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✧･ﾟlaurelacosta--

&. THAT’S JUST THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL

Late Autumn of Year 6, 2022. Saturday, sometime after twelve-thirty. Hall outside Slytherin girl’s locker room. Closed to @girlishghost

Her shoulder’s killing her, throbbing from her collar all the way down to her elbow, fingers a tad tingly in the tips. But they’d won, despite thinking it’d be a hard loss. She’d spent nearly the entire game playing her hardest, not even glancing at the score board, for she already knew what it’d say. They were losing, badly. But then they’d caught the snitch, just like that. In the blink of an eye, they’d snagged that tiny, golden devil and taken the match. So she’ll take the pain if it meant a win, another one to add to her belt—something to be proud of. Not that she could share it, or write her father and brag; but it was hers and she’ll keep it.

Laurel didn’t bother changing; public showers were not her favorite place to practice proper hygiene etiquette. Instead, she packed up her things and chose to wait until back in the common room. For she favored the privacy of her own room far more than stripping in front of the entire team, so she headed out. “Good game!” someone shouted, pulling her attention over her shoulder as she reached the door, and she smiled a genuine smile; a rarity for her, but in this case, deserved. “You, too!” she cheered, stepping outside without looking where she was going. Naturally she ran into something, or rather, someone. Ianthe Parkinson, to be exact, in a rush of shimmering satin and pink lipgloss.

A dream, by all accounts, including hers.

“Oh, hey,” she sputtered, bag falling off her arm as she wrapped her hands around Ianthe’s shoulders for balance. “Sorry, I—” she looked down briefly, letting out a rather unsteady breath from the crash, maybe; perhaps from the proximity, the ability to see her so clearly, so closely. It was impossible not to stare, to gawk, and more importantly, to note the subtle height difference between them, “wasn’t looking where I was going.”

It was Slytherin versus Hufflepuff -- or maybe it was Ravenclaw, or maybe it was Gryffindor; Ianthe wasn’t careful with details that didn’t concern her, and she was unconcerned wholly with the state of the game, and more with the players within it. The stands were howling, and she played witness to it all, as she did in all of her daily functions, a serene spectator, a voyeur even in her own life. She didn’t look towards the score, wins and losses another detail squared away in the generality of things she couldn’t be bothered to care for, and cheered when she felt like it, and sometimes when she didn’t feel like it.

The moment that Slytherin won, though, was something that even she couldn’t remain impartial during, neat neutrality slipping from her face and splitting into pieces at her feet when the stands roared to life in vivid emerald. The surge threw a skip into her own heartbeat as she stood and cheered along, watching keenly as players circled for their victory lap; they left the pitch soon after, and she did as well, stealing her way out of the celebration, even as adrenaline and good cheer warmed her cheeks up to a porcelain pink.

She wasn’t looking for anything or anyone in particular, she swore; she was haunting, drifting, and it just so happened that lady fortune sent Laurel Acosta careening in her way, and she was all the better off for it. Laurel was still in her quidditch greens, distinctive armored leather and all -- and it begged for the flicker of her eye, alighting down the uniform and back up. She sunk her teeth into the plush of her bottom lip before it occurred to her that Laurel was speaking -- she met her eye, released the hold on her lip, and listened, a smile wiling its way up the corners of her mouth.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, amiable and languid. “It’s as much my bad, anyway. Can’t say I’m ever looking where I’m going,” she drawled cheerfully. “I go where luck takes me, and it just so happens that she’s taken me to you. Good game, by the way. You played really well,” she added earnestly, an eager glimmer adopted by both smile and eyes now.

#thread; laurel || 1.#i... didn't intend it to be so long i'm sorry omg

✧･ﾟbcllast--

Of all outworldly beings treasured in the palm of his grasp, Ianthe Parkinson is the creature he reveres most dearly; of all ghosts in a school anchored to the past, she is his favorite haunt. Her figure melts into his own, bodies merging as if they were made from one, and the transcendency of her soul collides with the fiery plummet of his own. The kiss on his cheek is a fleeting touch, but he anchors the flight of a girl into his grasp, fingers seeking to twirl gentle curls in a token gesture. If he was bound to another in shape, in the physicality of one body matched against another, there was no question in this realm that she was not the tie upon which he was knotted.

Something gentler than his usual smirk latches itself onto his mouth, reminiscent of a summer sun in the first hour of its awakening, routine of his countenance in the company of the feline of a girl before him. “Now you’re just being sweet. I’ll take that to mean I was missed, yes?” Eyebrows lift in accord, smirk deepening the corners of his lips into his typical crimson-tinged jest, lilted with a teasing jibe that bursts from him oh-so easily.

He tuts, a small laugh cracking his mouth into two, splitting the seams and allowing the sound to carry on in its merry way. “Why no, I thought I’d fancy a walk down to your murky dungeons instead.” He allows a snatch of distance to well between them, twisting the arm from behind her back to stretch, stepping away and back as he twirls and spins her into his space once more. “But alas, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly to part a lady from her meal, however minute the bite she takes may be⏤on we must and breakfast we shall!”

His fingers curl around a singular strand, another familiar step in this dance for two, as expected as the kiss she bestowed earlier, and as welcomed as such -- yet it doesn’t fail to bring forth a delighted laugh, mirth bubbling forth from her lips, summoned by him, and him alone, as students dodge them. She’s secured into his own form, perhaps more than she’s ever been secured by her own right, and he’s smiling like the dawn, slow, rising in its brilliance, enthralling to its audience. Ianthe responds in kind, adapting as she always does, a humble mirror to his rosy cheer, something of a similar caliber finding a home on the perch of her mouth.

“You just want to hear that you were missed,” she accuses gently, even as sugary sentiments well in her mouth as venom would for a viper. “Should I detail the ways in which you were missed? Here’s a list: thought consumingly so, bone achingly so, and unbearably so; this all to say you were missed mind, body and soul.”

Her next thought is cut short, as he steps away and she feels the lack of warmth immediately, a light morning chill seeping into spaces she’d already gotten used to being occupied. Before protest riots to her lips, can even think of rioting into existence, she’s out in space, twirled by his lead, before being pulled back into orbit, as always, kept close by gravity of the heart, circling the light he gives off. It’s delightful, all aspects of it, and she laughs accordingly, more mirth for bleary-eyed students to gawk at in the glaring light of the early morning. “You know, I’m sure I can think of people who would accuse you of being ungentlemanly, but far be it from me to say such nonsense,” she quips, following his conviction and certainty.

#thread; james || 1.

✧･ﾟselenalarkinrpg--

The familiar voice of self-doubt tickled her insecurities and grated at her thoughts. ‘She’s looking up to you Selena, what are you going to do?’ Such a simple task had managed to tangle itself in the complexities of Selena’s internal voice. What was she going to do? Delegate of course. “Well, Ianthe, is it?” Selena asked the seventh year Slytherin. “I say we check on everyone, see if they’ve settled in, if they’re all comfortable…, if that’s alright with you?”

Selena always found it odd working alongside a Slytherin. There was a certain competitive streak that emerged to the surface when those emerald robes appeared out from the shadows. Could it be the longstanding, bitter rivalry between the two houses? Or maybe it was that Selena herself could see a potential future with the Slytherin House, despite their reputation? ‘Whatever’ Selena shrugged off the thought; it was too early in the morning for this kind of introspection.

“Everyone okay?” Selena asked the students as she poked her head in the first cabin. Three were awake and nodded, one of them had found himself in a deep slumber. “First years.” Selena scoffed as she glanced at her company. “So see how I’m just being really friendly and asking everyone if they’re okay? You basically just have to do that. It’s really easy, and I’ll be here if you need any help.” Selena offered a smile, despite the subtle tone of condescension.

Ianthe gave a brief nod in confirmation, mind already moved onto its next conquest even as Selena directed questions towards her, offering up a smile and following on her tail. Students occasionally moved about in the walkway of the train, dodging into cabins after seeing them on their patrol path, probably not keen on the reprimand that was sure to follow if they caught up with any of them. Not that she would have reprimanded any of them; she probably wouldn’t have even been on patrol save for having been the last to react.

“I got it,” she said lightly, her tone lilting pleasantly, the patronizing tone Selena had adopted landing but rolling smoothly off her, unaffected as a whole. It certainly wasn’t her first time on patrol for the train; it may as well have been though, considering that she spent most of her time shirking the responsibility, choosing instead to let another prefect pick up the slack while she spent time with Leander instead. She passed by a few cabins, checking on them serenely, nodding but not taking much in besides merely going through the actions.

“There might be a problem,” someone said, eventually, breaking her out of the perfunctory way she’d been moving, prompting a slow tilt of her head and a long blink. “I’ve lost my toad,” they continued.

“We’ll keep an eye out for it,” she said gently, before closing the cabin door. “Is there some sort of protocol for this?” She directed towards Selena.

#thread; selena || 1.

sagamemes

send me a biblical or a historical sin for a drabble or a starter themed around that topic.

LUST – intense longing, sexual or otherwise, that subverts propriety.

GLUTTONY – the overindulgence and overconsumption of anything to the point of waste.

GREED – an artificial, rapacious desire and pursuit of material possessions.

SLOTH – cessation of motion and an indifference to work.

WRATH – uncontrolled feelings of anger, rage, and even hatred towards oneself or others.

ENVY – a sad or resentful covetousness towards the traits or possessions of someone else.

PRIDE – putting of one’s own desires, urges, wants, and whims before the welfare of people.

ACEDIA – neglect to take care of something that one should do.

VANITY – the excessive belief in one’s own abilities or attractiveness to others.

#❝ scream it to the deaf stars┊ask memes.#me? reblogging memes even with replies sitting undone? yes

the-write-ideas

Send me a △ and ask a really invasive question aimed at my character

They’ll have to:

Rate on a scale of 1-10 how much they don’t want to answer that question.

Answer that question.

#❝ scream it to the deaf stars┊ask memes.

✧･ﾟleanderargyris--

Leander breathed out a little laugh at the thief of his food — a well-known thief — that tucked into his side almost immediately after stealing. This ease of friendship was foreign; it scared him, but he wasn’t quite ready to ruin it. Besides, wouldn’t the end of this school year bring a neat finish to it anyway? Maybe Leander wouldn’t have to dirty his hands with choking the friendship until it withered. Or imploding it when he inevitably panicked at any sort of closeness; at any sort of familiarity, or of ease.

But for now, he’d enjoy it.

“Good. I’d like to kick your ass at Charms again this year too.” Leander was joking, and it showed in his tone — easy and punctuated with a smile. He glanced over Ianthe’s schedule, which had so much pink on it he’d know it was Ianthe’s from a metre away. “You really went and made your schedule pink?” He shook his head, but squeezed her shoulders so that she tucked in closer to his side — physical closeness between them was normal and wanted and welcome — as he continued, “You could be bothered enough to make yours all pretty and you didn’t do mine?”

His eyes glanced between the two schedules. “Other than charms, looks like Latin, alchemy, and ancient runes.” Leander forked another piece of food — a piece of sausage this time — and popped it into his mouth. “Wonder what Chie has this year too. Maybe we can bother him in his hole at the library soon.”

She was shifted as he pulled her closer, a small smile buoying the corners of her mouth at the action -- it was both a dim and a bright thing, of diffused light, calmly spreading about her face, washing away her previous displeasure as a new tide of emotions was brought upon her. She stretched to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw before responding. “Lea,” she said, voice lilting. “You would never kick my ass at anything -- you’d sooner tutor me: you’re too good to me,” she said, even as the sentiment brought a stone of anxiety into her throat -- despite knowing that they’d been inseparable for their time here, she feared losing whatever he held towards her. It would be alright, she reassured herself, she’d branched out into several different horizons for when it happened.

He was a moment, and those inevitably ended, long as she wanted them to stretch on, but she’d long been accustomed to living for and losing in said moment. “Do you want me to make yours all pink? I will. It’s not an idle threat.”

She leaned against him even more than she was before, practically pooling in his arms, more held up by his structural integrity than by anything of hers, humming. “Is he not here for breakfast? Should we sneak something to him? I’d hate for him to go hungry.”

#thread; leander || 1.

✧･ﾟbcllast--

WHO: open. WHERE: random hallway on the way to the great hall. WHEN: sometime during breakfast hours.

Nostalgia is unwelcome, a quiet beat that soon unravels into a pounding ache, swimming through his veins and against his marrow, but it’s difficult to go without it as he embarks on his final year within the company of the castle and all its quirks, despite wanting to tame the burn and welcome cool relief. His mum practically latches onto his frame as tightly as a niffler to its gold, and doesn’t that just invite a question? You’d think this year of all she’d find it in her to give him some more breathing room in those final moments before he’s off, or at least go focus on Lily or something, but practically to the edge of the train was he followed. He loves her, he does, it’s just ⏤ why can’t it be unceremonious, for once, deflating at least a smidgen of pressure from what this year ultimately means for his future? Fucking Christ and Godric both.

The bone-creeping nostalgia is still a mighty force the morning next, drumming though him as he wakes up to the roof of his crimson four-poster, thinking this is the last first day of classes I’ll ever have, and how annoyingly depressing is that line of thought? He continues on with shit like that and he’ll be submitting himself to Madam Abbott’s care within the end of the (last-first, a voice chimes) week.

He goes through the motions, dressing from the trunk that, as for the past seven years, greeted him at the foot of his bed as he returned from dinner last night, and then fighting to be the first in the bathroom (a surprise, that one, considering he usually sleeps in as long as possible, but the others were just too slow this time, much to his gloating), and finally making his way to the Great Hall, breakfast and ceaseless morning chatting awaiting.

Yet, as his feet slap the stone of the ancient floor beneath him, a familiar silhouette catches his eye, and it’s all too easy to jog over and splat a grin onto the muscles of his face. “Mornin’, stranger.”

The halls closest to the Gryffindor dorms are as far as they could possibly be from the dungeons, and if you asked her what she was doing there, you’d get a vague I’m not sure, paired with an equally obscure smile before she’s gone to where her feet take her next. She’s dressed as carefully and carelessly as always -- so, she’s not got a tie around her neck, and her prefect pin is shoved somewhere in her bag. There isn’t enough to differentiate her from the rest of students trying to get to breakfast, and she’d long since learned that if she just simply was, most people passed her by, little thought dedicated to her, little scorn addressed to her. People brush by her, shoulders knocking into hers, changing the trajectory of her drifting, even as she simply exists, haunting the halls as well as any of the (other) ghosts present in the castle.

A voice appears next to her; she does not startle -- it takes a modicum of presentness that she doesn’t possess to startle, always preternaturally calm and languid in being both present and absent. It’s James, and this fact is enough to galvanize her into some kind of action, leaping from her previous inactivity at the sight of the smile plastered on his face.

She throws her arms around him, knocking her body into his without a care, borne of the trust that he will handle her, as he has always, pressing a customary kiss to his cheek. “It is morning,” she notes cheerfully and abstractly. “And a good one at that, if it’s brought you to me. Are you going down to breakfast?” She asks, as if there’s anything else for him to possibly do at this point in time -- although, perhaps to a vague slip of a thing like her, there are other things she could do.

#thread; james || 1.

✧･ﾟselenalarkinrpg--

Who; Any Prefect. Where; Hogwarts Express. When; Just as the train leaves for Hogwarts.

‘You’re an outstanding, bright and talented young witch, Miss. Larkin. We hope you’ll accept the position as Head Girl, and represent the student body to the best of your ability.’ The words rang through her head, as she stood before her prefects. Head high, hair pinned back in a strict pony tail, Selena’s ‘lucky cream colored headband’ was a clear contrast against her dark, silky locks. The Hogwarts Express had just begun it’s trip for the year back, and although Selena was excited for the opportunity to prove her worth, she’d be lying if she said her new position hadn’t gone to her head. She was the embodiment of conceit, a boisterous member of the bourgeois everybody loved to hate. However, the opinions of other’s meant nothing to Selena, it was the deep pessimism she had for her future that made her want to achieve and succeed; whether she was ready, or not. “So.” Selena cleared her throat, as she prepared herself. “I would just like to take the opportunity to introduce myself for those who don’t know me, I’m Selena Larkin and I’m one of the two Head Girls that will be representing the student body this year, it’s honestly a pleasure to be working with you all, and I can already tell we’re going to make this an amazing year.”

“So! Without wasting too much time, I think we should start patrolling the cabins just to ensure everyone is nice and seated,” Selena unfolded a list with the prefects names that she was delegated. The other Head Girl, was given a different list of prefects that she was supposed to delegate for the ride to Hogwarts. “I guess if anyone would like to come with me to check on the cabins, that would be much appreciated.” Selena smiled, as she refolded the paper and dug it in her pocket.

To be quite honest, Ianthe had absolutely no clue why she was there -- and how she’d been chosen as prefect in the first place; either way, by some fluke or luck of the draw, she’d been picked her fifth year and continued onto now, the pin glinting on her meticulously askew uniform. It seemed more a formality than anything to have the prefects gathered here to receive whatever brief instructions the Head Girl had to dispense (the same every year, Ianthe’s eyes fixed vaguely on the speeding horizon). She caught the tail-end of Selena’s spiel, blinking as all the other prefects paired up or filed out, shrugging ambivalently as she stood, a budding smile on her face.

“Looks like it’ll be me,” she said lightly, giving an impish wave, the rings adorning her fingers flashing in the shifting afternoon light. Rising languidly from the bench, she tilted her head. “So Head Girl, where to first?” She asked, eyebrows raising, allowing Selena to take the lead, easily forgoing any initiative potentially expected from an experienced prefect. She brushed an imaginary piece of lint off her skirt, its (too-short) hems swaying out, accenting how non-uniform her uniform was truly.

#thread; selena || 1.

✧･ﾟleanderargyris--

Who; open Where; great hall When; late breakfast time

Leander picked at the remnants of his breakfast — all that was left on the plate was a torn up pancake and a few bites of sausage — pushing them around with his fork as he pored over his class schedule. It was getting a bit late for the meal, as evidenced by the tables not being quite as packed as they had been an hour previous and the mingling of the houses as friends from different houses decided to move and sit together regardless of affiliation.

Charms is first, Leander thought, a smile spreading across his face at seeing that on his schedule. Charms was his favourite subject, and having the NEWT-level class certainly helped with when the Fiddling Flitwicks met up and tinkered with the spells.

“Hey,” Leander said, stabbing a piece of his cold pancakes but not looking up from his schedule, “What do you have first? Anything interesting?” He popped the sweet piece of food into his mouth. “Think we have anything together?”

The hall was flooded with activity -- some students leaving for early classes, others sticking around to catch up; Ianthe was a bit of nomad during these times, prone to wandering, floating, her green Slytherin tie forgone in favor of a delicate choker, top buttons exposing her neck, pressed uniform impishly ruffled: impossible to place, all alignments inscrutable. There was an unmistakeable type of anonymity offered by the great mass of students, and she drifted endlessly between tables, before settling neatly into a vacant spot by Leander. He didn’t glance over though, much to her dismay, a small moue of petulance making its way across her face at his inattention.

She took a fork, dipping into his breakfast plate and taking a bite of sausage, sniffing at it delicately before eating it, abandoning the fork once finished, wholly uninterested in food after a single bite. At his question, she pressed closer -- unnecessarily so, but familiarly so, at least by their two standards -- ducking her way under his arm, so that she was tucked into his side, peering at his timetable.

“We have charms together,” she said, tapping at his schedule. “And some others that I can’t be bothered to list; see for yourself,” she continued, dropping her own schedule unceremoniously in his lap, turning her head minutely away from him to continue expressing her momentary displeasure, though still attuned to his every movement, carefully awaiting his reaction.

#thread; leander || 1.