NEMESIS

Bet you wanna rip my heart out, bet you wanna skip my calls now. Well, guess what? I like that. Cause I’m gonna mess your life up, gonna wanna tape my mouth shut. Look out, lovers.

[laurelacosta-blog]

ballast.

Some part of him, inhibited and wholly unholy in its hold on him, simply spits into life at the sight of Laurel Acosta, breathing a fury that begs to run wild. At her stare, unbelievably piercing and trenchant as ever, he postures (bite him, alright?), a smugness lathering upon his being like a particularly snug leather. “Mm, don’t tell me⏤you sobbed every night we were apart, cursing Merlin for allowing such a travesty to ever come about.” He tsks, lips undecided as to which grand form they may exhibit. “There there⏤James is here now.” His smirk and shrug go hand-in-hand, and it’s a delight that simply feasts in his veins. “The sooner you express your ardor, the better off we’ll all be, trust me. Tap into that heart you have somewhere locked within you, yeah?”

He hums, his grin ever-present and beguiling, if not shit-eating. “I’m sure nowhere near as fun as yours, but nice in most standards, yes.” A hand comes up, of its own mind as it always is, and tussles messy locks into further chaos, a habit his mum claims to hate but secretly loves⏤another inherited trait from The Potter Boys, you see?

“Well, do tell. Or are we enlisting begging as a new quid-pro-quo for the year? I must say, while I’m a pretty sight on my knees, I’m not a fan of it quite so fuck-all early in the morning, and for the measly price of your summer woes? A hard bargain.”

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, tugging at the strap of her bag and turning away. “I cried my eyes out night after night. It was such a long summer without that incessant buzzing of a Potter in my ear.” Sarcasm slipped from between her crimson lips as effortlessly as a winter chill, icy and striking, and reserved especially for him.  “Shall I scream it from the rooftops then?” she took a step closer to him, testing the waters of their near-decade long running feud; Laurel isn’t quite sure when it all began, but pressing James’s buttons has become one of her favorite hobbies, and she’s never been one to quit while she was ahead. 

In truth, her summer was less than perfect, far from fun. Instead of long days spent on a beach with friends, or late nights huddled around a campfire, she was greeted home from Year 6 with her mother’s death. Sure, she drowned her sorrows at the bottom of a solo cup night after night, but that in no way meant it was fun. But Laurel would rather fall from her broom during Quidditch practice than tell him that. 

“A hard bargain, indeed,” she couldn’t help but chuckle, just a bit at his incredulous stance and silvered tongue. “But as much as I’d love to see that,” she takes another step closer, the distance between them no more than a sheet of parchment, “you on your knees...” she sighed slowly, no longer amused but indifferent as she looked him up and down, “I have better things to do.”

[cainskeeper]

[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.

[laurelacosta-blog]

&. 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.”

[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.

[ofgenerosity-blog]

Colors of the Rainbow Meme

Send Red for an honesty post on what my muse dislikes/hates about yours.

Send Orange for a self-para/drabble about our muses.

Send Yellow for some headcanons about our muses.

Send Green for a moodboard on our muses.

Send Blue for an aesthetic of our muses.

Send Purple for a playlist of our muses.

Send Pink for an honesty post on what my muse likes/loves about yours.

Send Bronze for a list of plot ideas (i.e a wishlist) the mun would like to play out with our muses. 

Send Silver for our muses to set up a Skype convo (or some sort of IM), talking as themselves, to each other.

Send Gold for a starter between our muses, unplotted, that the mun comes up with on the spot. Can be of any length.

Send Black for my muse to show their dark side, through whatever means the mun chooses.

Send White for my muse to show their light side, through whatever means the mun chooses.

Send Rainbow for me to come up with something unique for our muses.

[laurelacosta-blog]

phaeton.

“Well yeah Lauren, but I’d rather be a little wound tight than a little hungover on a Monday morning.” 

The carriage fell dead silent. Selena offered Laurel a lazy smile. It was all she could muster at this point. As she passed the seventh year Slytherin she managed to grunt a quick ‘follow me’, without explaining what she had planned. It wasn’t often that Selena compromised her cool exterior, but there were two exceptions to the rule; public humiliation, closely followed by an open confrontation. It was rare for one of these to occur in her life, let alone, both at the same time. Although she bit back, and had no issues biting back, Selena was a girl dependent on image and reputation. Laurel, that nemesis, couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to have a future worth fighting for, hence the stench of alcohol.

“You look like you had a really good night last night?” Selena asked, attempting to manifest the tone of interest. 

“Yeah, it was good—fun,” she emphasized the word with a smirk, one brow deviously raised. She can’t remember much, honestly. Most of the night is a blur; but she can remember lots of tequila, and where there’s patrón, there’s always a good time. “Ever heard of it, Serena?” she huffed, annoyance creeping in along the edges of her composure. But Laurel snaps, unable to hide her contempt for the girl’s judgement any longer. “Probably not, hm?” she scrunches her nose for a moment in disapproval. Tsk, tsk. Her tongue smacks against gritted teeth as she shakes her head and turns back around. 

If she had to guess, Selena wouldn’t know a good time if it bit her right on the arse; nor would she recognize tequila if it was offered to her. Pity, she thinks. 

“You should try it sometime,” she glances back over her shoulder, “you know: fun.”

[minha-borboleta]

What turns you on?

Attention

[laurelacosta-blog]

ballast.

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.”

For the first time in three months, Laurel’s well rested. Practically glowing with all the freedom and wide open spaces, the familiar hall’s warm embrace—warmer than any other she could hope for. For it’s always felt more like home than anything else, more than the place her father calls his own anyway, with just a room to her name. Here she has the whole castle, every nook and cranny at her disposal, so much of it still unexplored and undiscovered. It creaks and croaks, roars with life each time she takes a step, turns a corner, closes a door; but what of her when the year finally ends? And she’s no place else to go? Hogwart’s doesn’t keep its doors open after that, this she knows but refuses to accept. So as she rises from bed and dresses for the day, Laurel pushes the pestering thoughts aside as best she can, willing herself to focus on the present—on the here and now. The first day of classes deserve her attention, they need it if she’s to succeed at all this semester, this year. 

Books in hand, she makes her way through the common room and out the door, schedule tucked away beneath her palm just in case. In fact, she chooses to peer at it one more time before turning the corner, to double check her first class of the day. But a familiar voice perks her ears and tugs at the corners of her ruby-red lips. James, she thinks, equally annoyed yet charmed, all at once.

“Long time no see,” she muses casually, tossing chocolate locks over her shoulder before looking up. Immediately, her eyes scan him from head to toe. “Nice summer?” she asks absent-mindedly, yet desperately interested in the answer; he looks too good to not have had some fun. 

[laurelacosta-blog]

achilles heel.

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?”

“God, I hope not,” she teased, only half kidding as she plopped down beside him with a nudge to his shoulder. He’s been known to be fun every once in a while, you know, when Laurel’s guiding him down a wicked road, paved with bad decisions and sizzling champagne. He’s a blast when he dives head first after her, when he actually lets loose; but in the harsh light of morning, before she’s had her morning cup, Leander’s chipper enthusiasm is just one of many things she cannot tolerate right now. “I need coffee,” she whined, groaning like a child, but then a nearby fourth year’s horrendous, high-pitched laughter sounded in her ear and she immediately added that to the list of intolerable things, too, with a side-eye glance. 

“What day is it even?” she asked with a certain ice to her tone, accusatory and sassy and uncalled for. She just needed a sip! Just one, then she’d be fine, so she reached for the pot of caffeine in front of her. She flipped the cup before her right side up and poured it to the brim. “Tuesday?” She really wasn’t sure, but if it was Tuesday then she had Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she truly wasn’t prepared at all. 

[laurelacosta-blog]

phaeton.

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.

She felt wretched, insides hot like molten lava with an ache in the back corner of her head. A binge of tequila the night before had put her out well past dawn, leaving her little time to pack up her trunk at home, forcing her to arrive in a heap on the platform. She’d scrambled for her ticket, tripped on the step into the train, and nearly dropped her cat trying to find a seat. In short, she was a mess. Something she could have avoided had she planned and followed through, like Selena so clearly had. Laurel couldn’t help but roll her eyes as soon as the girl started speaking, wide-eyed and filled with zest. So eager to please, to be liked and admired for her pep, her pomp and circumstance. For being on time, in her place, and ready to go. Last year that would have been her, fight her way tooth and nail to the top just for sport. But that was then and this is now; and for now she’ll just plant a seed of resentment deep in her chest. For being less than prepared, less than perfect when the standards were evidently that high. She’ll know better next time. 

“I’ll come,” she blurted, quickly pulling herself to her feet. She smoothed out the lines in her skirt and adjusted her top, stepping forward with half a distracted grin. Clearing her throat, she tried to play nice. Tried, anyway; but Laurel never did learn to hold her tongue. “Someone’s wound tight this morning, huh?” it slipped out before she could catch it, like a routine she’s wholly used to—spitting out the truth like nails. Rude and unnecessary, especially coming from her of all people. After all, she was late this morning! Rushed and unprofessional, nothing like what a Prefect should be! She can hear the admonishing tone, fed to her by someone far too holier-than-thou, but that didn’t mean Laurel wasn’t right. Selena could stand to lighten up, just a bit. 

“Where to first?” she corrected with as much enthusiasm as she could possibly muster. Let’s get this over with.

[greelin]

*feels nothing* mmm, don’t like that *feels something but like, too much* mmm not a fan of that either

[laurelacosta-blog]

DAILY SCHEDULE & REMINDERS // a look at laurel’s desktop

SLYTHERIN — 7TH YEAR — PREFECT Classes: Potions, Transfiguration, Divination, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms Clubs: Bones Club, Dueling Club, Prefect

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

She felt a touch of fire imprinted upon her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner.

Victor Hugo, from The Complete Works; “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,”

[octoberinspo]

[lovefulls]

She had a death grip on herself, she softened for none; and leeched coldness from the night, drew strength from the sun

from “Queens and Heroines and the Like” | d.x.y

[notfadeawayx]

NEMESIS // but elegance attracted me; i liked the way it hid pain

Laurel. It feels like a persona most days, not quite settling perfectly atop her tongue when spoken in front of the mirror. The taste ashy and rotten despite the seemingly sweet and saccharine smile staring back at her. Perhaps she doesn’t truly know who she is. It’s a silly thought as soon as she thinks it, and she brushes it aside like dust with a broom. Under the rug never to be seen again. As she does with most things that knock on the feeble front door of her mind, for it is truly a house of cards. A perfectly constructed labyrinth to which only she knows the way and only she holds the key, but with one hard tap of a determined fist, the whole thing could crumble. 

And then who would she be?