Parkinson.
@aHexInHeels
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Pretty. Petty. Potent. Spellwork with a side of side-eye. One wink away from wicked. {HP • RP • AU • Post War • FC: Alice Pagani}
Roleplay
Joined July 2021
💋 Pansy Parkinson 💋 My wand is sharp. My heels are sharper. Pureblood by birth, problem by choice. I don’t play nice—I play to win. Cross me, kiss me, curse me. Either way, you’ll remember me. 7 years RP Experience. Detailed. Slytherin. Era Flexible. Post-War Preferred.
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A true slytherin.
hanging out where i don't belong is nothing new to me.
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ㅤ Robert Fawley Professor of Alchemy Cursed ↻ & ♡ ㅤ
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Would you eat them?
cannibalism as a metaphor for love is never enough i want to feed someone pomegranate seeds like hades fed persephone．
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i want to be devoured by her. and she wants to devour me just as badly. it’s in every look, every movement, every smile.
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Also, my taste is impeccable. Thank you very much.
Listen. I’m not over here judging your taste in men…..
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I didn’t mean to cross it. That’s the lie I tell myself when the room is quiet and your name won’t stop pressing against my teeth. It wasn’t a step so much as a pause— a moment where I could have stayed clever, could have stayed careful, could have stayed untouched. +
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My smile stays polite. My eyes don’t. They narrow suspiciously. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to remember you have standards, or I’m summoning a Mind Healer to check your head for trauma.” Then I take a slow sip like I’ve already decided he’s going to make this my problem.
Listen. I’m not over here judging your taste in men…..
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Ew.
When did Granger get hot all of a sudden?
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⠀i ⠀have ⠀𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ⠀in ⠀me ⠀the ⠀likes ⠀of ⠀which ⠀you ⠀can ⠀scarcely ⠀imagineˏ ⠀and ⠀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 ⠀the ⠀likes ⠀of ⠀which ⠀you ⠀would ⠀not ⠀believe. ⠀if ⠀i ⠀cannot ⠀satisfy ⠀the ⠀oneˏ ⠀i ⠀will ⠀indulge ⠀the ⠀other.
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one to be a murderer． one to be a martyr． one to be a monarch． one to go mad．
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MORE OFTEN THAN NOT，THE DOG THAT BITES IS THE DOG THAT THINKS HE HAS NO OTHER OPTION; I FEEL AS THOUGH MY BODY LANGUAGE MUST BE CONSTANTLY SCREAMING IF YOU DO NOT KEEP YOUR FINGERS OUT OF THE BARS YOU ARE GOING TO GET THEM TORN OFF.
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Like a nun to a priest.
Someone in the mood for confessing?
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»The coat waits for my shoulders like a crown. I walk through the lights without letting them soften me, and I feel the quiet satisfaction of having given myself exactly what I wanted. Christmas, to myself, from myself. And trouble, for anyone who mistakes the season for mercy.
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