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shealwaysreads · 4 years

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the plant that doesn’t bloom

A fic for @fae-vorite and the stunning art and concept she shared with us all! I hope you like this, darling! ❤️

Drarry | 2k | 8th Year, EWE, cursed!draco, when a curse is not a curse

Summary: Apologies, and homecoming, and forgiveness tucked into the petals of a rose.

Read it on Ao3

...

Malfoy had come back to Hogwarts different.

The war had tempered him. His trial had quenched the fire in his eyes. Rebuilding Hogwarts had smoothed the rough edges of his ego, his trauma, his regret.

They had all had a week off, before term began in September, after toiling under the summer sun to restore their school. Big magic and small. Levitating fresh stones to rebuild towers, spinning panes of glass out of sand from the shore of the Black Lake, learning how to cast spells without the fear of the Carrows.

Malfoy hadn’t spoken at first, not to anyone. Harry wondered if he’d been cursed mute, for a while, until he heard him approach Hermione with a grave face and a quiet voice.

“May I have a moment of your time, Granger?”

That was the first of many approaches he made over July and August. Harry watched him step towards them all; Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna, and students Harry didn’t even know. Always serious, always respectful, always quiet. He spoke to almost everyone, even the teachers. But not to Harry. Not until the final day of their summer labours.

“Potter. May I—can we talk?”

Harry looked around at his friends—they wouldn’t judge him if he said no to Malfoy. Ron had told him that Malfoy had apologised to him when they spoke, had admitted familial responsibility for the generations old feud between their families, even offered restitution. Ron had accepted the end of the feud, but rebuffed any payment. He’d said Malfoy seemed to have grown a backbone, and a conscience. Ron thought he was still ‘a posh twat’, but that maybe, maybe Malfoy wasn’t as bad under it all than they had thought. Maybe even Malfoy had learned a thing or two about right and wrong, in the end.

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Malfoy would say to him, wasn’t sure what kind of apology he would receive, wasn’t even sure he had the strength to lose the stability of hating Malfoy.

(But he hadn’t hated him. Not since Sectumsempra. Not since the Astronomy tower. Not since ‘I can’t be sure’. He’d pitied him, despised his misplaced loyalty to his parents, wondered how he survived—but not hated. Harry wasn’t sure he was made for hate.)

“Alright, Malfoy. Have at it.”

Malfoy led him to the shade of the big oak tree, away from the rest of the group, near the shore of the lake. He looked anxious, clenching his jaw and fussing at the cuff of his robes.

“Potter, I would like to formally apologise for… Well. For everything, I suppose. For my own actions, for my father’s too. From our first meeting I have been an example of everything I now understand to be rotten at the heart of my family, and—”

Harry interrupted him. “I don’t want an apology from your father or your family, Malfoy. You can only really speak for yourself.”

Malfoy swallowed, hard. “I am sorry. If I had ‘just’ been a bully that would be bad enough, but I wasn’t that. I was cruel to you and your friends, and then dangerous and violent too. I could blame it on my upbringing, the prejudice I was raised to believe, but—�� he lifted his chin, steeling himself for something. “But it started because I was jealous and angry, and that’s inexcusable. So. I apologise.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that, he didn’t think he was ready to digest it, really. What do you say when someone apologises to you, but you don’t want to forgive them?

“Thanks. For saying sorry.” That would do, wouldn’t it?

But Malfoy didn’t walk away, or anything helpful like that. He reached into his robes instead, and pulled out a tiny silver box, engraved with delicate curlicues that glinted in the late summer sun.

“This is for you. It’s not a gift, you understand. It’s yours by right.” He held it out to Harry, and for want of a better option, Harry took it. “My mother...took things from the Black household when she was younger. For her own use. But these were Sirius Black’s diaries, and I understand she never managed to read them. Anhaga boxes are infamous for their loyalty to their owner.”

It was like a punch to the gut. This tiny box, no bigger than his palm, held Sirius’ secrets, his life recorded in his own words.

“If she couldn’t—how can I?”

“Blood, I imagine. That kind of privacy is pricey. But you’re his godson. That’s family, more than any relation he had to my mother. It will work.”

And with that, Malfoy turned and walked away, leaving Harry in the dappled shade with a handful of Sirius’ precious thoughts.

Malfoy had been right. A drop of blood was all it took to enlarge the Anhaga box, and to open it. Out spilled parchment, notebooks, letters, folded posters and flyers, and dogeared photographs. Most of it was in Sirius’ own scratchy handwriting, but some of the letters were in James’ scrawl. Harry’s dad had written them to Sirius. Moments of youthful joy and intimacy, secrets and mundanities, quotes and song lyrics, newly discovered spells, and stories of flings and firsts, shared between best friends. Brothers by choice.

Harry had wept, and read, and laughed, and read, and for the first time in his life he knew what his father thought about Quidditch teams, and Bowie, and how no hair potions worked on him either (much to Sirius’ delight), and that he had adored Harry’s mother—adored her, had written long paragraphs doubting his worthiness of her time, of his hope she might smile at him, that she might want him back, one day, no doubt seeking the reassurance and commiseration from Sirius.

It hurt, but he read them all. It hurt, but it was a gift. It hurt, but Harry touched each piece of paper like a talisman, like a blessing.

The first of September was bitter-sweet, but alongside the taste of loss, Harry was excited for his last year at Hogwarts. Returning to his first real home, with his first—and best—friends by his side. No doom lay ahead of him, no danger. Just homework, and exams, and treacle tart.

And Harry had never dreamed of much, not much more than space and light and safety and people who loved him, but he had found them all when he walked through the great oak doors of Hogwarts, and not even a war—not even dying—had taken them away.

They might be adults now, grasping onto the fading threads of childhood before they launched themselves into the unknown, but Harry thought they’d earned this. A year’s respite from the world. A warm interlude to relax, to lick their wounds, to dance in the stark joy of life, to take back that stolen year.

The Welcome Feast was stupendous, and Harry’s face hurt from grinning so widely when Professor McGonagall stood to give her first speech as Hogwarts Headmistress. Seamus blew up a goblet of spiked Pumpkin juice, Ginny snogged Dean, and Harry was flanked by Ron and Hermione—warm, and full, and content.

He was even happy the next morning, waking up to cold flagstones and a shared bathroom, Ron’s monosyllabic pre-breakfast grunts, and Neville’s rather excitable Flaming Geranium (he was pretty sure the House Elves could fix the curtains around his bed.) He was happy striding through the halls down to breakfast, head and shoulders above the tiny little first years who were more interested in finding their way to class than looking at his forehead. He was happy until he heard the whispers about Malfoy, and glanced reflexively across the room to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy was different. Still pale, still silver-eyed. But his skin was marred by dark twisting shapes, writhing against his skin. Cursed were the whispers. But Harry had never seen a curse like this. So he watched.

“Harry, don’t you think—oh, never mind.” Hermione broke off, sighed, and turned to talk to Parvati.

His first lesson was Potions—he wasn’t sure he wanted to be an Auror, but he wanted the option so he was back in Slughorn’s class—it was an eighth year only class with all of the houses mixed, so of course Malfoy was there too. He sat with Terry Boot, and seemed to work well enough with him. Harry followed him to the supply cupboard when he went to fetch ingredients, and took the opportunity to look closer at the strange marks on his skin. They were briars, curling around his wrists, his hands, trailing up his throat, to the line of his jaw. Green-black and thorny, they seemed to move with him, breathe with him, even as the points of their barbs pressed against pale skin.

“New tattoos?” He asked. He still wasn’t sure what to make of Malfoy’s apology, of his quietude, of the tumult of confused emotion that stirred in Harry’s chest whenever he was confronted with him. The feelings that boiled inside him, worse than ever, after he gave Harry Sirius’s papers.

Malfoy sighed. Clearly Harry wasn’t the first to ask. “No, Potter, not a tattoo.”

“A curse, then?”

“Of a sort, yes.” He reached past Harry’s face to take a jar of lacewing fly. “You can have these when I’ve taken a couple.”

And then he was gone, leaving Harry confused and lacewing-less in an empty cupboard.

At lunch, Harry squeezed in beside Hermione and her towering pile of books, the question spilling out before he gave it conscious thought.

“Have you seen the things on Malfoy? They look like—”

“Harry, really? It’s been one day.” She was laughing as she cut him off, though, and so was Ron next to her, even though he pretended to be very interested in his plate. “Look, before we start this, are you suspicious of him, or are you just curious?”

He paused, his sandwich halfway to his mouth, and thought for a moment. “I think I’m just curious.”

She sighed, but smiled as she answered him. “Well, okay then. I think it’s a Motus Charm.”

“Not a—“

“No, not a curse. Though, functionally, I suppose…”

She trailed off, and Harry could sense an incoming debate about the differences between spell classifications and the intention of the caster (all eighth years had been enrolled on a new course in magical ethics, and the debate across the first class that morning had already been fiery) so he interrupted her before she could get on a roll. “Hermione, what does it do?”

“Well, it creates markings on a person’s skin that give an insight into their emotional state. It gives movement to what moves them.”

“So...those thorns are how Malfoy feels?” Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. About Malfoy feeling, well, restricted by vines, pressed against by thorns. As far as metaphors went, it didn’t look good. Worse still, Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about the world getting to see it all. It was bad enough when the papers made up nonsense about how Harry was ‘coping emotionally’ post-war—he couldn’t imagine the agony of them actually knowing for sure.

“It appears that way. I just wonder who cast it on him, he didn’t have them during the summer, and apparently he had them at the welcome feast—so it wasn’t done by a student.” Hermione was frowning, the same crease between her brows when she didn’t agree with something. She hadn’t said much about what Malfoy talked to her about when he apologised, just that he was ‘thorough and straightforward’. Since then she’d not been friendly toward him, but she’d certainly been civil. Apparently he’d made enough of an impact on her that she disapproved of him being cursed—or charmed—like this.

“Can it be cured?”

“According to Flitwick, it fades naturally, once the witch or wizard under the charm begins to actually talk about their feelings. Or, at least, begins to feel understood. So, it depends, I suppose.”

Harry looked over at Malfoy, he was flipping through a book, sipping tea, and studiously ignoring the stares he was receiving from half the student body. The briars were slow moving, more settled than when Harry had spoken to him during their Potions class. Maybe that meant he was calmer. Maybe that meant that Harry stressed him out.

But as he stood and left the Slytherin table, those coils of dark vines and thorns writhed again across his pale skin. Harry was up and out of his seat, following him into the corridor beyond, without a second thought. Behind him, Harry could hear Ron muttering something to Hermione about ‘feelings’ and ‘curiosity’, but he didn’t have time to stop and question it. Not when Malfoy was already ahead of him, and Harry wanted to catch him before the press of the rest of the school filled the halls.

“Malfoy! Wait!”

And Malfoy did wait, which was weird enough that Harry almost did an about turn and scurried back to the Gryffindor table. He stopped and turned as Harry jogged up to him, and he looked calm and collected—his face impassive and carefully blank—but the barbed stems that licked up to his jaw, and curled over his knuckles, were black and razor-sharp.

“I wanted—” What had Harry wanted? To ask, to interrogate, to find out who, and when, and why? But looking at Malfoy now, and the discomfort written on his skin for all to see, Harry suddenly felt disinclined to ask him to expose himself further. So, no questions. For now. “I wanted to say thanks. For Sirius’ things. It was—I really—You didn't have to.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but the thorns at his throat seemed to lose their keen edge. “No, I suppose I didn’t. But you’re welcome. I’m glad it opened for you.”

“And about your apology,” Harry continued, eyeing the litmus-test of foliage on Malfoy’s skin. “I wasn’t sure how I felt, in the summer, when you said sorry.”

“It’s okay Potter, I know I don’t have any right to—”

He broke off, silent and staring as Harry stepped forward and held out his hand, and for long moments Harry wondered if he might not take it. If this time, it would be Malfoy leaving Harry with his offer of connection hanging, rejected, between them. But then Malfoy reached out his own arm and took Harry’s hand in his, and it was pale and wand-calloused, and his fingers were slimmer than Harry’s, but his grip was firm and steady, and warm.

“Apology accepted, Malfoy. I reckon even we might deserve a fresh start this year, don’t you?”

Malfoy didn’t speak; but before Harry’s eyes, those dark vines slowed, ripened into a spring green, and flowers bloomed on Malfoy’s skin. Pale roses unfurled, soft and blushing at their centre. One curved around the back of Malfoy’s hand, where Harry still held firm, and another blossomed at the spot where his collar was loose at his throat.

Maybe Harry didn’t need Malfoy’s words. Words had always been hard for them. For now, maybe he could learn to understand him through thorns and petals.

❤️ to @tackytigerfic for the always-excellent beta read, and @slytherco for the cheer-reading!

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic rec #hpdm #drarry squad #things to read #mine #inspired by art #fae-vourite #hp #isobel writes #my fic

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bookxofxfables · 7 years

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❝ A terrible thing happened!❞ ❝ This would be easier if I could understand you better. ❞ ❝ I’m about to make it worse.❞ ❝ Oh joy. Now my mother can get that kidney operation she so desperately needs.❞ ❝ This stays strictly among the Fable community.❞ ❝ Lay one hand on me, asshole, and you’ll regret it.❞ ❝ I’m taking you in.❞ ❝ Never discuss personal hygiene with a bridge troll.❞ ❝ You’ve occasionally been clever, _____ … but never smart.❞ ❝ You’re getting a bit nosy, mister/miss/misses ______❞ ❝ If you can’t maintain a normal human appearance or purchase a concealing Glamour from one of our witches our rules mandate that you be relocated upstate to the Farm, where all the other nonhuman Fables live.❞ ❝ Both of you shut up and let me work. ❞ ❝ This is abuse of authority! And I got a witness! ❞ ❝ Does it matter?❞ ❝ We have to make as best we can.❞ ❝ Is he/she the one?❞ ❝ If she/he opens her/his mouth again, pick her/him up and carry her/him home.❞ ❝ I can’t help but notice things. I believe that’s why you hired me,❞ ❝ I’m not much interested in what you think is and isn’t a good idea. ❞ ❝ You look out of breath, ____. Been climbing beanstalks again? ❞ ❝ I’m afraid this time it’s different, I understand there’s blood. Lots if it.❞ ❝ Did you run all the way over here just to trade verbal barbs,or is there something else you need? ❞ ❝ Don’t be so dramatic. I already know. My ex is back in town.❞ ❝ We’ll see.❞ ❝ Can’t you go faster? ❞ ❝ Damned right I want to know. I’m going with you❞ ❝ You power-mad fuckshit!❞ ❝ Fine. I get the message. I’ll keep quiet – for now.❞ ❝ I take it back. You’re still a monster through and through.❞ ❝ It looks that way.❞ ❝ Hide your wallet first.❞ ❝ I won’t take up too much of your time, but I have a few questions.❞ ❝ I’m bleeding you shit! Why’d you do that?❞ ❝ Is that why your handsome prince/pretty princess divorced you?❞ ❝ Get up. It’s morning. I need to go to work and you need to get out.❞ ❝ Whoever did this is one of us.❞ ❝ You make it sound like a fucking synonym for — I don’t know — a turd sandwich.❞ ❝ Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?❞ ❝ You can’t fool this nose.❞ ❝ Watch your smart mouth, sonny boy/ girlie❞ ❝ If you’re going to advance, advance like you mean it. ❞ ❝ Unlike you, I have responsibilities.❞ ❝ I thought I’d find you out here.❞ ❝ How can you be sure? ❞ ❝ Don’t you have a government to run?❞ ❝ I can’t just now.❞ ❝ Did you kill her?❞ ❝ Nothing to apologize for. I expected it to happen sooner.❞ ❝ You’ve gone dotty, sweetheart.❞ ❝ Mister/Miss/Misses _____, if you’re going to insist on calling me princess/prince, please don’t do it in that tone of voice.❞ ❝ Why don’t you tell me what you want, so I can get back to work.❞ ❝ Don’t beat up on yourself so much.❞ ❝ No, ma’am/mister. I’ve never had much of a sense of humor.❞ ❝ We’ll get around to him/her. But let’s finish up with you for now.❞ ❝ If you think that, maybe you should add me to your suspect list.❞ ❝ I apologize for the waterworks in there. That wasn’t very professional of me.❞ ❝ Thank you for coming on such short notice.❞ ❝ Why don’t you let me handle things from now on?❞ ❝ Then my money says ____ did it.❞ ❝ So what actual conclusions did you come to?❞ ❝ It’s comforting to discover your voice haven’t lost any of its venom over the years, lovey.❞ ❝ And what about the time you tried to raffle off the map to your remaining magic beans?❞ ❝ I will, if it becomes necessary. I promise. But so far that isn’t the case.❞ ❝ How dare I what? Speak rudely to a mass murderer?❞ ❝ Then you’re wasting my time and yours.❞ ❝ I don’t eat sweets.❞ ❝ I’ve had my one loss of composure. You won’t have to worry about further emotional fits from me.❞ ❝ Then quit your fucking dissembling and answer!❞ ❝ You’re always trying to beat the system, ___❞ ❝ Think about that before your next lesson.❞ ❝ The minx seduced me.❞ ❝ This shouldn’t take long.❞ ❝ Well, ain’t that a big kick in the pantalones. ❞ ❝ Feel better now?❞ ❝ I’m not a delicate flower. I can take bad news.❞ ❝ You can’t keep sneaking into the city to crash on my couch.❞ ❝ When did you get to be such a potty-mouth?❞ ❝ She/he ‘s dead – carved up like a Christmas turkey. And rumor has it that creepy boyfriend/girlfriend of hers/his did the dirty deed.❞ ❝ You are an impertinent man/woman. I demand satisfaction!❞ ❝ But she/he only dated him/her to make me jealous.❞ ❝ Not to worry. Sit down. Make yourselves at home.❞ ❝ We can have it lab tested if you like but there’s zero chance that it isn’t her/his blood.❞ ❝ What? How dare you!❞ ❝ I’m charging this pompous asswipe with ____’s murder.❞ ❝ We called ahead. Your boss is expecting us.❞ ❝ I’m leaving now, before I scream.❞ ❝ I like to come here to think – which I do best when left alone.❞ ❝ On-guard position, ____. My turn to attack now.❞ ❝ You may not have done anything this time, ___. But you are never innocent.❞ ❝ Then comes the fun part I promised. You get to make a big mess.❞ ❝ But I can’t help but wonder if you haven’t turned back to your old eating habits.❞ ❝ I’ll keep that in mind if I ever do decide to kill anyone.❞ ❝ Where did you get all that?❞ ❝ And when exactly are you planning to clue me in?❞ ❝ Oh look. After all these years, the wolf has finally shed his sheep’s clothing to once more show us the true beast underneath.❞ ❝ Oh, we don’t need to stand on formalities. Not when it’s just you and me.❞ ❝ You are a tedious, small man, and in need of more frequent bathing.❞ ❝ How dare you treat me in such fashion! ❞ ❝ Talk now and you can save yourself some pain.❞ ❝ That’s not the way we do things anymore.❞ ❝ Oh joy. Then don’t carry it that way, or you’re likely to cut your own head off.❞ ❝ Wait! Both of you! We don’t want to talk ourselves into rash actions here.❞ ❝ Machines hate me. I’m a genetic luddite, incapable of operating anything more complex than my toaster.❞ ❝ Do what you need to, but have this wrapped up by the gala.❞ ❝ Boo-fucking-hoo.❞ ❝ Has it escaped your notice I’m bleeding? I need a doctor.❞ ❝ Excuse me?❞ ❝ And don’t let the mundys catch you.❞ ❝ Get him/her, ____! He/she ‘s trying to kill me!❞ ❝ I have no idea. It came out out of the blue.❞ ❝ Good hunting, sir.❞ ❝ And what are you going to be doing while I’m doing your work for you?❞ ❝ This is the vorpal blade of Jabberwocky fame. Kills in one cut, snicker-snack and all that? Does all the fighting for you?❞ ❝It’s all very complicated and I can’t explain it yet. So just go along.❞ ❝ I was half-way hoping you’d have gone home for the night, so that I could put this off until tomorrow morning.❞ ❝ Mop, wax, scrub and paint until you return it to pristine condition.❞ ❝ Let’s all step back, take a deep breath, declare a minute’s moratorium on the chest-thumping and see if we can’t think things through a bit more rationally, okay?❞ ❝I’m content to cut at you all day and all night, until you confess❞ ❝ You can be one frustrating son of a bitch!❞ ❝ Your record’s been clean since you came to town.❞ ❝ Be my guest. I’d love to have that menace out of my life.❞ ❝ Poor baby.❞ ❝ Keep your pants on! I’m coming!❞ ❝ You need to prepare yourself for some bad news.❞ ❝ I’m sorry.❞ ❝ The only easy day was yesterday.❞ ❝ We’re coming to your rescue.❞ ❝ Don’t put ideas in his head!❞ ❝ What are you talking about?❞ ❝ We both know you’re too much of a narcissistic asshole to ever blame yourself for any of your many failings, so did you blame her/him/_____?❞ ❝ Not a chance, boys. Hauling all this crap was just the first act. Your workday has barely begun.❞ ❝ The best mother/father any boy/girl could want.❞ ❝ Drop the knife and back away from the boy or I’ll rip your fucking throat out.❞ ❝ I need you to be in one piece for the big party next week.❞ ❝ I’ve got more bad news for the two of you.❞ ❝ Nonsense. If I were trying to kill him/her, he/she ‘d be dead now.❞ ❝ Can we go now? ❞ ❝ What do you say? Growing tired of the taste of gingerbread?❞ ❝ If I have to lay my hands on you, it won’t end until one of us is dead on the floor.❞ ❝ My hero. *sarcasm*❞ ❝ That means there’s no hope that she/he/___ is still alive.❞ ❝ Yeah, well my heart bleeds for you, you know what they say.❞ ❝ Most of us knew it was only a matter of time before you reverted to your old ways, ____. Nature cannot be denied.❞ ❝ I want something of my own. ❞ ❝ I suppose it would have been too much to expect to be born smart as well as privileged. ❞ ❝ Where do we buy the lottery tickets? ❞ ❝ Why dwell on one unfortunate incident so long ago? ❞ ❝ I imagine that will only grow worse after tonight. ❞ ❝ Both of you, quit your damned bitching and crying. ❞ ❝ My god, are you completely devoid of social skills? ❞ ❝ I didn’t anticipate being the center of so much attention ❞ ❝ You’re about to find out exactly how much I can prove. ❞ ❝ Enjoying the party? ❞ ❝ You ought to know. You helped put it there. ❞ ❝ Don’t start. ❞ ❝ Pardon me, but you’ve suddenly grown wearisome and pedestrian. ❞ ❝ Many of us didn’t have the chance to run. ❞ ❝ Ladies and gentlemen, lift your glasses and join me, please, in drinking this toast. ❞ ❝ I want to grow up, I want my balls to drop, and I want to get laid. ❞ ❝ But maybe there’s a way for all of us to avoid that harsh necessity. ❞ ❝ But still working for a minimum wage in a ________ ❞ ❝ All sorts of things never occur to you, dear. ❞ ❝ Why go into hock to win more lost lands and another useless title? ❞ ❝ How much have we made so far? ❞ ❝ But you’ve got nothing on me– nothing you can prove, anyway. ❞ ❝ You’ve never danced before? ❞ ❝ Are you on the menu? ❞ ❝ I’m an old veteran of these affairs. ❞ ❝ There you are. Don’t you look nice. ❞ ❝ But we’re missing the party! ❞ ❝ I am most certainly not having a good time. ❞ ❝ As promised, my love. ❞ ❝ If I win, I’ll be a princess/prince in my own right. ❞ ❝ Are you going to act like this all night? ❞ ❝ It wasn’t our/my business. ❞ ❝ I finally made it. ❞ ❝ Oh my, is he your date, princess? ❞ ❝ Don’t literally watch your feet, just kindly stop stomping all over mine. ❞ ❝ Shut up, you pathetic, bleating child. ❞ ❝ Shallots? But you clearly said red onions! ❞ ❝ Perhaps women wear low necklines to filter out the gentlemen from the dogs. Those few who can still manage eye contact, even in the presence of breasts like these, might actually have some potential. ❞ ❝ You poor girl/boy ❞ ❝ And this time leave the guns, daggers and battle axes at home, please. ❞ ❝ Do you see why I needed your help? ❞ ❝ Don’t spoil the evening, darling. ❞ ❝ Oh gosh. I sure hope not. ❞ ❝ So how long do we have to do this before we eat? ❞ ❝ Gently, please. I’m not some suspect you’re about to wrestle to the ground. ❞ ❝ You look like you’re trying to peek down my dress. ❞ ❝ I was beginning to think I’d been stood up. ❞ ❝ I swear you’ve had that same scowl on your face for the past three or four hundred years. ❞ ❝ No wonder they call lotteries taxes on stupid people. ❞ ❝ Why don’t you run your own damned errands? ❞ ❝ So it’s not as if you’d suffer any embarrassment if I never showed. ❞ ❝ Everything must be coordinated to arrive at the proper time! ❞ ❝ I demand an explanation! ❞ ❝ Now, follow my lead and try to stay off my feet. ❞ ❝ We need to be out on the dance floor. ❞ ❝ No matter. You always go this thing stag, right? ❞ ❝ When did you forget how to enjoy yourself? ❞

#sentence meme #sentence starters #rp meme

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