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[rosiiers]

chocolate / evanita

@writingritaskeeter

evan’s hands were stained with glitter and tobacco. he sat with his spine against the back of madam puddifoot’s, a cigarette dangling between careless fingers, lips parted slightly despite the cold that bit them swollen. tired eyes fell on rolling expanses of snow-capped hills, sparkling and quiet, pockets of air trapped beneath the surface capturing the sound of sweethearts and valentines. a sigh puffed a cloud of white through the crisp air, an unpleasant feeling running down his spine. he remembered just how it looked that night, with rita like some sullen god in a winter coat and his hands bleeding tainted ichor against his own shattered self. his lungs were made of inky tar, the reflection of every GALAXY she held inside of her painted onto them. he took another drag.

he didn’t dare touch her. she was too VAST and too great for him to even begin to comprehend, let alone hold in rough hewn palms. he feared any touch would leave gashes on soft peach skin, now more than ever. once, a long time ago, they had been so comfortable, but things felt strained now. they felt unnatural and a bit forced as he sunk further and further into — whatever was happening.

rita had dragged him to hogsmeade and disappeared as soon as they arrived, leaving him to mill about and pluck at decorations and get glitter all over himself. and so he made his way to the back of madam puddifoot’s, shooing away a couple of fifth years deep into a heavy makeout session, and sat himself against the wall. he was content to sit there and smoke for the rest of the trip, as he’d brought a small paperback of macbeth, but it seemed she had other plans. it was then that he had the distinct feeling of one RITA SKEETER standing over him, hands probably on her hips, face twisted into some sort of disapproval.

                    “how nice of you to join me. to what do i                      owe the honor?”

[rosiiers]

elenawoodrxw:

This was officially the first year since they’d met on the train that Matthew was not on this earth and something about that, combined with a rather foolish sense of being untouchable, made her feel quite reckless. Not just reckless in the way that she would drink and smoke and test her luck on the moving stairs all at once, reckless as in she spotted Evan Rosier sitting alone in the library and decided to march up to him.

“Yeah,” she said, leaning back in the chair. “By me.”

elena woodrow seemed like a smart girl. she was quick witted, a ravenclaw, could cut it with the seventh years. so why was it that she was doing something so STUPID? evan dwelled on this thought as he desperately attempted to push the feeling of his blood running cold to the back of his mind, of the eyes that locked on his and forced that eerily FAMILIAR feeling down his throat, mind reeling back to the moment it had all changed. he let out a low growl that seemed to originate in the back of his throat.

                    “what part of SEAT’S TAKEN do you not                      understand?”

[rosiiers]

writingritaskeeter:

“It makes me nauseous to think about how many sickles must have been wasted this week to send all of these damn valentines. I mean, it’s quite entertaining to watch everyone make fools of themselves thinking they’re in love, but really, if you like someone, man up and just tell them. You’re not going to get laid by sending some anonymous card.”

          “i think it’s quite fun, don’t you? i mean, of all people, i’d expect you to have the most interest in sending the less fortunate a bit of a ‘gift’ i suppose. not from you, of course. you don’t have feelings. and if you need money to make someone miserable, you can always tell me. i’d be more than happy to oblige.”

[rosiiers]

chxrchmouse:

“I’m so sorry– how many sickles did you say that was?” Rosemary asked, trying to repress the growing panic in her head as she realized she was short of money. Wizarding currency confused her greatly, so it wasn’t a surprise she got it wrong. Students stood behind her, shifting from foot to foot impatiently as hot emotion began to twist her throat closed. “Can I just– can I go put these back?” She asked the shopkeeper quietly.

          evan’s eye caught on the familiar girl standing at the counter, looking back briefly to the object in his hands before replacing it on the ( wrong ) shelf and surpassing the line. the occasional expression of disapproval was met with a glare that shut anyone with a brain right up. he shouldered up next to rosemary, looking at her briefly ( not too long;; he couldn’t look at her for more than a second or two at a time ), and dug around in in his pocket. he pulled out a galleon, more than enough to pay for whatever it was in her hands, and placed it on the counter. “i reckon that should be enough,” he said, looking from rosemary back to the shopkeep, hands in his pockets.

[rosiiers]

rcsiier:

There were no words, a possible first the younger Rosier. She sat opposite her big brother, the man she’d trusted and loved her entire life, the man who would never harm her or betray her, the man she’d never been afraid of; until the other night. She was owed an explanation.

evan’s jaw clenched as his younger sister sat there, unmoving, staring at him like she expected something. he wasn’t stupid;; it was clear what she was attempting to coax out of him, but the words seemed to be getting caught in the back of his throat. he wasn’t sure what to say to her.

                    “can i help you?” he asked, and it                      came out a bit harsher than he had                      intended, but he had also never                      meant for belle to see him as she had.

[rosiiers]

writingritaskeeter:

When Evan’s bleeding hand released the remnants of the bottle he’d finished off Rita assumed the worst had come and gone. He was being agreeable, which for Evan was saying a great deal. She opened her mouth to speak, to try to stop him before he ran his bloody hand over his face, Rita swallowing nervously as she watched the bright red substance stain his skin, glistening as if they were jewels and his body were a throne and then suddenly - a scream. Rita dropped her hand, heart thudding and catching in her throat as all sense of having any sort of dominance in the moment vanished. His screams were mechanical as he made a mockery of her own words, each breath he took turned the following word into a louder one. She wanted to reach out to him and take his hand, calm him with soft, reassuring words, stroke his hair and comfort him but all she could feel was something new. This feeling wasn’t one that she was used to and it was something she couldn’t remember feeling for a long time. It was if her mind suddenly went dark, her stomach dropping and the hair on the back of her neck stood tall. She felt as if she were being consumed by the darkness he was exerting; as if she could see the ten foot monster that he claimed to possessed standing tall behind him. She was feeling fear - something that had only been foreign to her until now. “Stop,” she stated in his general direction though the words didn’t carry, not in comparison to his that echoed out onto the lake.

But Rita was small, in both stature and at that moment, voice. Evan towered over her in all senses, only getting bigger and bigger with each sharp breath he drew. His words cut her in a way that Rita hadn’t imagined she could ever be cut. Evan was someone she trusted - or someone she thought she had trusted. But this wasn’t Evan. This was the shell of her friend, clearly inhabited with demons of his past that she had never come to know. Why hadn’t he told her about this before? What was this even? “You don’t mean that!” She yelled back over the sound of his screams and the wind around them. But he continued to tower over her, body tense and buldging as she found her own shrinking. He bared his teeth, eyes narrowed on her small frame as his chest heaved rapidly. The hand she had previously extended to help him was now withdrawn to her chest, the other rubbing it as if he had struck it and caused it physical pain. It shook with the rest of her body, originally from the cold of the night but now from the boy in front of her.

How many times was she going to do this? How many times was she going to try to help a boy who refused to be helped? Maybe Evan was right - maybe she didn’t know him. She knew that if this was who he was then she wanted no parts of it. She got enough trouble from people she didn’t consider friends, she didn’t need it from him too. Rita had come down to help him but she was quickly learning that maybe he was beyond the point of return. This wasn’t her friend. Never had he yelled at her -  at anyone-  like this. “Okay.” She breathed out quietly enough that it could have been interpreted that she’d meant for nobody but herself to hear it, voice as small as she felt. “I’ll go.” She tried to nod her trembling head as she stumbled backwards as her feet collided with the ground that went from flat to hill. She had wanted to help Belle; she had wanted to help Evan. But now she had to help herself and surrounding herself with him in this state was nothing but the opposite of that.

rita skeeter did not spook easily. this, evan knew. she was never afraid of anything;; not dementors or mcgonagall or HIM. but he could hear it in her voice ( or lack thereof ), the fear that laced every WORD, the little stop that seemed to somehow — by some MIRACLE reach his ears. the only thing he could hear was his heartbeat, the rest of the world muffled, even rita’s soft voice, even the swirling winds that seemed so ALL CONSUMING. she was afraid. she was afraid of him. that meant something much more than rosemary being afraid of him that night;; he frightened the fearless. he had become such a monster, so CORRUPTED, that he had truly scared her speechless. 

he felt the sudden, striking, ODD compulsion to reach out and hold her;; to wrap his arms around her and protect her from it all. but it was HIM she needed protection from. he ran a hand over his mouth ( the one that wasn’t bleeding, thankfully ) and sniffled slightly, stumbling backwards and falling into a seated position on the hard ground. he pressed the butt of his palm against his eye, head pounding, world still spinning.

                    “fuck,” he whispered, mostly to himself,                      but maybe also to those stars that                     reflected him in all his cataclysm. “fuck,”                      he said, a little more forcefully, tugging                      at his hair.

holy ghost / evanita

[rosiiers]

writingritaskeeter:

There had been numerous occasions and various states of sobriety that Rita had witnessed Evan in over the past seven years of their friendship, but never had she seen something like this. The blonde had witnessed instances of him doubled over a toilet, throwing up more than just vomit and angry words due to some illicit potion he’d come upon one way or another. She’d watched as he’d drunkenly tried to persuade fellow Slytherins into going up to his empty dormitory with him, or some attractive student of another house to find him down by the greenhouses, sometimes succeeding and other times being so flat out rejected that Rita had spat out whatever drink she’d been nursing a few feet over in order to laugh. Some nights she’d find his intoxicated body asleep by the fire in the common room late at night, not having been able to get his body far enough to the stairs in the dungeon they lived to make it to his dorm and therefor leaving the girl to drape a blanket over his body before retiring to her own bed. But in seven years of reckless partying together, Rita had never seen Evan in a state such as the present. Was he even that drunk, or was this something more than firewhisky?

From her spot perched at the bottom of the hill Rita watched, body idle as he staggered forward slowly, the grimace that spread across his face as he balled up his fists and Rita swallowed minimally, brows knitted together while her eyes sported an unamused glare in his direction, not letting her eyes move from his face as he croaked out heinous cackles. Then came the tears. This wasn’t Evan - this wasn’t her best friend. “Ev-” she started as if to interrupt him but then his voice broke through the crisp air, a loud scream of words escaped him angrily but his face continued to bear his malevolent smile. He sounded as if he were purely mad. “No?” She called back as he questioned just what she knew. “I know that you act as if you weren’t born with a silver spoon up your arse and as if you have a million and one reasons to be mad at the world.” She retorted with the sound of pure annoyance coating her throat. “What’s the meaning for all of this, Evan?” She yelled over the sound of the wind which was now picking up in speed, Rita pulling her jacket tighter over herself as her teeth chattered. “You know I’ve never done anything but help you and all you’ve ever been is an ungrateful shit for it.” 

She brushed a strand of her long hair from her face, blown and stuck on her lips from the wind before she took a few somber steps towards Evan’s figure, noticing the broken shards of whatever bottle top he was clutching in his bare hand reflecting the moon above, noticing the metallic reflection of the stars on the droplets of blood that began to pool on a broken piece beneath where his hand rest idly.  “Evan, you’re bleeding,” she announced, head motioning towards his hand as she tried to steer the conversation away from the pity party he was throwing himself as she dropped her arms from around her chest as she started slowly walking closer to him. “Toss that,” she told him, head motioning once again towards the sharp glass he held in the cut hand. The last thing she needed was to try and stop him from hurting himself even further. At this point - seeing as deep into self-destruction he so desired to be in, she wouldn’t rule out the possibility. “We can finish talking about this inside,” she suggested. “Now will you just let me - “ she started as she stepped within arms distance, reaching out a steady hand, asking for his injured one so she could mend something.

he’d known rita since her first year and his second. they knew each other inside and out like the workings of two twin clocks, always keeping perfect time. but it seemed that something in him had switched. perhaps the minute hand was broken, or the second hand just ten too quick. whatever it was, their timing just seemed a bit off. his inner workings had been switched around, screws loose and gears reassembled, leaving her to pick up all the missing pieces. he felt guilty that she had to, but he wasn’t sure how to make it stop. his mind festered and bruised, rattled and shaken by all of the commotion around him, by the vile words that seemed to slip past his own tongue. he felt like what she would call broken, but inside he knew that’s just what he’d been built for. evan rosier was made to be less man and more machine, with pieces that didn’t quite fit together, giving the illusion of a perfectly ticking clock face at the front. but inside, the gears ground together and sparks flew, dissonance running through his veins and chaos through his bones. he watched discourse bleed an inky reflection of the stars onto a piece of glass.

                    his body was not his own as he turned around                      and let out a cackling laugh that broke the sullen                     air around him. he let the bottle drop as per her                     instruction, taking a few steps forward, running the                      bloody hand over his right temple. evan pivoted                      quickly, the noise he had made ending all too                      abruptly. “FANTASTIC! MUST MEAN I’M A REAL                      BOY AFTER ALL!” he yelled, cutting off the end of                      her sentence, his voice coarse and unrehearsed, as                      if he had forgotten how to talk properly. the smile                      finally dropped as if it were the curtain of a broadway                      show. “YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME,” his voice                      ripped through the air, through the swirling, seething                      wind. “SO STOP ACTING LIKE YOU UNDERSTAND                      BECAUSE I CAN PROMISE YOU YOU DON’T.” he                      said, and his chest rose and fell with unsteady breath.

his throat was hoarse, a sour taste in his mouth like he had been vomiting the pure, unabridged blood of chaos that reigned within him. he kept harsh eye contact with her in the metallic night, the only reassurance he was still even alive being the puff of white breath that seemed to be escaping his lips.

holy ghost / evanita

[rosiiers]

antheaxdelafuente:

“Well so is everywhere else, and if I sit any closer to those babbling first year Hufflepuffs, then I’m afraid I’ll do something drastic,” Anthea said as she dropped into the seat, ignoring his obvious displeasure with her presence. She had a book open as well, but wasn’t actually reading it. 

evan took a quick glance around the room, noting that she was in fact correct, and let out a low grumble but did not attempt to sway her any further. anthea was one of the few people in hogwarts he could tolerate, and he respected that about her. she wasn’t as blatantly abrasive as some of the others in her year. 

                    “i suppose you’re right,” he said, adjusting                      in his seat to seem a bit more put together,                      just as he’d been taught. “wouldn’t want                      any blood on your conscience.”

[rosiiers]

writingritaskeeter:

Not everyone realized that to be a journalist you also had to be an actress. Rita pretended to be a lot of people that she wasn’t - kind, generous, warm - none of which were adjectives that the blonde would ordinarily use to describe herself. But she was kind when a potential subject couldn’t find a partner in class to pair up with. She was generous when a subject was a few sickles short to purchase that second butterbeer down in Hogsmeade. And she was warm when someone she needed something from was hurting or lonely and needed that shoulder to cry on. Rita possessed these character traits when she was after something, masterfully skilled in the art of deception and manipulation. She stopped at few lengths to discover the truth. But it wasn’t fake warmth that she pushed onto Belle when she came frantically scrambling into the Slytherin common room, first a somber face playing at her face as she found Rita curled up, enjoying the near silence of the room and reading by the fire.

The younger Rosier looked as if she were on the verge of tears, or as if she had just been expelling said tears, face pale in all areas aside from her cheeks and bright red nose and she’d just come in from outside in the cool winter night. The kindness she bestowed on her was far from fake as she tried to coax complete sentences from her, hearing bits and pieces about Evan and down by the lake and drunk or mad. It was enough for Rita to understand without hearing more than those few words what was happening, and something similar to a fire had sparked in her stomach. “Shh,” she cooed genuinely at Belle as she stood up, trying to place the younger girl down in the spot she’d just been. “It’s okay, it’ll be fine. I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.”

Rita was angry; half-blood blood boiling within as she quickly fetched a thicker jacket and her wand, muttering in annoyance to herself as it was the black of the freezing cold January night and the last place she wanted to be was heading down towards the black lake where the air was surely to be full of chilly winds from the eerily dazzling water. She wondered if Belle’s first thoughts had been to come and find her. Had she just been the first one she came upon due to the lack of anyone else in the common area? Had it been anyone but Belle perhaps she would have shrugged off her concerns, telling them that Evan was more than capable of taking care of himself. But it was Belle and she could see that she was scared and Rita had a soft spot for her. She didn’t want to have to go berate Evan yet again this week; they had yet to speak since that afternoon in the hallway and Rita had no interest in speaking to him again either. Not yet, at least.

She followed the dark trail down to the lake, the only lighting coming from the lights of the castle from above and the moon and stars in the sky. It was freezing out and there was certainly no way that they were actually allowed to be here this late. Rita could spot Evan wandering in circles around himself, stumbling and hearing his voice as if he were laughing to himself and she found herself growing even angrier. “Christ, Rosier, you just can’t say no, can you?” She yelled from the edge of the path rather than following into the dirt ‘beach’ between the path, lake, and forest, wanting to keep her distance. “How dramatic are you going to get? We get it, your life is so tough and you don’t know know what to do with all of daddy’s money. Must be tough! Now can we go inside? It’s fucking freezing and your sister’s worried you’re going to drink yourself to death and I’ve got half the mind to tell her she’s probably right.”

he didn’t have to wonder what she was talking about. this wasn’t the first some someone had had to come and save him from himself;; rescue him from the salt water that seemed to be sloshing around in his lungs. she referred to his ADDICTION, but that wasn’t quite the right word for. it was more similar to salvation. it was the only place he could find it. he knew rosemary found hers in god, even with the blood of christ between her teeth, and rita found hers in writing, where she could bleed ink until her skin was pale, but evan had yet to find something half as cathartic. and so he tried to drown it out. he tried to quiet his own voice in the back of his head, step on his anxiety like a bug, be away from the world he so detested for just ONE NIGHT. but then things like this kept happening, and he struggled to take hold of the situation.

rita’s voice was familiar on his ears, the harsh intonation and silken cadence like honey and ichor spilling from her mouth. he wondered, briefly, if she had always looked this savagely beautiful;; if she had always had this golden fleece pouring down her shoulders, or those lips that looked like they’d been stained by pomegranate. he wondered, absently, if she had always looked this GODLY. there was something RAW about her that he’d never seen in anyone else; something true behind cold eyes. she was magnificent and fierce and doused in faded moonlight, her breath coming out in puffs of white cloud that dappled the air around her. he’d missed seeing her.

his palm ached dully as he staggered forward, looking down to see blood dripping onto the frozen ground. he clenched his fist, the gash stinging, though it didn’t seem to betray itself on his face. there was a wicked madness to him, as if he’d walked straight out of the witching hour, bathed in black night, speckled with exploding stars, CATACLYSMS dancing across his skin. his body was a ballroom dance of catastrophe, dissonant music from his mouth and broken hymns on his tongue, the echo of a laugh tracing his lips. he was so BROKEN it played across his face like a damn movie. he sniffled, though he didn’t even realize he seemed to be crying, and grinned at rita.

                    “daddy’s money?” he asked, but it sort of                      hissed through his teeth like the tail end                      of a prayer. “DADDY’S MONEY has nothing                      to DO with my life being fucked.” his voice                      rose without his permission, a bit hoarse and                      callous on the edges. the smile still dripped                      from his lips though, white and sharp and                      split in half. he started to laugh. “you don’t                      know the HALF of it, skeeter.”

holy ghost / evanita

[rosiiers]

holy ghost / evanita

@writingritaskeeter

evan’s brain rattled around in his head with every stumble and pivot, unkempt and riddled with tragedy. his mouth was a pluming fountain of hot white breath, spread across the winter air like the ghost of his coherent thoughts. his nose burned a blue sort of cold, spreading to the hollows of his cheeks and the crooked knuckles of his fingers wrapped around the whiskey bottle. there was a certain familiarity in the chill;; the sharp phantom scent of vanilla and sea salt pressing itself into his skin. it reminded him of his mother and he suddenly felt an intense pit forming in the bottom of his stomach. he could see her in images of belle’s face ( HADN’T SHE JUST BEEN HERE A SECOND AGO? ) where her eyebrows met the bridge of her nose, or those eyes that haunted him;; both sets BRIMMED with transparent tears. he shook his head with a quivering breath, trying to rid himself of the memories. his mother was a crumbling EMPIRE. he could see it in every lie she forced through her teeth, in every smile she coaxed onto her lips. he could feel it in the too thin fingers that touched his face, in the broken voice that told him MY HOW YOU’VE GROWN. and she was once so magnificent.

his body twisted before he could think about it, hands clinging to the neck of the bottle as he brought it against a tree trunk with a SMASH. the glass shattered around him, and he saw himself remaindered in their ranks as he backed away from it slowly, pieces crunching beneath his feet. his eyes moved quicker than he felt they usually did, darting about the scene in front of him, searching for some semblance of reality within it. the world bent and twisted around him, though the distinct burn of alcohol or fuzzy clouds of a potion were absent from his head. THERE. he thought. IT MUST ALL BE MY MIND. but the realization did nothing to soothe him;; in fact, it seemed to do just the opposite. he knew he was breathing but he wasn’t sure how. if this was all in his head then there was no way to FIX it. rosemary couldn’t use some type of healing spell on this;; it was his responsibility. and he was terrified.

evan’s lips twisted into a broken smile, his teeth woven with thickets and brambles. his tongue felt heavy and like it was made of silver. he’d never gone to CHURCH, but an air of judgement buzzed around him. he knew, in his heart of hearts, especially when he looked into rosemary’s eyes, he was going to burn. his scar tissue was built on sin, every HEARTBEAT, every breath contradictory of virtue. but it confused him, see, because JUST as he thought he’d seen god in that little mouse of a girl, with that accent that sounded like a HAIL MARY every time she spoke and those eyes like an olive branch, he saw the same in the girl walking down the path. 

he could tell just by the way she held herself;; the weight of the world resting between her shoulder blades, perched on a rigid spine. evan watched GOD walk down towards him, wrapped in a thick winter jacket. he stuttered through the eerie grin he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face, puffs of white breath that scattered themselves through the air.

                    “RITA SKEETER!” he said as if he were a                      cartoon, loud and through a grin that was                      only halfway rooted in reality. “lovely day,                      isn’t it?” evan laughed, but it was just a                      note off from usual, as he gestured to the                      dark, cold night around them.

[rosiiers]

evan’s mind raced. his brain ran wild with thoughts of no apparent origin, something like anxiety riddling its way up his spine, sending chills down his arms. he was tired. exhausted, even. he felt like the masks he had been wearing were melted onto his face;; it was becoming increasingly hard to remove one in favor of the other. and so he sat in the library, cold and unnattentive, not quite reading the passage in front of him, almost oblivious to the person that had settled in the seat across from him, had he not flicked his eyes up momentarily.

                    “seat’s taken,” he lied through his teeth                      after a moment of careful assessment.

[rosiiers]

mckinnonaf:

It was one of those nights.

One of those nights where the whole world was held in a moment, where a night could occur and belong to the ether, where everything felt like it didn’t belong—or maybe belonged too much—where everything felt displaced, like the world was spinning off its axis and you weren’t even sure if you were meant to hold on.

( or maybe that was just the drugs. )

It was one of those nights that Marlene was a stumbling mess, a mess of alcohol and other substances in her system, things racing through her bloodstream like adrenaline, or maybe just a seventeen year old girl, fast as the wind and twice as difficult to hold onto, looking for an exit.

The Quidditch Pitch seemed like a safe place to go, or that’s what she assumed she was thinking. Either way, she’d ended up there, wandering in from where she’d been at the edge of the forest. Substances in the forest were a bad idea, generally, because you never knew what you might encounter in there, but as she stumbled onto the Quidditch Pitch, half-chugged bottle in hand, she found herself almost tripping over someone sitting on the ground—someone whom a sober Marlene might regard even more dangerous than anything in the forest, if only because of how deep he was under her skin. Marlene McKinnon knew, after all, that sometimes it was the shrapnel beneath your skin that could kill you.

As it was, though, Marlene was not sober. Marlene was very much not sober. She was drunk and high and had all sorts of things swirling through her body and, worst of all, her mind. And so, instead of leaving or being wary or keeping her distance or fucking anything at all that would have made sense to sober Marlene—because she knew how he could get, all right, she’d known him once, deeper than she knew how to deal with, and she knew the kind of person he was, the way he could smile but also the trappings his personality led to, and she knew the stories, could guess at the result of combining him and substances, she should have known better, but she was also in a state of flux and fuckery, a state of being a mess———instead of doing anything that would have been smart, she stepped forward and stumbled, close to collapsing in a fit of limbs but saving herself at the last moment, a staggering mess, but still standing.

( it feels rather apt as a metaphor for her whole year, she thinks, and swallows a bitter laugh. )

“How the fuck do you do it?” she finds herself asking, even though it doesn’t make any fucking sense, because do what? She doesn’t even know herself. All she knows is that she’s seventeen and she’s completely fucked up full of things she shouldn’t be and she’s so sick of losing and missing people that are part of her heart, whether they’re in the most heartbreaking, permanent way like Matty, or in the casually tragic and destructive way like the boy in front of her. Not that she’s meant to miss him, or let herself. Not that he’s any less betrayed by what she is now, nor her any less horrified by the person he’s been made into. But there was a boy whose heart she once crossed her hands over, like a promise, like a secret, like a forever, and he’s sitting right in front of her, just six and a half years more lost.

it was like every other night.

evan’s world tilted haphazardly on its axis, threatening to tip him off the face of the earth. he felt sick to his stomach, like gravity stopped working properly and his lungs were floating up through his throat. everything was backwards and upside down, fucked up in every way possible. and there he was, right there with it. 

his lips pressed against the edge of the firewhiskey bottle, the burning liquid sliding down his throat with an all-too-familiar STING. he let out a breath that hit the air with a cloud of white and pressed the palm of one hand into the hard ground behind him. he let his head fall back and stared up at the reaching stars, pulsating as if they couldn’t get close enough to each other. he thought about that astronomy class he’d actually listened to ollivander when she talked about star deaths. there were novae, the kinds of stars that burned too bright too quick and dimmed out from exhaustion, or supernovae, where the star reaches critical mass and can’t handle it’s own gravity anymore, not big enough to create a black hole, and bursts all over everything around it. and then, there were hypernovae;; massive stars that collapse completely, wiping out everything within hundreds of light years, creating CHAOS, wreaking havoc, becoming cataclysmic. they reminded him of himself.

his head turned when he saw marlene step onto the pitch, bathed in the black night, her presence overwhelming the field ( AS IT DID WHEREVER SHE WENT ), his eyebrows furrowing. he wondered about marlene. they had grown up birds of a feather, hadn’t they? chased each other around the manors, spied on their parents, stolen cookies out of jars. they’d been thick as thieves ( and literal thieves ). there were days when he supposed he missed her. she seemed to bring a sense of calmness to their world, a sense of balance. before she was sorted into gryffindor, at least. but he’d known her when they were both young and warm, eager to learn around the world and eager to understand.

evan seemed to be the type of kid that had it all figured out. at first, when he was younger and didn’t know any better, he thought this was true. he knew what he was going to be when he got older;; just like his father. only he was going to do it better. but then, when he thought he knew all he needed to know, he was bewilderingly kept in the dark. so much, in fact, that there were times when he feared the newfound light would BURN THROUGH HIS EYES. there was so much more to it than just acting. he had to become this cold shell of a man, learn how to tell the same stories at the same parties, over and over and over until even his SKELETON would be reciting that anecdote about his third year in potions. he wondered how different things would have been for marlene. it seemed they’d ended up in the same place after all, hadn’t they?

he watched her stumble across the grass, dangerously close to toppling over completely. he could smell the alcohol on her breath from where he sat, though he supposed the same could be said for him, and let a bit of a smile overtake his lips. “do what, mckinnon?” he asked, and his voice sounded more tired than he’d anticipated, but still laced with a bit of familiar malice, too rehearsed to take away. “not make a complete fool of myself?” there was jest in his words, but he didn’t fear what might happen if it didn’t come across. he wasn’t allowed to miss her anyway, even if she was like a little sister, so what good could the connection bring him? it wasn’t as if he’d told her everything, or as if he watched her cross her hands over her heart, watched her make a promise he knew no one at the time could keep. there had always been the threat of war;; the murmurs and whispers at those god awful cocktail parties. the difference between them, though, is that marlene THRIVED on the war — she came into her own when she was fighting for a cause. but evan;; he was born with a holy battle waged in his bones. he had spent his life trying to hide the bloodshed behind his teeth. he was his own weapon, not just someone carrying one across a battlefield.

twin disasters / marlene & evan.

[rosiiers]

rcsiier:

An amused smirk grace her delicate features as she turned to speak to her brother. “I, a dainty young lady, to pull a burly elder student from the ground? I would only hurt us both in the end, it’s best I leave them be, dear brother. However, with your bulk you could surely offer more assistance than I.”

                    “where ever did you get this flair for dramatics,                      belle?” he asked, rhetorical of course, though                      the part of himself hidden behind the smile was                      dark and dragged on his conscience. “my bulk,”                      he repeated, though the student was already                     getting up. “i think i’ll pass.”

[rosiiers]

rcsiier:

The oof, the thud and the curse of pain all reached her quickly. The castle was a dangerous place of course but it was rare she saw anyone fall flat on their face, without having been tripped anyhow. “You should be more careful.” she lilted, not moving to help them.

                    “and you should find your heart. i think it fell                      out of your chest, b,” evan said as he walked                      up beside his sister, amused, though he made                      no move to help the fallen student either.

[rosiiers]

writingritaskeeter:

In that moment Rita Skeeter found herself wanting to laugh. She wanted to laugh at his pure stupidity, whether or not it was a lie, although she knew which way she was leaning. “You got desperate,” she repeated, brows lifting as she cocked her head, a small chuckle of amusement escaping her thin pink lips. “about as desperate as you must be right now, digging deep for excuses to give me, is that right?” She continued, green eyes narrowing on his as she shook her head both in disappointment and disgust. The blonde often found herself wondering why she gave a damn about him when clearly he didn’t give a damn about anyone at all, especially not himself. She’d assumed this responsibility over him and she hated it. She didn’t want to be responsible for anyone but herself. She had no allegiance to Evan Rosier other than in terms of winning points for the house cup by not getting points deducted for questioning their professors. But that was where their alliance ended. “Then maybe you are just as dumb as you want people to think you are,” she hissed, both of them knowing that she knew she was right.

When his hand caught her wrist before she could unsheathe his wounds, her breathe caught in her throat, a sharp sound escaping her. It wasn’t that he was hurting her, but that he was interfering. His grip was tight on her small wrist and a part of her wanted her to beg him to try and stop her, give her something to throw his miserable ass on the ground for, continue to provoke him so she had a reason to just stop him. They stood close together, his hot breathe blowing through what she supposed he considered his intimidating voice against her face. She stood almost against him, eyes locked on his hazed over, tired eyes with her hand raised up by her face, his firm grip holding it there. She blinked up at him a few times, her angry grimace dropping from her face as she cocked her head, hazel eyes widening with a hint of innocence as she let him hold her arm in his tight grip. “Were you… you couldn’t possibly be trying to… intimidate me.” Her voice had changed from a hissing anger to the sound of calmness.  “Evan, I thought by now you’d know that that won’t work with me.” Rita pouted her lower lip out as if she were sympathizing with him before yanking her hand out of his grasp, eyes narrowing once again. “You don’t scare me, Rosier. There’s nothing remotely scary about some washed up seventh year repeater who feels the need to live every moment of his life fucked up. And I say that with love, really, I do. We both know I love getting high just as much as anyone, but really,” she leaned in as if going to whisper in his ear, “it’s a little pathetic.” Rita pulled back and took a small step backwards, he face dropping once again. “I’m never going to stop asking questions. Not about this, not about anything. And I will find out what happened to you, for your own good. That’s a promise - from one friend to another.”

more and more often, evan rosier was finding himself in spontaneous moments of ravishing lucidity. they were quite cleansing, jumbling out the sordid messes that made up the space behind his forehead. this, however, required something that needed to be cleaned in the first place, meaning his cloudier moments had to come as well. perhaps it was the subtle chuckle that escaped her lips that forced him back, or maybe the roll in her eyes or the malice resting against his tongue. he inhaled deeply, and his lungs felt quite unlike the lungs he’d had before. his heartrate slowed and his hands found themselves in his pockets, accompanying a smirk on his face. the war in his bones had become background noise, the kind of thing that once would’ve clouded his entire field of VISION turning to no more than a bit of discomfort in the put of his stomach. he quickly attuned himself to his audience, a ride or die rita skeeter with bullets poised at the tip of her tongue and daggers for eyes. this was the rita skeeter he knew like the back of his own hand, the rita skeeter that knew him just the same. he relaxed himself a little bit, now understanding that the best tactic to use on her was that of indifference.

                     “not quite as desperate as you trying to interrogate and                       insult me,” he remarked with a wry look upon his face.                       “you as well as anyone know i don’t bother myself with                       the opinions of others.”

something still boiled inside him as she tugged her wrist from his hand, asked in the most patronizing voice something about him trying to INTIMIDATE her ( though he mostly knew she wouldn’t be moved, he figured it was worth a try ). perhaps it was the need to defend his own honor, or possibly the bubbling truth he shared with but a select few. whatever it was, it made him feel rather nauseous. he would be lying if he said the words didn’t sting just that small bit of him that cared, but he knew better than to show that to her;; he understood that girls like rita skeeter weren’t moved by EMOTION or empathy — they were queens on a chess board, sacrificing themselves ribs first to the middle of the board, DARING someone to challenge them. there was a part of himself that bit back the impulse to say I WAS SENT TO K I L L HER. there was a part of him that wanted to yell YOU SHOULD BE AFRAID OF ME. EVEN I AM AFRAID OF ME. but instead he just shook his head with a smile and turned to walk down the hall, continuing their conversation with his back to her.

                     “curiosity killed the cat, skeeter,” he said pointedly.

using; evanita

[rosiiers]

writingritaskeeter:

The change in the male’s demeanor was immediate, like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing as if he were a boy who shouldn’t have been sneaking dessert when he was supposed to be asleep, or perhaps a lover caught with his mistress. A deer in the headlights - that’s what the muggles said. Deep breathing as if he were annoyed with her inquisition, as if it were something that actually concerned her which technically it didn’t, but since when did something that didn’t ‘concern’ her stop Rita from involving herself even deeper? He looked away at all angles but Rita continued to follow his eyes with her own, giving him no choice but to lock gazes with her furious one. There was something in that moment about her friend abbreviating her name that irked her. She knew what he was doing. He seemed quieter than he’d been moments before, more nervous, slight stutter to his words. “Don’t just ‘Ri” me,” she started, an icy glare in her eyes as she hissed at him almost warning the poor boy. He should have known better than to assume she’d stop at that. She knew him better than that; she knew that usually the first words to come out of his mouth were lies. She just knew him well enough to know to press through whatever first answer it was after going on for near seven years. “Why were you taking an unfinished potion? Why was it unfinished? Did you steal it from him?” She questioned rapidly, the thoughts rolling off her tongue just as quickly as they popped into her head. That was Rita though - the one constantly questioning everything. Just as one thought occurred, another was shortly following. “Honestly, Ev,” she started, bitterly accentuating the nickname to show that he couldn’t just swindle his way out in such a manner, “we both know you’re not that stupid.” She referred to his so-called mess up. Rita had seen the boy apparate on plenty of occasions and he was likely high off of something almost each and every time. She should know considering she was often with him.

But there was a difference between her drug usage and his. She didn’t abuse it the way that Evan so clearly did and perhaps if he weren’t one of the few people in the entire wizarding world that Rita could tolerate spending more than a whopping twenty minutes with then she wouldn’t care. However Rita did care, and in a way that seemed nobody else did. Didn’t he have friends? Did nobody else notice? No, she knew it wasn’t that. Nobody else cared. And why should they? She knew she was in a house full of self-righteous spoiled brats - for the most part. Self-righteous spoiled brats that she considered her friends, for the most part, but brats nonetheless. “Then explain those,” she stated, reaching forward for his shirt again, unsure if he’d block her or not as she referred to the scratch marks lining his rib cage. She hadn’t noticed it the first time when she was accidentally spying but from this close up it was near impossible to notice that there was more than just the spiral figure of a splinch scar on his body. “What? You accidentally apparated into a lion’s den, huh?” She questioned, subconsciously taking a step closer up to his face. “Or was it a fight? Some Gryffindor first year get you good?” She knew she was pushing him but she didn’t care. That’s what she did; She pushed people for the truth. However with him she never really did know where the lies stopped and the truth began.

he held crashing tides behind his teeth. evan was drowning, slowly, waiting for sea water to spill from his mouth with every lie he’d ever told and swallow him whole;; drag him into the abyss of the ocean and strangle him with tossing waves. the water filled his lungs, his veins — they DANCED merrily behind dark pupils, singing a taunting song as they rolled behind his eyes. he wanted to tell her the truth. she was the only one that had ever known him in the first place;; the only one who had ever CARED to dig deep enough to see anything more than face value. she was the only one who had ever trusted him, ever attempted to understand what it was like inside a WARZONE mind without just trying to fix him. because in the end, he didn’t need to be fixed, as he wasn’t broken in the first place. he was BUILT to be a slaughterhouse. on the outside, he could be anyone, but his insides were woven with thorns and death and destruction;; a true DEVIL IN DISGUISE, with a silver tongue but pointed eye teeth. and rita skeeter had been the only one unbothered enough by fear to take a step inside. he swallowed and averted his eyes.

                     “nicked it from him. i got desperate, skeeter,” he said                       with a head shake. “technically i did pay for it, but he                       also didn’t sell it to me.” 

and then she was lifting up his shirt, and his hand had caught her wrist before her could even think about it. her skin was soft under his palms, pressed so flush to his he could almost feel her heartbeat. he searched her eyes, trying to come up with some explanation for them;; there was nothing he could say without getting her into more TROUBLE, and lord knows she already got herself into enough, poking around in places she didn’t belong. his voice lowered and his face darkened, eyes steady against hers now. their faces were close, and he could feel soft breaths stuttering against his skin, but he paid no mind.

                     “this is not a discussion i’m going to have with you,”                       he said, his voice serious and thick. “it’s in everyone’s                       best interest that you stop asking questions.”

using; evanita

[rosiiers]

rodolphusle-strange:

All Rodolphus could do for a moment was stare blindly at Evan and withhold the urges to unleash months of pent up rage. “What?” He asked, shaking his head as if he were trying to shake sense into what his friend was saying. “Do I really need to break this down for you? I thought your cognitive skills were higher than this Evan.” The words tumbled out from his lips harshly before he took the chance to lean against his bed post. “Have you opened a god damn daily prophet? I’ve been questioned twice by Alastor fucking Moody himself. Have you been? Has he questioned your alibis yet? Doubt it., not yet. So yes, I hope that this would be more interesting to you than ancient runs. I would hope you’re taking even half of this seriously because I’m tired of being the only one to.” He told him, just as he pointed his wands to the cigarettes, summoned one to himself then flicked the pack towards the other.

evan let his head fall back momentarily and his eyes roll. “boring,” he said, as if this were obvious, catching the box of cigarettes and placing one between his teeth. “i’m bored, rodolphus. all i see is the blasted daily prophet. s’like it’s plastered on the school walls. don’t you get the least bit DISENCHANTED with this rubbish, lestrange? you’re quite a clever person, if you don’t let it get to your head, so tell me, how is it that the only thing in your life that’s even remotely interesting is the distant, frankly unimpressive, opinion of sheep,” he spat, lighting the smoke and taking a drag, letting it rest between his fingers. “and don’t be daft, anything is more interesting than ancient runes.”