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@seduiisants
and we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. i am QUEEN of all my sins forgotten. am i still lost ? once i was beautiful. now i am myself.
#SEDUIISANTS. a dependent fleur weasley-delacourΒ established by rachel on the 29th of december, 2024.
biography.Β Β Β statistics.Β Β Β pinterest.Β Β Β noxtms.
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π»πΎπ²π°ππΈπΎπ½Β Β : knockturn alleyΒ Β !
"oh-" and she's more than a little caught off guard by the somewhat sticky situation she finds herself in, so much effort spent avoiding the near guaranteed collision on the corner of a tight aisle in borgin & burkes that there is NOTHING left to disguise the surprise of being met with a familiar face. for obvious minor public figure related reasons, fleur tends to do much of her more indulgent shopping by owl. being seen dipping in or coming out of knockturn alley hasn't done her many favors in the past, least of all with her mother in law at the kitchen table, but she figured that the middle of a rainy tuesday's working day was a safe enough bet, and is only now realising that she figured wrong. surprise, yes. fluster ? fleur would never be caught dead ruffled. a quick pivot has her squaring her shoulders, smiling wide and playing unashamed, "hi. i'm so sorry, i almost barreled right into you. i just wasn't expecting anyone else in this dark corner."
πΏππΎπΌπΏπ Β : Β you don't even know what to say, do you ? ππ΄πππ΄πππ΄π³ π±π Β : Β @taciiturns Β ! π»πΎπ²π°ππΈπΎπ½ Β : Β ministry of magic !
well... no. she doesn't. a friendly good morning is perhaps too blasΓ©, considering the circumstances. ignoring her is especially cruel, for much the same. of course, fleur knows that it was only ever a matter of time before she & mikaela crossed paths, but that didn't mean that she was prepared for it to happen at 7am in the workplace cafeteria. the ministry of magic was an impressive sort of structure, all twists & turns & sea of identical office cubicles. she had found a new home in the farthest depths and her understanding had been that mikaela frequented few corners but the ones on level one, so she'd be forgiven for her misguided belief that they would avoid this unlucky collision for at least another few months. or at least until she'd actually had a sip from her morning coffee. fleur wrestles with herself for a long & pointed moment, tapping her teaspoon off the side of her mug and going out of her way not to meet mikaela's gaze. there really is only so long that can continue for, though, and after a lengthy deliberation with herself - and with a heavy sigh - she asks, conversationally, "would you like a coffee? there's enough for another mug."
he's motivated mostly by caution. a sort of conscientiousness that colored all of his actions, an active effort to make himself move quieter, be smaller, take up less of her space. it is nothing that she does that demands this sort of behavior from him; itβs the scars on his face and the long history of watching where he steps. yet, doing all of those things now only ever brings up flash memories: her loudly and defiantly complimenting the scars on his face, her sitting sprawled on their shared couch with earnest eyes, waiting for him to open up, to say anything, to fix things, to come clean, to even try β well, anyways. he never did learn how to make noise when he walked. even now β as heβs combing through the shelves at his flat again despite the fact that heβs positive the tome he needs is back at theirs β he struggles to let himself inconvenience her in any way. he could just as easily summon the books he needs, but something in him knows that watching his stuff disappear from around her without him making a token attempt at facing her would piss her off more than anything else. so he does his best at finding the sticking place despite the late hour and pulls out his phone. βwhat are you doing right now?β the first text reads. the second follows quickly after. βcan i come over?β
γ Β ππππππππ ππ π πππ : Β πππππ ππππππππ Β (Β @seduiisantsββββ Β ) γ
she flourishes alone. she always has, she thinks, but she just didn't realise it. the delacour family were a tight knit bunch, not exactly on top of each other in the same way her in laws were but always keeping each other in the loop, making sure they sat together for a formal family dinner, never going too long without a questioning owl. a childhood of - not smothering, exactly, but not altogether dissimilar to it - and teen years filled with dorm living and the sort of pack mentality that a magical boarding school and being more than a little popular fostered and then, of course, her big move across the pond. fleur's work with gringott's was only meant to be a temporary sort of thing, but her marriage - a different sort of stifling in itself - and the need of financing some of their life together had kept her in it. always a crowd. always a bustle. it was a wonder she'd ever gotten out at all, but her job, now, encouraged independence. she enjoyed it. she liked the long hours and the way that she could now go hours upon hours, sometimes days, now that he'd moved out, without speaking to another human being at all. she's probably supposed to be more lonely. dozens of examples spread out across the romantically angsty media she tries to steer from but always seems to find in unexpected places tell her that the woman who's been left behind is supposed to find the house too big and the bed too cold without her man, forced to turn to her girlfriends for constant company, glasses of white & a tub of haagen dazs ice cream. fleur's always preferred red, though, and her taste is a little more expensive than that. she's curled up with a book of her own, lancelot wheezing in restful sleep in the corner, the glass balancing on the side of the couch when the first text lights up the screen of her phone. she pauses, not a fool; it's been years since they've done anything so flirty, anything that led to that blood rushing, utterly thrilling 'can i do it with you?' she places her bookmark between pages in the short amount of time it takes for the next text to come through, silently, and her eyebrow raises. she knows better than to think it a proposition, of course, but he doesn't help himself, does he ? 'of course,' she sends back, after a long minute of deliberation and hesitation. she hates to make it so easy for him, but can't think of a reason good enough to deny him, 'i was only reading.'
Normal People (2020) One Day (2024)
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