Do I know your muse(s): YES | no | a little | tell me about your muse | BE STILL MY BEATING HEART
Setting:OUR VERSE | my verse | your verse | modern | ALTERNATE UNIVERSE | OTHER
Pre-established relationships? yes | no | LITERALLY ANY KIND OR NONE AT ALL
Possible relationships:FRIENDS | CLASSMATE | co-worker | ROOMATE | family, real or adopted | DATING OR BLIND DATE | married | FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | RIVALS | allies | PARTNER-IN-CRIME | enemies | PROTECTOR - GUARDED | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | OTHER
I’m in the mood for: fluff | ANGST | horror | romance | humor | crime | HURT / COMFORT | ACTION | supernatural | slice of life | crack | DARK THREADS | light threads | ANY GENRE | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | ANY LENGTH | PLOTTED THREADS | unplotted threads | other
Feel free to:MESSAGE ME OOC OR IC | TELL ME YOUR IDEAS | WRITE A STARTER | answer one of my opens | SEND A MEME | JUST FUCKING COME AT ME
❛ do you? because I don’t. i thought your last chance was about five chances ago. but look at how that turned out? you’re still here. still in my life. still exhausting every piece of myself i give to you. over and over again ‘til i’ve got nothing left and you’ve got it ALL. i’m tired. i’m sick and i’m tired. so say you’ll go. or say you’ll stay. or say whatever it is you say that makes my knees go weak and my heart race and my head hope that maybe there’s a chance for no more last chances. ❜
❛ — sure. you can be Nadia and I’ll be Elana. we’re NEWLYWEDS who are way ahead of the times and running away to Mexico because ~no one~ understands our love. ❜
there’s a long pause when eyes drift to her fellow’s and narrow. the look she’s being given, unphased eyes and lifted brows, she knows it. too well.
❛ oh my god, Dorcas I was joking. Stop planning it! I can see the gears turning in that head of yours. KNOCK IT OFF, WE’RE NOT MOVING TO MEXICO. ❜
… shit.
❛ i’m going to wake up in Mexico tomorrow, aren’t I? ❜
❛ — sure. you can be Nadia and I’ll be Elana. we’re NEWLYWEDS who are way ahead of the times and running away to Mexico because ~no one~ understands our love. ❜
there’s a long pause when eyes drift to her fellow’s and narrow. the look she’s being given, unphased eyes and lifted brows, she knows it. too well.
❛ oh my god, Dorcas I was joking. Stop planning it! I can see the gears turning in that head of yours. KNOCK IT OFF, WE’RE NOT MOVING TO MEXICO. ❜
… shit.
❛ i’m going to wake up in Mexico tomorrow, aren’t I? ❜
The condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out.
it didn’t happen often. there was nothing frequent about it. by definition, it was a rarity. the kind you cherished and accepted for all its fleetingness. the kind you learned not to take for granted. it happened on the blackest nights when the light was gone and the moon was dim. a bed no more occupied than it normally was, suddenly would become overcrowded, as if a no vacancy sign was placarded above it. a depression of weight would shift the bed as warm hands sought warm skin. sometimes that skin was bare, others it was clothed or draped with hair.
only once was the silence afforded by darkness broken.
“ what are you doing? “
“ what do you think? “
“ are you sure? “
“ i’m here, aren’t i? “
and then no more questions came. they were no longer needed.
to question was to be uncertain, and uncertainty had no part in whatever they were.
in spite of accepting these chance happenstances, a drop of hope remained (at least in one half the pair). the sun would fall, and so would that drop. it settled when dusk did. but hope, it seemed, made for strange bedfellows. it was there in the drawing of dark, heavy curtains and in the extinguished glow of candlelight. it was in the scent of burnt wick that hung in the room for the windows were firmly shut. it was her belief that night air could carry the moonlight with it and scare her hope away.
in the absence that came years later when hope dwindled, longing was it’s successor. longing for what, or who, would never come. not by choice, nor preoccupation. but force. it was the reason beds ceased to be warmed and skin to be touched, caressed and kissed. it was the reason shoulders were looked over at every turn. it was a loss mourned and grieved and never forgotten. it was her one demon. her one regret. her one abysmal shadow.
it was the reason she never slept in the light again and it bore the name dorcas meadowes.
▋▉ ❘ ❙ ❚ — she can definitely tell. nimble digits turn the page in her textbook, her legs propped com- -fortably on the table. the common room was quiet, as far as gryffindor standards went. which of course meant that there was only mild yelling, cheering, and merlin-only-knows-what exploding from awry spells.
