Post by Deleted on Dec 9, 2013 19:47:36 GMT -8
SEVERUS PALAMEDES SNAPE-- 16-- SLYTHERIN
full name: Severus Palamedes Snape
nicknames: Sev.
age:16
birthplace: Spinners End, Cokeworth, England.
blood-type: Half-Blood.
sexuality: Heterosexual.
year/occupation: 6th Year.
three words to describe character: Practical. Arrogant. Introverted.
play by: Jackson Rathbone
He sleeps next to her. Calm and silent, except for the deep breaths. His chest, naked, rises and falls in a steady rhythm and she can see his eyes moving under his closed eyelids as the silvery moonlight hits his face. It's when he's most beautiful and most honest. And she hates it so much – the beauty and the honesty on his face; on his lips. The lips that kissed hers not so long ago, that trailed over her body. The lips that lied and lied and lied. Every single day, he lied. She knew, a girl always knows, but it was much easier to pretend; never let him know that you are aware of something he doesn't even realize.
She watches him refusing the idea, never admitting it to himself. She watches him as he struggles daily to keep his eyes on her when she is in the same room. Those lips—those full lips that are so falsely hers—stretch in a smile directed towards her, but it's never for her. She doesn't deserve that smile, no. It's the one he keeps for her, saves it until she's present as well. A while ago she was convinced he was doing it on purpose, but then she realized his struggle. Once she noticed it, she could so easily pick up on the way his head would twitch in the other direction, or that fleeting moment when his eyes would leave her face. She knew where they landed, for they always reached their goal, without a fault.
A girl always knows.
That's why she watches him sleep, peaceful and unaware. He doesn't know. He doesn't understand. He has no idea that she knows, too. Tonight was the same. Sneaking up to his dormitory and into his bed; undressing.
Fiery kisses—that was her. Distant ones—that's him.
But he tries so hard, she feels it. So much effort put into the passion he shows, such false passion it is. She never cries when she's in his bed. Never let him know, or he'll understand. He will leave, if he knows. If she lets him know, then it will all be much too clear for him. And she doesn't want to lose him; not yet. Just a few more nights, that's all. Because the girl is beautiful, the one he lies about. Her face is constantly in the back of her mind, reminding her that she'll never be her. She will never mean to him as much as the girl does and it used to hurt, it did. It's not as bad anymore. She got used to it. You can get used to anything, she says. Deep down, she is aware it's all a lie.
She cries when she's alone.
The girl's name falls from his lips, the soft whisper much too loud in the deafening silence. It rolls off the tip of his tongue once, then twice… third time as well. He's dreaming about her, that's for sure. His mind is somewhere where she can't reach him, a place where only the girl is present. She'll never be allowed there, she'll never know the way there.
He shifts, she moves, the name is whispered again.
She won't cry.
"Lily," again.
nicknames: Sev.
age:16
birthplace: Spinners End, Cokeworth, England.
blood-type: Half-Blood.
sexuality: Heterosexual.
year/occupation: 6th Year.
three words to describe character: Practical. Arrogant. Introverted.
play by: Jackson Rathbone
He sleeps next to her. Calm and silent, except for the deep breaths. His chest, naked, rises and falls in a steady rhythm and she can see his eyes moving under his closed eyelids as the silvery moonlight hits his face. It's when he's most beautiful and most honest. And she hates it so much – the beauty and the honesty on his face; on his lips. The lips that kissed hers not so long ago, that trailed over her body. The lips that lied and lied and lied. Every single day, he lied. She knew, a girl always knows, but it was much easier to pretend; never let him know that you are aware of something he doesn't even realize.
She watches him refusing the idea, never admitting it to himself. She watches him as he struggles daily to keep his eyes on her when she is in the same room. Those lips—those full lips that are so falsely hers—stretch in a smile directed towards her, but it's never for her. She doesn't deserve that smile, no. It's the one he keeps for her, saves it until she's present as well. A while ago she was convinced he was doing it on purpose, but then she realized his struggle. Once she noticed it, she could so easily pick up on the way his head would twitch in the other direction, or that fleeting moment when his eyes would leave her face. She knew where they landed, for they always reached their goal, without a fault.
A girl always knows.
That's why she watches him sleep, peaceful and unaware. He doesn't know. He doesn't understand. He has no idea that she knows, too. Tonight was the same. Sneaking up to his dormitory and into his bed; undressing.
Fiery kisses—that was her. Distant ones—that's him.
But he tries so hard, she feels it. So much effort put into the passion he shows, such false passion it is. She never cries when she's in his bed. Never let him know, or he'll understand. He will leave, if he knows. If she lets him know, then it will all be much too clear for him. And she doesn't want to lose him; not yet. Just a few more nights, that's all. Because the girl is beautiful, the one he lies about. Her face is constantly in the back of her mind, reminding her that she'll never be her. She will never mean to him as much as the girl does and it used to hurt, it did. It's not as bad anymore. She got used to it. You can get used to anything, she says. Deep down, she is aware it's all a lie.
She cries when she's alone.
The girl's name falls from his lips, the soft whisper much too loud in the deafening silence. It rolls off the tip of his tongue once, then twice… third time as well. He's dreaming about her, that's for sure. His mind is somewhere where she can't reach him, a place where only the girl is present. She'll never be allowed there, she'll never know the way there.
He shifts, she moves, the name is whispered again.
She won't cry.
"Lily," again.
Finnley -- 22
