flower // serpent

 a l w a y s a c c e p t i n g  ✓ ✓ ✓ meta questions

@knowshisown

Narcissa possesses the uncanny ability to be exactly what you need her to be. To her parents, she is the dutiful daughter who never steps a toe out of line. To her sisters and cousins, she is the stable one - the fortress of pillars and stone. She is the flower rooted to the ground while they all burn the skies above. She is sweet and lovely. Much like her floral namesake, she is capable of blooming in the chill of midwinter. 

To her detractors - to those with preconceived notions and concepts about what it means to be Narcissa Black, or later Narcissa Malfoy - she can be hard to stomach. Daffodils are poisonous, after all. She doesn’t needlessly pick fights or react to goading the way someone might want her to. She doesn’t respond to things in the way that a normal person with a normal beating heart would do. If you want her to be the spoiled princess, so be it. If you want her to be a naive, silly slip of a girl, so be it. If you want her to be the villain, so be it. Narcissa will not waste time attempting to soothe fragile egos or change weak minds. When she speaks, she doesn’t speak needlessly. If it behooves her to act in a way that ‘justifies’ certain opinions of her, she’ll do it. Being underestimated paves more roads than one might think.

Narcissa and Narcissa alone knows exactly who she is and what she is made up of. 

Above and beyond all else, Narcissa exudes a quiet sort of confidence. From a simple glance or the most minute of observations, one might come to the conclusion that everything she does is easy and effortless. This is perhaps the second biggest lie of her life. The most important thing to know about Narcissa is that from the moment she wakes up to the second she finally falls asleep at some ungodly hour at night, she is full on all the time. Her mind is always in a whir. Her thoughts ever busy and rampant. Every skill and every accomplishment has been hard-won through hours upon hours of work. Narcissa will burn the candles at both ends. She’ll exhaust herself in the pursuit of perfection. Despite popular opinion, she knows what it means to have to work for what she wants. 

Never doubt that this daughter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black doesn’t know what it means to sweat. To bleed. She just goes about it in a different way than everyone else, even her cousins and sisters.

Narcissa is softest around her sisters. Her smiles are genuine, her laughter from the heart. Among Bellatrix and Andromeda, there is a warmth to her that is missing elsewhere. With them, she is her most comfortable and her most whole. Appearances don’t matter as much. Posture and perfection are thrown out the window. All three of them have a wildness in them, one that is shared both by blood and by bond. They bring it out in one another, they  relish in it like fairies or pagan gods. There’s mischief to go with their magic, and love enough to burn the world.

This version of Narcissa is something that is also experienced by Sirius and Regulus but to a lesser extent that diminishes more and more after Andromeda’s flight from home and when Sirius decides that they are all his enemies. Whether it be in the Black home or as the matriarch of Malfoy manor, Narcissa takes on the pillar role. She is a willing Atlas, determined to hold the world on her shoulders. She will do whatever is necessary to keep her family safe and whole. Where she will not lash out or speak up in defense of herself, the surest way to rile her up or incur her wrath is to insult or injure her family or someone she loves.

As far as emotions go, Narcissa locks hers away rather than wearing them on her sleeve. When she was younger she was always being forced by her mother to smile and be ‘pretty’. She had to make a conscious effort to keep her mouth parted, to soften her features. Otherwise, she has a tendency to look stern…too serious…unsatisfied. As the years progress, as she loses first one sister and then seemingly another, when Regulus disappears, when Sirius is imprisoned, as Lucius disappoints her again and again, she stops making as much of an effort. All her genuine moments, all her happy days, are reserved for Draco and Draco alone. All her thoughts become entirely her own.

i wish i could control myself around you

you look amazing

in that dress you could have anyone you want

it’s difficult to be around you

i’ve dreamt about being with you

i’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we met

we could be together for tonight

no one needs to know

you could do it, i wouldn’t stop you

i can’t control myself around you

i can’t stop thinking about you

i want everyone to know that you’re mine

i can’t just be your friend

of course i was jealous

have i told you recently that you’re completely gorgeous?

you’re under my skin

i’ve thought about this nonstop

i can’t wait to see every inch of you

has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?

you have to see what i see in you

you’re the most interesting person i’ve ever met

you have so much to offer

you’re a work of art

let me be yours

i think about you, like this, all the time

my lips were made to meet yours

you are, of course, my every thought

i want to know you fully

together, we’d be a force

once wasn’t enough for me

i can’t wait until i can kiss you again

you look better out of your clothes than you do in them

your perfect face is the least beautiful thing about you

have you been thinking about me?

do you want me as i want you?

 drabble prompt: au where cissy gets cold feet and pulls a runaway bride

╳                         Fingertips touch the cool surface of the window, blue gaze falling on the crowds below as they begin to find their seats on either side of the aisle. It doesn’t escape her, what a cliche she’s being right now…like some princess in a high tower waiting for her prince to come and rescue her. And, even though she hasn’t seen him, she’s almost certain that Lucius looks the part. How can he not when he was born for the role of royalty? ( He was succeeding where so many of his ancestors had failed before. ) Any woman would be happy to find him at the end of their fairytale; he is, after all, perfect and pure from the shining top of his platinum head all the way down to the symmetrical points of his dragon leather shoes.

Why then does her stomach curdle at the thought?

A sigh escapes her parted lips as she rests her forehead against the glass, kohl darkened lashes settling upon the crests of her rouged cheeks once she’s closed her eyes. Narcissa can’t remember the last time she felt so ill, her body shivering from the cold sweat that has taken hold of her. Nervous jitters, Druella had called them as she had pinched her youngest’s cheeks to a rosy red and all but poured wine down her throat for a glassy-eyed shine. The butterflies of promise. Even Bellatrix had muttered something similar, offering her a glass of something a little stronger behind their mother’s back.

Of course, love wasn’t mentioned -  not even once. What did either of them know about happy marriages, after all? All that truly mattered was that her hair was coiffed and her dress was a pristine white, the stark opposite of the blood that flowed through her veins. Narcissa was pretty, perfect, and she was going to keep all of her promises. Because, when she’d been born, that very same blood had acted as ink for the contract on her body, will, and soul. Bound to serve and to obey.

The careful knock of her father’s hand against the door tells her that it’s time to hit the main stage. They stare at one another for a moment from their opposite sides of the threshold. She cannot tell what he is thinking as he appraises her, not that she expects to suddenly gain insight into Cygnus’ thoughts and mind. Is he proud of her right now? Has she made him proud now that she’s about to do everything that has ever been asked of her as a member of this family? Is he aware that he’s sold her for mere knuts to a man that is worthless and from a family who bought their place onto the sacred twenty-eight? ( Just as he’d bought her. ) A smile graces her lips but doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she loops her arm through his. What does it matter what’s genuine if it sparkles and shines?

The subtle sequins of her dress catch light once they’ve descended the staircase, passed through the grand entrance, and stepped onto the dew-covered grass of the Black Manor’s front lawn. Her gaze roams over each face waiting in the crowds, searching each pair of eyes and each mouth for some semblance of familiarity. What she gets is no surprise to her, a resounding and empty nothing. She cares as much about half these people - more than half - as she does the designer of her dress or the number of pearls in her veil. Where is Uncle Alphard? Where is Sirius? Where is Andromeda; where is her sister?

Gone. Gone. Gone!

Of course, Meda is first and foremost in her thoughts the closer she gets to the first row of seated guests on her way down the aisle. They, and Bella too once upon a time, had played games of marriage and house. They’d whispered of dreams and moments that were meant to be spent together, laughing over choices of flowers and sampling every flavor of cake. Not having her here - not being able to seek out her warm brown eyes or squeeze her hand for comfort - is painful in a way that neither words nor any amount of screaming can convey. 

Her sister had married for love; she had broken the covenant that came with their blood. How had she felt with Ted Tonks waiting for her at the end of it all? Was it love that made unremarkable men worth risking it all for? Was happiness worth the cost? Narcissa can feel her chest tightening at the thought, breaths shallow and rapid as they pass yet another row of chairs. She must be holding tighter to her father’s arm if the sideways glance that he gives her - those dark eyes so close to Andy’s but lacking all of her warmth - is any indication.

❝ Narcissa, ❞ he whispers the words beneath his breath for just the two of them.  ❝ Come along now. ❞

Come along, just as you always do.

Her eyes focus on Lucius at the front, all cool confidence and cold grace. Beautiful, but lacking in substance. He’s like all her fine china dolls and fancy baubles, pretty to look at but something that she’ll ultimately tire of and outgrow…if she hasn’t already. Looking at him sparks nothing inside of her; he isn’t a salve to the panic bubbling in her throat or a warm blanket over the cold that has begun to seep into her bones. He doesn’t make her laugh the way Uncle Alphard did. He doesn’t challenge her to vexation like Sirius. He doesn’t comfort her in the way that Andy did, he can never hope to try. He isn’t anything to her at all; none of this is. It’s all a parade of glitter, a fine little show! It’s all junk!

❝ Narcissa, ❞ comes her father’s voice again, and she realizes that she’s stopped walking by his side. Frozen to the spot, she is a few steps behind. There’s a ringing in her ears, a frantic drumming in both her heart and head. It drowns out the whispers of the crowd as Cygnus extends his hand for her to take.  

❝ Narcissa — ❞ This time his voice is riddled with something she’d thought she’d quite forgotten. Concern. Fear. Is that a tinge of desperation?  ❝ Come along now.❞

Be a good girl.

Come along, just as you always do.

Think of the family.

Think of society.

Don’t be selfish.

Narcissa, come along now.

It’s like being under the Imperius curse, all of their eyes like wands cast upon her. Narcissa cannot breathe beneath the pain and the weight and the words reverberating through her brain. She knows what happens when you fight; she knows what comes from the struggle. She’s struggled beneath the weight before and weighed out whether the energy of fighting was worth it. Her knees have buckled for her family time and time again, but this - this is - this is…

❝ No. ❞ 

It’s a feral word that leaves her lips after ripping its way from her throat, gritted out between clenched teeth. Blue eyes are wide and wet, brows furrowed as she stubbornly steps back when her father steps forward. The shake of her head and the stance of her body repeat that word over and over again, her bouquet of daffodils dropping to the ground in a dead roll. The stunned silence of the crowd allows them all to hear the pop that follows a few seconds behind her as she apparates away.

" Please, PLEASE want to know me. "

you keep quite literally everything bottled up, don’t you? you try to be there for everyone else, but nobody has ever asked about you. you have a mental list in your head of things that you wish beyond wishing that people would ask to know about you, but nobody has. you’re afraid that if you tell them, you won’t get the response you crave, which gets more and more mysterious and gut-wrenchingly necessary with every day that goes by in silence. it feels like you aren’t allowed to exist.