Delacours
Delacours
Laatst online: -
Voornaam:
Lily
Status:
Woonplaats:
Hogwarts
Leeftijd:
25
Hobby's:
-
Website:
-
J A M E S P O T T E R
seventeen, hair got struck by lightning at age four and hasn’t sat down since, knuckles that jut out, holds his wand between his teeth to impress girls- to impress the girl, doesn’t own one pair of matching socks, the kind of attractive that fills the ribs, fills the shoulder blades, fills the heart, Sirius painted his nails once and he kept the polish on all week, sees the girl before registering anyone else in the room, young organs pumping young blood, wired to himself, to his boys, to the girl, can tell what you’re about to say before you say it, he’s just sort of like that, has a habit of leaning arms on peoples shoulders, starts the trust fall before anyone realises they’re meant to be catching him.
S I R I U S B L A C K
seventeen, eats whipped cream by the fork full, rolls up the sleeves of his robes, begins most conversations with: you absolute fuck, column of his throat running down the neck like water, leaves his text books all over school, made of gut feeling, of instinct, of starting before you know how to finish, a part of him still stuck in that house, with the door slamming, with his mother yelling, with the world ending, he is the bomb going off in the swimming pool, he has probably made a bomb go off in the swimming pool, smoking just outside the door- look- you can see the smoke, you can see the shaking hands.
R E M U S L U P I N
seventeen, jumpy, long eyelashes, the sullen quiet of fog in winter, scars up the arms, round the neck, across the chest, eyes that stare as if they are waiting for permission, plays the same records until he’s mouthing the words in his sleep, gives out flowers for gifts, sarcasm that could stop the heart, soft, like the skin above your collar bone, like stained glass windows with light through them, like seeing a star in a textbook, knowing that something that good is out there even if it is far away, often has wind billowing through his baggy t-shirts, pulls out his bottom lip when thinking, at night wakes up sweating, dreaming of blood in his mouth, the kind you get when you rip an arm off, when you lick the bone clean.
P E T E R P E T T I G R E W
seventeen, socks right to the knee, eating an ice cream, has a sore neck from always looking up, raw fingernails- bitten to the cuticles, full of fear, oozing fear, could fill cathedrals with this fear, burns books for no reason, unmade bed, the flush of a cheek that is bloated, a mound of blood, sits on the floor because there is no room at the table, counts on his fingers, pulled a muscle when walking up the fourth staircase, shuts his eyes, opens them, realises he is still in his own skin, pale, a stick of white, unassuming, like flowers, or the moment the ground gives way, all at once, as if it was going to all along.
seventeen, hair got struck by lightning at age four and hasn’t sat down since, knuckles that jut out, holds his wand between his teeth to impress girls- to impress the girl, doesn’t own one pair of matching socks, the kind of attractive that fills the ribs, fills the shoulder blades, fills the heart, Sirius painted his nails once and he kept the polish on all week, sees the girl before registering anyone else in the room, young organs pumping young blood, wired to himself, to his boys, to the girl, can tell what you’re about to say before you say it, he’s just sort of like that, has a habit of leaning arms on peoples shoulders, starts the trust fall before anyone realises they’re meant to be catching him.
S I R I U S B L A C K
seventeen, eats whipped cream by the fork full, rolls up the sleeves of his robes, begins most conversations with: you absolute fuck, column of his throat running down the neck like water, leaves his text books all over school, made of gut feeling, of instinct, of starting before you know how to finish, a part of him still stuck in that house, with the door slamming, with his mother yelling, with the world ending, he is the bomb going off in the swimming pool, he has probably made a bomb go off in the swimming pool, smoking just outside the door- look- you can see the smoke, you can see the shaking hands.
R E M U S L U P I N
seventeen, jumpy, long eyelashes, the sullen quiet of fog in winter, scars up the arms, round the neck, across the chest, eyes that stare as if they are waiting for permission, plays the same records until he’s mouthing the words in his sleep, gives out flowers for gifts, sarcasm that could stop the heart, soft, like the skin above your collar bone, like stained glass windows with light through them, like seeing a star in a textbook, knowing that something that good is out there even if it is far away, often has wind billowing through his baggy t-shirts, pulls out his bottom lip when thinking, at night wakes up sweating, dreaming of blood in his mouth, the kind you get when you rip an arm off, when you lick the bone clean.
P E T E R P E T T I G R E W
seventeen, socks right to the knee, eating an ice cream, has a sore neck from always looking up, raw fingernails- bitten to the cuticles, full of fear, oozing fear, could fill cathedrals with this fear, burns books for no reason, unmade bed, the flush of a cheek that is bloated, a mound of blood, sits on the floor because there is no room at the table, counts on his fingers, pulled a muscle when walking up the fourth staircase, shuts his eyes, opens them, realises he is still in his own skin, pale, a stick of white, unassuming, like flowers, or the moment the ground gives way, all at once, as if it was going to all along.
''We are liars. We are beautiful and privileged. We are cracked and broken.'' - E.Lockhart, We Were Liars
Geregistreerd:
8 jaar geleden
Laatst on-line:
8 jaar geleden
Tijd on-line:
7 uur 21 minuten
Pageviews:
354 [24 uur]
Aantal quizzen:
0
Aantal stories:
0
Aantal polls:
0
Aantal gedichten:
1
Aantal lijstjes:
0
Aantal hoofdstukken:
0
Quizzen ingevuld:
1
Hoofdstukken gelezen:
5
Reacties geplaatst:
0
GB berichten:
5
Forum berichten:
Gastenboek (7)
Jaaa, is goed!
8 jaar geledenAlright, zal het erbij zetten c:
8 jaar geledenOke, mooi
8 jaar geledenZal t ffe bij relaties zetten zo
Ik vind jou idee goed, dat Riley hem aangesproken heeft tijdens een fotografie les. Julien maakt dus niet snel vrienden, maar ik denk wel doordat ze samen hard kunnen werken, er wel een band is ontstaan van vriendschap.
8 jaar geledenRiley is ook wel een persoon die hem wat losser kan maken, hem meer zichzelf kan laten zijn doordat ze zelf expressief is en ik denk ook wel dat Riley haar interessant vind als vriend omdat ze juist op sommige punten van hem verschilt. Het zal wel vaker dan eens voorkomen dat Julien niet zoveel zegt of nog wat timide is, omdat hij niet altijd snel heel persoonlijke dingen verteld. Julien heeft wel een gecombineerde studie van schilderkunst en fotografie (kunstacademie), maar het is wel logisch dat hij voor die fotografie naar hetzelfde instituut gaat.
Something like that?
Sounds fun (: Waar hebben ze elkaar ontmoet? In een club?
8 jaar geledenOf misschien werkten hun scholen een keer samen. Dat ze op Bella's school een modeshow hadden met de kleding die de studenten hadden gemaakt en de studenten van haar school waren daar om te fotograferen?