelia the final blow to the back. It was killing him, being near Zion like this, but being apart from him was worse. He’d already tried that. When he eventually pulled himself out of his drunken stupor, they were back together, pushing words into the air, trying to make something click.

“Would you do it?” Aelius’ question catches even him off guard. It certainly wasn’t what he meant to say. Some jaded remark about the customs of their strange new city would have been much more fitting. This came from someplace darker entirely– perhaps it was the alcohol. He brings the glass to his lips and drains it in one smooth flick of the wrist, dares himself to make eye contact with Zion, however briefly. “Would you kill me, if I asked?”

On second thought, he’s not sure this is better.

The question smarts. Bull’s eye. Right in the heart; like a mouthful of teeth to puncture him clean. Is it even a question? No, it’s much closer to a confession. Look what we have become, Aelius says. Look how far apart we sit in this room. I can hardly see you. 

And yet, Zion is grateful. This is the closest they have gotten to a real conversation, twisted and awful as it might be. The way Aelius looks at him - darting, nearly shy, measured and rueful - feels real. The way he speaks, alcohol watering him down, eroding away that mask of elegant cruelty; Zion loves it. He will always love Aelius at his palest, his most vulnerable. You’re gorgeous when you bare your bravery, Zion thinks. You’re gorgeous when you look me in the eye.

He doesn’t say this, of course. They are not lovers. They are not even friends.

“Merlin, you’re still so dramatic,” Zion laughs instead, harsh and barking. He downs the last of his own drink. “That’s a big favor to ask of somebody.”

[islapevensie-blog-deactivated20]

♚ drabble list - send me one, or two, or three ♚

[seraphimslayer]

jasperoro‌:

islapevensie-blog‌:

Here’s a shorter drabble list, as I find the massive one is a bit repetitive. If there’s nothing that you want to send here, just send it as a request.

Amuse Me: I will write a funny drabble about my character trying to cheer yours up.

Accept me: I will write a drabble about my character accepting yours or vice versa.

Break Me: I will write an angsty drabble about our characters.

Call Me: I will write a drabble about my character asking for yours (be it on the brink of death, in a battlefield, knocking on the front door wounded; feel free to specify). 

Comfort Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character comforting yours or vice versa.

Drink Me: I will write a drabble about my character taking shots with yours.

Dominate Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character dominating yours or vice versa.

Enamor Me: I will write a fluffy drabble about my character trying to woo yours.

Embarrass Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character saying or doing something embarrassing to himself or to your character.

Fight Me: I will write a drabble out my character fighting with/or against yours.

Forgive Me: I will write a drabble about my character forgiving yours or vice versa.

Get Me: I will write a drabble about my character saving yours.

Humor Me: I’ll write a funny drabble about our characters.

Hustle Me: I’ll write a drabble about our characters hustling.

Humiliate Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character doing something humiliating to yours.

Haunt Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character watching over yours (as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise; feel free to specify).

Hunt with Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character and mine on a hunt together.

Invite Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character asking your character to do something.

Join Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character giving your character an offer (be it a proposal for an alliance, asking them to join them in an activity).

Kill Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.

Love Me: I’ll write a fluffy drabble about our characters.

Mourn Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character mourning your character’s death.

Nurse Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.

Offer Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character giving yours a gift.

Paint Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character drawing a picture of yours.

Quiet Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down (be it from crying, from lashing out; feel free to specify). 

Remember Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to get yours to remember them.

Raise Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character resurrecting yours. 

Reunite Me: I’ll write a drabble of our characters reuniting.

Shag Me: I’ll write a dirty drabble about our characters.

Surprise Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character surprising yours or vice versa.

Save Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character saving yours or vice versa.

Shoot Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character shooting yours or vice versa.

Tell Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours (be it a love confession, a secret; feel free to specify).

Text me: I’ll write a drabble about my character texting yours or your character texting mine.

Trick Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character tricking your character.

Unbind Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines (be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse; feel free to specify).

Value Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character telling yours how they feel about them.

Wed Me: I’ll write a drabble about our character under the subject of wedlock (be it my character proposing to yours, or marrying yours; feel free to specify).

X Me: I will write whatever it is that you wish.

Yahoo Me: I’ll write a drabble about our characters celebrating something (feel free to specify).

Zip Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character dressing mine, or the other way around (this can also be used for shutting them up as well, so feel free to specify).

Torture Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character torturing mine or vise versa.

Take Me: my character will kidnap yours

Leave Me: my character will leave your character behind.

Deny Me: my character will either deny your character’s advances or deny them a ’happy ending.’

Lick Me: My character will lick yours in any specified place or manner.

Suck Me: My character will suck on any body part of your character

Tease Me: My character will tease yours, whether in a friendly or a sexual manner

Please Me: My character will do anything to please yours

Bite Me: My character will bite yours on any part of their body

Blindfold Me: My character will blindfold yours in order to have their fun

Meet Me: My character is meeting yours either for the first time or just causally.

Greet Me: My character will greet yours, either at the door, at work, or somewhere else.

Slap Me: My character will slap yours. In the sexual manner, or of anger. specify.

Call Me: My character will call your character for whatever reason.  Hug Me: My character will hug yours. Either by surprise or for a specific reason.

Give Me: My character will give yours a gift  Tickle Me: My character will tickle yours ruthlessly. 

[zionpotter-blog]

AELIUS ‌:

“Merlin’s beard,” Aelius groans as a would-be attractive woman in an impossibly large hat sits at the table in front of him. Closer inspection reveals the hat to be made entirely of dragon eggshells. Illegal? Perhaps not, but certainly a crime of fashion. The dragon shells appear to glitter, even in the dimly lit club, and completely blocks the view of the singer on stage. He leans back in his chair and huffs. Women.

Aelius brings his glass to his lips, the scent of alcohol greeting him before the liquid hits his throat. His drinks have been impossibly strong as of late. 

“Do me a favor–” he turns to his companion. “If you ever see me in one of those things, just go ahead and cut my fucking head off.”

“I think they’re rather nice,” Zion offers, hopelessly.

This feels wrong. It could be in his head - in which case, it feels wrong in his head. Once, he and Aelius had never faltered with each other. They were two sides to a silver coin, refracting magnets, with edges and vertices that slotted perfectly into one another - Zion could have finished every sentence; known every way to smooth out the disdainful lines that now mar his old friend’s otherwise immaculate face.

But of course, it isn’t so now. The conversation feels unbearably trite; painfully shallow. Zion skirts away from touching him or moving too close - from grazing those gray eyes with his own. He feels skittish. He feels foolish.

“No need for decapitation,” Zion says. There’s a ghost of a smile, somewhere - buried beneath a grimace. “You’re not quite so avant-garde, I think. You prefer the traditional.”