#x; THORNY ROSES! { my art }

[quitethepirategal]

One more for the collection owo.

[autumnshighlady]

Love You For Infinity

Elrond x adopted daughter reader

summary: you’ve been in a depressive episode for weeks, and your thoughts turn dark - luckily, elrond is there to help guide you 

warnings: depression, self harm thoughts, mention of suicide, VERY bad mental health

word count: 3.5k

requests: It’s taken me a year to finish this oneshot due to my mental health. It was a bit difficult to write for reasons I won’t get into, so i apologize for the long wait. If you can relate to the reader in this fic at all, please know that you are not alone, and you are loved <3

IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING WITH THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE AND ARE IN NEED OF HELP PLEASE REACH OUT TO A PROFESSIONAL OR A HOTLINE

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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You wandered through the gardens, feeling the warm sunlight soak into your skin. It was a beautiful day – the flowers were in full bloom, their scents filling the spring air, countless colours surrounding you as you made your way down the cobblestone path. The aged moss and lichen draped the marble statues and carvings along the gardens, an ancient beauty contrasted with the new growth. But you could not bring yourself to enjoy the scenery, nor stop to smell the flowers you loved so dearly. For all their vibrance, they seemed dull, muted, despite their bright colours. The glowing sunlight that so many other elves basked in felt too hot, too invasive. The sweet spring scents were choking you, stifling their air in your lungs as you tried to breathe.

            You had once loved wandering through the gardens of Imladris. Now you felt nothing but indifference, the guilt of losing such a joyous area of your life gnawing at your gut. You used to spend hours in these gardens, soaking in the scenery and revelling in the nature around you, content to simply sit on one of the benches or lay down in the grass and let the sounds and scents of the environment wash over your mind.

Now, you could barely stand to walk through the familiar path. Still, it was an improvement, considering it had taken all of your strength to get out of bed this morning. The task alone was daunting, yet you felt no sense of accomplishment. Most days had been like this lately – sleepless nights tossing and turning, yet no motivation to get out of bed when the sun rose, no drive to get yourself ready for the day. Instead you would simply lay there, sheltered in the confines of your room, closing off the rest of the world.

You hated every minute of it. You hated the fact that you felt so useless, the weight of simply getting up being too much to bear. You loathed that no matter how hard you tried, you could not bring yourself to join your friends for breakfast or pick up a good book and read. You hated feeling so weak, so empty – your brain screamed at you to stop wasting away, to get up and do something, anything. But you just could not.

Hours of pondering and crying into your pillow was not enough to figure out why you felt this way. Nothing bad had happened, no traumatic event to set off this episode of pain and depression that felt neverending. You were simply an elf from the Woodland Realm, who had been sent to and raised in Rivendell after the darkness began to creep into what was once Greenwood the Great. You worked as a scholar in the libraries of Imladris, safe within the House of Elrond. You had not seen some violent war, as some of your peers had, nor had you known anyone close to you who died or suffered tragically. Your life was pretty much perfect, your days amounting to reading, art, and simply wandering the grounds – none of which warranting the pain which now seemed to have spread through your entire chest, threatening to cave it in and shatter every piece of you.

You brushed my finger against a rose carelessly, letting your hand wander down from the soft petals to the thorny stalk. You felt a sting of pain, a thorn snagging your pointer finger. Instead of wiping away the blood, you just stood there and dragged your finger further down the thorn, creating a longer red line, content to let droplets of blood spill onto the marble pavement, deep red contrasting with the white floors. At least I could still feel something, you thought bitterly, relishing in the pain slightly. At least you had not gone completely numb.

“My Lady?”

You turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Lord Elrond was standing a few feet behind you, clad in his regal silver robes. He wore no crown, yet still possessed that regal authority that he was so renowned for. You felt your gut twist as you saw the concern flood over his face as you turned your body to face him.

You could see in his eyes he knew something was wrong, but your body gave you away entirely. You knew your eyes looked hollow, framed by dark circles that sucked the life out of your face. Your dress was slightly too big, evidence of the weight you had lost in the past few weeks as you isolated yourself in your room. A sick part of you delighted in it, always having been insecure of your size. Your hair which was usually well-kept and styled hung loosely around your face, knotted and frizzy in some parts as it cascaded down your back.

To cover your shame, you bowed your head in formality. “My Lord Elrond.” You managed to say, staring at the pavement as you inclined your head, eager to get away from his piercing gaze.

Elrond sighed, visibly attempting to soften his gaze. “My dear, must I remind you again that you may simply call me Elrond?”

“My apologies, my Lord.” You mumbled, straightening up and finally meeting his gaze. He did not correct you. Instead, his eyes travelled down to your hand and the blood that still dripped from it.

“You are hurt.” Elrond stated, his eyebrows furrowing. He stepped forward, a gentle hand reaching out as if to assess the wound, but you found yourself stepping back.

“I am alright,” you said quickly, moving your hand back to your side. The blood smeared your midnight-blue robes, but you did not care. “I simply snagged my finger on a thorn. A careless mistake, that’s all.”

Elrond’s eyebrow raised, and dread filled your stomach as you knew he didn’t believe a word you said, or at least he did not buy the too-casual excuse you pulled out of your ass. Your relationship with Elrond had always been relatively close – as close as one can have with an elven Lord of Imladris. When you had arrived in Rivendell as a child, Elrond had ensured you were well cared for. He became involved in your life – often bringing you gifts and trinkets, showing you around the place. Reading to you evolved into him teaching you how to read, sitting at the table with you and his children at dinner. Elrond had taken a special interest in you, always finding a way to make sure you had everything you needed beyond what a normal elven lord would do for their people. Sometimes you wondered if this was due to him losing Celebrían right before you arrived, as if his protective instincts had doubled with wife’s departure to the Undying Lands. He could not spare her from torment, but he could do his best to make sure you never met the same fate. Things changed a bit as you grew older – not wanting to impose on the family he already had before you, you found yourself growing a bit distant. You had no desire to be a burden to him, you were not his blood nor did he raise you, but he still played a paternal role in your life. Even as you began to make a life for yourself in Rivendell, that kindness and care Elrond had shown you as a child prevailed. You and him still had walks in the garden, he still ordered books from other kingdoms he thought may interest you. It was complicated, as he was not your father per say, but he was all you had, and he was important to you. But at the same time, he was still the Lord of the town you had the privilege of residing in and living under.

Guilt clawed away at your gut as you realised how even more distant you had become in these past few weeks. You could not recall the last time you had a conversation with Elrond or sat down for dinner with him. Surely, he noticed your absence but did not want to intrude, trusting you to make your own choices and open up if you were ready.

But you were too far gone for that approach, and deep down you knew that he knew it too.

“That is more than a simple thorn prick, little one,” Elrond said, the concern on his face seeping into his voice. “If you will not tell me what happened, at least let me take care of it for you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly shut up. You knew from the look in his eyes he was not going to let this go. You gulped down your nausea that was produced by your stomach, which churned knowing where this conversation was headed.

Arwen had made attempts to get you out of your room lately, none successfully executed. You cried even harder as she softly knocked at your door, her gentle voice ushering you to come out and join her for breakfast. You knew it broke her heart when you did not answer, unable to even crawl out of bed and unlock the door. She and her father knew something was wrong but had waited for you to come forward to them about it.

You guess they had waited long enough.

With your non-bloody hand, you accepted Elrond’s outstretched arm and began to walk with him towards his quarters. He did not hold you close to him as he usually did, as if he was afraid getting too close would scare you off. Instead, you walked in silence, which you appreciated. Other elves bowed their heads at him as you passed, but you kept your eyes to the ground.

Five minutes later, Elrond shut the door to his room, grabbing some herbs, water, and bandages to tend to your wound. The silence prevailed, and you sat down on the bed and let him take your hand. He began wiping the blood off, waiting a few seconds before saying softly, “I am glad to see you in the gardens again. It has been a few weeks since I last recall you spending time there.”

You sat quietly, torn. Part of you wanted to break down in ugly sobs and explain the struggles of the past few weeks, to open the floodgates and let go of every horrible and depressing thing you had felt and thought you had over the last while. But the other part of you screamed at yourself to suppress it, to make yourself go numb, a practice you now excelled at. Deep down you knew you wouldn’t have to make that choice – Elrond could see right through you. You knew that one look into those kind eyes and you would crumble, so you looked at the floor.

“Arwen has not seen you lately either,” Elrond continued gently, beginning to wrap up your hand in soft bandages. “Neither have I, in fact. Are you sick, my dear?”

“I…” Your throat went dry as you tried to speak. Say something, come on, say anything, you screamed at yourself. But no words came out.

After tying the final knot, Elrond looked up. “I can tell that you are unwell. I understand that you are grown now, but you are still my little one, and I wish you would know that you can always turn to me in time of need.”

At his comforting voice, you involuntarily looked up and met his gaze. Seeing those kind, concerned eyes that had watched over you all of these years opened that gate inside of you that you had tried desperately to keep sealed for so long. Like a dam bursting, tears spilled down your cheeks and your body shook with sobs. The world around you stopped turning, leaving you enveloped in a flood of your own pain. Your chest hurt, feeling as if it was filled with cement. You felt lightheaded, gasping for air between sobs.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t keep living like this. You were in so much pain you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t strong enough, it was going to kill you. Everything you felt raging inside of you was all-consuming, your own thoughts so loud and relentless, screaming at you all day and night to the point where you figured only death would release you from them. You were stuck in your own head, and the fight to swim to the surface was too exhausting to bear.

You felt movement, and the space on the bed beside you shifted as Elrond sat down. He wrapped one arm around you, cradling your head with the other and bringing you close to him. “It’s ok,” He murmured, stroking your hair and holding you as you sobbed uncontrollably. “It’s ok, little one. Let it all out.”

And so you did. You let yourself feel everything – the guilt of neglecting your job, the pain in seeing your friends give up their attempts to see you, the hateful thoughts about yourself that clouded your mind telling you that you were deserving of nothing good, all of it. You clung onto Elrond as you cried, feeling so overwhelmed that you may implode. “I can’t… I can’t, I can’t,” You managed to choke out between sobs. “It hurts so much, please make it stop, please make it stop, Ada.”

Ada.

You had never called Elrond ‘father’ before, always using his name or title. You did not want those around you to think you were getting special treatment, or to seem like you were expecting it. Before you could gather your wits and apologise, you felt him hold you tighter.

“It’s ok,” He repeated. “You are safe. You are strong. You can overcome this, but not if it is burning up inside of you. Let it all out, my dear.”

You nodded into his chest, your relentless chants of I can’t fading out as you slowly regained control over your breathing. The raging sea that was storming inside of you calmed down to a simple rocky surface, the weight of everything lifting off of your chest slightly. You stayed there for a few minutes, letting Elrond hold you close as you calmed down.

He had done so much for you, more than you could ever hope to repay him for. Yet here you were, crying like a child despite the perfect, safe life he had worked so hard to provide you with. What a fucking ungrateful brat, you thought to yourself bitterly, allowing yourself a cruel sob.

You managed to peel yourself away from Elrond, sitting upright. You put your head in your hands, wiping away your tears as you took a shaky breath. His hand remained over your shoulder, rubbing in comforting circles. “I am sorry.” He murmured.

You laughed half-heartedly. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one who should be sorry, not you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Elrond said softly, but firmly. “I am sorry because I should have noticed this sooner. I should have noticed that you were hurting and found a way to help before you suffered this much. I failed you.”

You pried your head from your hands and turned to face him, and your heart nearly broke. The noble elven lord looked so sad, so guilt-ridden at the sight before him. An elf who had seen thousands of years of suffering, who had lived through the most brutal wars in Arda’s history, looked more defeated than ever as he looked at you. That guilt churned inside you again as you realised you had caused this. “You have far from failed me, Elrond.” You said quietly. “You have given me everything, more than I could ever ask for. I have no reason to be this sad or act this way.”

Elrond cocked his head, brushing the hair out of your face. “Is that what you truly think?” He asked gently. “That you need a reason to be sad?”

“Uh…yes?” You said, puzzled. “There is nothing in my life that is going wrong, or even remotely horrible. I have not been traumatised by battle or had to run from a sword. My village was never raided by orcs, I have never known hunger nor harsh winters. I truly have nothing to be sad about.”

Elrond paused for a minute, contemplating your words. “Just because you have not fought in war does not mean you have not suffered,” He said. “You are a young elf; you are allowed to feel whatever your heart feels. Circumstance does not spare you from pain or suffering. Things like this are not always the result of war or hardship. Sometimes we hurt for no reason, and no amount of explanation will reassure us nor will it change what we feel in our hearts.”

You sighed, cheeks damp. “It doesn’t make me feel any less ungrateful. I’ve never even been courted. Nobody has ever looked at me like that. All of my friends have been shown that type of affection, except me. I don’t understand what makes them worthy of it and not me.”

“You are young, little one. You have centuries ahead of you to find whatever love you may wish. You’ve only met a fraction of the people who will come to love you. Give yourself time, allow yourself to be comfortable in your own skin. I know it is easier said than done. If you cannot be at peace with yourself, no soul in this world can fill that void for you.”

You swallowed thickly. He was right – you felt like a stranger in your own body. Like the bones and flesh beneath your skin belonged to another. But sitting here with the elf who had been a pillar in your life for as long as you remembered, you began to feel more at ease within yourself. You sniffled, wiping your tears from your face with the back of your hand. Elrond reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at your cheeks gently.

“Someday,” he said softly. “Someone will love you exactly how you deserve to be loved. I did not meet my wife until I was 1759, and even then, I loved her in secret for many a century.”

 Arwen had told you stories of her mother. It always brought a deep sadness to her eyes as she remembered her mother’s grim departure to the Undying Lands. You knew the tale all too well, for talk of the tragedy Elrond had been faced with travelled all the way to the Woodland realm. When you had first arrived in Rivendell, the wound Celebrían’s departure had cut him deep. It took years of you getting to know him before his eyes went from hollow to bright. One day, you had snuck a book from the library on the elves of the First Age. It was then when you stumbled across Elrond’s story, a sad pain in your heart as you read about him and his brother’s early years during the wars and the period that followed.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a few moments. “About your wife. And everything that has happened to you.” You weren’t sure what had prompted you to say that, for you blurted out the words before you could stop and think. Elrond had never discussed his past with you besides the occasional story told in the grand scheme of sharing wisdom and life lessons.

But there was no defensiveness, for Elrond simply put a hand on your shoulder. “Thank you,” was all he said.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being your hitched breath as you calmed your breathing down. A slight weight had been lifted off your shoulders, lessening the crushing feeling in your chest. For weeks, you had feared Elrond finding out about your depressive episode and thinking less of you for it. Deep down, you knew that was illogical, but the thought had haunted you nonetheless.

“I want to help you, my dear,” Elrond said, grabbing your hands and looking at you with all the love and care a father would. “But only if you will have it. If you do not wish for my interference, I understand and will be there if you need me. But I urge you not to walk this path alone.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do,” you said quietly.

“I cannot change what you feel in your heart and soul. But there are little changes, perhaps, we can make to get you on the right path. If you would like, I shall have our breakfasts delivered to your room, and I may join you for breakfast and then we can go on a walk. It does not have to be long, nor strenuous. Simply something to get you up and moving at the beginning of the day. Once you climb that step, you may find things become much easier.”

Emotion clogged your throat. “You would do that for me?”

Elrond gave you a gentle smile. “For you, anything. I may not have fathered you, but you are my family. And I will move heaven and earth just to make you closer to the stars if that’s what would make you happy.”

[nottoxicfr]

This is, tentatively, Rize.

She is the combination of Nagoryuki (Guilty Gear) and Rachel Alucard (Blazblue). Relating to the concept of a data-Backyard, she has the role of a program meant to ensure the integrity of the physical world through Intervention. However, overuse of Intervention causes cracks in reality, therefore its use is controlled strictly.

This relates to the thematic idea of her character as “the Observer Who Averts Her Eyes." Nago's long meditation after the events of the Crusades combined with Rachel's nature as an Onlooker, cursed not to intervene in events, resulted in Rize's fitfully slumbering nature. Rather than Observe the events of the world, she wishes to sleep until the world has no need of her and is cursed by nightmares of terrible memories and future possibilities. Her story is about finding meaning in Observing individuals, rather than viewing the world as a single disastrous story.

(I'll talk more about her personality and her design below the cut)

I had a really hard time creating her! Honestly, I really didn't want to anything mess up. I feel happy with this art, but I want to draw her more and really get a grip on who she is. She looks really elegant, but I think there's more to her than that!

I mentioned before that fighting game characters are adjective filled, with Nago and Rachel being no exceptions! Rize is more focused on Rachel's style than I originally intended, but I hope parts of Nago still shine through. His older appearance is why I designed her around the age of 20, rather than sticking with Rachel's younger look. I'm not super comfortable with the type of character that is very old, but still looks young!

She's a gothic, lolita-inspired vampire, but I had more of Nagoryuki's "noble" personality in mind when I drew her. I imagine that she would offer advice to the people she meets, but sometimes the advice might be, "Don't wake me up from a nap." She can be a bit thorny, which draws on Rachel's "rose with thorns" tsundere motif to reshape the kindness both vampires possess.

There are parts of her that seem very childish in my mind, like the idea that she can sleep until the world ends or her grumpy reactions to others, but her deeper personality indicates that she's incredibly guilty about the events she witnessed and simply at a loss in what else she can do. It seems most of her childishness comes from a lack of sleep more than anything else. Her eyes are Nago's Blood-Rage mode, which implies she's also pretty hungry.

Originally, she was going to be named Arisu (Alice), with Bloodedge (Baiken x Ragna) being a Cheshire leading her to the source of the plot's problems. If this was a real game, I think that would still be the case as a relationship. However, with a different name, the allusion isn't nearly as prevalent...

Instead, Rize comes from Riza, from E-riza-besu, an homage to Elizabeth Bathory. It's supposed to be from romanji so it calls to mind the idea that it might be a translation she preferred. That’s not how you convert Eliz-a-beth into romanji, but I thought it was an acceptable break from reality for style. That’s the running idea for ArcSys, generally.

Rachel has servants named Nago- which was ironic- and Gii, who frequently take her wrath. Rize's servants are Tama (Ms. Umbrella in the art) and Chester (Mr Plushy next to her). Chester is a stuffed creature in the form of a Jester, meant to put her in a better mood after a nightmare. Tama, as mentioned in another post, is a joke about how you can take the first syllable of Excalibur, Ex, and say it as Eggs (Tamago). It's a really stupid joke, but it indicates that Tama is actually the sword of myth simply transformed and given sentience via old age. I don't think she takes her short temper out on either of them, but if she does then it's probably Chester. Lots of people punch pillows to feel better, so I don't think Chester minds as long as someone fixes him should he be damaged. She also has another servant, but they aren't created yet.

Gameplay wise, she'd be difficult to balance. Every small movement would inch her closer to a true Blood-Rage, which would significantly drain her health. To get around this, the player would have to use Rachel's Wind Drive to maneuver either Rize or her opponent into her range. To offset the difficulty of that, she has quite a lot of power. It might actually end up making her a grappler-type of character. Rize is the kind of character who changes the color palette of an anime when she shows up. Super strong, y'know?

Anyway, this is probably my favorite of the "ArcSys Singularity designs" that I made. I also tried out Slayer and Rachel as a combination, but it wasn't quite as fun. I feel very excited with Rize! I wanna draw her more.

[sinful-morningstar]

Spartober Day 23 Rose (Vergil x Sparda)

Author's Note: I loved writing this I adore Sparda and Vergil as a pairing, dare I say I like them a bit more just a bit more than Vergil and Dante (I still adore Dante x Vergil) . anyways this is very heavy on the forbidden aspect of their relationship and the imagery is there, also Eva is mentioned . but anyways i hope you enjoy Today's (Yesterday's) Prompt Prompts by whatsanapocalae1 (I use a combination of SparTober and Devil MayTober Prompts) 23: Rose (Vergil x Sparda)

Vergil smiled warmly as he walked past the Garden he saw an array of different flowers planted there, all tended to and cared for by the family but mostly Eva and Sparda. He saw Holly Bushes, Black Cherry Petunias, Midnight tulips and his personal secret favourite; a cliche pick of flower but it was something he enjoyed immensely, Red and black roses in thorn bushes, he thought the dark beauty of the roses within the harmful thorns carried such elegance to them.

he watched as Sparda was trimming the thorns and branches that stuck out like a sore thumb making sure the bushes looked presentable in the garden, only the best for the Sparda Family.

"Careful Father..." he said, nodding at how close the man's hands were to the razor sharp thorns.

"Thank you, Vergil" Sparda smiled kindly to his son, he was cutting back some of the thorny branches from the bushes. He always enjoyed garden work, it was something he did with Eva when she was still around, he knew she would appreciate the flowers being given special attention.

Vergil nodded gently as he sat on the iron garden bench tracing over the intricate designs the various swirls and twists of the metal forming shapes of hearts , he hummed to himself in thought this garden was very Romantic the choices of both flowers and décor complemented each other greatly it left him sighing wistfully.

he took his hand away from the bench as he reached for his poetry book letting his eyes scan various passages enjoying the words that flooded his mind he adored the emotional works of various poets the written word making his heart soar just as much as Aesthetically pleasing art

His eyes caught sight of Sparda and he gave him a fond look "It's beautiful...you tend to this garden well..."

"Why thank you!" Sparda said with a light chuckle. "And yes, I do my best, your mother would've loved to see it" he looked off into the distance, towards the sun that was beginning to set. "I do miss her, and you my son."

He looked at Vergil, a nostalgic warmth washed over him when he remembered his younger days with his family, but then it was met with a twinge of sadness. He knew that those days were long gone now.

"Is it hard to be without her?" He asked after a moment of silence.

Vergil smiled warmly at Sparda. He gazed at the sunset. It was so beautiful. Something about this moment was bittersweet but it held something else, something unspoken in the air, a connection between Father and Son that surpassed the conventional.

"You still have me Father ..and Dante..." he said as he closed his book with a sigh, setting it down and approaching Sparda as he sat beside him at the rose bush.

He gently stroked the rose petals mindful of the thorns that surrounded them .

"It 's always hard but. Not so hard when you're around.." he said softly with a fond expression, his eyes locked on Sparda's a look of adoration in his gaze. He was so distracted he pricked his finger on the thorn. wincing in pain he looked at the bead of blood that formed on his fingertip.

Sparda looked worried, but then he caught the look in Vergil's eyes and it warmed him, he gently took Vergil's injured finger and sucked the blood off.

"It will heal better" he said, not seeming to mind the taste of his sons blood much. As he was doing this he looked directly at him, a bit of sadness in his own eyes but mostly warmth. "You're right, I still have you...and Dante. And I will always do my best for you both."

Vergil blushed as he watched Sparda suck the blood off of the tip of his finger, he bit his lip and looked away bashfully before looking back at him he saw how Sparda enjoyed the taste of his blood and it made his heart race.

"I..I forget ..you can heal simply by..doing this.." he said trying to get himself to calm down.

"You do your best every single day Father...Forgive Dante for being distant, I know he was closer to Mother than I..."

The corner of Sparda's mouth curled into a soft smile, he watched Vergil as his face flushed.

"You don't need to look away," he said gently, "I'm just glad I could... help."

He saw the look of sadness in Vergil's eyes, and he felt the same way. He knew Dante and Eva were more close, but it still hurt him that his son felt a bit neglected.

"I'll forgive him... I promise" he said, trying to reassure Vergil.

"You know... You remind me of your mother a bit when you blush" he laughed.

Vergil blushed scarlet at the smirk he received from his father; he understood his reassurance and nodded in turn. his heart racing as he looked back at Sparda gently, his eyes meeting him as he listened closely to him giving him his undivided attention.

his eyes widened as he blushed pure red, almost as red as the gem on his amulet given to him by Eva "F-Father..." he stammered in surprise he knew he was teasing but it irked him.

Sparda seemed to enjoy the fact that Vergil was embarrassed by his comment, his smirk grew as he saw how red Vergil turned. He took his other hand and caressed Vergil's face affectionately.

"I'm only teasing you" he said lovingly, "But it's true, I do see some of your mother in you from time to time. It makes me smile to see it."

He smiled at his son, and he could see the sadness in Vergil's eyes diminish as a result.

Vergil felt mixed feelings from the statement. Part of him was happy to give him comfort but the other felt pain. He heard the words ' it makes me smile' but he wondered if it was a fake smile, a bittersweet smile or what could be?, he didn't want to be a reminder of the woman Sparda had lost, he didn't want to put him through that pain.

"F-Father.." he said softly with that small bit of sadness still in his eyes as he spoke.

Sparda felt the sadness in his son's voice, and he couldn't hide his feelings much longer. "I do miss her, Vergil" he spoke, his voice cracking.

He looked at the rose bushes, trying to conceal the emotion in his eyes, but it was clear that he was hurt just as much as Vergil.

"I miss Eva so much..." the tears in his eyes were beginning to spill onto his cheeks.

"And this garden... I wish she could be here to see it again." He said.

Vergil teared up gently "I miss her as well..." he sighed softly.

"This garden is thriving with each passing day. She would be proud Father.." he said as he looked at the rose bush and the way the sunset hit the scenery just right it was all so heart-warmingly beautiful, a truly romantic evening.

He looked at his son, and then back to the garden, seeing the beauty in it, and it brought a small smile to his face. "Yes, you're right," he said softly but lovingly.

He looked at the setting sun as it cast a warm light on the garden, making it even more romantic. It reminded him of when he would visit Eva here, when she was still alive. The memories were bittersweet and they made him even more sad. "She would be proud..."

Sparda then looked back at his son, and wiped away his tears with the back of his hand.

Vergil smiled warmly looking back at Sparda as he spoke "What is grief if not love persevering?" he said in a gentle tone as he leaned against Sparda's shoulder watching the sunset with a dreamy sigh.

He was taken aback as he saw Sparda handing him something, he felt the stem of the flower as he held the Rose lifting it up to smell it with a happy hum.

"A beautiful sentiment," Sparda said with a smile. His son always had such a way with words. He enjoyed the feeling of Vergil leaning against him, he felt safe with his son's presence.

He saw that Vergil was admiring the rose he gave him, and it made him happy to see him enjoying it.

"I didn't want you to get pricked again" he said jokingly "But you should make a wish"

He knew that Eva used to love making wishes on roses.

"Oh..a wish..." Vergil said gently as he looked back at Sparda with a smirk smelling the rose once more inhaling its scent as he made his wish and sealed it with a kiss letting his lips brush against the soft petals.

This bond between himself and Sparda was something else, something different..something one couldn't fathom if they tried to explain it, but it was more than fatherly love.

Sparda noticed the way Vergil placed his lips against the rose petals, and he couldn't deny that his heart pounded just slightly.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Well... What did you wish for?"

He knew that this was something that he and his wife used to do together, he hoped that Vergil would have a good wish.

He then realised the weight of the bond between him and his son "It's more than father and son isn't it..." he asked softly.

Vergil smirked playfully "If I tell you it won't come true..." he hummed softly, holding the rose in his hand examining it as he played with the petals gently tracing his fingertips over them individually seeing how it spiralled and bloomed in his hands.

He was too distracted to hear the question. He figured it was a question that was rhetorical .

Sparda's face blushed slightly "I see... I'll leave you to your rose and secrets then" he said playfully.

He gently took the rose from Vergil's hand, and looked at it for a moment, trying to see if he could figure out what his son asked the rose for.

Then he saw that the setting sun was now fully beneath the horizon, and the sky was beginning to fill up with stars. "I remember... Eva and I used to look at the stars together... It was so beautiful." He sighed softly.

Vergil looked up at the stars with Sparda , he watched as the lights twinkled in the night sky he was mesmerised by it as he stayed close to Sparda his head on his shoulder as he aimlessly tried to retrieve the rose from his fathers hand only to accidentally grab his hand making the rose fall in Sparda's lap.

he blushed gently as he looked away only to have Sparda's hand lift his chin to face him.

Sparda gently lifted his son's face so he could look into his eyes. "Why are you blushing?" He had a sweet smile on his face.

He then chuckled as he saw the rose in his lap, he gave it back to Vergil, but he didn't let go of his son's hand. "Be careful with that" He joked softly.

Sparda watched the stars for a moment more, then looked back at Vergil. "Do you think... that she's looking at us right now?" He asked.

Vergil bit his lip gently, swallowing surprised by these emotions, of course he had been harbouring them for quite some time but now on this night under these circumstances he knew deep down what it was he was feeling.

His heart raced as he heard Sparda chuckle; it made him flutter inside as he held Sparda's hand gently. He was indeed falling for him, and despite everything he didn't feel that much guilt... that was until Sparda spoke of Eva once more.

'I sure hope not...' Vergil thought to himself as Sparda asked him the question.

Sparda looked at him closely, he was starting to notice that his son's feelings for him were growing, maybe because their bond had become deeper. But there was also something else... something he was trying to hide.

He saw the way Vergil looked away when he asked him about Eva. It made his heart sink a little for a moment as he realised his son's feelings. But then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth in a playful way.

"Is there someone special to you?" He asked the question playfully.

Vergil avoided Sparda's gaze as he looked at the starlight , his heart racing as he shivered at the now cool air blowing past them this clear night sky during the fall. He swallowed softly as he slowly mustered the courage to look his father in the eye.

when Sparda asked the question he couldn't help but clear his throat "Heh what? no..why..why do you ask?" he said looking back at him cautiously.

Sparda chuckled softly when Vergil tried to evade his gaze, that only made the feeling of love he had for him grow. He looked at his son in a new light, he looked almost... attractive.

"Well... your flushed face says otherwise" Sparda teased jokingly as he looked at Vergil's face.

He then brought his face close to Vergil's "I won't tell anyone" he whispered, smiling seductively. The way Sparda was acting was unusual for him, even though many people knew him to be kind, he was never the type to be this flirtatious.

Vergil gasped softly seeing how close they were as he looked back up at Sparda with a newfound desire in his eyes, he bit his lip and swallowed audibly , he looked back down at the rose that sat in Sparda's lap, he reached for it.

"I..I mustn't..."

Sparda sighed softly when he saw the look in Vergil's eyes, and then he noticed the way his son's fingers began to trace the rose softly, in a suggestive way.

Sparda looked down at the flower and then he suddenly got on with an idea. "What if..." He looked at Vergil and then he placed his other hand on Vergil's cheek, in the most tender way possible.

He looked into his own eyes "What if I give you what you want? Do you think you'd be able to control yourself?" He whispered, a hint of a teasing smile on his face.

Vergil shivered softly as he leaned into the touch almost melting at his fathers Suggestion. "But..We..We shouldn’t..." he Stammered as he looked away only to be turned back to his gaze. He shuddered as he moved closer to him.

"We musn’t..."

Sparda gently pulled Vergil closer "I'm not saying we should, but maybe we both can have what we want?" He whispered, his voice sounding gentle, but also seductive.

He looked down at the flower the two of them were sharing, he placed his lips gently on the petal. And then he looked at Vergil, his eyes sparkling. He was still holding his hand, in fact, he placed the other free hand on Vergil's other cheek.

"I think... you can control yourself" Sparda said with a smirk on his face.

Vergil watched Sparda close, seeing him kiss the flower petals exactly where he had kissed it himself, the pair sharing a kiss from a rose. He smirked gently and he couldn't help it, Sparda was charming. A handsome Devil that made him weak to the knees.

"I don't think I Can...Can you?..." he asked gently, his eyes looking up at Sparda with a puppy eyed expression.

Sparda leaned closer, his head now facing Vergil's, almost touching. He was so close to his son, their faces almost touching.

He then softly smirked, showing a bit of his sharp teeth, "No, I don't think I can either" He said, his voice sounding seductively low.

"Shall we find out?" He asked, his eyes sparkling and his voice sounding seductively soft, this was a side of Sparda that he normally didn't show to his son, but he decided to do something special for Vergil tonight. Vergil leaned in as he gave in to his Father’s seduction the scent of roses on them both as they shared a passionate embrace, locking mouths as their tongues tasted one another, the rose fell to the ground in the pile of thorns as Father and Son give in to their Forbidden love…a rose amongst thorns…

[irethepotato]

I posted 215 times in 2022

99 posts created (46%)

116 posts reblogged (54%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@irethepotato

@dourpeep

@toracius

@seitosokusha

I tagged 162 of my posts in 2022

Only 25% of my posts had no tags

#reblog - 52 posts

#ire rambles - 46 posts

#ire tater tots - 42 posts

#genshin impact - 22 posts

#ire chats - 18 posts

#scaramouche - 15 posts

#genshin scaramouche - 15 posts

#self reblog - 8 posts

#lantern rite spoilers - 7 posts

#ire recs - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#fukuzawa: oh god how the hell do i explain to natsume about the fall of his network is because of an overprotective mother?

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Attention sagau writers I present you an idea

Faceless ayato in sagau 👀

Corruption arc UwU

That is all ajdjjsjd

74 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

#4

ATTENTION SCARANATION

WE GOT SCARA SPLASH ART PEOPLE

AJSJAJSHSJJFJW

HE LOOKS GORGEOUS 😍😍😍

80 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

#3

Hii Ire ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)♡

Since you have opened request may I ask for headcanons or a scenario (whichever you prefer!!) of Zhongli with an gn!s/o who likes hugging him from behind?? If you don't want to it's all right, sending lots of love <333333

Hihi vivi! (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

AAAAA that's such a cute request. Ask and you shall receive ✨

Zhongli with gn!s/o who likes to hug him from behind

Pairings: Zhongli x gn!reader

Warnings: none but pure fluff, writer was listening to la vie en rose while writing this

Reblogs and likes are much appreciated!

---

Did not expect you to give him a back hug

Especially with someone of his height

But nonetheless absolutely adores it whenever you do 🥰

If you're short, he always gives you a small kiss on the forehead whenever you came up behind him

If you're tall, you have to lay your chin on his shoulder so he could give you a kiss on the cheek

He ignores Childe's and Hu Tao's teasing whenever you do this, much rather focus on you than them

There's this feeling of domesticity that he loves whenever you hug him that he just can't explain

If the both of you are in public, he'll unconsciously leaned back a bit for your warmth, giving a small kiss on the forehead before fully turning to face you

In private, he couldn't help but gently grabbed your arm around him, giving you a little twirl so the both of you face each other and give you a small kiss on the lips

If the mood strikes, maybe he'll sway with you a bit, a small dance with his beloved in the comfort of their home.

---

Writer's notes: zhongli is making me soft rn 🥺

Requests are still open

82 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

#2

heyhey ire! i see ur requests are open ^-^ could i maybe request scaramouche having to look after a reader who got lightly injured? (like just a small scrape/bruise/etc) hope u have a great day/night <33

I just realized we're actually moots ajdjdjahdjs yay! Moot moots!

Hope you like this! 💕 💕 💕

Pairing: Scaramouche x gn!reader

Scenario: Scaramouche treating reader's who's lightly injured (scrape knee)

Warnings: very minor injury (scrape knee), scara mild swearing (let him say fuck mhy), scara's original name and writer's rusty writings and little knowledge on how to treat a scraped knee have mercy on me pls 🥺

Reblogs and likes are much appreciated!

---

The terrains in Sumeru are absolutely gorgeous. Trees stretching out to the heavens with leaves so big, it becomes a natural canopy from the sun and rain, beautiful and colourful plants that flourish in the humid environment, brightly colourful birds flying about. On the surface, the forests of Sumeru are beautiful.

However, for the inexperienced, it may be quite a challenge to traverse in.

"Ouch!"

You couldn't helped but winced as your lover treated your scraped knee, a result of walking into a thorny bush after getting too distracted admiring the forest and not looking where you're walking.

"Seriously what are your eyes for? Look where you're going, dumbass. You're lucky I stopped you before you fell into that stupid bush."

Despite his seemingly harsh words, his hands were gentle while he treated your knee, as if he was afraid of hurting you even more.

Hell, he mutter a small sorry everytime you flinch before going back to his tirade.

Your heart can't help but flutter at his actions.

"There-", he said after bandaging your knee. "Try to not walk into anymore bushes, y/n."

"Hey! You forgot one more thing?"

"What?"

You almost couldn't suppress your smile. "Kiss it better"

If it were anyone else, he would've shock them where they stood for the demanding tone, let alone kissing one's knee. However, you are his lover, therefore, you have special Scaramouche privileges.

And that includes kisses

He rolled his eyes and gave out a small fake annoyance huff before giving your knee a small peck.

"I meant here, Kuni," you grinned teasingly at him as you pointed at your cheek. "I never said you have to kiss my knee."

"Why you-" he wasn't blushing but his red ears always gave him away. Which you have taken advantage of multiple occasions but that's a story for another time-

You relented your teasing before giving him a kiss on the lips. "Thanks for treating me. Here's your reward."

Before he could say anything, you left the room, leaving an internally flustered harbinger behind.

---

Writer's notes: it really been wayyyyy to long since I sat down and wrote something. I forgot how much fun I always had whenever I write something (or maybe it's because I'm biased for scara sjjajksjdj)

Also also how the hell do I tag scara fics from now on? Scaramouche? Kunikuzushi?? Wanderer????

See the full post

104 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Scaramouche brain rot

SPOILERS FOR SUMERU ARCHON QUEST

Just imagine reader waiting for scara to wake up from his coma but also needed to do some work in exchange for his treatment (courtesy of an eager nahida and reluctant traveller)

But reader, knowing his past trauma of abandonment, always writes and leave a lil note on his bedside

Dear Kuni,

Today's is (insert present date) and I'm out on an errand. If you're reading this it means you're up (I can feel you already rolling your eyes at my amazing deduction)

I'll be back later for you

Forever yours, y/n

Reader giving scara physical affirmation that they will never abandoned him even at his most vulnerable 🥺

When he does wake up, he'll keep the letter somewhere safe as proof of your love 💕💕💕

I'll write this later sjjfja maybe idk asjdjj

173 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

Lullaby for the boy

[ ID: Traditionally drawn, digitally colored Smile For Me fanart with Dr Habit, Kamal Bora and a self insert of the protagonist, ‘’Flower Kid’’ AKA Rose here. Artstyle is semi realistic leaning to cartoony. The coloring is done with a rough pencil effect except for the background which is smooth. Notebook lines are visible. Everyone is in halfbody except for Rose whose whole self is seen. 

In the left page, Dr Habit cradles a sleeping Rose in his arms, looking fond and singing him ‘Children Of The Night’ in Russian. Rose’s hair is all out of its ponytail, and he has one hand on Habit’s while the other dangles freely. BG here is warm orange. 

In the artists interpretation, Habit has a muppet-like appearance with yellow fur, pink hair in two tones; duller and brighter, dull pink cheek patches that have 3 white freckles, stitches and scars on hands plus an X shaped one near his mouth, deep red nails. His teeth are uneven with a bigger snaggletooth too. He wears his usual getup, the fluffy collar has flowers, coat has patches of fur-like material that sticks out, his hat is a fedora.  Rose is a rose-based nymph who is green skinned with messy straight black hair, acne, stubble, thin thorny wooded arms and neck, hands are leaves. Wears dark brown shirt with the Tamil letter ஃ(the aayutha ezuthu) encircled in red. Dark brown pants are flowy at the bottom with inner designs colored like red\deep pink rose petals, has silver anklets on feet with pink chappals. Wears purple cat-eye glasses.

In the right page, the lyrics he’s singing are written in cursive, in an uneven sliding orientation at first, and then straightening. The words go from dark blue to lighter blue to purple. The words are:

За мною же, дети, скорее пройдем

 Сквозь боль и страдания мира. 

Но плакать не надо: так быть и должно, 

Прекрасное здесь погибает.

There are white wavy lines with colorful music notes that slightly glow. There are four simple flowers drawn at various places.

Kamal is playing his cello, which has pointed swirls all over it for design pattern. He has a sheepish smile and looks to the other side as he quietly says, ‘’Gosh...i really like his singing’’. He wears a red flannel shirt, and a single small gold earring.  In the artists interpretation he has acne, his hair is a little more longer here, he has thick eyebrows. BG is the same warm orange, but fades to a more yellow glow at the top right. Overall the whole drawing is warm toned. end ID]

---

(USES LE MEGAPHONE) I AM ONCE AGAIN ASKING EVERYONE TO CHECK OUT @flaxpost AND REQUEST HIM IMAGINES 

[ Unedited text: (uses le megaphone) I am once again asking everyone to check out @flaxpost​ and request him imagines]

Based on this imagine>!!!

‘’If you wanted to hear him (Habit) sing he would be really embarrassed and would sing for you, Like you’re in bed for the night and he comes in with Kamals cello and starts singing soft songs in Russian while Kamal playing the cello is just standing there lmao.’’

---

I AM SO PROUD OF THIS PIECE, IT LOOKS LIKE A STORYBOOK, I’D LIKE TO BE ONE OF THOSE BIG TWO-PAGE SPREADS WITH COLORS SO CRISP LIKE A PHOTO AND A HEAVENLY SMELL, ALSO HELL YEAH WARM TONING THE SHIT OUT OF MY ART TO MAKE ORANGE JUICE FOR THE SOUL LEGENDS😎👍🏼

---

Credits for where I got the translation from!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nezOyUMirVU ( Link to a Russian version of Children Of The Night MLP version by Aira MoonShadow)

---

Colorless versions below the cut, I recommend them to see more of the details! I did patterning here!

[ ID: The left page but without color, its only the traditional drawing. end ID]

[ ID: The right page but without color, only the traditional drawing. end ID]

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 015

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: I was excited to post this one! Billy continues to learn secrets about Evie as they grow closer. The first day back to school arrives with new challenges. TW: talk of teacher/student relationship, vomiting, pica, bullying, and some Well Earned Smut. ​ *Thanks all and chat with me about the fic if you have time!

Chapter 15: Fires Within Fires

   Billy decided he liked unwrapping these layers to Evie, despite the fucking interruptions.

   Their little game of back and forth where even grazing her skin with his fingertips felt like a prize.

   Where a glimpse of her smile's ghost sent luna moths fluttering inside the glass jar that he'd long-sealed his beating heart away into.

   He certainly couldn't tell her she'd consumed him. Syllables became harder around Evie. No amount of cooing at his mirror would save him from those painted eyes. Brushstrokes that destroyed him utterly.

   And all he could think was brush me again.

   The greatest mystery presented itself that Saturday night. 

   Mona stayed out with friends and went home with something a little more chiseled. Which meant she’d be out and go straight to the salon to play with the books. Blue was fed. The stars were bright and silent. Placed just so.

   Evie applied a red lip, bent over the vanity before it reached eleven on the dot. With her mother out, she used the front door after grasping her coat. Green bomber covered in patches. Crept over the frozen grass and pavement toward a hippy sort of van. Tan with a maroon stripe. 

   Billy crawled out his window at the sight of her along the way. Dressed. Head down as he hid near his car.

   He had to know. 

   The van was already driving off so Billy waited a bit to follow behind it. Hoped the few cars on the road would mask him if he stayed far enough away.

   He trailed after the damn thing all the way to the city. Saw it still in an alleyway and swerved to find parking elsewhere. Waited a few minutes with his eyes on the rearview mirror to see lights flicker.

   Beyond the cold buildings, a cozy nightclub illuminated. Covered in trellises with twisted metalwork roses and thorny vines. Slicked in frost. A red, ornate canopy and steel black gate lining the outside area with empty tables.

   Music vibrated within. Billy lit up a cigarette and watched the door. Eyed a bouncer chatting it up with a group outside in the cold. Smoking and shooting the shit. He readied to make his move.

   The sign read Sugar Kane’s in swirling lights. 

   Boots carefully stepped around the alley. Eyes trained on the bouncer at the end of the street corner. A thrum of piano keys echoed. Billy slipped into the door, down an immediate tunnel of high steps into another world made of pure red velvet.

   Wall to wall velour curtains and uniform lines of crystalline lights. Felt like Billy stepped into a dim, smoky dream. Busy round tables with idle chatter and even a bit of friendly gambling. A dance floor with plenty of couples. Sleek black bar and mirrors behind it.

   Taste and class and care went into this dream. 

   Billy fell into a table in the back, darkest corner. Watched the slow dancing. Heels clicked. More people drank and smoked at tables. Playing cards and speaking in hushed tones under the music.

   The music.

   As couples swayed and parted, Billy’s eyes lifted to the band. Bass, drums, and keyboard. And the singer looking like a chandelier painted red like the walls. Red like the blood boiling and pounding under his flesh.

   Slow and steady, a pure blue light bathed. Made her the center of the universe. Let her slip into a warm bubble bath birthed of the cosmos itself. Billy had to scan her again. Had to blink to make sure he was seeing this correctly.

   Sleek dress of beads like what a flapper would wear. Glossy red lips sultry into the mic. Huge lashes. Bigger curls.

   Evie.

   Her hips moved against the swell of sound. Breathing in and out with it. Stage lights framed her body. Kissed it. Made her glimmer as an ethereal creature. Not of this world.

   Billy’s jaw was on the table. 

   “This is a man's world,” she cooed, head shaking while brown eyes fluttered closed, “this is a man's world…”

   Billy’s fingers twisted into the tablecloth. Eyes trained as her voice picked up against the reverberations. Filled the air. Filled the empty spaces around Billy. He’d heard her sing, but this starlet wasn’t the delicate songbird she came off as. She owned the air. The space. The stars. The world at her feet.

   She owned everything. She wasn't sorry.

   “But it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl.” Evie plucked up the mic to come forward. Smiling when hands dropped dollars into a bowl she shared with the band. Her voice grew. Boomed. Curled around throats and hearts.

   Enthralled.

   That stage was where she belonged and she wasn’t sorry about that either.

   Bathed in the echoing ruby glow from seas of crimson velvet and black silk around the room. Spotlight pulsing technicolor. Painting in blues and pinks and reds. Utterly decadent. Small chandeliers hung down to sparkle against cherry hardwood that met the vibration of a musical crescendo. 

   Evie’s dress flicked about as she moved. Tiny knit shadowy fishnets and strappy heels. Miniature white flowers woven into her free spun curls that truly made her look like an angel. A glowy star. The light caught a collared necklace she’d made with a cameo brooch and loose jewels.

   Again and again, Billy let himself be consumed. Bowed to her voice ever-growing. These untouchable notes that wrung around his soul. 

   “But it wouldn't be nothing!” Evie’s head tipped back. “Nothing!” Mic high with the greatest note that stilled the entire room as the music hushed so she could shine. Obscene and shameless and so bright. Eyes lifted from tables to see her there beckoning like the sirens of old. Evie came down to look out, settled the mic on its stand. Romanced it. “...without a woman or a girl…”

   Billy sat there and watched the set. Eyes all over Evie without her knowing. Blissfully unaware of the boy in shadows. He smoked a slow cigarette and no one from the bar bothered him. Not yet.

   Evie was five songs in before they switched it up. Let the band take on some peppier instrumental so Evie left to cross to the bar. Billy thought to flee before a huge hand touched his shoulder.

   “You look a little young to be in here. Not drinking. Where’s your ID, kid?”

   “Hey, I’m eighteen.” Billy sounded childish, snuffing a cigarette out on a clean ashtray. The bouncer glared down at him. Bodybuilder type and pretty. Tanned with styled slick hair and little strands tumbling into his brow. Blue eyes. One ear framed in silver piercings. “Just listening to the girl, she...she knows me.” 

   “Yeah, yeah, let’s go, stalker. She's working.” The bouncer cooly plucked Billy up like he was a doll. Catching the attention of the bar as they stumbled toward it.

   Evie reeled out of her conversation before Billy Hargrove was presented to her. One shoulder high into the air as a muscled hand held his arm.

   “Does this belong to you, Eve?” He began, giving Billy a jostle for good measure.

   “Oh, god.”

   Billy flashed his brightest smile. Begged to be claimed like a little, lost puppy. Poor Evie could only groan. Elbows on the sleek wood to hide her face. The woman she’d been speaking with behind the bar was already cackling. “Yes...he’s mine.”

   “Is this the boy you won’t shut up about?” Came a quip. Gravelly, feminine voice. 

   “Told you, I know her. Lemme go, Lurch.” Billy ripped himself clean from the bouncer. Fixed his jacket.

   “Marlon, baby, we got him from here.” The barkeep continued, bringing one acrylic nail to her plump lips. Dolled to the gods in a Marilyn Monroe type wig of platinum, buttercream waves that swooped to frame her face and touched her glowing shoulders. Sapphire cocktail dress cinched in and flowed to knee length. Matching heels that made her a head taller than Billy. 

   “Whatever you say, honeybunch.” Marlon gruffed and went back to go up the steps. Evie shoved at Billy and grabbed his jacket.

   “What are you doing here?” Her classic hiss.

   “I wanted to know where you snuck off to two nights a week. Just a concerned neighbor.”

   “Sometimes three when we have the stage open.” A hand adorned in a huge diamond ring extended. “Looks like James Dean and Jim Morrison had a blond baby boy. Little Eros crawled out of a Def Leppard video.”

   “Billy.” He shrugged out of Evie’s grip. Left her making that signature scrunchy face of anger she was known for. Arms crossed at him. Pride rose so he boasted. Took the bejeweled hand in both of his to kiss the knuckles smelling of jasmine. “Evie’s favorite subject.”

   “Are not.” The retort clipped.

   “Don’t tell lies, Evie dearest, they cause wrinkles.” A wink of huge false lashes followed. “Iris Lee Arden. I manage the place for the owners. Evie’s never brought us a pretty stray before.” She gave Billy’s chin an affectionate brush. Nails painted to silver claws. 

   Iris moved like a feline. A trans woman with brown skin and a full figure. Thirties. Commanding presence. Love of Marilyn Monroe with roots in the art of drag. Billy spotted a sign behind her about the specials. Chalked in different colors. A variety of musical stylings. Another sign about the shows nightly. Thursday being drag night.

   One of those open places he figured. Accepting of all colors and sexualities. Safe haven to outcasts. California had them too. Seemed more of a rarity in this area. Double the bouncers of the places back home.

   “Evie’s telling people about me, huh?” Billy leaned into the bar to play the flirt. Evie’s hand covered his mouth.

   “Ignore him. He should not be here. I’m sorry.”

   “Says you who lied about your age for the job, sugar.” Iris teased, eyes flicking to Billy. “We found out like the day after. Obviously.”

   “I was in it for the free booze.” Evie beamed a smile, hand snatching from Billy when he licked her finger. “Gross.” The pink tongue caught between his teeth before he grinned.

   “Uh. Nice try. I don’t even drink the alcohol for free, girl. And the only thing we ever give you free is a Shirley Temple.” Iris laughed again. “I’ll get two going while you lovebirds work things out.”

   “We’re not, ugh…” Evie rolled her eyes and decided to sit. Huffed for effect. “So, you got me.”

   “I always do." His dangling earring caught the light. "Not a bad place. You ever sing on Thursday?”

   “No, but I did host a couple of shows for Iris. The girls love me and I love them. They taught me plenty. Helped me. And I...learned a lot about myself too.” Evie kicked a stool out so he’d join her. Paused to see his expression. Her lips quivered. "Would it bother you if I think about girls and boys the same?"

   "Did it bother you when I flirted with that Jesse guy right in front of you? More in common, Angel. It's adding up." Billy held her eyes steady when he said that. They shared this softer beat. Simple and clean. Plenty of room to breathe. He shifted, lashes batting. "So, this place. Start from the top."

   “I was sixteen and I saw flyers so...I sorta lied about my age. No one knows. Not Heather, not even Fredrick. They found out I lied quickly. But, they liked me so we worked out some rules and I just sing a few nights with the band. Couple songs. Great guys, too. The Starlighters. They’re here almost 24/7. Marvin on bass, he drives so they pick me up on the way most days. I have to hide in back, I don’t want to get them in trouble. Cops will treat them differently cause they're not white. Always been that way.”

   Billy noticed most of the people in here, including the workers and band, were people of color easily. Many mixed like Evie.

   Opposite of Hawkins. She and Tommy H were practically the only mixed kids in their classes since his birth mother was Hispanic. Strange thing neither of them addressed in the open.

   “The club runs all sorts of music. Jazz, rock, classics, and some pop. I like the more rock and pop nights cause I can bring my guitar. Sometimes I help back up visiting bands. This place just appreciates it all. I love it here and I can sing anything they need, it's like a second home. Accepting. Good for people who get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.” She shrugged and two bubbly glasses were set down. “Thank you, Iris.”

   “Owners have more musicians coming in toward spring so hours for you will be slim. Summer should be better, they might have some more day and evening gigs.” Iris perked a smile.

   “I get it. Easier to work during the day when I turn eighteen.” Evie sipped. "The best birthday present of all is more of that stage."

   “It's happy to have you, sugar. So, tell me, Billy, have you locked this girl down?” Iris plucked up a clipboard to make some inventory notes, elbow on the bar. 

   “Hey!”

   “I’m working hard on it,” Billy winked and that was enough to silence Evie.

   “She also told me you’re the one who took care of the shithead who gave her that,” Iris tilted Evie’s face. "Boy is lucky I couldn't sink my talons into his eye sockets. Sick my guys and dolls on him." Billy barely caught the bruises under layers of color corrector and makeup. “Good boy.”

   “I do what I can.” He shrugged and played with the straw of his drink. Evie could have blamed her blush on stage lights. Instead, she stole a sip when Iris offered a fresh glass of water.

   “I’m gonna go sing.” She pushed Billy’s arm. “He’s a compulsive liar. Don't listen to him.”

   “Don’t worry, Eve, I’ll babysit the pretty boy. Make him feel right at home. It's what I do.” Another wink and Evie groaned all the way to the stage. Rejoined the band with a red smile. Sparkling. Garnered a few claps and nodded to pick up the next song. Beaming.

   She found Billy's eyes for one fleeting moment.

   "The French are glad to die for love..."

   “She’s gonna go far, that one." Iris caught his attention. "Just needs a chance is all. Someone bigger than me to give it.”

   Billy’s eyes were glued to the ruby supernova whirling and bursting before his gaze. Felt the vibrations inside his ribs. Again and again.

   “You take the stage too?”

   “Oh, yes. Never too late. Prefer to manage these days. Guide others starting out. Lots of queens and questioning tweens in the city in need of a place. I like to give them one. Outcasts who need to learn they're not alone in this big world. I've had plenty of success and now I have dreams of managing one great star.”

   “My dad would hate all this.” Billy piped up aimlessly, head shaking.

   “More of us than of him, if you believe it. Just have to speak up. Scream it out.” Iris cleaned a couple of empty glasses. “You’re pretty. You could do drag, you know?”

   “Thanks.” Billy broke to chuckle, eyes turned back at last.

   “Don’t hurt my girl either.” One long nail pointed. A talon that tapped Billy’s chin. “We’ll take you out back and smack you around a bit.”

   “Maybe I’m into that, lady.” Billy flirted back. His insufferable self. The pretense lowered. “Already hurt Evie. Trying not to do it again.”

   “You’re young. So is she. You both will fuck up, that's life. Sometimes people hurt more when they're comfortable. Just make it right.” Iris had offered, arms back in the bar to sigh. 

   “Sometimes I don’t know how to do that,” Billy blinked his gorgeous eyes, “make it right, I mean.”

   “Watch. Listen. Learn.” She cooed softer. “It’ll do you good. Be a gentleman too, offer my girl a ride home when her set is over. Short night. I assume you’re staying?”

   “Yeah…” Breathless, he marveled. “Yeah, I’m staying if she is.”

   Evie had a few more songs before the mic was turned over. Something sinking every single time she had to see it go. They split tips and she parted ways for the night. Offered the shortest hours of all the workers being so young. Schooling first, Iris always said.

   Bundled in a jacket, Evie pushed through some beads and curtains to see Billy waiting. Head cocking toward the exit.

   “You stayed.”

   “Why wouldn’t I? Drove all the way here.” He lit up a smoke outside, having not had many during the set. Music lingered behind them. Echoed along the cool winds and wet pavement. “Free show and all the Shirley Temples I could suck up. I did tip, by the way. All the pretty people I could flirt with and brag about my girl to. What a night.”

   He slung a lazy arm around Evie’s shoulders. Not looking at her. His girl. Smoke flitting out his lips and Evie lost all her thoughts. Lost the nerve to tell him he was so beautiful. That she could be his. He shifted closer to her and peered at his watch, trapping Evie into his chest.

   “Damn, it's just after two.” 

   “Couple times I stayed till four.” She lamented. “Guess I should be happy they have room at all even if it’s once a week these days. Iris is good to me, I’m loyal… What did you guys talk about?”

   “How pretty the stars are at night.” He mused, snuffing his cigarette out onto a brick wall before he paced to the car waiting. Evie slid in wordlessly, sighed when Billy got the heat on before she buckled.

   She also noticed he did it too for the first time since riding with him. 

   “Usually I’m wired after shows but I’m dead tired tonight,” she rubbed her head to moan, leaning back.

   “You had a long week.” Was all Billy said, swerving down the street to the freeway.

   This heavy silence hung in the air. Billy intent on the road. Idle glances that never matched up. Finally, he peered over and saw Evie’s head lulled aside. Fast asleep.

   A smirk crept.

   He turned some easy music on. Let her rest all the way to Hawkins and parked at his house. Turned slowly and brought his knuckles up against the apple of Evie’s cheek. He felt her shift into his touch and reeled back. Evie seized up, groaned to see him.

   “We’re back.” He whispered. Not sure why.

   “Hm, sorry. Dozed off there.” Evie felt for the handle. Also felt Billy’s eyes on her skull. She froze and blinked to see him. “You want to come inside?”

   “Easier than sneaking into my place. Dad’s a heavy sleeper, but he has Billy Fuck-Up Radar.” He laughed and she didn’t, pushing out. Evie staggered in her heels, holding herself so Billy crossed around in silence. They went up into her house. 

   “Gonna...bathroom. Wash my face off ��n change.” She had this sleepy adorable way about that, petting Blue idly. Already tugging little clips from her curls.

   Billy came to give the cat some attention. Heard the sink running and crossed back to Evie’s room. Tucked his boots and coat aside. Sprang at attention when she came in wearing a long tee and cradling a bundle of clothing. Curls free and messy. The slightest smear of black makeup still under her eyes but the rest of the paint came off leaving her fresh-faced and glowy. 

   “Need to use it?” She gestured behind her and stepped aside, depositing her laundry properly. Blue eyes lingered before he went off. Wordless.

   Evie let out the breath she’d been holding to sit on the bed. Back taut when Billy returned so she stood awkwardly. A quick movement that made him stop. Created a standoff. Eyes held steady. Expectant. She bit her lip and clicked the light out.

   Somehow that made him feel safer to cross. Careful steps like he was approaching a skittish nymph. Stood inches away. Evie let herself cave in.

   “Can I undress you?”

   The words blurted.

   Billy didn't hesitate.

   “All yours.” He watched her too pointedly so Evie looked aside. Reached to lift his shirt until he adjusted to get out of it. She got a look finally at the nasty red and purple welts on his shoulder. Healing yellow tinge. Clouds shifting.

   Visible from the moon and streetlamps outside flitting through the blinds. A hand hovered but didn’t touch and he just went rigid there. Let her look at him. Let her see every inch. The color splashed over his shoulder like spilled paint. 

   “Can I kiss you there?”

   “Only once.” He said so she swept over. Placed her lips on the flesh that was burning hot. Pecked too light and came out to see Billy’s eyes close. They opened and she reached for his belt. Clicked to get it off before unbuttoning his pants. Billy hitched to shudder when she brushed him, easing his pants down over white briefs. 

   Slowly, Evie brought a finger to her lips. Tapped once and Billy obeyed. Claimed them without ceremony. Pushed into her body until they tangled back in bed. Adjusting so he could hover.

   Aroused into a creamy thigh, Billy rocked easily between parting legs. Nestled there and heard her moan. Drowsy kisses as her hands slipped around his back. One arm braced by her head, fingers smoothed the curls aside. 

   “Can I look?” He uttered, hand inching under her shirt. Gazes locked. A pulsing beat.

   “Yeah.” Evie let her hands fall into the mattress. Billy pushed fabric up over her chubby stomach and naked breasts. Traced her flesh without shame and she felt it all melting away. Piles of insecurities shedding to drop like little weights hanging from her heart. Brown eyes lifted elsewhere. A quiet shiver followed.

   Her chest rose and fell. Evie tried to stay alert and locked into him, but the sensation returned that sunk her down.

   “Billy," she squeaked to still him, "I-I do want you.”

   That broad hand palmed her side. 

   “If you’re unsure, Angel, it’s a no.” He shrugged. “It’s okay. You’re tired. Doesn’t hurt my pride.” Eyes lingered on her face. Evie still felt so exposed there. Billy’s thumb rubbed a hot circle into her skin. He chuckled before pecking those waiting lips with ease.

   “We could...I still want to… Do things.” Evie shuddered, swallowing to find the words. “Warm-up. Start slow. Small.”

   “Little things you dream of me doing to you.” He leaned in again to taunt. Hips pushed into hers. “Wet your panties already.”

   “Please, you leaked all...over me…” Evie lost the exact jab while he kissed up her neck. Tongue and teeth. His hand inched. Ever so slightly. She touched his knuckles, guided him higher to cup her breast. Billy moaned at that alone. Twitched like he might burst and wasted no time getting his tongue on her nipples.

   “Taste better than I dreamt, that’s for damn sure.” He ran his nose over her sternum. Tormented her other breast. Let his teeth tug once. Twice.

   Suckles until she bucked into him. Head tossed back to moan. Fingers curled into spun gold. Coaxed him onward. Billy kissed her all over. Tummy and back up again. Shifting, he moved over to straddle one leg, nudged her thighs to stay parted.

   “Wanna spread you open,” lips ghosted, “touch you.” Brush you again and again.

   Evie had his arm in her grip. Felt like two irons clinging. Slowly, she nodded, eyes huge and darting over his there in the dim light. 

   “I want to feel good again, Billy.” She gulped dry air. “Want you to make me feel good.”

   He took in her expression. Pleading and vulnerable. Unafraid to want him in the open. Fingers rolled over her hard nipple and then slipped down under flimsy fabric he wished he could tear. Contained himself just barely at the feel of her. Soaked for him. Responsive to every little beat and sigh. Pride set fire to his marrow. Two fingers pushed up into the bud, coated in arousal to stroke it.

   "Like that?" He teased slow. Her mouth opened for his tongue in response.

   Evie grasped desperately at the pillow under her head. Legs opened so he got off to curl next to her. Braced his head up with one propped elbow and offered lazy rubs. Drew it out until her thighs hitched to part wide.

   “Hear that fucking sound you make?” Billy’s lips touched her ear. “Fuck.” He whimpered like she was the hottest thing on two legs. Made her feel coveted and sexy. Desirable. Slick sounds mingled with their breathing hurried. “I could listen to it all day and get off on that alone, you know. Musical girl. I could play you all night.”

   He kept kissing her, rendering Evie unable to articulate. Wanting him in little breathy sounds.

   Fucking wanting him.

   Evie twisted, hitching a gasp as her toes curled. Thighs parting wider because Billy was some sort of fucking wizard at this. This boy couldn't be real. Eliciting perfect notes out of her. One hand gripped the pillow under her head while the other clung to his bicep now. She felt the muscles bulge white-hot and loved it. Heard Billy breathing soft in her ear, lips trailing down her jawline and collar. 

   “You’re so wet.” Billy brought his fingers up to lick them. Pushed his tongue into her mouth after. “Taste so fucking good.” Evie yelped as he slapped her thigh playfully. The words slurred into her lips. He slipped his hand back into her panties, played rougher, and felt her tense. Evie’s lips opened into his to moan. Her legs bent up and spread for him. Bucking to meet his touch that was ending her. “Shameless, Evie, I like it.”

   “You talk too much.” She had gasped, eyes rolling to shut. Breast jutting so he kissed them next.

   “I don’t think people talk enough during the act.” Billy curled back into her. Supporting himself on one arm by her head. “Nothing like seeing a pretty girl’s face when I tell her she’s gonna come so hard for me.” She felt his shaft against her side, rubbing idly to make some friction. Leaking and wet. "So very hard."

   Billy liked to play dirty, it kept his emotions at a safe distance.

   Evie caved in. 

   “More… Faster, Billy.” She clung for him. Neck exposed. Pulsing. Lips parting obscenely. "More."

   A finger pushed inside with another following. 

   “Oh, fuck.” Evie worked into his touch. Brown eyes finding his intent ones. Billy thumbed her clit in tune. Pumped a few times. Watched her chest rise and fall in shaky breaths. The shirt still bunched over her tits. Lips fell to suckle one rosy nipple then the other.

   “Too much, Angel?” Billy slipped out to resume circling the bud. He hummed, slowing to inhale deep before he granted her another taste of his lips.

   “Don’t stop, I like it.” Evie whimpered into his mouth. Caught his bottom lip in her teeth playfully. 

   “Couldn’t tell.” Billy sped up again. “Wanna see you come for me.”

   “Billy.” Evie twisted at that. Thrusting herself into him. Breasts bouncing.

   Slick, filthy sounds filled the room. The damn streetlamps glimmered around the curtains. Gave her almost no place to hide from him. Something churned in her stomach. Alert. 

   “I’m close.” She strained at last. "I'm so..."

   “I know,” he grazed their lips to murmur, “just chase it. Don’t run, Angel. That’s it. Chase it for me.” He watched her expression flutter and cloud. Loved it. Worked her relentlessly.

   Nails dug into his skin. Out of breath and bucking until her body gave a little quake. A moan followed. Drawing out with her climax. Billy rubbed her until she fell to pieces. Crying out and shuddering. All for him. Back curved to echo sweet delights. He didn’t stop until she fell limp and quivering by the force. With Evie spent, he pushed up to reach into his briefs. Slicked his shaft in her arousal. Began to pump. 

   “Lemme see you.” She slurred, turning over to tug his underwear down. God, he was beautiful. Lines cut down his hips. Trimmed gold curls. She bit her lip again and wasn’t coy for once.

   “You mind?” A suggestive eyebrow rose.

   "If I can help." She pushed up more with heavily hooded eyes. Drunken. Messy kisses trailed his abs before she licked his tip.

   “You just go for it, huh?” Billy added. Allowed her to swallow him down. “Fuck, that mouth you have, Evie.” He bucked into her throat. Tried to apologize when she made a sound that was utterly pornographic. Heavy cologne wafted up her nose. A trail of spit ran from flesh to lips as she came out. Lapping again. Sinking down so he could pump. She gripped his hips and worshipped him. "You don't...You don't have to..."

   "I like it when you feel good. You're so beautiful." Evie dipped out. Let Billy tilt her head up by the hair. Thumb slicking her swollen mouth. Billy curved to dip his tongue in. Groaned when she kept stroking. "Feels good to give pleasure. We have that in common, Billy."

   His spine arched. Muscles taut because her lips were on him again.

   "You look like a star, you know that?" Billy had to peer away. Sighing soft. Shuddering. She didn't lie about being skilled at this. Evie placed little kisses up and down. Slowed. He didn't have time to continue the praise.

   “Where do you want to cum?” She resumed stroking him. Kissed shapes around his hips sweetly. Billy tried to articulate and gasped as her teeth nipped along his skin.

   “You’re asking me? Shit...You won’t like it.” He tried to not blow it all on her face. Felt like that might be rude. Billy shuddered again. “On your tits.”

   “Hm.” Evie reclined back, let him scoot in and helped him stroke himself. Being dirty also assisted in keeping her emotions and insecurity at bay. She worked him with her slick hand. Felt him starting to lock.

   “Listen, I’m not gonna last much...longer.” He was thrusting into their palms. Leaned over her to grasp the pillows so she could finish him herself.

   “It’s okay. Just let go, Billy. It'll feel so good when you do.” Tease.

   “Fuck, Evie, fuck.” Billy looked exquisite. Vulnerable. Eyes glittering with pleasure. Whining. Lips opened to groan. She worked him until release gushed. Milky spurts right across her chest. Billy swallowed for some air, looked down at her. Messy and fucked out. Shirt bunched up with his filth all over her skin. Puffed. 

   “Don’t get mad, but I thought about that the first time I saw you.” He twisted one nipple, heard her hitch to sigh. Evie fell back with a huff.

   “Yeah, you made that obvious.” She felt Billy sweep up some release with two fingers and offer it to her lips. Sucked him clean, peering through thick lashes. Evie laced their fingers and let a slow smile pull. “I enjoy you, Billy.”

   “Yeah?” He fell next to her. Nestled in so their curls mixed. “Only took you a couple of months and an orgasm to admit it.”

   “Shut it… I want you. Not trying to countdown to it like it’s some rocketship.” She pushed over him and felt under the bed for a dirty shirt to wipe off with. “That’s all I’m saying. Foreplay is one thing. Sex always changes people. Maybe I'm...freaked about that.”

   “I enjoy you, too.” He admitted to the dark. Eyes lifting to the ceiling before she tucked herself back in between him and the wall. “We could get a motel room sometime. Make sure no one walks in for once. We'll be wide awake and go a few rounds. And I won't change on you.”

   “Hmm.” She turned to muffle into his chest. Drowsy as can be. “Sure.”

   “Really?” Didn’t expect a quick reply. “Not gonna take it back when the glow wears off?”

   “Maybe.” Evie teased, grinning into Billy’s skin. “You make me mad sometimes. Still want to go slow like this.” He chuckled with little air, chest steady until he adjusted so she could cuddle into him. Evie traced a heart into his flesh. Caught herself. “Can I have a ride Monday? I think Steve will understand… I’m just freaked out about going in.”

   A hand pushed her hair aside so they could look at each other. Billy played with lush curls. Got serious.

   “He's not gonna be there.”

   “I know.” Evie hummed with her eyes closing. Fingers in her hair lulled her further. “Sometimes I think I see him standing in dark corners. Even when I’m on stage. There’s this glimmer of him everywhere. Especially as I close my eyes.”

   Billy didn’t know what to say so he kissed her until she was breathless and distracted. They shifted around so Evie faced the wall, pulling his arm over. Thrilled him to pieces. Billy framed her body with his, lips melting into dark curls. Sweet blessings placed upon her crown. A protective barrier he hoped soothed her.

   He really hoped.

   The blankets pulled up so they twisted together. No more syllables followed until the morning birds began to sing.

** ** **

   Monday crept to swallow Evangeline whole.

   She donned a vintage plaid dress that was cinched with a belt and short. Threw her bomber over it and fashionable black tights. Knew she was dressing for Fredrick even still. Her little outfits pieced together so he could imagine taking them apart in class. Earrings caught the light as she swung her bag on and crept outside into the morning windchill. Didn’t want to keep Billy and Max waiting. 

   Just in time, they stalked out of the Hargrove house. This knowing smile crossed Max’s face when she saw Evie.

   “So, you’re hanging out with Billy again.” Came the monotone observation.

   “Back seat.” He snapped at her. Evie’s lip twitched before a little nod followed and the redhead disappeared into the back. Snapping the seat in place for Evie to take. Without ceremony, the Camaro lurched forward to go. Billy fiddling with his radio and cursing all the hick stations until he found one at Evie's quiet recommendation. 

   “Is Evie your girlfriend now?” Max was leaning between them.

   “I’ll pull over, I swear to god, Max.” He lifted his eyes with an aggravated breath, turning hard after the stoplight changed. Max snickered and Evie wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Eyes darting at the many trees they passed until they began to blur. A sea of earthy tones and pure white frost pooling. Almost looked like chaotic, muddy ocean waves. Crashing.

   Sensing the nerves, Billy’s hand found her knee. Stayed there until they got to school. Thumb smoothing.

   “See you two later.” Chipper for once in the morning, Mad Max jumped out after them and raced down the hill to meet Dustin waving across the way. Evie huffed as he looked between Billy and her then asked Max an obvious question out of earshot.

   Students moved all around them. Many pausing to glance at Evie Fenny appearing from the magical blue of Billy Hargrove's legendary Camaro. She didn't belong there. One hot orgasm wouldn't change that. Fingers curled into her bag’s strap. Nervously twisting it.

   “He’s not gonna be in there and you won’t feel better until you face it.” Billy finished his cigarette against the hood. Eyes pointed.

   “We could just skip.” Evie looked around at passing students and Billy came to her side.

   ��You do know how to tempt me. C’mon.” An arm swept around her shoulders. Nearby students took more frantic notes as they got down the hill so Evie wiggled from him. Kept walking and felt sick by the time they got to her locker.

   “People are staring at us.” She faced inside and sorted books. Billy leaned next to her. Eyes flickering with this unreadable expression. 

   “I didn’t notice.”

   Evie gave him this glance like she didn’t believe him. 

   "I don't care." Came the actual sentiment.

   “I have to get to calc.” Evie dismissively shut the metal door and gasped when he kissed her. Right there in front of everyone. Billy cupping her cheeks. Making a point in his way. Cartoon confetti tumbling down. Students watched Evie stumble into the lockers. Billy Hargrove’s arm steady around her back. Pulling her into his body as if he wanted her and only her and nothing else existed.

   “Clear enough, Angel?” He pulled out. Left her breathless. Unworried and wishing it was enough to unbind her nerves. A thumb fixed her lipstick idly. “See you in English. Don’t run.” Billy swept off. Students parting to let their king by. Evie shuddered to herself and hunched to hurry in the opposite direction. Cheeks burning. 

   Brush me again.

   She didn’t learn much in her first period. Heather met her at the door and kept glancing the entire class. Carol and Tommy both skipped. That should have brought Evie some ease. Instead, she figured she might blow chunks.

   The first bell had her springing up. Not even waiting for Heather as she disappeared into crowds. Shoving a bathroom door open so she could throw up her breakfast. Two eggs arranged with wheat toast. Mona had spent the entire time prattling about some man she was seeing as if Evie were her best friend and therapist and not a soul she gave birth to.

   Evie so often wondered if her mother had wanted her. Really wanted her. This life that stilled all her starlight, electric dreams. And not treated birth as a duty because these things can happen.

   Luck was not on her side. Evie had passed Carol in there with a couple of other girls in her gaggle's orbit. Smoking and late to class. Too cool for it either way.

   Bile and food exploded into the toilet bowl. A twisted clothing pin that was stuck somewhere it shouldn't have been came up too. Evie swallowed that a good while ago. Spots of blood pricked.

   “Gross, Fenny, didn’t know you were that type.” Vicki sneered outside at the sound. Snickering followed. “Two fingers are better than one, precious. I hope you give Billy’s dick better treatment.” Footsteps followed and Evie didn’t have time to be mortified. She figured they all left and gasped. Spotted a loose bolt in the wall. 

   Evie propped her head up and fumbled to unscrew it.

   Heard voices that told her to stop. Just stop. She can stop. She can stop this at any time.

   There rust.

   It went down and Evie felt that sickly wave of calm wash. Rocked back to a distant shore and wiped her mouth on a wad of thin toilet paper. Felt disgusting. Gave her cheek a soft pat like a baby. Breathe. Breathe. Feet staggered out with her backpack to see Carol sitting on the farthest sink like it was a throne. Smoking still and far too elated.

   Shame sunk its talons into Evie like Carol watched the entire thing play out. 

   Unable to even rasp, she went to the sink and washed out her mouth. 

   “Not preggers are you?” Smoke pooled up.

   “Just sick.” Evie bit back, hands braced over the sink.

   “About the party,” Carol continued, not listening as she snuffed out her cig against the mirror's corner, “I was so drunk. Don’t take it personally.”

   “Fine.”

   “I just think it’s a fresh start today. New leaves. Right?” Carol dug around as Evie shuddered and tried to reapply her lipstick. The redhead approached. “Here.”

   A stick of bubblegum flicked out. Evie eyed it suspiciously and Carol actually smiled. Glossy lips curling before she chewed her own piece. Blew a plush pink bubble for good measure.

   It popped.

   “Nothing funny. You need to work on those trust issues. Especially if you’re gonna hang with Billy. He gets around." Her head cocked. "Don't mind Vicki, by the way, Billy sorta dropped her unexpectedly. Hm. She was hoping to take him all the way to prom and only got one taste at Lover's Lake. Poor thing.” 

   Carefully, Evie took it. Let the sweet flavor fill her rustic mouth. Didn’t mask enough.

   “Thanks…”

   “Anytime.” Carol went to the door and stopped. Lips smacked. Couldn't hold it in any longer and let the glee flow. Red hair flicked. “So how does it work, you and Bowers, is it a grade thing? Are you just easy? I’m so curious because he seems like a guy who could get anyone. Billy, too. So, why you, Evie?"

   The question that kept Evangeline up at night haunted the air. Carol grew relentless.

   "Are you a witch of some kind? Could be comparing the young and old. Gross. Maybe you work well on your knees. I’d love some tips.”

   Evie stared at the sink. Heard the bell blare signaling she was late. A deafening silence followed.

   “I don’t…” She peered at Carol crossing her arms to smile. The gum went sour. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” 

   “I don’t know if I’m grossed out or impressed, Evie,” Carol faked a look of shock, “you really suck off our teacher. I mean, how pathetic do you have to be?” A nasty, faux scoff followed. 

   "As if you weren't leaning over his desk to press your tits against his back and hiking your skirts up all the same." Evie shot up. Caught Carol off guard by matching her malice. Easily.

   Evie found herself shaking. Face hot. Eyes betraying her too well.

   “But, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave me alone.” She spat the gum in the trash and pushed out to go. Carol followed her down the empty hallway, skipping and loving this side of Evie that poured like tar.

   “Does he at least buy you nice dinners? I bet he’s flush with cash. Buys you things in leather and lace. Does he have a preference? I think lace. You're a dainty spring flower he plucks the petals from all for himself. Right?" Carol struck Evie with an arrow at that sentiment. "Is Billy jealous? Bowers is probably into the weird shit. You must be a real pro at-” Carol hitched to squeal when Evie flared.

   Two hands plucking her up to shove her into the lockers. Breaths in sync, Evie found herself hissing. A fire built to pour and ravage. Warming them both. She leaned too close to Carol's face.

   “Just, shut up.” She trembled, teeth-baring. A silver tear fell down her cheek. Fingers warped into Carol's pink turtleneck sweater. The trapped girl actually reached up to catch it on her finger. Looked dreamily into the droplet like she was viewing a distant memory.

   “Ah, you’re actually crying. Like a little baby. You should start wearing a big red A, Fen. Bowers must love having a little baby girl around. Dress her up and down, down, down.” Carol sneered, glossy lips popping.

   She dropped the pretense as Evie held her there. Let it all flutter. Started to shatter silently. Evangeline wondered. She really wondered if what Carol Perkins saw in her that she hated so much was just herself reflected. Poor thing.

   Poor things.

   "You don't know shit about me." Evie managed. It sounded so unconvincing coming out.

   "I know all these people around here are weak. They're so fucking weak." Came the spark. "But, not us."

   Carol came in close. Added fuel to the fires. Did something peculiar and gave Evie this sickly sweet peck on the lips. Gloss and red mingled. She stole something she saw deep inside of Evie that she felt too. Got shoved back again when Evie recovered. Tongued her mouth after tasting the salt of more tears. Carol was welling now. Voice low. Starting to quiver. Evie's fingers left blushing marks on freckled skin.

   It hurt and Carol loved that it hurt.

   “It feels good, doesn’t it? Real good. Pile that pain onto someone else. This. Feels better.” Carol sniffled with budding fury. Waited for admission. She tremored and asked a question that killed them both. "What happens when we run out of silky petals, Evie, huh? What the fuck do we do then?"

   Tears shed, they didn't cleanse.

   "I d-don't know, Carol," Evie released the thoughts and mourned it deeply, "but, I think about it every single day."

   Disgust welled. Evie thought of Fredrick grabbing at her. Seething to keep their secrets locked at any cost.

   Wheels within wheels. Turning endlessly.

   Fires within fires.

   She dropped Carol and stalked off. Proud like Hester in The Scarlet Letter. Fleeting temptress with dominance and power for days like Abigail in The Crucible. Heroines and villains and virgins and whores and martyrs. None of them win.

   Women were always packaged just so. The world seemed to prefer that. All these stories Fredrick made her read and reread until she took them into her soul. Lolita who always gets the blame she never deserved because she was young and a victim and no one cares about that. Why don't they care about us? They care about how she was prepackaged by a society that never tried to save her.

   No one cares or grieves why and how women are carved from pristine marble, only that it's their fault if they tarnish and crack. Their fault if they stumble and fall. No going back.

   No going back.

   White roses painted red. They never asked first.

   Evie was a couple of steps away from the classroom when a mass of claws tore into her curls. Yanked her back so hard that her backpack fell off. 

   “Still pretending you’re better than me, bitch! Admit it!” 

   Evie cried out. Alerted nearby classes. Thought of Fredrick tearing her down the same way and whirled with her hand out on pure instinct. Smacked Carol in the mouth. Froze with huge eyes. And Carol actually smiled. Bloodied teeth and sticky lip gloss. She looked like such a girl there.

   "Alright, Fenny babe, I'll play the villain for you. Just like you wanted." Carol dove on Evie while classes began to pool out. They hit the floor and lockers rolling around. Not really landing punches or slaps. Just locked around each other shouting and tearing into clothing and loose hair. Both crying.

   “Shit!” Billy, Steve, and Tommy shoved through the jeering teens to pull them apart. Chaos rained.

   “Girl fight! Girl fight!” This school really reveled in such things every single time. 

   “We need help here! Ladies, enough!” The poor substitute in Bowers' room was not having a great first day.

   “Get off me!” Carol finally detached from Evie so Billy scooped her up under the arms. The redhead noticed Mr. Bowers wasn’t around and stopped struggling. This cruel look twisted her face. 

   “Can’t leave you alone for a second, huh?” Billy’s voice brought Evie back into the shouting as she scrambled up with his help.

   “You two! Principal!” Another teacher came between them. The useless security guard was just now jogging around the corner. Evie tore her bag up and passed Steve and Tommy. Carol was already stomping off. Something awful lighting her bones aflame. Red locks bounced and became fire.

   Ushered away through crowds, they were put into a cramped room. Seated next to each other.

   “Perkins and Fenny?” Their principal plopped into a chair with his secretary sitting in back to make notes. “I haven’t had problems with either of you.”

   Carol burst right there. Sobbed through the words.

   “It’s all Evie's fault! She slept with him and she’s just getting away with it! She gets everything! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of all this and...and I want it to stop! I just want it all to stop!” 

   “Ms. Perkins, you’re not being app-!”

   “What if I told you it was a grown man, huh! Maybe someone who works here.”

   “Liar!” Evie wretched over her chair to swat at Carol until they had to be forced apart again into separate rooms. A clock ticked. Blared in her ear and made her crazy while she waited. Tears streamed.

   Carol was about to ruin her life. Drag all this shit back to the surface.

   God, what would Mona say if she knew her daughter was an evil temptress?

   Evie got into her bag for something. Anything to make it better. Nothing small enough to swallow at the bottom so Evie just rocked. Patting her cheek again to console herself. Bubblegum lip gloss still stained her red lips. No wiping it away.

   Chief Hopper poked his head into the room ten minutes later, causing her to drop the bag and send her items everywhere.

   Hester. Abigail. Lolita. Twisting goddesses. They all pay for it somehow. The narrative always makes them pay and they never had a chance to be anything else. Can't blame them.

   Poor things. Lost to the fires within fires.

   Books and papers flew out elegantly around her feet. Scattering away as Evie burst into harsh tears.

~~~~~~~~~

Oof, sorry to end it there lads! More to come and thank you so so much for following as always. All the comments mean so much to me and I’d love to chat about the chapter!! Thanks!

TAGGED: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana   @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan​ @10blurredsmoke10 @stanley--barber  @charmed-asylum @unmistakablyunknown

[bush-viper-cutie]

The Crystal Ball

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,482

Rating: T for Teen

Plot: Dilyn Grisial, a renowned match-maker, promises a teenage Severus Snape and his classmates a chance at finding their soulmate. Severus struggles with the possibility he may not even have one especially after it’s been years since he first tried reaching them.

Warnings: Self hate, crying, momentary bad attitude 

A/N: Special thanks to @wow-life-love4​ for sending in this request! I hope this is as cute as the soulmates au tiktok you sent and that i turned it wizard-y enough! :D (Sev’s point of view tho)

Posted: 4/6/20

Masterlist

(Part Two: Green Lace and Peonies)

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

If there was a month Severus hated more than January, it was February. The Great Hall was decorated from the high rising ceiling to the hard stone floor in floral patterns and soft colors. Large pink satin ribbons hung from the ceiling and dangled overhead above every table.

The stained glass windows behind and above the High Table had been charmed to let in light of every shade of pink, red, and lavender. Even the plates and goblets that were normally golden all over had been replaced by identical ones except for the red engravings of roses with thorny stems around the rims.

Severus clutched his book tighter and kicked at the petals littering the floor as he took his seat at the Slytherin table. Even his housemates, who normally sported gloomy and irritated exteriors, all seemed to have caught the general excitement in the air by the way they were watching Dumbledore’s podium as he waited behind it for silence.

“Students, as you may already know, it is time for one of the most affectionate Hogwarts traditions of the year. Whether you want to show your appreciation for old friends or new, now is the time to make an effort. Roses will be available to be picked up at any time this month from the High Table between meals so please, send your mushy warmhearted words to the people you care about most,” Dumbledore smiled.

He looked to his left and stepped back to let a familiar middle-aged wizard up to the podium next. The wizard looked out at the students and waved, “Hello students! I’m Dilyn Grisial as some of you may recognize me. Well, I’m here with everyone’s favorite crystal balls!”

Several students cheered and clapped at the announcement. Severus scoffed and opened his book back to the page he was on. He tried concentrating on the words, but the noise was too loud and Dilyn Grisial did nothing to calm the crowd.

Grisial chuckled, “All sixth and seventh years will have them handed out for free! I must remind students, however, not to get your hopes down if they do not work right away. I promise there is someone out there for everyone!”

“I can’t believe the ministry believed enough of this guy’s crap to buy dumb balls for us.” A Slytherin was saying.

Severus couldn’t agree more. The Daily Prophet made this ‘Mr. Grisial’ guy out to be some sort of miracle worker for match-making hundreds of wizards. Those naive Ministry idiots.

Severus rolled his eyes at the excitement going around the room. He watched the reactions of every table – except Gryffindor – as Grisial walked around the great hall handing them out.

After breakfast was over, he stood up and tried to leave the ball behind, but someone pointed out he was “forgetting” it and had to take it and shoved it in his robe pocket. That was fine however, he would just dump it in his trunk and ignore it. Not like I’d be tempted.

However, ignoring the crystal balls proved to be harder than he initially thought at the beginning of the month. All around people were sending and receiving messages through them. Even his dormmates had started bragging about the people they were talking to. Everyone seemed pleased with who they were getting paired up with, even if it was anonymous at first.

Once while studying at one of the desks in the Slytherin common room someone had gotten curious about his experience using the crystal ball.

“Hey, Snape. Are you talking to anyone?”

“Gotten yourself a soulmate yet?”

The word ‘soulmate’ had started to get thrown around everywhere. He knew that a large majority of the wizarding population thought the idea of such things were “for fools” much like the art of divination. Although… he could not deny there were several aspects of magic still unknown or unstudied and far less understood by the wizarding world as a whole.

He ignored the questions and made his way down to the courtyard to study. It was cold and windy and his trousers were barely long enough to cover his ankles. He ignored the sudden chill he got and sat down under a tree, pulling his robe tight around himself and opened his book back up, placing it in front of his legs.

He arched his back and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and continued reading. After a few minutes his hair had fallen from his shoulders to hang down around the book like a black curtain blocking out the sun’s light. He ignored it and moved his right arm up to support his head, resting his other hand in his lap for warmth.

“Not too enthusiastic about my crystals are you?”

Severus looked up to see Dilyn Grisial a few feet from him. The man had been visiting Hogwarts throughout the month to answer questions regarding the balls or to help students figure them out. He frowned and closed his book.

“No. Can’t say that I am.”

He smiled, “What year are you in? Seventh year?”

“Sixth.”

“Well you should have a go at it. You’ve got what’s left of this year and all of next to meet your ‘chosen one’ or ‘soulmate’ – whatever you kids are calling it these days.”

Severus rolled his eyes at him and walked away but that night he stayed awake in bed. At this point, two and a half weeks after they received the crystals, almost every sixth and seventh year were paired up. His bed neighbor had just gotten back from a date with the mystery girl he had been talking to. Everyone had stayed up to hear how it went and he again used the word ‘soulmate’ to describe how perfect she was.

Could there be someone out there for me? Severus shifted the covers and pulled them up to his chin. The idea of a girl not being repulsed by him within the castle’s walls seemed unlikely. The school called him Snivellus for a reason. Made fun of his nose for a reason. An absurd and barbaric reason, he frowned.

He closed his eyes and attempted to sleep, but within minutes they were open again, looking over to the trunk he had stashed the ball in. He sat up and crawled over to the end of his bed and opened his trunk. His arms were long enough to reach and he felt around the bottom of the trunk.

His fingers touched a cold and smooth surface and grasped the round object. He held it close and moved back. He pulled the curtains around his fourposter and sealed himself in with enough privacy and courage to mess around with the cursed thing.

He moved it from hand to hand, not knowing how to start. What had he said to do? Talk with it? He looked around – though it wasn’t like anyone could see him inside – and brought the ball up to his mouth. He licked his lips and whispered:

“Hello?”

Stupid! What a stupid first thing to say… The ball glowed blue for a few seconds and warmed his hand up, and then stopped. It became as cold as before and grey; the mist inside stopped swirling. He waited for a few minutes and tried again:

“Are you there?”

It did the same thing as before. He set it down and tapped the glass, not knowing if he was doing it right. He placed it under his pillow and went to sleep, hoping it did something in the morning.

The next day he carried it around in his bag and checked it between classes and every fifteen minutes during break, but it was always the same. I’ll try again tonight.

And he did, along with the night after, and the one after that. He tried every night of March, and every week of April, randomly throughout May, and once during June. But over the summer it stayed in his trunk, forgotten, even during the times he needed someone to talk to the most.

Term began and he never thought of it once until February rolled around and Dilyn Grisial was back, once again. He handed them out to every sixth year and promised everyone they’d be paired with their perfect match with the crystal balls.

That day he found himself staring into the third-floor bathroom mirror, inspecting his dark eyes, his large nose, his greasy hair, his thin lips. Everything. He hated it all. He sighed and hung his head over the sink, turning it on and cupping his hands over the cold water. He splashed his face and wiped with the sleeve of his robe.

He straightened his back and felt the pocket with a peculiar round object weighing it down. He had brought the crystal ball with him today, not really knowing why. He looked around and slid it out. It was grey and the mist inside was as still as the day he got it.

“Please talk to me,” he whispered into it.

The familiar glow started and the mist swirled for a second and stopped. He wondered if the person receiving his messages knew it was him. Did they know better than to talk to him? To Snivellus.

“Got yourself a girlfriend, Snape?”

Severus turned quickly, shoving the ball in his robe. Two fourth year looking boys from another house were standing by the bathroom door, pointing at him.

“No, see. It’s not glowing. Snivellus has got no one!”

He shoved past them and exited the bathroom, ignoring their laughter. He sunk into the shadows of the dungeon and ran to the Slytherin common room. He bounded into his room and threw open his trunk, dropping the crystal ball inside and locking it shut.

. . .

Four years later Severus found himself sitting next to Dilyn Grisial at the High Table once again. This was his second year teaching potions and the second year having to drink pink tinted soup next to him. Severus ignored him like he ignored the stares from several students who recognized him and couldn’t believe he had been hired as a professor.

Grisial had just given his speech about his crystal balls and the power they had to connect anyone with their perfect partner. Severus finished his soup and walked down the Great Hall, ignoring the rare stares he still got from students.

He paced his office floor, thinking about the crystal balls – and more specifically, his. More and more of his old classmates were having their wedding announcements shown in the Daily Prophet, all claiming to have found their partners thanks to Grisial’s crystals.

He opened the back door of his office and stepped into his personal chambers. He walked over to the wardrobe behind the bed and pulled down his trunk, it rattled as it tilted. He placed it on his bed and opened the lid slowly. His old crystal ball was still in there. He moved it out of the bedroom and placed it on his desk.

What am I doing with this thing? He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. It was ridiculous to think he would find his own “soulmate” within that thing. He tossed it onto a chair and turned to his papers.

He saw it glow for just a second. He stood up, walked over to it slowly, and picked up the cold ball. It glowed again, bright blue this time, and the mist swirled in all directions.

His breath hitched and he sat down quickly, almost missing his chair. He placed the ball on his desk and wiped the dust off the crystal. He held it firmly with both hands, waiting for the messages to appear to him.

The first ones that showed were the ones he had sent, spelled out in the mist.

“Hello?”

“Are you there?”

“Please talk to me…”

He wiped his eyes and bent over, his nose almost touching the crystal.

“Hello.”

“Hello?”

“Are you there?”

He pulled his hair behind his ears and rotated the ball to keep reading.

“It’s quite silly to ask me to talk to you if you don’t respond.”

“Do you enjoy just watching me glow?”

“It’d be more fun if you picked me up and responded…”

“Have you dropped me? Is that it? Got yourself a cracked crystal and had it stop working?”

“If you have, please let me know somehow. I’m quite clumsy and I need to know how fragile this thing is.”

“You know, I’m starting to feel a bit unhinged lugging this thing around in my bag just to check if you’ve responded.”

“Must look mental talking to a glass ball outside of Hogwarts… I think that old witch is judging me right now.”

“Oh! Thought I lost you. Sorry I shoved you in there for so long but it’s not like I’ve got any messages anyways...”

“Hello again though, in case you are there.”

He re-read all the messages, realizing the last two must be from within the past few minutes. She must have been two years behind me! Only sixth and seventh years received the crystals and after he had thrown it in his trunk he never picked it back up again.

The crystal glowed bright blue again and he read the message instantly.

“Think you’ll respond this year?”

Severus lifted the ball and licked his dry lips. His breath was shaky and he opened his mouth, trying to think of something.

“Hello…”

The ball glowed and died out like it had when he sent the first few messages.

“Hello!”

The ball glowed instantly, startling him. He gripped the ball tighter, afraid to drop it like she had suggested.

“Why have you decided to respond now? Not that I mind!”

“I… I hadn’t looked at it in a while… I hadn’t realized you had responded… Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I was just worried about you is all. Kind of concerning, receiving your messages and then never hearing from you again.”

Severus reread the messages and sighed. He felt like it was too good to be true. Was this person he was talking to really someone who would like him? Someone meant for him?

“I’m glad you responded… Let’s talk. It’s nice to make new friends.”

He stared at the last two words. A ‘new friend’. Haven’t had a real one in – …Someone to talk to would be nice. As long as they don’t realize it’s me they’re talking to.

“I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know what to talk about…”

“Start with your name.”

Severus sighed and let his head drop to the desk. It was over. The second he says his name she’ll send him a message saying how disappointed she is to be paired with him and smash their crystal ball. He closed his eyes and decided he’d deal with it all the next day.

He went and placed it by his nightstand and left to get on with his day of grading papers and giving lessons. He thought about the crystal ball all day but couldn’t even bring himself to look at it before bed. He faced away from the crystal and forced himself to sleep.

. . .

Severus opened his eyes and rubbed at them. He turned his head and immediately sat to pick up the ball, remembering that someone had finally replied. His heart started beating as he reread every message she had sent. He felt excited and nervous, mouthing her words to himself. His eyes read the last message over and over. I can’t tell her my name.

“You’re doing it again.”

He blinked, slightly startled by the new message. He decided he had to be honest with her, even if it meant she’d stop talking to him and left him alone for good.

“You wouldn’t like me if you knew who I was… If I were you, I’d stop talking to me.”

He closed his eyes and laid down on his bed. His throat felt like closing and his eyes burned as tears formed and dripped down his cheek. What am I doing? Stop crying. He wiped the tears away and gasped, wanting the horrible feeling in his heart to go away. He gripped the crystal ball tight, not caring if the glass eventually shattered, and felt it get warm for a few seconds.

He turned his head and swiped the ball, watching as it glowed and the mist swirled into words. He brought it up close to his face and read what she had said.

“I like you already.”

He laughed, not sure if it was from the relief he felt, or from the absurdity of her statement.

“We’ve barely been talking. How could possibly know you like me?”

“Because I smile every time you reply.”

He thought about her words for several minutes. His replies were making her smile? His words made her smile? She’s smiling because of me?

“Really?”

“Really. Let’s get to know each other. I’ll start. Do you play Quidditch?”

“No.”

“Have you played it ever?”

“No.”

“Do you like it?”

“I know how it’s played and I know most of the rules.”

“Do you like riding brooms?”

“No.”

He frowned. He was already letting her down. He could only imagine her disappointment after every response. She probably thought he was boring.

“What hobbies do you have?”

“I don’t have any… I brew necessary potions once a month though.”

“What do you like to do?”

“I like to read…”

Her responses were taking longer to get to him.

“Are you still smiling?”

“Yes. I can’t help it still. And don’t worry about all the ‘No’ answers. I still like you.”

A smile pulled on the edge of his mouth, making him wipe his arm over it as if to smear it away. He decided to warn her one last time, and then let fate handle the rest.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had known me in school… No one liked me then, I’m not sure if even my friends really liked me.”

His voice broke as he spoke to the crystal. He pinched the corner of his eyes and sniffed, ignoring his own reaction to those words.

“It’d be hard not to like my soulmate.”

“Do you know a Gilderoy Lockhart?”

His soaring heart dropped. He sat up slowly and stared at that name. Gilderoy Lockhart… My student?

“Yes…”

“Yesterday Gilderoy tried convincing me that he was the one replying to me. I knew he was lying of course. I know you’re not a loser like Gilderoy.”

He found he had placed his hand over his mouth in shock. It was true he definitely didn’t consider himself to be a ‘loser’ like Gilderoy Lockhart… but what was pressing on his mind the most was the word ‘yesterday’. She goes to Hogwarts? Is she a student? Is she MY student? Do we know each other?? This can’t be happening. He ran his hands through his hair and looked around, trying to find a solution or answers to what was happening. He was twenty-two, which meant she must be at least four years younger.

“How old are you?”

“What a strange response to my story.”

“Answer. Please.”

“It was my birthday December. I’m 18. Graduating in a few months… Which means if you wanted to meet, we should now. Before I have to go home.”

His hand had moved up his face to cover everything but one eye as he read her words. She was indeed his student, maybe not directly if she didn’t take potions… But he couldn’t ask her. He couldn’t continue this.

“We can’t meet.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t tell her he was a teacher here. He didn’t even know if she suspected he was older than her, not even a student anymore.

“It’s best we stop talking. I’m sorry.”

He picked up his wand and accio-ed his trunk to him, placing the ball inside and shutting it. He stood up and pulled his nightshirt over his head and slid into his clothes, ignoring the feelings bubbling up inside him. He slid button after button through their holes absentmindedly, letting the constant motions calm him. He started buttoning his sleeves when he felt a single tear land on his exposed wrist.

My soulmate… The words echoed in his head. He closed his hands into fists and felt his shoulders shake. He closed his eyes and bit his lip in anger. Life never ceases to be cruel. He kicked the bed suddenly, hearing it scrape against the stone. He kicked it over and over again until the foot of it was pressed against the corner of the wardrobe. He took his wand and let his anger cast a spell that shot out of the wand in a blinding light and punch a hole through the footboard.

The rest of the day he spent battling his rage. He snapped at students and yelled at several running down the corridors. He didn’t care if she was possibly in his NEWT classes, he let himself act on his pain and loneliness until by the end of the day when he was tired out and ready to sleep.

He didn’t even bother shifting the bed back. He pulled his nightshirt on and forced all thoughts out of his head and slept.

Two days went by without thinking of anything other than papers he needed to grade and exams he needed to make. He picked up a slice of toast and buttered it, taking a large bite. He was about to reach for his goblet when a Hogwarts owl landed on his arm with a small envelope in its beak.

He glanced around at the other teachers but no one was looking at him all the way at the end of the High Table. He took the envelope and shook his arm, forcing the owl to fly off. It was handmade, it seemed like, from spare parchment paper folded to resemble a normal envelope.

He tore it open from the side and looked in. There was only a small piece of paper. He slid his fingers inside and pulled it out, flipping it over. It was a cut out photograph of just him from a picture he had been in for a school event his seventh year. There were three red hearts drawn above and to each side of his face that were charmed to float up and down.

He shoved the picture in his pocket quickly and rushed out of the Great Hall. He entered his office and locked the door behind him, doing the same with his bedroom door. He took out the crystal and swiped it.

“Did you send me the picture?”

His heart was beating so fast it was all he could hear.

“Yes. I did.”

He took out the paper and traced over the little red hearts around his face as he took deep breaths.

“Then by this time you must realize that I am a professor and you are a student and we cannot communicate any further.”

An agonizing minute passed. All he wanted was for all of this to be some awful mistake so he could be with her immediately. He desperately pleaded for her to say she wasn’t a student, she just knew Lockhart some other way. Maybe she worked at Hogsmeade. Anything.

“I can’t help it Severus. I want us to keep talking. We’re soulmates. That means we’re meant for each other. I’m yours and I want you to be mine.”

That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear but… Those words… I’m yours… I’m yours. She’s mine? She wants me to be hers... Those words were really what he wanted to hear… But she really is a student… He picked up the ball and placed it back into the trunk for the last time. He was slow at putting the trunk back on top of the wardrobe, her words playing in his head over and over.

. . .

It was early and he was in a meeting in the staffroom with all the other professors going over letters from the Ministry. Dumbledore had ended the meeting early to allow for any professors to catch the Hogwarts Express back to London along with all the students.

He exited the room and looked out towards the entrance hall where the loud crowd of students could be heard, yelling and screaming, excited and sad to be going home. He straightened his cloak and walked up the stairs to collect some jars from one of the charms classrooms.

He quickly spotted them and walked over, gathering them all up in a box left for him by Professor Flitwick. The jars clinked as he placed them inside, not caring to organize them too well.

“Severus?”

He turned on his heels ready to yell at whatever student had just called him by his first name, “Has anyone ever taught you how to address your professors? I don’t care if you knew me before I became one.”

The girl he was yelling at smiled, “Hmm, you didn’t seem to mind when I said it over the crystal ball.”

He blinked at her. She was walking closer with her hands behind her back and smiling at him still. She stood in front of him and he could smell her sweet shampoo. She looked up into his eyes and as much as he wanted to look away, he couldn’t. Her lips were glossy and he imagined her running her tongue over them before she had spoken his name. Her smiled reached her eyes and he found it incredibly hard to maintain his composure.

“I’ve brought you something, before I leave,” she showed him a rose with a note tied to the stem just above the leaf.

She handed it to him and placed her hands on his shoulder, leaned forward and pressed her soft lips on his cheek. He felt his face heat up and wanted to both run away to hide and press his body against hers but stood as still as possible as she stepped back.

“You should send me a letter. And it better be you asking me out on a date,” she winked, sending a chill down his spine. “I’ll be waiting for your owl.”

Severus wanted to speak, to say anything, but instead watched her walk out of the classroom, letting the door shut behind her. He looked down at the rose, making sure it was real and it was still in his hands. He picked up the note and flipped it over.

“‘All yours’,” he read, smiling. She had written her name after that.

He pulled the note off the flower and slid it into his pocket with the picture she had sent him with the hearts. He was now able to write to her and would the second he got home.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

Request: “So I was watching TikToks soulmates AU and they where cute and I was hoping you did like a Snape x reader one where he think he never gonna find his soulmate because he never got the signs but to find out his soulmate is a student. Like growing up he saw everyone get those messages of there soulmates but he never did until the reader turned 16-18 and he finally noticed. Like the reader wasn’t too far behind him in his years in school.”

(Part Two: Green Lace and Peonies)

[captainchrisfics]

Seahawks vs. Patriots

About: A first-person pov, Seahawks-supporting reader couldn’t just not show up when Chris Evans throws a Super Bowl party, even if it meant flying across the country to see her second family. Instead of a few elbow jabs from her best friend when the Patriots score a touchdown, she gets a snide comment from Chris that upsets her boyfriend and her whole understanding of their relationship.

Word Count: 5,304

Warning(s): A small physical altercation between partners- it isn’t anything more than a wrist grabbing moment, but I just wanted to give a heads up just in case.

Requested By: @marvelousnomad - Thanks for sending this in and being so patient. Hope it’s worth the wait! x

“Prepare to lose epically, Evans,” I threatened through a grin as soon as Chris’s front door swung open. I shoved the guac and chips I carried to his chest as he laughed and shook his head, jostling the snacks into one arm and sloshing his beer. Chris took a sip and sucked his teeth.

He looked up at me through long eyelashes, smiling back at me. “Wouldn’t be so sure,” he slurred. Chris stepped aside to welcome me into his home, currently hosting the most hectic Super Bowl party of the century.

“Look, I know you’ll live and die by Brady,” I shot back with a dramatic roll of my eyes. “But you’ve got to be honest with yourself.” Without much warning, I wrapped my arms around Chris tightly, without a concern for the chips crushed in between our chests. His hands found the small of my back, bodies pulled together, almost as if we were magnetic.

Between our increasingly busy lives and living on opposite ends of the country, Chris and I rarely got to see each other in person anymore. Even when he was out West, working in L.A. kept him too busy. When I was home, he usually wasn’t. We still talked for hours nearly every week and texted each other far more than that, but it wasn’t the same. 

Chris took a long inhale as he pressed a kiss to my temple. “I missed you,” he confessed in a breathy sigh that reeked of booze. “Back at you,” I responded like a vow, squeezing his neck tight before letting go all at once when Andy cleared his throat, asking where he could put the drinks.

The place already reeked of booze, which Chris had asked us to pick up more of on our way over. My boyfriend held the case of beer so hard his knuckles turned white, regarding Chris with only a stiff nod as he walked past. My best friend reciprocated, a hard look of his own.

“This is Andy, my boyfriend,” I said, feeling dwarfed between the two of them, as it occurred to me that they’d never been officially introduced. We’d been together for a few months and it almost felt wrong, introducing two of the most important people in my life for the first time. I knew both of them so well, nearly inside and out, but they were complete strangers.

“Boyfriend,” Chris acknowledged curtly, extending his hand in a forced peace offering. He smiled wryly as he took Boyfriend’s hand with a squeeze harder than it had to be.

“Friend,” Andy spit back like an insult. Like Chris was below him. He smiled in a different way, one that was more confident and cunning and fueled by knowing he’d just beat Chris at his own game. I didn’t even know the rules, the way to operate in this situation. None of this was computing. 

So I rolled my eyes and wrote it off as stupid boys before grabbing Andy’s hand, slipping passed Chris.

Chris was always my friend. Always. Even when he broke my dolls and I didn’t want him to be, even when he picked up and moved across the country just after graduation and he almost came back because I’d cried about how I never missed anyone that much before, even when he shot to fame among the stars and needed someone to pull him back down to Earth, even when I moved all the fucking way to Seattle... Not that he had any room to talk. But we were friends, never even a little more. 

I never wanted more, but neither of us sure as hell would accept any less. 

The place was crawling with an odd crowd, a mix of people Chris and I had grown up down the street from and others we’d go to the movies and see on the silver screen. There were empty cans everywhere. Everyone was buzzed, including Chris, and speaking loudly about everything from their new Tesla updates to the local school’s latest musical production. I weaved in between the small crowds, navigating Chris’s house since it was as good as my own. 

I found Scott in the kitchen, snacking on some chips and discussing his mom’s bean dip until he saw me and broke out into a grin, abandoning the small talk he’d been having with some stranger. “Hey,” he called, wrapping me up in a hug. Unlike his brooding brother, Scott wrapped a warm arm around my boyfriend’s shoulders before focusing back on me. “It’s been too long. Still loving Seattle?” Scott asked, passing me a beer from one of the boxes my boyfriend dropped on the counter. He eyed my Russell Wilson jersey with a hint of a playfully condescending smirk.

“Definitely, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to watch you two weep when your boys lose, no matter how much they try to cheat,” I said with a cheeky wink. Chris, who’d trailed behind us rolled his eyes dramatically, lifting a hand to his chest and clutching his worn Patriots jersey over his hurt heart.

“This is your doing, I bet,” Scott scoffed, crossing his arms as he jokingly stuck his nose up at Andy who merely shrugged, sticking his hand in the back pocket of my jeans. 

Chris pushed his way to my other side, slinging a heavy arm around me. “She used to have a good head on her shoulders,” he commented, tugging the sleeve of my Seahawks shirt between his thumb and pointer finger like it was someone else’s trash as he wrinkled his nose. “Now she’s little more than a hometown traitor.”

I laughed them off, taking a long drink to buy time for a good come back. Andy hadn’t been the one to suck me into the 12th man’s infectious culture and the Evans’s boys knew that. 

The three of us spent nearly every Super Bowl together, from when we were little kids playing in another room, only joining our parents in front of the television for the halftime show, to proud New Englanders through and through. And then I moved to Washington a few years back for work and joined the Evans family on their couch donned in blue, silver, and green, much to their dismay. Now, for the first time since my conversion, the two teams were not only going against each other, but they were facing off in the biggest game there was.

“That’s laughably hypocritical,” Andy jeered, his voice absent of any inkling of a light-hearted coyness. “At least when we win, we won’t be throwing our rings at Trump.” Chris and Scott’s smiles dropped simultaneously as Andy’s thorny disposition poked their sore spot.

Chris’s arm grew tense before he retracted it completely, burying his hands in his pockets, drifting away from me and toward his brother with downcast eyes. “So,” Scott cleared his throat. “Mom packed you your very own container of her bean dip to take home,” he deflected, laughing uncomfortably. “Tucked it in the back of the fridge to keep it away from these vultures.”

“God,” I sighed with relief at the opportunity to change the subject, no matter how forced. “I love Lisa’s cooking almost as much as I love her.”

After his faux pas, Andy stayed out of the conversation. I tried to include him, of course, but it wasn’t easy. Laughing until we could barely breathe over these “you had to be there” moments, like the time Chris convinced the younger Scott and I to wet our pants on purpose, wasn’t exactly something I could rope him into. Instead, Andy sat there with crossed arms and this look in his eye that made me remember every time he’d said that if he had nothing nice to say, he’d say nothing at all.

“Oh my god, remember when we were in middle school and she cast us in Grease,” I started, following up Scott’s horror story about one of our old music teachers. “I was Sandy,” I reminded everyone, playfully sweeping my hair off of my shoulder to bask in their limelight.

“And Chris was so beyond pissed that he didn’t get Danny,” Scott elaborated through a fit of laughter.

“Hey-” Chris butt in smoothly, leaning an elbow against the kitchen counter. “I did get Danny.”

“No,” I corrected, raising an eyebrow. “You got his understudy.”

Chris laughed from the bottom of his belly, a sound I sorely missed. Hearing it through my phone’s speaker didn’t compare to watching his shoulders jump up at the same time the corners of his lips reached their peak, throwing his head forward with the force of his lilting laugh that grew out of an incredulous scoff. His eyebrows rose so fast, almost like they were about to take off, and the only delicate thing about his guffaw was the way his eyelashes just brushed the rosy, round apples of his cheeks.

“And the kid who actually did get Danny… Who was it, Jake Dohenny? Well, he got a very convenient leg injury during football practice,” Scott finished for me. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, huh, Chris?”

I tried to suppress my giggle behind my palm, but Chris shot me this look that only made me laugh harder. “Sincerely, I’m sure whoever did tackle the punk so hard his tibia fractured didn’t mean to, but no one ever said it was me,” he professed his innocence, although the glint in his eye betrayed him. Then Chris’s irises grew dark as his grip tightened enough to dent his beer can. “Dohenny had it coming though, talking about you the way he was,” he swore in a low tone.

My eyes dropped to our feet. I’d forgotten exactly what happened, but as soon as Chris mentioned it I remembered exactly why that name made my stomach sink. You could say life imitates art, with him being Zuko and all. He’d gone around school and told everyone that we hooked up backstage. Being barely thirteen, it seemed like the sort of crippling embarrassment I could never recover from. Then, one day, Jake came to school with a cast around his leg and he’d still move out of my way whenever I’d walk down the hall like I had the plague or something.

I asked Chris about it once, since we usually walked together even when we were in different classes. He’d said it was for the best, that he learned some respect. It all blew over in a couple weeks anyway so I’d forgotten about it.

“Plus,” Chris said, softer now. He caught my attention as he tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “We made a damn good couple,” he joked, looking at me with this soft smile bookended by laugh lines and crow’s feet at the corner of his blue eyes. I laughed from my chest, suddenly remembering all of the terribly awkward stage kisses over each other’s thumbs and times the director got so mad she turned red since we couldn’t even get within inches of each other without breaking down in fits of nervous laughter. It was awful for everyone involved, although it made for some funny home videos.

“Well,” Andy interrupted, pulling me away from Chris and into his side. “We do, too.” He looked between the Evans’s boys with his nose stuck up in the air, shoving his hand in my back pocket almost like he was trying to stick it to them, just because he could.

Scott and I laughed uncomfortably, joking about how that had plenty to do with our eighth-grade production in an attempt to de-escalate whatever situation we’d found ourselves in, but Chris only gave him this hard look. Every bit of his former softness turned to steel.

Then the commentators’ voices, ramping up dramatically as the game began, echoed from the living room, where Chris had just about the biggest television they sold for this purpose. With a panicked glance at each other, not realizing how long we’d spent catching up and reminiscing as per usual, we raced each other to the living room. The four of us were just about the only ones with our butts glued to the couch. Leave it to Chris to throw a Super Bowl party where everyone was too busy having a good time to actually commit to watching the game.

A hell of a game it was, too. It was closer than any Super Bowl had been in a while, with both teams playing as competitively as their respective fans tried to out-cheer each other, although they all paled in comparison to Chris and I. By far one of the more exciting Super Bowl’s we’d witnessed, fueled by our own elbow-jabbing rivalry. We jumped and clapped, hollering every time someone scored and then even louder when the other team got the point back, shouting insults so profane Lisa would’ve revoked my dip if she’d heard us.

“Fucking, come on already!” Chris shouted, springing to his feet, fists clenched tight in his stressed hair. I was on the edge of my seat, just about to fall off as the referees took a torturous amount of time deciding if the Patriots last sorry excuse for a foul should count as a touchdown. I tried to listen intently over Chris’s drunken ramblings, telling Scott that this was make or break with so much intensity, like he was relaying a divine prophecy instead of just parroting Tony Romo.

The camera zoomed dramatically on the man clad in a black and white striped shirt as he prepared to make the call, every screaming fan in the stadium going quiet. “It’s good,” he concluded, throwing his arms up in the shape of a field goal as if those two words hadn’t just cost me bragging rights for the next three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of the year. As if it didn’t put the Patriots ahead enough to secure the trophy. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding, that was so a foul,” I groaned, sinking back into the couch with a crushing sense of defeat. Chris, on the other hand, shot his fists into the air while he cheered along with most of the people crowded around the living room. “Well, fuck me while you’re at it,” I muttered, pursing my lips as I crossed my arms, pouting like a discontent toddler in time out. 

Chris sat back down, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he jostled me, trying to get my spirits as sky-high as his. When he’d calmed down, Chris smiled at me with these round, booze-rosied cheeks that crinkled his soft, blue eyes. He bit his bottom lip before laughing, a deep rumble that grew from the bottom of his chest. “Lord knows I’ve been wanting to,” he all but purred, looking at me through his dark eyelashes with dangerously tempting bedroom eyes.

“I’m sorry, what?” I spit at him, thinking too many thoughts of my own to totally process his words, scooting out of Chris’s reach against my instinct. It was out of nowhere, his words, my actions, all a stark reminder of how painfully quick a second could pass. I gave him a harsh look, complete with wide eyes and high eyebrows as I waited for some kind of excuse, some kind of laugh as he shrugged it off, some kind of anything.

But Chris was a too-happy drunk tonight. The overly friendly kind whose hand had slowly dropped from my shoulder to my waist, the talkative one who’d lost his filter something like three or four Buds ago. I wasn’t sure how much he’d had, but judging by the typo-ridden text he’d sent asking me to bring more booze on my way over it’d been a lot before we’d even arrived. Now he could usually handle his drinks, but no amount of empty cans could excuse that sort of comment.

Chris’s smile dropped with his concerned brow, like the gravity of what had managed to slip past his lips had just hit him. His eyes searched my face, confused by the way I’d treated him. The way I’d torn myself from his familiar touch and retreated into someone else’s side, the venom in my voice. It even tasted like poison to me.

“I think I heard him loud and clear,” Andy said, his chest rising and falling with ragged, angry breaths. “In fact, I have been all night,” he continued, standing from the couch. “You need to learn how to keep shit to yourself, Evans.” Andy loomed over Chris, who acted more like a kicked puppy than the snarling one my boyfriend had been hoping to meet in the dog fight. He had this glint in his eye, like a spark of a blaze Chris was about to be burned in.

“We’re leaving,” Andy growled, turning to me once he’d realized Chris wasn’t going to fuel his fire. He grabbed my wrist so tight it hurt, yanking me off of the couch before I could react, but Chris stood nearly as fast.

Scott joined him, stepping between the two other men. “You guys need to stop thinking with the wrong heads,” he warned, raising his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. 

“Take your hands off of her and get out of my fucking house,” Chris said lowly as he stepped around his brother. Every ounce of his convivial disposition had dissipated, leaving Chris a dangerous mess of flexing biceps and tight jaw. Andy’s grip only tightened to the point where I could nearly feel every ridge of his palm and each indent of his fingertips.

He smirked, a smile that was harsh and cruel and not one I ever thought I’d see, although I realized right then how much it seemed to suit him. “Why? Because you’re jealous?” Andy challenged, taking a step toward Chris. He was shorter than him by a good few inches, but he stood up to him nonetheless. “Mad you don’t get to touch her like I do?”

They glowered at each other with their vexed veins popping and eager fists clenching, every bit of the enemies they’d somehow become overnight, for seconds that felt like years. Seconds I needed to catch up to the present.

I ripped my hand from Andy’s grip, rubbing the tender skin around my wrist with the other. “Because you’re hurting me,” I insisted, surprised at the sureness I was able to muster. I put on a strong front, imagining myself made out of hard concrete. I stepped between the two of them, an unwavering wall. “Because you shouldn’t treat me or my friends like that,” I impressed upon Andy, my voice remaining miraculously unbroken, before turning to Chris. 

“And you shouldn’t talk to me like that,” I paused to take a few deep breaths in an attempt to maintain my measured composure. “And neither of you should act like I’m some prize to be won or defended, for that matter,” I finished with crossed arms, glaring at the two of them.

I tried to place a stern hand on Andy’s shoulder, unable to resist the urge to recoil. I ran stressed fingers through my hair instead. “Go back to my parents, I…” I sighed. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

“But, look, I’m really sorry-” he started an apology that didn’t finish leaving his lips. 

“Just go,” I snapped at him, closing my eyes as I let out a strangled breath. It did nothing to alleviate the pressure in my chest. “Honestly, go back to Seattle, if you want. I really don’t care, just go.”

Andy bit his bottom lip, mind reeling to come up with anything that could win me over, which was exactly his problem in the first place. He gave up and leaned in to kiss my cheek, but I pulled away. I didn’t think much of it, just a simple reflex as a response to what his last touch had felt like, but by the look in his eyes, I knew our fate was sealed. It was over. I think Andy realized that too, as he turned and left.

“For the best,” Chris slurred, tentatively reaching to pat my back. I stepped out of his reach before he could, leaving our burst bubble. I realized then how many people were staring at us with their popped-out eyes and dropped jaws.

I took Chris’s wrist, tugging him out of the room as he stumbled and pulling him up the stairs until we reached the solitude of his bedroom.

“I bet this is a good night for you, huh?” I shouted, slamming the door behind me. I turned to him with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. “The Patriots get a win and you get the girl? Great plan.”

Chris’s gaze dropped to the floor. He shoved his hands down in the back of his pockets, rocking from his toes to his heels. “Seriously,” I implored, softening for him. Melting, as I always seemed to. “What were you thinking, saying something like that?”

Chris dragged his palms down his face. “Would you believe me if I uh,” he paused to hiccup, “I said I was drunk?” He tried to half-smile, watching me with these puppy-dog eyes that begged as bad as Dodger.

But my resolve didn’t waver. In fact, it took everything in me to just stand there with my arms crossed instead of boarding a flight back home to get as far as I could from him without leaving the country completely. 

Chris sighed, knowing it wasn’t good enough. “That you weren’t happy,” he said smally, innocently. Chris sunk to sit on his bed, watching his fingers as he wrung his hands anxiously in his lap. “That I could make you happier.”

“It was just a game, Chris, I’d get over losing the fucking Super Bowl, but this-” I began, but then those ocean eyes carried me into his riptide. The intensity of his gaze was unmatched, it reminded me too much of a stormy sea. The kind that made people come up with all sorts of gods to explain.

“I- fuck, I know it was stupid,” he said, dropping his eyes again. Chris ran his hands through his sweaty hair. “I mean, I meant in life. With him, like, I don’t know, but with me…” he trailed off, shaking his head like he couldn’t get rid of the thoughts. Like putting them out into the thick air between us didn’t even help. He sighed. “I know it doesn’t make sense.���

The problem was, I wished it didn’t.

That I didn’t fit more naturally into Chris’s side than any of the other boys I’d brought back to family dinners. That I didn’t book flights home whenever he wrapped filming, dropping everything just to see him for a few days, or buy his cologne for my boyfriends on their birthdays. That didn’t chase others trying to outrun him. That I didn’t waste years, entire decades really, of my life denying it.

“I didn’t realize until you weren’t here anymore,” Chris explained, but I could only wonder whether or not he’d tell me the same thing sober. He looked up at me, with these eyes that looked like they were the ocean others said they cried. “When you moved all the fucking way to Washington of all places.”

“You are so not one to talk,” I insisted, all the hurt of years staring at his empty place at the table and stealing the t-shirts he’d forgotten in his childhood bedroom and every bit of hurt walking down this city’s streets but only seeing ghosts of Chris instead of him by my side bundled into one sentence.

“I know,” Chris reassured me, puffing his cheeks out as he let go of a sigh. “But you took almost everything I loved about coming back to Boston with you. You took home with you,” he pleaded with me to see his side, clenched fists hitting his knees like it hurt to admit it.

“You can’t tell me that,” I shot back, shaking my head furiously. “That isn’t fair, Chris. You don’t get to say that. You left first.” My voice broke along with whatever dam was holding back my tears.

Really, what I wished was that I could love anyone other than him. Someone who I could go to when my best friend was being too much. Someone who would still be there after a breakup. Anyone other than this globe-trotting star who seemed to be everywhere. On every billboard’s movie poster, promoting his work on almost every continent, sitting on every interviewer’s couch, everywhere other than by my side. Someone who could walk down the street without getting photographed and hounded and probed. I was close enough to see the burns of Chris’s life in the bright lights, but still far enough to stay out of the heat myself.

The bedsprings creaked and Chris wrapped me up in his strong arms, allowing my body to wrack with its sobs as he pressed long kisses to the top of my head, whispering gentle shushes against my hair. 

“You took home first,” I cried, pounding my palm against his chest, curling my head into the crook of Chris’s neck even though he smelled worse than a frat house on Sunday morning. “You don’t know what it’s like sitting in our booth at the diner all alone.”

“Oh, I do,” he interrupted. Chris’s skin was hotter than a radiator. “And walking to the T without you tugging the headphones we’re sharing from my ear,” Chris voiced my thoughts just above a whisper. “And going to see a movie at AMC all on your own even though you could invite someone else, but it’s always been our thing so it feels really wrong, and when it’s over you realize you got enough popcorn for two.”

I pressed my forehead to his pec, feeling his heart pound along with my growing headache. “So you know why I went to Washington,” I said without really saying it.

Chris hummed a reluctant confirmation. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear while smiling gently. “What’s the thing people say… You know, about distance making hearts grow? I’m like the grinch in that one scene where his quadrupled.”

“It tripled,” I corrected, like that was the only thing wrong with his sentence. With any of this. 

“Well,” Chris sighed, puffing a putrid breath that reeked of stale alcohol too close to my proximity. “Mine grew even more than that for you.”

“That’s another thing,” I whined, trying to keep him on track while I wiped my tear-stained cheeks. “You’re my best friend, Chris. The guy I go to after a breakup, not the one I want to be breaking up with.” I closed my eyes, wishing all of this away, as I hopelessly buried my face back into his Pats jersey.

Chris’s chest rumbled with laughter, the thunder to my storm. “I don’t want to be breaking up with you either,” he promised earnestly. “The problem is, you’re the one I wanna be with.” His hands rubbed small circles on my back as I started to shake again.

“You don’t get it, I do too,” I said, for the very first time out loud. “But we’ve both got a one-hundred-percent failure rate on that front, that’s the problem.”

I didn’t want Chris to be another statistic. Another one slamming the door behind him or ignoring my texts or boarding a plane back to Washington. I didn’t want to be another tell-all in some trashy magazine or a name paparazzi would shout to get his attention. He was already so much more to me than that and I knew I meant more to him. I did the calculations, it wasn’t worth the risk. 

Chris chuckled again. “S’one way of looking at it,” he slurred, shrugging his shoulders without releasing me from the hug. “But the way I see it is that, when it comes to us at least, we have a pretty good chance given our track record.”

He had a point there. For years, Chris and I had worked out every time, after nearly every trial and every error. In fact, more than we had issues in our own relationship, we seemed to cause them in our other ones.

“I am not willing to risk ruining a whole lifetime of friendship,” I said with a shaky voice and a shaky everything else. “I can’t lose you,” I continued collapsing in on myself. 

“I already feel like I’m losing you,” Chris mumbled, resting his chin on top of my head. “Even though I know you’re right here…” His arms tightened around me. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say,” Chris shook his head. “But I do know I’ve felt like that since I realized, as much as I love being the guy you come to when you’ve got relationship problems, more than anything, I wanna be the guy you’re in a relationship with, the guy who makes sure you never have another problem again.”

“Chris,” I sighed, gathering his fuzzy cheeks in my palms. “You know I love you…” His flushed cheeks widened with a smile that made it so hard to continue. “But we can’t do this now, alright? That’s my problem. I’ve got a lot to process. Lord knows your liver does, too. We need to get to bed and-”

To my surprise, Chris untangled himself from me without anything resembling a protest. He peeled off his jersey and climbed out of his jeans before pulling back his bed’s covers far enough for him to climb under and then some next to him. He smiled at me, this innocently wide smile, as he patted the mattress’s empty space, inviting me to lay beside him. “No problem,” he grinned. 

“To our own, separate beds,” I clarified, trying to hide my laugh behind a cough as to not encourage him. As wide as he’d smiled, he frowned even deeper. “It’s just too much right now. I promise we’ll talk in the morning,” I tried to reason, although I was sure the inebriation kept him far from it.

“I’m gonna miss you though,” Chris groaned in protest, the last bit of his coherent brainpower being spent. He yawned and snuggled deeper into his pillow, making himself at home under his covers.

“I’ll miss you too,” I tried to reassure him, not able to subdue my laugh this time. “But it’s all just too much,” I echoed faintly, flicking his bedroom light off.

“Oh!” I heard Chris call over the door’s creak as I was about to shut it behind me. I paused before stopping completely. 

“I love you, too,” he said confidently. I’ve heard him say those words a million times, over the years, before either of us really knew what it meant, and over the phone, before I really knew what it meant to him. And what it meant to me. 

I hesitated, wanting nothing more in that moment than to swing the door between us wide open and take Chris into my arms, tell him that I loved him again, only in the same way, and that everything would be okay between us, since it always was before. He’d been my problem for a hell of a lot longer than just that night, and I wanted him to keep being my problem for the rest of my life. Seemed like that should be all that mattered. But that’s exactly what is too much, all of these awful, confusing feelings boiling in my chest, just about to bubble over and fall out of my mouth. So I smiled, despite everything I thought I knew about my world being shaken in a scale-breaking quake, and closed the door.

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[tokupedia]

Halloween costume ideas 2019: Kamen Rider

Digimon X Kamen Rider: Build Digital Knight form

2019 is the 20th anniversary of Digimon, the lucrative media merchandise machine Bandai has in its arsenal of IPs aside from the toy rights to Kamen Rider and other heroes.

In honor of this milestone, the first costume concept pitch I have centers around the theme of two beings changing into fused components of a more powerful form. Taking Build’s Cross-Z Build movie exclusive fused form design and combining it with a beloved Digimon that also debuted at the cinemas way back at the dawn of the then new millennium, OMNIMON!. 

Alternatively, other Rider/Digimon concept ideas are Kamen Rider Brave Crimson Duke Gamer Level 99, 12 Deva themed Ryuki-type Riders, and a Renamon themed form for Valkyrie. (Yes, I’m biased to favoring Tamers)

Red Woz

IWAE! The Demon King of Time’s story has drawn to a close with a stage show. And in this stage show, we learn there is an alternate timeline where Tsukuyomi became the queen of all space and time and another alternate Woz appears to ensure his timeline comes to pass. The rebooted versions of Showa Riders also appear at some point in the show due to time shenanigans. (The First and Next’s 1, 2 and V3 and Amazons Alpha and Omega)

Red Woz wears what appears to be a twist on an old 1920s theater usher uniform (makes sense since he debuted at a theater stageshow) with black leather zipper shoes and white gloves. All you really need to pull this one off is a vintage theater usher costume, white gloves and some extra clothing material for the coat tails and more gold buttons. Zipper shoes can be optional.

Boot

Boot is another Stage Show character, this time from Fourze. He is essentially a  SOLU alien, like Nadeshiko and much like her has a Driver with only dual switch slots. Boot is interesting as he can copy and assume the form of Rider villains, as he changed into Kazari to fight OOO.  It is unclear what his Driver does, since his limbs have no modules, but perhaps fan expansion can create “Villain Astroswitches” to tie into his copying ability.

Belses Baru-Ba (The first Rose Gurongi from the 2015 Kuuga manga)

During Riku’s time as Kuuga, the Gurongi’s Gegeru murder games were judged by Belses, the predecessor of Ra-Baruba-De. She serves not only to give a better idea of what kind of hellish war Riku was fighting, but also a glimpse into what Rose-type Gurongi are capable of. Belses was a wicked woman and her thorny vines and razor sharp claws lay waste to any human or Gurongi who dared to challenge her.

The costume pitch for this is something a bit racy but simple. The core of it consisting of a large rose in the hair with a metal collar, bikini top and side armor (seemingly leather based on the shine of it, but tweaks can be made), a “petal” skirt with a loose fitting belt and long knee high boots with razor sharp heels and toes. Add a bit of monster make up to the hands and arms,”thorn” hair extensions and a rose tattoo on the forehead to make a costume that brings a sense of fear and pain!

Showa Style Heisei Riders

Credit to DeviantArtist Azrael1983 for this brilliant idea. Azrael asked the question: What if the Heisei Kamen Riders we know were made in the Showa era when Shotaro Ishinomori was alive? What would they look like?

Well, the first obvious rule of this concept according to his visuals is to accept the limitations of the time period, the costumes look somewhat like their prime counterparts do, but on the tight budget of live TV shows of the 1970s and ‘80s rather than the merchandise fueled multimillion yen/dollar franchise with CGI and 3D printed costume sculpts of today. Another thing to take into consideration is the tech of the era, Ex. Azrael’s version of Double operates on floppy disks! 

The final thing to consider is Mr. Ishinomori and people who worked under him such as Masato Hayase, Mitsuru Suguya and Toshio “Sugar” Sato and how they went about hero designs. Its best to study concept art and the printed works of the manga king to get a general grasp of his visual style to form your own Showa concepts of your favorite Rider. 

We’ve already seen what happens with the reverse of Showa Riders being updated to Heisei standards with The First and The Next Reboot films, Decade’s Riderman and Amazons, but its alright to experiment there too on Showa Riders that haven’t been given the update treatment.

Dark Riderman

From the Pachinko game Kamen Rider: Full Throttle, Dark Riderman is a reformatted Rhinoceros Tank (aka the Evil Santa guy from Kamen Rider V3) who now has the powers of Riderman. 

Continuing a tradition I started a while back, the yearly list contains at least one evil variation of the Legendary Seven. You will need a makeshift Riderman costume, a tattered purple piece of cloth for your muffler of villainy, a rubber toy cobra held up by a coat hanger or metal wire and a skull prop for molding the “teeth” of the Perfecter of your helmet.

Bozuzoku/Sukeban Female Riders

My final entry for Riders in 2019 is a simple one. Don a leather jacket, makeup, a female Rider belt, get a painted “metal” baseball bat or faux metal pipe and an attitude and be the meanest justice biker gals and others on the road! 

This came from an idea that somewhere in the Rider multiverse, all the female Riders had a single world where they all existed and none of their male counterparts existed ,living in a bad part of Tokyo in the 1980s. Evil organizations are street gangs, old men are pushing back against a changing world and youth is blazing for change!

[3d-design-2020-cnu]

Maddie Lowman

Part 1: Closing In

Materials: Printmaking paper

Dimensions: 6 in. long x 4 in. high x 3 in. wide

Year: 2020

Statement:

My first concept for this project included going back to my project 1 topic of mental health and how it affects the mind. While sketching it out, I thought about what I had in my wood piece and what I lacked in portraying the image. I went with the idea of how when someone’s sanity is collapsing, it is the feeling of spiked walls closing in. There is only a matter of time before the walls will hit their mark. I cut holes into the sides of my blocky template and insert small triangles as the spikes, making in total 24 individual spikes inserted into the work. In the middle, I cut out and drew a stick figure, sitting in a frightened position surrounded by the spikes. I left this one uncolored because of how the color affects its symbolism. I wanted this to be a more serious, thought-provoking piece for the viewer to look at and try to understand how it feels to be in that person’s shoes.

Part 2: Hypnotic Pull

Materials: Paper, Double-Ended Art Markers

Dimensions: 5.5 in. long x 4.5 in. tall at highest point x 2.5 in. wide

Year: 2020

Statement:

My second concept went into more of how I perceive the effect of technology on people. My first thoughts were how hypnotic a phone screen is. The brain is easily drawn to the bright colors, pictures, and the movement when watching a video on the screen. It feels one in a trance and often when you snap back to reality, you have no idea what has happened around you or how much time has really passed. I know that some can relate to this in how you will be on your phone for “just a second” and it turns into almost 20 mins of scrolling through various apps. For the process, I started first with drawing a pendulum in two separate parts, gluing them together onto the blue colored base. Next, I took leftover scraps from the pendulum and made red thorned vines coming out of the screen, positioning them at each corner. I made these vines to represent more of the darker hold that a device has and how it is hard to pull out the thorns like you would with an actual thorny plant. Next, I cut the vines at their thorns to give more of a texture to the solid shape. Finally, I touched up the colors on every side, making sure it would not be uneven. Again, this is more of a look around piece to demonstrate the concept of the hypnotizing pull of a cell phone.

Part 3: Missing the Real Colors of Life

Materials: Paper, Markers

Dimensions: 7 in. long x 5.5 in. tall x 3 in. wide

Year: 2020

Statement:

My final concept went into more of how I have been missing nature and what I genuinely enjoyed seeing them in real life and not in a flat, 2D form. Phones can make them seem almost real with high definition graphics and sounds, but it can never really be replicated. Life is meant to be enjoyed in real time, outside in nature, and not lying in bed. As well with the pandemic, I miss going out with my camera and taking photos of nature whether from my garden or on trips to zoos and aquariums. For the design, I went for 2 sceneries that I miss taking photographs of: animals (like the peacock) and flowers (roses). First, I colored each scenery with bright colors to get an idea of the landscapes I want to represent. Next, I started cutting out the shape for the peacock and its fan of feathers. The irony here was that I had a scrap of paper that made up the head of the bird, so the only thing left was to color it. I color the feather fan and glue it behind the head, giving the piece a more 3d look. For the flower scenery, I colored individual flowers on the ground on top of the base color for a flower field. Then, I cut out three pieces for the flower: 2 for the flower and 1 longer piece for its stem. I colored and glued the flower together, clamping them separately to prevent the weight from breaking the stem itself. Finally, I colored the background the rosy color of a sunset, completing it with lighter clouds. I hope that I can find time again to experience nature without the worries of the world on my shoulders.

[quitethepirategal]

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[wallpaperpainter]

24 Things You Need To Know About Large Oil Painting Today | Large Oil Painting

Michaela DiPaola, a chief at Scituate Aerial School, has won the People’s Choice Accolade for the additional after year at “Student Expressions: Scituate Aerial Academy Show,” at the Front Street Art Gallery.

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“It’s abundant to feel so abundant abutment and approval from the community,” DiPaola said.

Hosted by the Scituate Arts Association, the display was appointed to booty abode through the ages of March but the arcade was bankrupt in mid March due to the restrictions over apropos of COVID-19.

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The People’s Choice, in which visitors and artists of the arcade are encouraged to ample out a blooper to vote on the artisan they feel claim an award, was able to booty place.

Fifty SHS art acceptance had appointment displayed in the exhibit.

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“They accept an amazing crop of art acceptance at the aerial school,” said artisan Janet Cornacchio, President of the SAA. “The actuality overwhelms me. They absolutely anticipate out of the box. The display is consistently enjoyed, there are consistently a cardinal of works that are absolutely exciting, and it’s abundant to see such accomplished boyish bodies who accept such an activity for art.”

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[kevinscottgardens]

24 February - 14 March

Tomorrow is the Ides of March...what else can happen?

It’s been a busy few weeks in the garden and I’ve been to Antwerp and up to Gresgarth Hall, so a lot to report.

I re-mounted a Platycerium for the first time. It was interesting to see how they pile up on each other and how easy it was to pull off the dead ones and keep the one thriving one. Only two years ago this had only one pathetic little frond. I have nursed it back to a nice specimen and now have given it a new mounting. See photo under plant of the week below...

I enjoyed the last weekend of February in Antwerp with Jody and Steve who live there. It was the end of winter hours at work, so I was able to get away on the 15.00 train. We had a nice weekend.

The first of March brought us back to summer working hours (08.00 to 17.00 Monday through Thursday and 08.00 to 16.00 Friday). I replaced some raised bed wood that had rotted away in the pharmaceutical area.

We had two days of students installing art all around the garden for their course. It was fun to see it installed. It was only up for two days, unfortunately.

Last weekend I went up to Gresgarth Hall as a guest of Arabella and Mark Lennox-Boyd. I work on the database for the arboretum at Gresgarth. I met the new members of the gardening staff and upgraded their databases. Gresgarth is a beautiful place to escape London (and CoVid-19).

Monday morning at 06.13 I took a photo, through the bus window, crossing Putney Bridge on my way to work.

Later that day, one of our volunteers, Charlotte Lorimer, sent me this... Amazing!

This past week I spent three days working on turf, so by Thursday, with sore chest muscles, of course I initially equated that with ‘breathing difficulties’. I stopped, and realised I just had sore muscles. Ah, how CoVid-19 is playing with my mind. I then had an opportunity to add my own art to the garden. I was asked to try to protect new grass seed from birds, this is what I came up with...

We are growing bananas from seed for the first time and this is a photo of them germinating on 3 March and again, one week later on 10 March.

A volunteer donated a tablet to the garden so we will be able to use our database in the garden, once I figure out how to set it up! This is very exciting and should save us a lot of time. We expressed out huge gratitude to the wonderful volunteer who made this possible.

There is a lot of yellow in the garden at the moment, one of the showiest is Forsythia x intermedia ‘Beatrix Farrand’ which are located by the Embankment gate.

Plant ident on winter twigs by Joe:

Betulaceae Betula pendula

Betulaceae Carpinus betulus

Betulaceae Corylus avellana

Cornaceae Cornus sanguinea

Fagaceae Castanea sativa

Fagaceae Fagus sylvatica

Grossulariaceae Ribes nigrum

Rosaceae Prunus avium

Sapindaceae Acer griseum

Sapindaceae Aesculus hippocastanum

Plant of the week 28 February

Polypodiaceae Platycerium bifurcatum (Cav.) C. Chr.

common name(s) - common staghorn fern, common stag's horn fern, Australian elk's horn fern, elkhorn fern, antelope ears synonym(s) - Acrostichum bifurcatum Cav.; Alcicornium bifurcatum (Cav.) Underw. conservation rating - none native to - Eastern Australia & New Caledonia location - tropical corridor, accession 2008-0538, and fernery, accession 2008-0537 leaves - heart-shaped sterile fronds and grey-green, arching, fertile fronds to 900mm long, forked into strap-shaped segments, bearing brown spore patches beneath the tips flowers - none habit - evergreen, epiphytic fern habitat - a bracket epiphyte occurring in and near rainforests pests - scale insects disease - generally disease-free hardiness - to 1ºC (H2) soil - epiphyte sun - part shade, sheltered propagation - sow spores when ripe or detach plantlets pruning - none nomenclature - Polypodiaceae - polypodium - many-feet, Dioscorides’ reference to the rhizome growth pattern, polypody; Platycerium - broad-horned, the stag’s-horn-like, dichotomous lobing of the fertile fronds; bifurcatum - divided into equal limbs NB - AGM

References, bibliography:

Gledhill, David, (2008) “The Names of Plants”, fourth edition; Cambridge University Press; ISBN: 978-0-52168-553-5

IUCN [online] http://www.iucnredlist.org/search [14 Mar 20]

Missouri Botanical Garden [online] http://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org/PlantFinder/PlantFinderDetails.aspx?kempercode=b615 [14 Mar 20]

Plant List, The [online] http://www.theplantlist.org/tpl1.1/record/tro-50050265 [14 Mar 20]

Plants of the World [online] http://plantsoftheworldonline.org/taxon/urn:lsid:ipni.org:names:17177460-1 [14 Mar 20]

Royal Horticultural Society [online] https://www.rhs.org.uk/plants/details%3Fplantid%3D1488 [14 Mar 20]

Wikipedia [online] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Platycerium_bifurcatum [14 Mar 20]

Plant ident of Jess’s favourites in the dicotyledon beds:

Apiaceae Ferula communis subsp. communis

Asteraceae Scolymus hispanicus

Asteraceae Serratula shawii

Caryophyllaceae Gypsophila acutifolia

Cistaceae Citrus trifoliata

Fabaceae Coronilla valentina subsp. glauca 'Citrina'

Fabaceae Glycyrrhiza yunnanensis

Ranunculaceae Clematis serratifolia

Rhamnaceae Paliurus spina-christi

Solanaceae Eriolarynx australis x Eriolarynx fasciculata

Plant of the week 6 March

Boraginaceae Echium candicans L.f.

common name(s) - pride of Madeira synonym(s) - Argyrexias candicans Raf.; Echium brachyanthum Hornem.; E. candicans var. noronhae Menezes; E. cynoglossoides Desf.; E. densiflorum DC.; E. macrophyllum Lehm.; E. maderense Steud.; E. marianum Boiss.; E. pallidum Salisb.; E. pavonianum Boiss.; E. truncatum auct. conservation rating - Data Deficient native to - Madeira, Portugal location - glasshouse two Macaronesian plants, accession 1991-0343 leaves - grey-hairy lance-shaped evergreen leaves flowers - dense terminal spike-like panicles of white, pale or deep blue flowers in spring and summer habit - bushy biennial sub-shrub habitat - forest, rocky areas (e.g. inland cliffs, mountain peaks), shrubland pests - outdoors slugs; indoors glasshouse whitefly, glasshouse red spider mite, vine weevils disease - generally disease-free hardiness - to 5ºC (H1c) soil - under glass, grow in a loam-based potting compost, in full light; water freely when in growth, sparingly in winter. Outdoors, grow in moderately fertile, well-drained soil in full sun. Protect from winter frost in situ with horticultural fleece sun - full sun, sheltered propagation - seed at 13 to 16°C in summer, overwintering seedlings at 5 to 7°C pruning - none nomenclature - Boraginaceae - borago - shaggy-coat, burra with feminine suffix (the leaves); Echium - viper, a name used by Dioscorides for a plant to cure snakebite, viper’s bugloss Echium vulgare; candicans - white, hoary-white, with white woolly hair, present participle of candico NB - in California, it is an invasive species. It is removed from native plant communities as part of habitat restoration efforts in coastal parks such as the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. In New Zealand it is a common garden escapee onto road-side verges and shingle banks throughout the drier parts of both the North and the South Islands. In the state of Victoria, Australia, it is considered to be a high weed risk and an alert has been posted by the Department of Primary Industries.

References, bibliography:

Gledhill, David, (2008) “The Names of Plants”, fourth edition; Cambridge University Press; ISBN: 978-0-52168-553-5

IUCN [online] https://www.iucnredlist.org/species/162036/115869493 [14 Mar 20]

Plant List, The [online] http://www.theplantlist.org/tpl1.1/record/kew-2784037 [14 Mar 20]

Plants of the World [online] http://plantsoftheworldonline.org/taxon/urn:lsid:ipni.org:names:115594-1 [14 Mar 20]

Royal Horticultural Society [online] https://www.rhs.org.uk/Plants/6290/i-Echium-candicans-i/Details [14 Mar 20]

Wikipedia [online] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Echium_candicans [14 Mar 20]

Plant ident on plants from Macaronesia by Louisa:

Arecaceae Phoenix canariensis

Asparagaceae Dracaena draco

Asteraceae Argyranthemum frutescens

Asteraceae Schizogyne sericea

Athyriaceae Diplazium caudatum

Boraginaceae Echium wildpretii

Crassulaceae Aeonium spathulatum

Lauraceae Laurus azorica

Pinaceae Pinus canariensis

Plantaginaceae Plantago famarae

Plant of the week 13 March

Rosaceae Prunus spinosa L.

common name(s) - blackthorn, sloe, sloe plum, buckthorn, bullace, skeg, snag synonym(s) - Druparia spinosa Clairv.; Prunus acacia Crantz ex Poir.; Prunus acacia Crantz; Prunus acacia-germanica Crantz; Prunus domestica var. spinosa (L.) Kuntze conservation rating - Least Concern native to - Europe, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Turkey, Syria & Iran location - useful garden - survival bed, accession 2017-0263 leaves - dark green, ovate leaves flowers - small white flowers in early spring, followed by ovoid, bloomy black fruits 15mm across habit - small thorny deciduous tree to 3m tall and 3m wide habitat - shrubland, artificial/terrestrial, rocky areas (e.g. inland cliffs, mountain peaks), forest pests - aphids, caterpillars, bullfinches disease - silver leaf, blossom wilt hardiness - to <-20ºC (H7) soil - any moist well-drained soil sun - full sun propagation - sowing the stones shallowly (no more than their own length deep) in a well-drained growing medium. In order to germinate, the stones must be exposed to a period of cold for approximately two months. This can be achieved by placing them in a bag of moist sand in a fridge. Semi-ripe cuttings can be taken in late summer. Blackthorn tolerates most soils, except acidic ones, but does not perform well if shaded. Once it is established it is a tough, resilient plant pruning - in mid-summer if silver leaf is a problem nomenclature - Rosaceae - rosa - the Latin name for various roses; Prunus - the ancient Latin name for a plum tree; spinosa - spiny, with spines NB - flavouring for alcoholic beverages (sloe gin), when tea derived from Camellia sinensis (a commonplace drink today) was a very expensive product, the young leaves of blackthorn were dried and used as a replacement for, or to adulterate, the more expensive tea. Blackthorn wood has been used to make walking sticks, clubs and hay-rake teeth. A shillelagh is a highly polished stick of blackthorn wood that was made and used in Ireland, and a blackthorn walking stick is still carried by commissioned officers of the Royal Irish Regiment. Blackthorn wood is especially hard and takes a high polish. The shillelagh was used in self defence and is now used in a form of traditional fighting or martial art. Stout sticks of blackthorn are highly prized since it is rare to find blackthorn grown to this size.

References, bibliography:

Gledhill, David, (2008) “The Names of Plants”, fourth edition; Cambridge University Press; ISBN: 978-0-52168-553-5

IUCN [online] https://www.iucnredlist.org/species/172194/19400568 [14 Mar 20]

Plant List, The [online] http://www.theplantlist.org/tpl1.1/record/rjp-43 [14 Mar 20]

Plants of the World [online] http://plantsoftheworldonline.org/taxon/urn:lsid:ipni.org:names:730297-1 [14 Mar 20]

Royal Horticultural Society [online] https://www.rhs.org.uk/Plants/14041/Prunus-spinosa/Details [14 Mar 20]

CoVid-19 is consuming me now. I altered the way I return home from work after Wednesday’s nighmarish journey on the underground. Trains were only every twenty minutes to Richmond so we were packed in like sardines. Now I’m walking across the river to Queenstown Road and catching a train. There is much more room on the train. I’m addicted to following the numbers on this incredible Johns Hopkins University website:

Stay healthy if you can, and self-isolate if necessary. This will pass in time...

[whoajeon]

Deeper Than Ink | 01

P R E M I S E ⇒

Should you fall in love with someone, even in the slightest, your skin becomes marked with vibrant colors that depict the story of your emotions. A tattoo, per say. However, should they or you fall out of love, the bright hues dull to black and the feelings you once had for each other melt away. To many, it’s a blessing to not have to live with the pain of your past. But what’s the point when you have too many reminders–say 27?

P A I R I N G ⇒  namjoon x reader

G E N R E ⇒  angst, tattoo au, soulmate au

W O R D S ⇒  7.281

P A R T ⇒  one | two | three

Pebbles bounced against the sidewalk, caught between the concrete and the rubber soles of boots dragging across the pavement. The movement was slow and the sound was reminiscent of a modern romantic defeat, another tally to add to the chalkboard. Another inked reminder that would be incomplete on a pale skin canvas.

A single finger rose to itch at the back of a studded ear, scratching just above the intricate black swirls of patterned water that was splayed over a neck. The owner of this design–and the 27 others cluttering his skin–wasn’t a lost cause or a serial romantic as many had come to believe. But potentially the most unlucky man in the world.

There were many others like him, decorated in dozens of these brandishes to signify their accomplishments in a manner akin to a trophy shelf. Their skin was littered with these marks of past lovers who were only intended to become blackened symbols. However, hoarding tattoos of ones he adored was not a game to him like it was to others; he feared the attention and judgment that his ink gave him.

He was enamored by people and their stories, the things they had to say and the words that they would whisper to him. Falling for them was simply a side effect of his own curiosity that he had no control over, as the patterns would only appear when the emotions were mutual. People were drawn to him, not for the art etched into him, but for his elegant thoughts and charming words.

His fingers flinched as his hand curled into itself, balling up before rubbing at the tip of his nose which had gone red from the cold breeze stretching down the street. It had been mere minutes since he left the museum and the late afternoon’s freezing bitter bite had quickly pecked at him.

His hands retreated into the pockets of his thin jacket as he kept his pace down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes down when others would pass him by. The action was a force of habit now, the large koi fish running the length of his neck being a blatant attraction to foreign eyes. It hadn’t bothered him when it appeared, the bright warm hues were alluring in contrast to the blue water surrounding the fish. However, when the colors were replaced with the familiar black coating the rest of his skin, it only became another embarrassment.

Sighing to himself, he tucked his chin into the small opening of his jacket and kept his eyes on the concrete. For a while, he focused on avoiding the crevices and cracks that would pop up, scrunching his nose when he would misstep and blunder his shoe over the lines.

It was when his phone began to viciously vibrate in his pocket that he jolted, nearly letting out a yelp of surprise, that he stole his attention away from the ground. His fingers stretched into his jeans as he pulled the device out and placed it at his ear, the air already nipping at his skin.

“Hello?” He hummed, shrugging his shoulders as if to tuck himself further into his jacket.

“Hey,” the voice on the other end replied blandly. “I’m getting out of work in a few hours. Do you wanna grab something to eat at Jin’s?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’m not really too hungry.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s bullshit,” the person said with a scoff. “Come on, Namjoon. You haven’t so much as answered a single text for two weeks. If it wasn’t for you checking my page a few days ago, I would have assumed you died or drowned in your mop bucket.”

He didn’t respond, instead maintaining his pace and glancing down at his hand which had come free from his pocket. The colors were nearly completely grayscaled now, the once deep reds and warm browns of the compass painted on his hand a reminder of yet another love left behind.

“I know you’re still hurting.” The quieter sound of the voice meets his ears as if it were a pat on the back, a reminder that he wasn’t alone despite all the marks that said he was. “I’ll be there at 7 if you want to get out of your head for a little while.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” he said softly. He didn’t wait for the goodbye that was sure to come, but hastily hung up and dug the phone back into his pocket along with his hand.

Honestly, he knew he was being ridiculous by avoiding his friend, subjecting himself to a painful schedule that didn’t veer in hopes that the normality would trick him into forgetting the whirlwind that was Hwasa. It was the fastest a tattoo had ever formed on his skin and being that it was a pocket watch of all things, he took it as a sign that his time had finally come. Who could blame him?

Her skin, imperfectly perfect and doused in just as many patterns as his, had felt like a mirror that reflected the ideal version of himself, a confident version. She was fearless in her everyday life, thoughtful, brave and wild in a way he had never experienced in anyone else before. It was odd that society had labeled both of them as the crueler stereotype of others littered in the same marks when they were anything but, at least he thought.

Hwasa was full of life and meaning, unafraid to show her skin and all its supposed imperfections to the world, but choosing to revel in how much they had grown her. It was this mindset of hers that drew him to her, and it was everything else that made him stay.

The way she would take him to places far from prying eyes, bare herself to him, open up her mind and let him speak endlessly. She listened and understood, let her tongue dance with promises that she would never become another darkened scar on him.

Until she did.

The tip of his boots kicked at the stairs as he climbed up to his apartment, rounding corners until he arrived on the sixth floor and glowered at the rusting gold numbers on his door. 604. They weren’t significant numbers and held no hidden meaning aside from the consistent reminder of the painfully unwavering schedule of his life. He saw them twice a day, six days a week, every year for so many he had begun to lose count.

His actions were automated as he pushed the key into the lock, turned the knob, shuffled inside and kicked the wooden barrier closed.

The fraying edges of his jacket were pulled away from him as he shrugged it off and tossed it over the back of the couch, knees bending over the arm rest until his back laid flat and eyes were attached to the ceiling. A silent sigh slid past his lips as he rose his arm into his line of sight until the edges of the fading tattoo grasped his attention.

Although most of the ink on him was twirled and intricate, this one seemed to hold more complexities than ones that had formed over the years. The centerpiece was an open pocket watch surrounded by thorny flora which stopped just short of his fingers. However, it was the thick roman numerals displaying the time 11:17 that was the most symbolic; it being the date he had met Hwasa.

After the first eleven darkened patterns had formed on his skin, Namjoon had come to have a solemn feeling toward their significance. It was easy to understand learning from past mistakes and things that were simply too good to be true, but to have them permanently etched into your skin based on some cruel fate was something entirely different.

He had spent days watching his tattoos lose their color as his emotions fled him for the person who had created them. Vibrant shades and varying depths became nothing more than blackened frames on his skin, matching that of others but on a much greater scale. They were plastered all over his arms and chest, crawling over his back and peeking up his neck with each new person he became enamored with.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, he would tell himself every time he met someone who sparked his interest. But he always became invested, always fell hard, and blindly at that.

The hand waving above him fell to drag over his face and tug his eyes closed, lips turning downward with the passing of his fingers. Time ticked by as he laid there, lost in his thoughts and mulling over the colors on the back of his hand that he would soon come to forget the pigment of. It went that way until he had lost track of himself and slipped into his personal oblivion, only the vigorous vibration of his phone pulling him back into the reality of his empty apartment.

From: Yoongi

I’ll be off in 15 if you want to eat your thoughts out

A small scoff, half-hearted smile, and a five-minute internal debate later, Namjoon found the hug of his jacket around his torso as he strode out the door.

It was a surprise to find Yoongi at a table, void of any beer or soju, with an abundance of varying food splayed everywhere to the point the table was nearly overflowing. The brunet had already begun to dig in, rice piled at the tips of his chopsticks and cheeks full of what could only be meat, given the sauce at the corner of his mouth.

A half-hearted smile curved on his lips as his attention rose to Namjoon, registering the exhaustion written all over his features and the clear slump in his shoulders. Even as he sat down he could tell the past two weeks had taken a toll much heavier than the many others that he had seen the man have.

“I should have gotten beer,” Yoongi said as he finished swallowing. He smoothly hooked his wrists at the edge of the table as he sat back in his chair and observed his friend. There was a fleeting moment of silence before he sighed and licked his lips. “Alright, what’s going on?”

Namjoon’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “Nothing.”

“I wouldn’t have walked nine blocks in the wrong direction to sit here if I thought nothing was wrong.” His eyes were set on Namjoon in a firm gaze that had the latter shifting in his seat, keeping his sights away from the other.

There was an unspoken mystery to Yoongi. It wasn’t something anybody could notice, it was a sentiment reserved only for those who he cared about. As if he had created his own emotion, and he knew how to use it to his advantage in situations much like this, where there was a restraint of thought from his friends.

On many occasions, Namjoon wondered if this power of gaze that Yoongi had was the reason his skin was so clear save for four inkings. In some ways, he was envious of the brunet’s ability to see through people and know their real intentions and thoughts. It sure would have been helpful 26 tattoos ago.

"Is it her or is it the tat?" Yoongi queried with a bland stare. His chopsticks were half in a bowl of rice, chasing down the tiny grains mindlessly as he stared at Namjoon. "Because she makes twenty-something, and I'm sorry to have to say it but it's not like you're foreign to this situation." Namjoon stayed quiet as Yoongi spoke, moving his hands around the table and piecing together a tiny meal that he seemed to have no intentions of eating. His friend was right and it made him sick to his stomach. This wasn't Namjoon's first go-around with a break-up and it didn't feel as if it would be the last, which made it all the worse. "Look, you're not the fucked-up one here, okay?" Yoongi piped up again, lips opening to continue but the sudden snap of Namjoon's eyes shut him up. "I know you're trying to help, but there's 27 black spots on my body that disagree with you." His voice was level as he spoke, but it was clear he was boiling in his seat. "Then get them covered!" The brunet burst in exasperation, dropping his chopsticks and throwing his hands up. "If they keep reminding you of all the shitty people you've dated–including Mina–then get rid of them.”

“I can’t just get rid of them, you know that,” Namjoon huffed.

Yoongi’s jaw was tight and it was easy to see that his patience was wearing thin. “I know. I do, honestly. I’m just saying that erasing the tattoos and the memories are better than living with this self-pity fit you’re in. You haven’t been the same since Mina, and I don’t think what's-her-face helped at all. If anything, she made this hole you have worse.”

Neither of them said a word even when Yoongi continued to drill a stare into Namjoon’s head, the latter shoving food into his mouth in an attempt to avoid conversation.

The mere idea of getting rid of the tattoos was terrifying to him, especially with the total loss of memory for the person who it had formed for. They weren’t just symbols of affection–they held everything the relationship was, including the memory. Tattoos formed the second you met someone you’re destined to fall for, and from that second on the memories of that person are held in the ink.

If the tattoo goes, so does any recollection of that person. For that reason alone Namjoon couldn’t get rid of them, of the people who helped to mold and shape him into who he is. He fell for people because they intrigued him because he felt as if he could learn something from them and ultimately live a life of exploring a brand new world made up of that person.

“I know of this place,” Yoongi tried again, his voice much softer and leveled now, pulling Namjoon’s attention back up to him. “It specializes in covering tattoos, making them disappear for a month at a time without really getting rid of them.”

“Do you mean makeup?” Namjoon asked with a brow raising in curiosity.

“No, not makeup,” Yoongi scoffed, a small smile at the corner of his lips. “It’s some kind of paste, like a skin colored glue or something to that effect. I don’t know the details, but a woman I work with had it done.”

“I don’t think covering them up is going to help me. I’ll know they’re still there,” Namjoon countered and sat up a little straighter.

“But it’s a habit for you to look at them, right?” Yoongi asked with a pointed look.

Namjoon’s eyes rolled as he put his own utensils down and sat back in his chair, head nodding. “Well yeah but–”

“If they’re covered and you can’t see them, then the habit breaks. This isn’t some kind of paint, you can’t scratch it off. It’s a semi-permanent fix until you can walk around again without feeling like a pile of shit because trust me, you look like one.” It was nothing but tough love with Yoongi and the tone he used only amplified how much he cared.

“It’s probably the job,” Namjoon shrugged, attempting to change the subject. “Working as a janitor isn’t exactly glamorous unless you count accidentally spraying my hand with cleaner.”

Yoongi snorted. “Accidentally? Cleaners are like cologne to you.”

“What the fuck? I just spent $80 on a bottle of Saint Laurent,” Namjoon defended, shooting a glare at his friend whose face was plastered with a shit-eating grin.

“Whatever you say, Joon. If you think mop water smells like Saint Laurent, I’m not here to judge.”

“Oh fuck off,” he groaned, but there was a familiar crinkle by the side of his eyes as he threw a napkin at his friend. “At least I’m not yelled at on a daily basis.”

“Of course you’re not, there’s no yelling in museums,” Yoongi shrugged, earning another balled up napkin to the face.

For a moment they held the same grins, but the drop of Namjoon’s eyes back onto his food had Yoongi taking a deep breath as he leaned forward. His forearms pressed against the edge of the table and he tapped his finger on the wooden surface to get Namjoon’s attention.

“All I’m saying here is that it’s worth a shot. You can go for a consultation, learn about how it’s done, and if you still don’t want to do it then you don’t.” Yoongi’s voice was much softer now and if it weren’t for the unwavering stare he had on Namjoon, then his message probably wouldn’t have gotten through.

Nonetheless, Namjoon bobbed his head in a nod despite the biting feeling in his chest that said the trip would be pointless. This wasn’t going to be something he would do for himself, but for the sake of not letting Yoongi down. It’s not as if he could blame him either. Ever since Hwasa had ridden off on the back of Kai’s motorcycle, he hadn’t been the same.

Falling for her was the fastest his emotions had ever run for someone. She had all the same reasons to be scared of letting herself open up to another person as Namjoon had, but there were some habits she couldn’t kick.

He should have known on their second date that she had so many tattoos because she was too free. Her eyes hypnotized men, just like they had him, and it was no surprise that her hand drifted over another man’s arm just across the room from the booth Namjoon was sat in, waiting for her to come back from the bathroom. By the time he had miraculously endured two months of her painfully amorous displays to strangers, it was a mere dull feeling to see her press her lips to those of his closest friend before taking off deep into the city.

“I’ve got to get going, though. There’s another show at the Flux tonight, and I was told if I don’t show up my earrings will get ripped out straight through the cartilage,” Yoongi chuckled, eyebrows raising as his lips thinned. His arm stretched across the table as he gave Namjoon’s shoulder a small pat. “I’ll send you a text with the address. Let me know how it goes, yeah?”

“Alright.” He nodded, barely glancing up at his friend.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t eat too much,” Yoongi said, dropping down a few bills before standing and leaving.

Nearly an hour after the drag of Yoongi’s shoes had left the small restaurant, Namjoon found himself slumped back in his chair, arm perched just right on the table for his eyes to scan over the pocket watch again. By tomorrow all of the colors would be gone and the heartache along with it. It should have made him happy to know that the longing he had for Hwasa would diminish, but it only meant another scar of failure to stare him in the face every day.

Of course the procedure Yoongi talked about was the closest thing to relieving himself of the mental pain as he was willing to go, but it felt wrong. Wrong to cover up all of these emotions he had for so many people, for pretending, if only for a fleeting moment, that they never truly existed. Obviously, it was a coping mechanism for people who couldn’t stand the constant reminder of what they once had, but to Namjoon it had almost felt as if it made him stronger.

Clearly not, though, given how many calls he missed, texts he ignored and knocks on his door that went unheard. He wasn’t okay, and for the first time in a long time, he realized that.

The toe of Namjoon’s boot tapped feverishly against the pavement as he sat on a bench across the street from the place Yoongi had mentioned last night.

Mask Core Aide

His nose crinkled at the cheesy wordplay but given the people who had left with broad smiles and an extra pep in their step, it was a cheesy but helpful business.

The more he watched people go in and out, the more he realized the commonality of them. They weren’t littered in the same way he was and some didn’t even look like they had any tattoos, although perhaps they were already covered. Those who left the large glass doors were practically glowing with new-found confidence; however, it was not one that Namjoon believed he could share. Not a single person that strutted out of the place had skin as corrupted as his, most likely because people with as many tattoos as him enjoyed showing them off.

It felt weird and displacing to be on this side of town where the upper class lived and everyone who walked by showed off their clean skin. Sitting with a tattered jacket and a heavy scarf wrapped tight around his neck, Namjoon felt he had eyes careened in his direction. He thought he could feel the silent chiding and the questions of why are you here dancing around him.

By now his leg was bouncing and his hands were fidgeting in his lap, eyes glued to the italicized words hanging off the building. He could feel the bubble of anxiety growing around him, and all it would take to pop it was a verbalized what are you doing here. At this point, he felt as if he was waiting for someone with a plunging neckline and shoulder cut-offs to approach him with blatant disgust, a snobby finger aimed at him.

However, the truth was nobody cared. Sure there were the curious wandering eyes but not a single person bothered to spare their time to gape at Namjoon. He was merely a man sitting on a bench, squirming in place and staring hard at the building across the street. They weren’t bothered. They weren’t scared. They didn’t care. So why should he?

Faces in this part of town were intimidating and demeaning as if a single look could unwrap him and make him feel completely bare to passersby. It felt as if they could see right through his jacket and gawk at all the tattoos coating his skin.

It was easier for people to walk around a little more carelessly when they had the money to afford such treatments as those he was waveringly considering.

“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice sounded raspy on the other end of the phone.

“I can’t do this, there’s no fucking way I’m going in there,” Namjoon sputtered. The anxious tone of his voice spoke volumes more than his actual words and the heavy drag of his breath said it all.

His scarf felt tight around his neck and a cold sweat had grown at the base of his forehead, leg bouncing feverishly the more he sat still. Whatever that building held was by far nothing he could make himself do on his own.

“Okay,” Yoongi said.

“Okay?” Namjoon huffed breathlessly, letting silence waver overhead for a second. “You bothered me about this all night yesterday and now that I’m literally thirty feet away you’re telling me it’s okay?”

“I told you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to, don’t twist my words,” Yoongi quickly snapped back. “Do I think this would be good for you? Fuck yes. But if you’re going to get all worked up like this over it then leave. If I wanted you to do it that bad then I would have come with you, but this is your body and your decision.”

For a moment the only thing that could be heard was Namjoon’s heavy breathing until he shut his mouth and closed his eyes. His heartbeat was erratic and the tips of his fingers felt as if they were going numb the longer he sat still. He couldn’t understand why something so silly as having a paste over his skin had gotten him so worked up.

This could help him in all the right ways. For once he could wake up without seeing the constant reminder of those who had left him. He could walk outside without a long sleeved shirt and a scarf hiding his arms and neck away. There wouldn’t be gazes cast down at his skin instead of his eyes and he could finally start to live the way he was supposed to; freely.

So why was he so tethered to the idea that this wasn’t for him?

Think of the good, he said to himself, opening his eyes to look blandly at the sign parallel to him.

“I’m gonna do it,” he said. Without a second to spare, he pulled his phone from his ear and ended the call with the faint shout of “It’s about fucking time” ringing from the speaker.

His boots scraped against the sidewalk as he stood up and shoved his phone into his back pocket. The determination in his step as he strode across the street never slackened until his palm was wrapped around the cool door handle, his eyes glassing over as a numbness rushed over him.

The dirt of his shoes crumbled away on the tanned carpet of the waiting room, his vision clouding as he glanced around the room. There were a few women perched at a table in the corner, sipping on tea and flipping through random magazines scattered about. They didn’t seem remotely fazed by the clunk of his shoes as he walked past; too busy in their own worlds.

However, he could feel himself mentally slipping as he stopped at the counter of the front desk, throat clearing awkwardly and pulling a cough up from his throat. His hand rose to cover his mouth but the woman sitting behind the glass wall gave him a weary look. She seemed just as uncomfortable as he had actually felt.

“Sir, would you like some water?” She asked when his cough lasted longer than a few seconds.

Yet he quickly shook his head, waving his free hand and turning away to give one final heave to rid the cough away. His cheeks were flushed as air rushed back into his lungs, and if nobody had noticed him before, they definitely knew he was there now.

“Um,” he started quietly, shifting his gaze back to the receptionist. “I’d like to meet with somebody? Uh, I mean, schedule an appointment? For today…”

His sentence fell off at the end as the woman nodded, attempting to give him a reassuring smile although it only looked pained. Her fingers tapped at her keyboard as Namjoon placed his forearms onto the marble countertop, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced around.

Everything was a pearly white on the inside, paired with tan and a pastel lilac color that was splattered here and there. The waiting room off to his left resembled that of a lounge or cafe sitting area; light wooden floors and puffy white chairs, stools lining a bar at the front window. It was classier than any place he had been in, and this place was more or less a dermatologist's.

“There’s room for a consultation in about fifteen minutes. If you’re okay with waiting?” The receptionist piped up, bringing Namjoon’s attention back to her.

As he registered her words, he nodded eagerly and straightened up where he stood. She merely forced another smile in his direction, tapping her fingers against the keyboard before grabbing a clipboard from under her desk.

The metal of the clipboard scraped obnoxiously across the countertop as she slipped it through a small glass opening. “Fill out this form and hand it back when you’re done. Your consultant will call you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he said. Another nod bounced from his head as he took the clipboard, offering a small smile, before turning away.

A heavy breath left him as he strode across the room and took a seat at a particularly soft chair in the back of the waiting room. For a moment he contemplated taking off his jacket, his nerves having risen his temperature significantly. But with a single glance around the room and awkwardly catching several onlooking sets of eyes, he shrugged further into the material. It could wait until he saw the consultant.

His eyes stretched as he let out a particularly long puff of air, fingers flicking through the small packet attached to the clipboard. The questions were what he had expected: name, age, number of tattoos, reasoning. He even let himself chuckle at the “How did you hear about us?” at the bottom of the last page. Even a place as high class as this was still trying to figure out how they were getting their customers.

That was easy enough for him to answer. Nobody likes to see their past hanging around, and others don’t really enjoy the pity party either.

After he had returned the clipboard and sat back down, Namjoon found his eyes wandering over the room once again. Yet his stare lingered on a woman maybe not even a year younger than himself, hand rubbing at her collarbones.

There was an air of familiarity to her as if he had seen her or even talked to her before, but when she looked up it was as if her face was blurred over. If he focused he could see the finer details like the slope of her nose and the feathering of her eyelashes, but none of it pieced together.

His brows creased the longer he looked at her, and he could feel a tugging in his chest when her eyes swept over him–almost through him. It was when his lips parted and his hand began to rise, words ready to tumble into the air, that his name echoed into the room. For a fleeting moment he watched the girl’s eyes widen, then a confusion matching his own settled in.

“Kim Namjoon?” His name was called again with a stern lilt to his last name.

With a final look at the girl across the room, he rose his hand and tore his gaze away toward the voice who called him. “That’s me.”

“Follow me.”

And so he did, walking away from the girl so familiar he forgot who she was.

There was a certain lull to the sound of a clock ticking so profoundly, the small, typically tuned-out sound, suddenly roaring to encompass an entire room. One moment there are voices and shuffling, papers scraping over desks and fingers clattering against digital letters, and the next moment is nothing. A mere tick, tick, tick that has an irritatingly quick way of introducing bland emotions.

It was an uncomfortable feeling that had rooted itself in Namjoon’s stomach when he sat down in the black pleated leather chair of a peculiarly dark office. Deep purple curtains spanned over the floor to ceiling windows that spread the back wall, the gray spotted carpet doing nothing to lighten the place up. The room held the weary feeling of being a trap as if some terrifying creature would pounce and drag him away.

Everything was so muted, only the pristine white computer perched on the desk before him giving the tiniest bit of contrast.

So when a tired voice muttered the words “I’ll be right with you,” followed by the abrupt shake of the door slamming into its frame, Namjoon fixated himself into an unnatural position. The blankness of a clock’s hand ticking away had him fidgeting in his seat, the chair already being annoyingly big and making him feel like a child at a doctor's office.

His knees were perched higher than his thighs, arms laying awkwardly on the cushion of his chair because the span of the armrests was too wide. The pleating pushing into his back made his spine curl away, creating an illusion of a man too concerned with his posture. To say the least, the room was a box of nicely placed annoyances.

The inside of his lip became a distraction as he chewed at the skin, eyes preoccupied with dancing over every surface of the room. He couldn’t help but feel like this was a choice he should have never pushed himself to make. Nobody here actually cared; the ink that marked him said enough. All anyone here wanted was the money he neither had nor was willing to give.

His shoulders jolted forward as the door snapped open the metal lock rang as it fell out of place, the wood of the door sliding over the carpet like nails on a chalkboard. The hairs on his arms stood on end as voices weaved their way into the small room, a strained laugh wavering over him as a woman strode in.

“Sorry.” Her voice was curt and quite frankly the apology fell short of even sounding sincere. She didn't hide a bored sigh as she walked past Namjoon, his eyes catching the stark white of her pencil skirt as a slight breeze hit him.

The tips of her fingers anchored around the edge of a clipboard resting just off her desk, body turning as she sat down and flicked through the pages.

For a split second, Namjoon allowed himself to gape at her. It wasn’t anything in particular that had him so intrigued. She was void of any noticeable tattoos and she was just as pretty as anyone else he had ever seen, but there was something prodding at him. Her expressions were flat and she became increasingly put off the longer her eyes stretched over the papers in her hand.

The sudden surprised murmur of his number slipping past her lips like it was some kind of sin had his fingers curling. It was the same reaction as anyone else, he had only hoped it wouldn’t have been so blatant coming from someone who was supposed to help him.

“Do you really have 27 tattoos?” She deadpanned, tearing her eyes from the inked number and meeting his gaze for the first time.

There was a brief pause as he took in her entirety, as if her eyes completed the puzzle he wasn’t aware he had made of her. He made no effort to speak, merely nodding as he blankly stared back at her even after her eyes had retreated.

“And you’re 24?” She piped back up immediately. Her tone wavered as she struggled to hide her shock and the feeling of immense bother she felt by his presence.

Again he nodded, but his eyes broke away from her as his hands shifted to his lap and his shoulders shrunk in. The questions she was asking in her head mine as well have been screamed from a rooftop with how transparent her judgment had become to Namjoon.

His silent responses hung in the air as she stared at him with disregard, taking note of his particular choice of conservative clothing. The dark ink under the thick fabric was so strategically tucked away that had she merely passed him on the street, they would have gone unbeknownst to her. It should have been obvious that he didn’t fit in here, that he was hiding something so monumentally crucial to the intricacies of societies inner workings.

After an elongated moment of continued nitpicking, she tore her eyes away from him and he let a breath slip past his lips at the relief. He could feel her scrutiny to his bones, and the feeling in the pit of his stomach was a siren wailing that this was not going to end well. The tips of his toes itched in his shoes, begging to take him away from this office and back to his cozy apartment downtown.

However, the woman’s abrupt release of his application form had his back turning rigid once again. Her hands were folded on the desk, body leant back in her chair and nothing but a dull silence hanging between them as she pursed her lips.

“Apologies for not introducing myself,” she started, dragging her chair forward. “I was caught off guard by your application.”

“Not a problem at all. I’m used to the surprise,” he offered up lightheartedly, but the shake in his voice was obvious. His nerves were practically seeping out of his pores.

“Right,” she paused, giving him a small, fake smile. “Regardless, I’m Doctor y/n. I specialize in both the synthetic expulsion treatment and concrete expulsion treatments performed here. I’m assuming by your application that you’ve never had either done before, correct?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Normally we suggest trying the synthetic expulsion first, but that’s all dependent on why you want to shield your marks.” The words moved from her mouth like fine silk, a pattern so smooth that it could only have been refined by hundreds of thousands of repetitions. Given the prestige of this place, Namjoon didn’t doubt she probably had said the same thing to an egregious amount of people. “I understand that you want to cover them for personal reasons, but it would be easier to give my professional opinion if you would elaborate a bit more on why. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just want you to be sure of which path you are looking to take.”

Despite her sounding as if she was completely neutral to what he wanted to do, Namjoon couldn’t help but feel the way she was sweeping him aside. It was blatant that she wanted to get this meeting done and over with so she could wash her hands and be rid of him. In some ways, he couldn’t blame her.

Letting out a small cough to clear his throat, he rose his shoulders and straightened his back in his chair. His fingers combed together sloppily in his lap as he dodged her gaze and tugged at the inside of his lip with his teeth. This was what he had been most nervous about; revealing why.

“Well, I suppose it’s the reminder,” he said softly.

“Suppose?” She rose a brow. “Mr. Kim–it is Kim right?” He nodded, too tense to ask her to drop such titled formalities. “Okay. Mr. Kim, with all due respect, this is a semi-permanent procedure that can potentially damage your skin for the rest of your life. I know I’m just a stranger to you, but I want to help you make the right choice. So, what is it really?”

His eyes grew in mild surprise at how forward she was being, her curiosity–even if strictly professional–fell over him like a ray of light, not particularly warm, but at the least intriguing. Someone other than Yoongi wanted to know why he was so wound up in himself to the point he can barely function properly.

“It is the reminder,” he started again, his voice still soft with each syllable. “It’s not the good kind either, like how other people with so many tattoos are. I don’t like being reminded of all my failures and all the people who have left me over them. For once I would like to look at myself in the mirror without feeling like crap for who I am.”

“What do you mean by ‘feel like crap for who you are’?” She prodded, hand notched with a pen and scribbling away at the base of his application.

With a disheartened sigh, Namjoon slowly brought his hand up to his collar, tugging ever so slightly on the hood draped neatly over his neck until the air hit his skin and exposed the blackened koi fish. “I haven’t worn a t-shirt in almost two years and my whole wardrobe is an array of dark colors. Anything too short or see-through brings attention. Do you get what I’m saying?”

His eyes strained and his heart tugged for her to see what he meant, for her to notice that he couldn’t even be himself because he was so scared of what others perceived him as. The way his knuckles turned white as they tugged at the fabric around his neck made him shake with anxiety. There was nothing more that he wanted than to be himself comfortably, and she had the power to give even a fraction of that feeling to him.

When she made no effort to reply, he dropped his hand back to his legs, and deterred his attention mindlessly toward the carpet. The sounds of her pen were the only noise to fill the room, but it was swiftly drowned out as his mind silently ran rampant.

Every passing second he was sewn into this chair he could feel the air being sucked from his lungs, as if his own oxygen was the ink supplying her pen. However, she was interpreting him with thin lines and extensive words, took every ounce of strength he had left. The cross of her t’s and dots of her i’s hit the paper alongside his heartbeat, a long dash prodding at his ears crisply before her pen dribbled as it softly fell to the desk.

“I understand,” she nodded. The tips of her fingernails pushed his application away as if in dismissal, a word in red detailing what she saw. “And I want to help you.”

His breath stole from his chest in a rush, as he jolted forward in the slightest.

“However, this is more than just painting over your tattoos. What you will be going through requires a more stable mental state and your full desire to do this,” she continued, lips parted to continue with a monolog he would no sooner tune out.

Your full desire to do this, he turned his head to the side and scrunched his eyes in distaste. The words clung to him the more that she spoke, babbling on about prices and dates, mental well-being and rehab, but it all soared right past him as he rolled the words over and over. It was a minuscule slip-up, something that would have gone unnoticed had he not been aware of her increasing discomfort with him.

She thought he was full of shit.

“Do you think I’m trying to be like the inked?” He snapped, tone level but eyes unwavering as they latched onto hers.

“Excuse me?” She rose a brow.

“Do you think I’m here to cover my tattoos so that I can plaster myself with more?” He deadpanned.

Her hands, which had been poised just a few inches above the desk, fell onto the surface, the disgust she had been hiding now exploiting itself in the downturn of her lips. “I never said that.”

“There are some things that don’t have to be said to be heard,” he said starkly. His fingers gripped onto the chair's arms, pulling him up until he was hovering over the desk with a look of disappointment.

“Mr. Kim,” she sighed, placing her hand on her desk and standing to meet his gaze. “I’ve dealt with people like you before, and I’ve tried to believe that they wanted–”

“People like me before?” His feet adjusted as he shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve sat with me for barely five minutes and you think you have the slightest idea of who I am?”

“I’m just trying to say that–”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just take myself and my mental instability out of this judgemental shit hole.” The words came out in a snarl that bit at her as he took a step back, head shaking in disdain before turning his back to her.

“Thanks for nothing.”

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

**SAYING SOME SAPPY SH*T **

[ID: Art done traditionally then colored digitally. Its a birthday gift for Dr. Habit from Smile For Me given by my sona Rose.

 He is green skinned with black hair,acne, stubble, thin thorny wooded arms and neck, hands are leaves. Wears dark brown shirt with big rose leaf overcoat adorned with thorn shaped spikes. Wears red glasses twisted at the nose. In the artists interpretation in this picture Habit has a mouth scar and hand scars, freckles, goatee and sideburns, broken nose. His hair is sunset colored and eyes half red and orange. Coat is black with blue highlights, sunflower tied with leaves around hat, more vivid pink coat fluff with variously colored real flowers(in the drawing) resting in it, wears pink nailpolish and flower shape gold earrings.

Rose comes in from the top, halfbody, covering his face with his hair and looking away, flustered and smiling. Eyes are pink toned. His hand has been drawn around a real photo of a small artificial yellow rose flower. He is giving it to Habit, who looks at it with a ‘O’ face and seems surprised.

Rose is singing the lyrics of Idhu Enna(linked here) in a big pink smudgy painted chatbox with hearts coming off it that takes up most of page. Text is mostly dark blue with a light blue outline. It reads as follows with little drawings on it,

‘‘ (From this point handwriting is shaky)

 இது என்ன..?( question mark with heart) கண்ணில் தாவுது ஒரு மான் இங்கு( two red eyes drawn) இதமொன்று நெஞ்சில் பாயுது அது ஏன் இங்கு( a realistic heart with veins drawn) சொட்டு சொட்டாய்( water droplets drawn flying to side, aligned with one of the red eyes) என் மனதே சுண்டுகிறாள்ஏக்கங்கள் நான் கொள்ண்( Many colorful swirls with sheet music and note symbols drawn down of text, with blurry white spots on them.ண் is bolded for pronoun change.)

(From this point handwriting is straight and bold. Each word is underlined with red and yellow)

தாக்கங்கள் 

தான்

 இன்று 

சந்திக்கிறேன்!!! ‘‘

Habit replies, in a  blue chatbox with red pixel text, ‘’Oh...idk what your singing but, Thank You?? <:-D (smiley face)’’

In a thick black on white thought bubble, Rose thinks in allcaps, ‘’(MENTAL KEYSMASH) SIR PLEASE LEARN TAMIL’’

Around the drawing is the real photo of the brown floor. Some parts are edited gray to the bottom. In these are drawn simple style red,teal,yellow,orange flowers outlines and in yellow text, allcaps, ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’

Overall tone of the drawing is vivid colors, smooth, slightly blurry and bright, red-blue glitch and noise effect. end ID]

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OUHMMH OMG HE DOESNT KNOW ONE WORD IM SAYING,,,,

IM IN LOVEEENVFNJEVN😍😍😍😍 \LH

Finally something self indulgent. get it everyone nvefbbenboneo

YELLOW ROSE is for FRIENDSHIP....bro...what if...we were.....friendshc..?😳👉🏼👈🏼

The way i colored\drew Habit here I just kind of mashed up a bunch of different version Ive done this year! Plus some stuff from my friend

ALSO THE WAY I RIPPED OUT THE FAKE EE LITTLE ROSES FROM THE CHOCOLATE BOX SO SO FAST I TELL YOU KVEKKV

ANYWAY UHH A GOOD 39 YEARS TO HIM

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Want the transl?:-3c

What is this..?

Something twitching in my eye

Why my heart is twisting?

Drop by drop...

He caresses my mind..!

...(skip)

Today I will meet my problems!!!

Haha it sounds better in the original ofc. I still need to get a full transl of this song somewhere but if a tam song ever vibed with SFM for me this would be IT.

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Dont tag it as ship\oc x canon PLS. When I say friends I mean it plus im a teenager LOL

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if u reblog with tags IT WILL MAKE MY DAY