dustybooksclub-blog

[dustybooksclub-blog]

;;oh my gosh it feels like an eternity. Hello everyone---- well hello to those of you who are still here.

[dustybooksclub-blog]

---- ❝Haha, oh, man, no, I meant I bring rat poison for anyone who tries to steal my food. But dude, I wouldn't put it past the canteen staff if they did do it here as well. ❞

“Yeah, but don’t blame me if it fails to work for you. And nice, really nice. I wonder if they try to poison us on purpose.”

[dustybooksclub-blog]

Here they are, trapped in an elevator, awkward silence staring them right in their faces. Both unable to speak; probably both confused as hell. She's still in shock, her eyes are flickering and her mouth is dried out. Her tongue feels like sandpaper and she can't manage to speak one more word. If only she had a glass of water - or w i n e. It'd make it easier to swallow, literally. The fact that she can still taste his lips and smell his breath doesn't make it easier. Perhaps it's just her imagination. She doesn't know - and doesn't really care, somehow. It's strange. Too strange. This is something she can't put in a box; she can't categorize and analyze. She's used - well, was used - to act within strict parameters around him. She'd be careful with what she said and she'd better be sure to remember what he said. She'd cringe whenever he got too close and she'd always have a backup-excuse to leave the scene with dignity (that being said, things sometimes went awry despite her efforts and it'd bring excruciating humiliating upon her). But this? This kiss doesn't even begin to get near anything she'd expect. There's nowhere to run from here. She's forced to watch-- and that's when she realizes that he's not standing in front of her anymore.         Dull, blue orbs turn alert and her previously embarrassingly pink cheeks are slowly resuming their usual, pale complexion. She's staring daggers into his back; there's an anger boiling inside of her. An anger that's not so much caused by injustice as the feeling of inadequacy. She's not angry with him; she's angry with herself. Disappointed and frustrated because she couldn't - still can't - control herself. She kissed him and she's married. Her hands are shaking when he turns around. She spots the last traces of a smug smile on his face and for a moment, just a moment, she suspects him of having hexed her. She's too used to that smile. However, when he speaks again, there's no mocking voice, no spotting chuckle, no humiliation. It's just him, proposing a way out for both of them. She snorts and crosses her arms; it's the reaction she'd have back when they were 16 and still rivaling in school. She waits for him to continue, but when he doesn't, she starts talking.         "Forget about what? Nothing happened--" That's the moment when the lift starts working again. She lets out a relieved sigh and leans back against the cold metal wall. Seven floors left and he doesn't seem to want to continue their conversation. She's glad, really, because what else is there to be said? She'd hardly wish for them to fall back into old habits. Not because she's starting to like him, hell, if she ever could like him, but because she'd hate to start over. She'd hate to spend another ten years trying to forget about him; trying to forget about the hatred. She'd hate to pull Jonathan through it again. And just as she's finally starting to calm down and get used to the somewhat awkward atmosphere between them, slender fingers curl around her jaw and jerk her head upwards. Within seconds their lips clash once more. She catches a glimpse of silvery grey wells before her eyes instinctively close. For a few moments her mind is divided; two sides battling for control. Does she pull away or does she reciprocate? There's fire in her blood and her heart is beating so fast and so loud that she's afraid he might hear it. She's waiting for too long, stalling, but when his lips start slipping (to break away or to breathe, she doesn't know; doesn't care) she makes a decision. Her body moves forward, brushes against his as she leans in and tries to catch his lips again. For a moment, nothing matters but their entwined lips and the feeling of his skin beneath her fingertips as she traces his neckline.        She doesn't even notice when the lift stops; nor does she notice when the doors open and the lift is flooded with bright light from the corridor of the second level. It's only when the feeble voice of a young child cuts through the passion and the yearning and the thoughts of damp kisses. The single word hits her ears like a thunderstorm. Mommy. She pulls back, panic clearly visible in her eyes. There's a few moments of her doing nothing; just standing there, eyes flickering between the man she'd least of all expect to kiss and the young girl in the doorway. She's small, approximately seven years old. Her eyes are molten chocolate and her straight, black hair is pulled tightly behind her head in two braids. She's clutching a red backpack between her hands. The breath is caught in Hazel's throat as she sidesteps out of the corner of the lift and rushes towards the girl.      "Maurissa, love, what are you doing here?" she asks, her voice sweet and her smile almost apologetic. She's on her knees in front of her daughter, wiping the last stains of smeared lipstick off her face with the back of her hand. She prays that Jonathan isn't here.

➲ rεuni๏n

Ten years ago Draco would have cringed in utter disgust and pushed Hazel away, cursing her into the next century and blaming h e r for having returned the kiss. This is not how he feels now though; he is confused, slightly stunned by both of their actions. He is searching his mind for an explanation but there is none other than it had been ten years and they kissed each other back - without bad intentions hidden in their actions. He is positive Hazel doesn’t have any by the way her voice is nothing but a weak whisper, he almost cannot hear, and the way her face is slowly breaking into pierces.   He exhales slowly, only then realizing he had been holding his breath, and drags both hands through the blonde strands of hair. His hand is shaking slightly; the adrenaline has yet to leave his body. It’s an odd situation. He feels indifferent and as if this is just a weird dream - not a nightmare. But it is reality nevertheless.    He clears his throat shortly, forcing back the lump in his throat and steps to the side to get away from the unbearable tension between them. At some point he can’t suppress the smile, that had been hiding beneath the surface, anymore. He is standing with his back facing her and smiling like a teenage boy who has just gotten his first kiss - which, in a way, he had. They haven’t seen each other in ten years and the first thing they do is k i s s? It lingers on his lips still and he can smell her perfume. He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and tries to soften the wrinkles between his eyebrows with his pointy finger.       ”Let’s forget about it, shall we?” he finally says and turns around. How he wishes for the lift to start working again - and yet, yet somewhere deep buried down inside of him a small voice is screaming for him to not let go of her already. They can’t stop something that never really started. He studies her face; it has aged but it somehow suits her better. Her hair is still pitch black and she is still small and tiny but something is different; maybe because she had children or because she married Jonathan.    She’s not like how he remembers Hazel Moon - she an entirely different woman with standards and suddenly having kissed her is not a bad thing at all.    A gentle push and the light is blinking a few times before the lift is working again, is what makes him snap back. Only a few levels and they will part ways again and maybe not see each other for another ten years.                                                              No. Which is probably a good thing seeing they could rip each other marriage apart without intending doing it.                                                               No.  4 levels back and his eye flickers to hers blue ones. She has probably answered him but he didn’t hear it.                                       The feeling of her lips against his… 3 levels.  His gaze fixes on her lips that is not carrying any red colour anymore. Would it hurt? Does it matter? Does she matter? 2 levels left. Screw it.  With his heart pounding faster than ever he is in front of her in a matter of seconds, fingers curled around her chin to make her lips meets his midways. It’s probably too eager and desperate. But he has to try it one more time. This time it’s not a gentle kiss; it’s rushed with noses bumping into each other and teeth scattering against lips. He doesn’t close his eyes either. If just time would stand still for a moment… ten years maybe.

[dustybooksclub-blog]

;; I'm back.        I'll start on my drafts at some point tomorrow night <3.

[dustybooksclub-blog]

Their eyes are locked and she can't seem to drag her gaze away, even now when the burning realization of what she's done is starting to dawn upon her. Her eyes widen and her face turns an even brighter shade of red. Her fingers are locked around the collar of his shirt and her fingertips are growing numb but she can't make herself let go. It's only when she feels the slight press of his returned kiss that she's able to pull back. It's happening slowly, almost as through water. Her head retracts  as her fingers carefully uncurl, leaving her hands hovering above his shoulders. She breathes heavily through her nose; electric blue eyes fixed on the reflection of herself on the surface of the golden wall behind him.          "I--" she's at a loss of words; doesn't know what to say or even how to speak. She can't think straight; she can't even see straight anymore. She's completely exposed, her facial expression's not trying to hide anything, there's an honesty in her eyes that's never been witnessed by anyone but Jonathan. One part of her is confused as to what could lead to such actions; the other part doesn't care because it's been ten years and he kissed her back. The sensation of his hand sliding down her bare arm still lingers at the back of her mind, almost as vivid as the feeling of his lips against hers. She can't shake those memories off and she knows that she'll remember it for a long time. This is not the first time he's touched her this way. Once, during their sixth school year, he touched her cheek in an attempt to belittle her and that night she fell asleep to the ghost of fingertips against her skin. This time, though, the memories won't be accompanied by the feeling of humiliation and frustration. She's sure.         "I shouldn't have--" she's trying to speak again, this time her arms have fallen down her sides and her gaze is darting back to his face. Her voice is almost just a whisper; it's fragile and small and almost breaking. She doesn't care. As long as the doors are closed and the light is dim and she can barely see what colour robes he's wearing, she doesn't care. The situation is too surreal to care about.

➲ rεuni๏n

Ten years. 

Ten years has passed since their last meeting - where she spat him in the face, and he stained the very same dress she’s wearing, today, ten years later.  He remembers the last words he threw in her face. I hate you. Now is different; all the years of hatred and fighting has slipped to the back of his head - of course he still remembers the burning feeling in his cheeks whenever she managed to humiliate him in front of everyone, still feels the flaming hatred towards the girl - woman. It’s been ten years after all. So much has happened after they graduated from Hogwarts after the War. A lot of hiding and bearing with hateful comments, but Astoria Greengrass saved him from too much of that; lead his concentration on building a new life that didn’t consist of either Death Eaters or Hazel Moon. Scorpius is the light of his life even though he is yet not able to utter more than a few words (one of them being daddy). The boy attended the charity dinner with Astoria and him this night, but they went home early and Draco only wanted to do a few check ups on some paperwork before retreating as well. 

Therefore he cannot do anything but utter a sigh when none other than Hazel Moon enters the very same lift as himself. He steps away to make the space between them bigger and looks everywhere else but her.  It’s first when the automatic witch suddenly breaks through their uncomfortable silence Draco becomes aware of who is actually trapped inside a lift with him.  He turns halfway around to face the blue eyed woman and blonde eyebrows narrows. She’s obviously accusing him - and he is doing exactly the same. Even after ten years they’re still so much alike.        “This is your fault isn’t it?” he says with gritted teeth. But Hazel doesn’t answer - instead he is being hauled millimeters towards her by his collar and he doesn’t pull away instantly as he would have done ten years ago.  His hand is gripping her shoulder, pulling her with him as he backs into the lift’s wall; trapping himself between it  and her.  Adrenaline is now shooting his veins; what’s going to happen? Will they draw their wands, yell at each other, remain silent or a fourth opportunity, he so suddenly think of? His hand on her shoulder slips down to her elbow and his eyes is fixed on hers - and she’s looking into his as she always have done; never afraid of starring into grey depths of hatred and jealousy.  He doesn’t think when something soft, slightly wet, presses gently against his lips. He doesn’t think about Astoria, Scorpius or Hazel. His mind is empty and quiet.  The only thing he is focusing on is the blue eyes starring into his grey as his chapped lips returns a kiss. A kiss from forgotten his enemy. 

[dustybooksclub-blog]

☄ (idfk from whoever you find appropriate for the number???)

Take a gamble. Send me a ☄ and I'll randomly generate a number to seewhat my muse will give you.5: A kiss

It’s been ten years. Ten years since the last time they spoke. She hasn’t thought about it, not really, and at first she didn’t even notice. She didn’t notice how the bottomless pit inside her stomach, the black hole that’s been eating off of her guts and feelings ever since school, slowly started to close up. Jonathan kept her minds off it; distracted her thoughts when her eyes became distant. Then the kids came along and she just stopped thinking about him completely. Time slips like that sometimes. Ten years.                  And now she’s standing here, in the lift, and he’s there too. She’s wearing the bottle green evening gown he stained with red wine the last time they saw each other (but mind you, she did clean it up because it’s such a nice dress and she’s glad that it still fits, even after two child births). Her lips are red as blood, although they won’t be for long, and her eyes are as blue as ever and for a moment she feels like she’s 17 again. The lift doors close and she turns her head. Her mouth opens but no sound escapes; what’s she supposed to say? It’s been ten years. Instead she crosses her arms, sighs, prays that the ride won’t take long.                  But is does. Halfway up the seventh level of the Ministry’s headquarters the lift stops and she can feel her heart sinking. A familiar, female voice announces that there’s been a malfunction and that all passengers must stay calm and wait for instructions. Under any other circumstance she’d swear and probably cut the head off whomever happened to be unlucky enough to be in her presence. Not here, not now though. She can’t.                 Yet her body moves towards the other. There’s an expression on her face but she doesn’t really know what it’s supposed to say and that’s probably a first, too. The words she speaks don’t matter either, they’re merely the remainder of her daily life; the auto-response that every other individual would be greeted with. Did you do this? Of course he didn’t. Her breath is ragged as her fingers grasp the collar of his shirt. She’s not really aware of it; well, not at first. There’s too much on her mind; too many contradicting feelings. How’s she supposed to react?                 And now they’re standing here, the space between them rapidly closing in. Her knee brushes against his leg and electric sparks fly from her fingertips whenever she touches his neck. She can feel his breath on her face; it makes her skin tingle and colours her cheeks red. Her gaze is fixed on his lips. He’s trying to say something but she can’t hear the words. Maybe it’s the wine she drank with Jonathan before the charity dinner; maybe it’s just because it’s been ten years and she can’t really remember anything but the passion in his eyes (when he told her that he hated her). She leans in closer, revels in the familiar rush that’s coursing through her veins whenever she’s this close to him. Her grip on his collar tightens as if she’s afraid he might push her away. There’s barely an inch between them. Her eyes dart up to meet his gaze just as her lips brush against his. It’s the gentlest kiss she’s ever given anyone.

[dustybooksclub-blog]

10 day hiatus notice

;; Hello dearies <3. As you may or may not know, I am co-organizing a LARP campaign and as summer is upon us, we have decided to spend 10 days optimizing, re-writing and plotting everything from the basic world setting to next years beginning plot. We've organized a trip to a small house where we will do this together and I'm so excited to goooooo, I can't even describe it. This means that I will probably not be on tumblr during the period between 30/6 and 10/7. I'll see if I can get my drafts done tonight, otherwise it might have to wait until I get back ::::(((. All threads are tracked, though, so you can always just reply whenever you feel like it.

[dustybooksclub-blog]

Take a gamble. Send me a ☄ and I'll randomly generate a number to see what my muse will give you

Read More

[dustybooksclub-blog]

❝No, sugar, that's strawberry jam dripping from his nose. He should've seen it coming -- Mudbloods react like that when angered, or so I've heard.❞

open starter; [open to all fandoms]

"Wait. Hold on a minute. Is that - is that blood?!”

[dustybooksclub-blog]

❝Half up front? Are you kidding me?❞

❝-- I mean, the buyer wants proof that it's legit. You get ten percent for showing it to me, the rest when you or your people hand it over.❞

"your uh, client is generous. What’s your cut, cherry muffin? Price tag like that, don’t settle for less than 20%. Have some integrity.

It’s in New York. But I need guarantees.  Half up front, then I make the exchange.”

[dustybooksclub-blog]

A dance

perdxtxon:

⌘ Derek looked up to the older woman, and offered her a hand. These were one of those fancy parties his parents like so much to torture him with. This suit was making him look ridiculous! He might as well dance. the time would go faster if he had something to do.     ” You dance?” 

Surprise sprawled across her face. How old was this kid? 15? And he wanted to dance. Despite the awkward situation - and God, this situation was awkward - the hunter couldn't help but feel flattered, even if it lasted for a spit second. She had never been asked to dance before.        ❝Wha-- No, kiddo, sorry to disappoint you. I don't dance,❞ she spoke, hands feverishly straightening out the wrinkles of her dress. Goddamn dress. Why did Hale parties have to have dress codes? ❝But you know, I do talk. You wanna sit down?❞

[dustybooksclub-blog]

—— ❝Hmmm, I suppose you're forgiven then - If I can borrow it for the biology test today. Lunch? Uh, standard stuff, you know. Sandwich, apple, rat poison for anyone who tries to steal it. ❞

○ ” —- Sooo it was me after all. I didn’t notice? I think. You can have mine if you want to. It’s my lucky pen FYI. We should be even. What do you got for lunch?”

[dustybooksclub-blog]

Send me rumors that your character has heard about mine.

[dustybooksclub-blog]

❝I'm not doubtin-- Technically, I am, but I have to make sure on behalf of my, uh, client.❞

❝-- Twenty grand plus coverage for whatever you need to get it to New York, provided it's not here already.❞

"Don’t ever, for one minute, doubt the authenticity of my manuscripts."

"Ballpark it for me, kid. give me a number and I’ll tell you if it’s worth my while."

[dustybooksclub-blog]

❝Don't              l i e                     to us.                                  We can smell it on you, ssugar.❞

{ It kept moving forward,   fingers tapping on thin air,   a smile surfacing only to   be replaced by a sniffing   motion shortly after. }

❝There is a sspark running under your skin. What is it?                                                                                                     Tell us!❞

This was the bad thing. This was what she felt was coming. Her hand started to pull at the edge of her sweater as she forced herself not to make a move against the man in front of her. It wouldn’t fix anything. “Yes I am. I’m completely normal and I would like you to leave me alone.”

[dustybooksclub-blog]

❝Yeah, yes, I do -- and he's willing to pay any price, as long as the manuscript is authentic.❞

"I don’t keep things ‘lying around’, sugar puddin. But yeah, I might know the whereabouts of such an item. Why, you got a buyer?"

[dustybooksclub-blog]

❝You are quite right.                                            Do you believe that the perssonal life of a mere mortal interests uss, girl?❞

{  The speech quickened,   as the being came closer.   Sickly green hues scrutinized   the young girl in front of it.  } ❝Ahh --                 but you are not just a human, are you?❞

She watched the way his features and voice changed and she slowly backed away from him. “You don’t know anything about me.”