clementine. woobin. slytherin.

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  i mask my feelings, my thoughts, myself ⎬

[crwoobin-blog]

crxrose:

Since she was young, the darkness was her kingdom. The ink black hair and unfathomable eyes that stared back at her were perfectly fitting, just like the clothes and the cold slytherin dungeons of the tiny box deep inside her chest where she hid her truths and hopes - her feelings. It became so easy to live like that, even easier until she was completely used to it and until tonight nothing ever seemed to change because Rose didn’t want it to.  Ironic, how a vast change can be brought into life with the batting of butterfly wings. A quick flick of her wrist and the ink black strands had turned to spun gold and it wasn’t the cold moon and the endless darkness that stared back at her anymore. She had stared a bit too long, run her fingers through soft waves and lingered on thoughts of what if and if only i could, while completely forgetting that nothing was stopping her. Woobin thought it was nice. Why not keep it?  “I’m not making fun of you.” She insists, quietly, lets the words die out towards the end and allows the brief sound of his laughter to fill her instead. It makes her own lips twitch, warmth spreading through her chest and making her ribcage expand with a restless whirlwind of emotions.  She drowns it with the offered drink, takes careful but quick sips and ignores the warning. Last winter was a vague memory of the icy winds on her bare skin, the scent of pine and something that was distinctly Woobin, his face close to hers while she was trying to reach for the bottle and her face feeling flushed for all the wrong reasons. Was it all that bad? The goblet is lowered slightly and she stares at him over the golden rim, a hint of mischief in her eyes and a smile to match that’s hidden once again. “I’m not going to drink that much, don’t worry. It’s one thing to embarrass myself in front of you, but it’s a whole other to embarrass us both in front of so many people.” Her hand twists and turns and slides beneath his, soft fingertips brushing his palm while her other holds the goblet out in offering. The mask was mysterious, but she wanted to see his face. “Here, you can have some of it, too. Then you’ll know for sure that I’m not drinking too much.” And it’s as much as an excuse as standing in front of him is for holding onto his fingers, rather than keeping their arms linked. The smile doesn’t vanish from her lips. ”Or are you going to keep it on the whole night? Even when we’re dancing?”

it’s easier to think that she is just being mean. anything else will be out of the ordinary, and if he allows himself to think otherwise, he’d be disappointed the day afterwards. but it’s terrible, now, that she’s being extremely convincing, and if he’s more foolish he might believe her when she says that his face isn’t half bad (and more than that). she’s being more cruel than usual. it’s too beautiful a night, and she’s too beautiful a girl, and it’s too fleeting a moment. her smile, too, catches him off-guard, as it often does in the rare times that it appears, and if he didn’t have a mask over his face he would’ve struggled to explain why his face was so warm.

“you did drink plenty when we were around family,” he teases, taking the goblet when she offered it, and smiling under the covering on his face. despite the enchantment that allows him to breathe through the mask, it’s beginning to feel warm; he doesn’t want to take it off yet – just another second, just another milli-moment to make her think she’s more, that he’s grown, that he, too, can hide things under a mask, physical or not. “it wouldn’t be too hard to be capable of being drunk around people you probably don’t even care that much about.”

he laughs anyway at the thought of keeping the mask on when they’re dancing, “i mean, if you’re doing it, then why can’t i? a lot of people are doing it, too.” he makes the mistake of looking around, accidentally scans the crowd, sees a familiar face that makes him ache, makes him hold onto the goblet a little too tightly.

he takes off the mask, and places it upon the table, “but you’re right,” he concedes, taking a sip, and pauses, and takes an even larger swig, before putting it down, and looking at his date – properly, now, without anything blocking anything, and he smiles. something gets stuck in his throat. he doesn’t want to address what it is. instead, he drinks a little more, and asks, as if finally letting out a breath he’s been holding, “so you want to dance?”

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  i mask my feelings, my thoughts, myself ⎬

[crwoobin-blog]

crxrose:

His voice washes over her like gentle waves, the soft and sweet breeze that fills hot summer nights and slides down her spine like a single, cool dew drop. It makes her shiver, makes her all too conscious of herself, the pace of her steps and breathing and the warm and tender touch upon her wrist.  It fits, her prince charming compliments, like it’s natural for them, like they hadn’t spend years apart and bickering and calling each other idiot and goblin. The night only just started, but she’s already filled with a hint of sadness because it’s only a night before they return to how they were and the sound of her name from his lips - dripping, like butterflies drowning in honey - will forever remain a memory.  She stares at the place their skin touches, watches his fingers trace pale skin and tries to push away any hints of melancholy. Tonight was going to be perfect and she wouldn’t allow thoughts of tomorrow to ruin it. Not with Woobin’s attention on her, not with him treating her like a woman and not just a young girl that loved to grind on the very last of his nerves.  And he must have felt effected; the same way so many boys around her do when she shows the ghost of a smile and flutters her lashes. There’s a hint of something foreign in his voice when he delivers the compliment and Rose can’t help herself, lowers her head to hide the coy pink of her face, before remembering there was no need to hide it tonight. She shows him a smile - curled at the edges and entirely too strange on her lips at this point - and wonders how long it’s been since he last saw it. Did he miss it? “Thank you, I’m glad you think so.” It’s easier to let go of the kicking instincts and biting claws that tear at her when half her face is covered and instead of haughty arrogance and lifting her nose high in the air, she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and moves closer towards Woobin. “You… you look quite dashing tonight. Your clothes and mask do, at least, but- but I bet your face does as well.” She bows her head, again. “It always does.”  “I think I want a drink first.” Rose adds quickly and resists the urge to glance up, to try and search what she can see of his face for a reaction. “Do I get to choose everything we do tonight? No matter what it is?” The train of thoughts born from her own words seems unstoppable, but she tries not to let it run too wild, gets stuck at the image of him pulling his mask off, leaning in, feeling his warm breath on her lips. “Since I’m your princess tonight.” 

for all the mask and the shadows, he’s on the verge of revealing himself right then and there for the embarrassed mess he is. everything he wants to say bubbles from his throat and he struggles to swallow it all. she’s warmer than he remembers, at the very least, but he doesn’t remember it like this. he doesn’t remember her like this and, for a moment, he’s completely and utterly afraid of the rose that be in his memory tonight, staining all others with this brightness and this inexplicable gentleness that he finds foreign.

and she smiles – how long has it been since then? most of the time he knows she’s hiding it behind something, and even now behind a mask, behind tonight. (there are those words again, rising to the surface, and he battles them to keep his nerves still.)

“your hair is different. it’s nice.” nicer, he liked to say, but such a comparison now is too early to be made. he bites his own tongue, bites his own smile even though he doesn’t have any need to. but her compliment – now that’s more familiar. he’d rather hear it as a tease, rather than anything else; it’s more familiar, more them, more her. even with this dress-up, they’re still pretending, and god only knew if she was, too. he certainly couldn’t. he’d lost the ability to play at pretending long ago. he’s grown up too much for that. “you’re making fun,” he says cautiously, more like a gauge, begging for a response, “but if you aren’t, then thank you. i’m glad you notice i don’t look as much of a troll as you think i am.”

he laughs, not wanting her to take it too seriously either. their entire lives shouldn’t depend on a single night. it never should.

“and yes, you get to choose,” he responds, a bit more at ease, a little less tense. there’s something to be said about the familiarity of childhood, something that’s calming, comforting, like nothing has changed, and perhaps, if he wished it, nothing will. no, this – this was only for a night, and he, at least, shouldn’t get too carried away. he leads her to a table anyway, and delights at the goblets prepared. he reaches for one, and it fills up, but he offers it to her instead of partaking in it himself. “not too many drinks, though. you remember what it was like when you got drunk last winter. do you remember?”

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  i mask my feelings, my thoughts, myself ⎬

[crwoobin-blog]

crxrose:

The masked figure in front of her is dressed in dark colours, tall and broad and mysterious. Brooding. She feels like the heroine in one of the many novels she liked to keep hidden beneath her bed and read only late at night; about to be whisked away by a dark and handsome stranger, but then a muffled voice reaches her ears and through the holes in the mask she spies eyes that are recognisably his and all fidgeting nervousness falls away from her. As a young child, Rose had decided that she was the moon and Woobin was the sun. He was a bright boy with a brighter smile, blinding when she looked at him and warm to the touch. The young man in front of her spoke of shadows and the darkness she liked to surround herself with, the blanket of stars and dim light of the moon breaking through cloudy skies; alluring and soft like dark velvet. For tonight their roles are reserved and Rose is so out of her element, she doesn’t know what to do, but melt.  “Princess Rosie?” Her words are a soft echo, no trace of the sharp edges, the poisonous tongue that has become her sword and shield. For the night their roles seem reserved and Woobin’s words are making her heart race, her thoughts run wild with images of stories and dreams and she doesn’t have it in her to be anything but a marble sized sun, one that he could carry around in the palm of his hand, keep it safe and keep it hidden. “You’ve never called me that before.” Her mask does little to hide the pink of her cheeks, the bashfulness that makes her lower her eyes even as she reaches for his arm and curls her own around it - carefully, hesitantly.  ”If I’m the princess does that make you my prince?” Doe eyes peek past long lashes, up to the mask covering his face and while it’s impossible to see his expression, she hopes to catch a glimpse of something in his eyes.  And she knows what she looks like in that moment; vulnerable and open and hopeful, but for tonight their roles are reversed. Just for tonight, she would allow herself to remove her mask.

tonight, he might even seem more like himself than anytime else. he understands the appeal – the hiding, the shadows, keeping him safe from anyone that might think to hurt him – but this is not something he can live in. it’s a mask, it’s a night, and tonight she’s the sun. 

her hair is lighter now. it’s odd that he’d associate her childhood with darker hair, a darker look, and now she looks more veela than he dares to remember. he understands, without needing to know, why other men would want to spend more time with her. perhaps he’s taken advantage of that too often. perhaps he’s just used to the sharpness of her words that he’d forget, more often than not, that there’s a softness to her – there’s kindness, always, and he’s a fool to have allowed such a lapse in his memory of her. 

so he smiles when she doesn’t snap at him for the new nickname. it’s a nice change. 

“it fits,” he tells her truthfully, and even behind a mask he can’t help the gentleness in his voice, the careful way that he delivers something so genuine and sincere. his hand rests at the wrist around his arm, and holds onto it as a gentleman would, back straight and shoulders square, trying not to be too proud that he has her at his arm. one can only be so lucky. but what she says next has him blinking, and now he’s glad that he has this covering on his face; if she sees how he looks now, he’s sure to never hear the end of it. “i – y...es. yes, i suppose.” he clears his throat, tries his hardest not to give in to the habit of running his fingers through his hair. instead, his thumb traces soft, feather-light patterns on her skin. it’s something to do. it’s an excuse.

the music gets louder the more they walk, and again, he clears his throat, “you – you look great tonight.” before he’s rid of the chance to say it, he feels like he has to state the obvious. here he is now, nervous nerves despite his earlier confident bluster, and he scrambles to get it back. “a drink, first, or a dance? you get to choose tonight, rosie.”

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  i mask my feelings, my thoughts, myself ⎬

Half her face is covered in white, metal mask, pink lips visible and twisting nervously. There’s the flowers Woobin got her that Rose tucked carefully between the pages of her favourite book and the disloyal thudding of her heart that gave away more than she wanted.  Tonight, she’ll pretend she’s playing a role; dressed in white, instead of taking cover in dark colours and behind dark strands of hair. It’s dyed blond for the occasion, curled and loosely framing a face that appeared more soft and demure for it. Her fingers twist nervously in front of her as she waits and although Woobin has never been cruel or mean before, she questions his sincerity. Echoes of whispers about him and Sydney had reached her ears again - for all her confidence and arrogance, Rose didn’t doubt for one second that he would pick the Ravenclaw over her yet again.  Waiting for him suddenly feels like a bad idea and pounding of her heart seems to be shouting at her to run. She wants to listen, for once, but the first step is quickly cut short by the appearance of a masked figure in front of her. No face could be seen behind the full face mask and Rose felt a bit silly, with the faux lace that covered her face, but still made it quite easy to recognise her. She left her wand behind and suddenly feels even more nervous for the oddest reasons. “Woobin? Is that you?” 

@crwoobin

[crwoobin-blog]

he’d have preferred to walk her to the great hall from the common rooms. the way he was dressed tonight intended to hide who he was, more so than usual, with a mask more literal than metaphorical. he had it enchanted, allowing him to breathe normally despite the coverage, and he hoped that, since they were meeting somewhere else, she’d be able to recognise him, and not hex him on the 

but he recognises her first, surely. 

the hair takes him off-guard a little. everything else follows. he stops in his tracks for a moment, and catches her looking for him, but he takes another second to himself to see, to look, to admire, as most boys do – no, she’s just grown up, is all. she’s still the same rose, still the same princess, still the same betrothed his parents would give anything for him to marry. (that thought is too vicious for a night like this.)

he smiles, under it all, and bows when she inquires on his identity. tonight he can be someone else. perhaps she knows him as a crybaby too, as he had been so long ago: that boy with the soft heart and an open soul and everything too raw and gentle to survive in a world such as this. now he’s wearing a mask and clothes too expensive for a single night’s wear; even one hand is adorned with a ring engraved with his family’s crest.

“may i escort you, princess rosie?” he asks without thinking, and realises that he hasn’t called her a goblin in a while (not tonight, though; not the time for that yet). “if you’d do me the honour.”

[brandonthelibrarian]

Visit Original Link

[crwoobin-blog]

.learned it from you

woobin has always loved a challenge. it’s every opportunity to prove he’s better, that he’s gotten better, that he’ll be the best, one day, some day. any challenge that pushes him to a certain limit is always welcome – but this is not one of those.

he waits outside the great hall like he doesn’t have a portkey-to-london safely tucked inside the messenger bag slung on his shoulder. of course, it won’t put them in the middle of the city – such a thing would be far too conspicuous, and would surely dash any dream of getting into the ministry of magic – but it’s close enough to where he wants to be. regent street would be the first. any ball must be attended with style, slytherin or not, and dress-robes are the stuff of the past, anyway. he hopes, in this matter, that alice will see the light, even if he has to buy it for her.

still, he’s patient, and rocks on the balls of his feet, checking the time every now and again, eager for their weekend trip. 

@crxalice

[crwoobin-blog]

“i can smell the fear on you from here.”

the sentence is so preposterous it has him laughing, suddenly, just as the statement itself. it hit him with the force of a well-intentioned joke, and even if he misinterpreted the intention itself (which he was wont to do), there was no stopping him from doubling over for a good moment before straightening up again, hand over the opposite shoulder, as if it’d keep his body upright and still, and it’d calm him just the slightest. it might have disturbed the forest too, and attracted the creature he wanted to see, which was just as well. maybe that was what alec meant to do? 

“fear?” he repeats, having to wipe a tear from the edge of his eye, “you’ve got me all wrong! no, no–,” he doesn’t tuck his wand away nonetheless, and keeps it in his hand for good measure. “not at all. i was hoping to catch one acromantula in the forbidden forest. i drew my wand to capture one, not eliminate one – dear merlin, no.” he lets out a last chuckle, and trudges forward, eager to have something to show for the past half hour since they’ve entered the forbidden forest.

“acromantulas are nothing to be afraid about! i’m sure we’ll be fine.”

[crwoobin-blog]

              the tenderness of the mirror repulses you.              everything hurts too much              and nothing stays long enough. 

                                     a crack forms with a touch.                                      nothing breaks yet. but it will soon. you’ll see:

                                                              every shard you give is another that hurts,                                                               and no mirror tells the truth.

[crwoobin-blog]

crsydney:

     evidently, ice mice had been a bad idea. her nerves had already been jumbled. the added presence of her former boyfriend and mice-like attributes that ran her teeth wild had her stomach threatening to upturn itself. spew today’s breakfast out of her spitfire mouth all over the handsome features of the slytherin before her. no, that wouldn’t be pretty at all.

     but it was too late now. and sydney realizes the severity of the question too late. perhaps, it is the aching side of her that coaxed her into reaching out. pour the softness of her heart, her thoughts and anxieties into his hands. as if she had the right to. 

     they were still friends, sure, but the fact that nothing is to be the same again—that boundaries must be placed between them—that is what has her struggling. heart twisting.

    clenching.

     she manages a sheepish smile despite the mice rummaging behind closed teeth, near fidgeting as she readies her thoughts, releasing a small squeak upon opening her mouth (and quickly clamping shut).

    “uh—” the ravenclaw makes another effort after half a minute, rubbing the tip of her nose as nervous laughter squeaks out of her. “what’s wrong with ice mice?” well, everything. “they’re delicious.” an unknowing pout fixes itself onto her features, attention quick to jump from topic to topic. if only to avoid the awkwardness that threatens to settle. 

    although even that pales in the dull ache that comes with seeing him. being close. talking about new loves as if she hadn’t pressed her heart into his hands for safe keeping. 

    “w-who—? well, that’s a secret!” she laughs around her nerves. unprepared to share details just yet. “i was just—uh—it was a hypothetical situation—o-of course.” she fiddles with the ends of her hair. “b-but, how would i go about it—h-hypothetically, i mean.”

oh, he can ignore it until it goes away; he’s sure he can ignore the breathlessness when she smiles, when she speaks to him and jumps around topics and skirts around the issue without talking about it. they’ve always been alike that way. these days, it’s for the best, but he can’t help but think that it’s especially cruel of her to ask him such a thing.

and here he thought she was one of the nicer ones. 

two years, and he thought she’d be a little kinder than this.

so he laughs it off, pretends not to hurt like they mutually agreed, without ever talking about it. they don’t need to. their last night together made sure of that. besides, he already broke both their hearts enough to last a lifetime. it didn’t need to be broken so callously another time. “nothing’s wrong with ice mice, syd. if i had your courage, i’d stuff them all in my mouth too.”  but he doesn’t reach for them. he doesn’t want to take any more from her than he has already. there’s a lifetime’s worth of repentance behind that, too.

“sure,” he replies, unconvinced, “as if you don’t have guys lining up at your door to ask you out!” and it must be true, he thinks – who wouldn’t want the honour of dancing with her, of escorting her, of being with her? – merlin help him, he has to cross his arms over his chest to keep it from falling apart. “but if you’re thinking of asking someone out...i’d honestly just say be yourself and ask directly. anyone would be a fool to say no. like so...” he clears his throat, smiles, and extends a hand towards her, intending to only make an example: “sydney, will you be my date to the dance?”

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  i suppose we could play pretend ⎬

[crwoobin-blog]

crxrose:

From her place beneath a parasol or from the windowsill of her room, Rose often watched her cousins play. The boys were always rough, pushed and pulled at each other until someone fell and boisterous laughter erupted from them. Early on it became clear to her that they’re rough, that pain and displeasure is funny to them; not just through the way they treat each other, but also in the way they try to pull her hair whenever she’s close by.  Woobin is dirty and stupid, but he doesn’t seem mean. Never did. Not once did he push her, pull her hair, pinch her side or squeeze her arm until it turned red. Instead, he cries for a kitten and daps at the bloody wound with a handkerchief she had handed him to wipe his face with, completely ignorant to his own state of disarray. His fingers are long and his hands are surprisingly gentle and careful and Rose’s lips twist with the idea that maybe that was why she was supposed to play house with him. Maybe his parents saw that stupid and dirty, but kind boy and thought he would be easy to clean and educate and one day he would be perfect. Someone who would never hurt their daughter. Someone to protect and cherish her. Or maybe it was just his advanced age because his words simply speak of a baseless pride and stubbornness that would have made him a better fit for Gryffindor, rather than Slytherin.  “I may not know a lot, but i know that Death doesn’t wait for your permission, Woobin.” She wants to roll her eyes and sigh and give up, maybe push him back out of her room and crawl into her warm and awaiting bed, but the still warm kitten in her arms makes her reconsider. She calls for an elf instead, orders her to clean up after them and summon a warm bowl of before the elf can open her mouth to question what exactly was going on. The young lady had to be obeyed, after all.  “What are you going-” to do if it dies -, but Rose can’t bring herself to say the words because a simply glance at Woobin’s face was enough to see just how emotionally involved he was already. For him to go so out of his way for a kitten he just picked up; Rose couldn’t understand it. “What are you going to name him when- if he becomes healthy again?”

from where he stood, there was plenty enough to do, and not enough time to do it. at twelve years old, his defiance for the natural order of things was surely well-placed. if he had been brave enough, if he’d just dared to break the rules just a little bit, he could’ve fended off those cruel muggles, those cruel creatures, and something so peaceful wouldn’t have to suffer them. but even then, the cat’s appearance isn’t something that could’ve happened by human hands alone. time ate away at the spirit, at the body – the thought of it had him shaking his head, as if it’ll dissuade the harsh hand gripping and squeezing at his heart.

“i know, but that doesn’t mean i won’t try,” he answered stubbornly, brokenly, sniffing again, wiping at tears that haven’t fallen quite yet. the cat surely wouldn’t like it if he, as the caretaker, broke down – that wouldn’t comfort it at all. 

the appearance of the elf caused him to step back, letting the elf do as it was told; he’d made a bit of a mess, and this was a girl’s room, after all. perhaps he was causing too much trouble, but she let him in, didn’t she? – and there were far bigger concerns, and after this, he would go home, and tell his parents that he was right, and that they were wrong, and because rose was such a good caretaker he’d be more comfortable playing house with her. that’d show them! they probably made him play with this game with rose to make him uncomfortable – ha! this’d definitely –

“hm? – oh...” he uses the back of his hand to wipe away some grime from his cheek, and hums a little; a little calmer, his knees feel more tired than before, but he doesn’t sit. he looks to the box again. the cat heaves with the effort of every breath. “mm...rain, maybe? his fur is grey, and it was a sad time when i found him...but the rain is good sometimes! otherwise the plants would go thirsty, right?” he tries to smile, a small twitch of his lips, and looks over again when the cat mewls pitifully; gently, again, he reaches over to wipe some blood off of the remaining patches of his fur. “you can be the co-owner, too!”

[crwoobin-blog]

.i had a dream about you

january 2016.

he catches up with her after class, books against his chest and heart, always, on his sleeve, right at the end of the day; dusk in the winter comes too soon. 

there’s a sense of awkwardness that can be had when people are close to the one he used to love the most. it’s like seeing the hospital record after a particularly bad fall, except this one he sees often. he approaches her out of concern. it’s one incident too many. no one should be bumbling about after midnight without a proper escort to see them home, and woobin had been too kind to let it go unnoticed, even if he was also drunk. the rest of the night had been a blur, and frankly, he was amazed he managed to wake up in his own bed with nothing more than a slight headache and a small discomfort on his side. did he fall? did he hit something on the way in? merlin only knew.

rather, it was her wellbeing he was more concerned about than his own. he’d been trying to find her in the throng of students since his own day began, and he was glad to have caught her outside of class before dinner. “hey!” he calls out, hurriedly placing his hand on her shoulder to grab her attention, and taking it away again. “hey, are you okay?” he moves to the side, makes way for others, and doesn’t mind at all that they have to keep moving just a little bit towards the walls – there are always more people than he cares to pay attention to. “you got back to your room safe last night? i’m afraid i don’t quite remember...but i’m sure we arrived at hogwarts together, didn’t we?”

@crcwan

[crsydney]

    “so,” the ungraceful drop of her book bag is what announces her presence, features pulled into one of utmost determination. she’d been clueless on what to do for days. and what better to do than throw her trust to the stars? 

    expect the unexpected from someone today. it said.

    still her delicate fist unfurls to reveal a handful of exploding bonbons, pepper imps, and ice mice to set before them. 

    bribery. pure bribery.

    and though outwardly calm, the words that came gushing out of her mouth—like an ungodly sort of vomit—was anything but.

    “howwouldonegoaboutaskingsomeonewhooneisquitesureisstillintoanothertothedance—” her voice cracks, ending with a loud and characteristically ungraceful squeak. “h—UH?!”

    the ravenclaw nearly chokes on her own nerve, briskly shoving a piece of the sweet into her mouth to cover up her building embarrassment. good one, syd. 

   “t-tafke your fime answering—i’m jfust wonfering.”

[crwoobin-blog]

out of all the things he expected to experience today, sydney suddenly showing up out of nowhere in the great hall beside him with a handful of sweets and what-nots were definitely not on the list. he’d just gotten out of his suit into something more casual – one that he wore for the sole purpose of asking someone out to the dance – and now he regretted not having it on in the first place. then again, it wasn’t as if he could ask sydney out anyway. there was no point to it, nothing to be gained –

not anymore.

he smiled, bemused nonetheless, and hid a laugh behind his fist before setting it down and clearing his throat, ignoring the light flush at his cheeks that appeared, as if out of habit, without him wishing it to. still, he couldn’t help but laugh, just a little bit more.

“eating ice mice so eagerly in front of them would not be the ideal way to do it, i can tell you that.” another laugh, this time to hide that there was an ache, a bruise pressed a little too hard by her words – but it was becoming familiar, and if he just ignored it, just swallowed it – “who did you have in mind?”

[crwoobin-blog]

“ feel this. what does it feel like to you?"

hand taken before he can keep it from her, he doesn’t retract it either. he hums in contemplation, feels around because he’s asked nicely – he’s not going to say no to someone who – well, she didn’t ask nicely, per se, and only commanded him to do something so forward, but he complies anyway because he’s woobin, and he’d hardly say no. so he touches tenderly, gently, as if this is an open wound even if it isn’t.

“it feels like a tiny little bump. nothing to be frightened of, though – feels like it’ll go away in a few hours.” he retracts his hand, finally, after the quick assessment, and smiles a little, “did you make someone angry and hex you, though? because if it is, then you might have to pop it and see what comes out.”

[crwoobin-blog]

free starters – reply to this post with your favourite poem/poet and i’ll write a starter based on that! capping at 5.

[crwoobin-blog]

.there’s still time

[crwoobin-blog]

crxrose:

Her and Woobin go so far back, she forgot what it was like before he came into her life. The relationship that had been planned for them as kids before either of them even realised what it meant was quite straight forward, yet nothing about their road together could be described as simple. There’s been more ups and downs than on a rollercoaster and that makes Rose believe it only makes sense that this very moment and this high makes her feel slightly dizzy.  Woobin is popular; there’s many girls who would love to go to the dance with him, even more of them Rose felt ready to hex out of pure pettiness and all of them she considered a more likely candidate for his dance partner than her. It’s spitefulness that turned a straight forward situation so twisted; he can’t imagine it getting untangled even through this. Her body doesn’t listen to her mind screaming no and small fingers reach for the flowers instead, wrapping around the stems and flinching back when her skin brushes his. There’s not much of a need for a verbal reply anymore and with her face pink and eyes cast towards the ground and between their feet, she knows she is making a fool of herself by being way too obvious.  But Woobin was nothing if not an idiot.  “Yes,” Rose mumbles beneath her breath. The flowers are clutched tightly, pressed close to her chest to hide the thumping of her heart. In that moment she’s too shy and coy and all the things the Ice Princess is not supposed to be, but when doe eyes finally glance up at Woobin the pink of her cheeks starts spreading to her ears. “Since-” There’s a pause, a need to clear her throat and straighten her posture, “Since you went through all this trouble to dress up and come here, it would be rude to refuse. So, yes. I’ll go with you.”

yes, she says, and he blinks – he’s seen many-a-man walk around the hallways dejected, and there’s no telling how many of them have been that way because of her. he expected to join their ranks, and perhaps search for another date, though another spectacle has to be made, and nothing quite to this degree. he breathes a sigh of relief, smiles more comfortably. his shoulders slouch a little, but not enough; he fills out the suit too well, and he can’t afford too much wear and tear on it before the ball. (then again, his parents might allow another purchase if he tells them, with a degree of bitterness, that he’s bowing to their wishes – but only out of pure care and concern for his soon-to-be date.)

“yes? yes!” he repeats, in less than half a second after she finishes talking, smiling ever brighter, feeling so much lighter, and not just because the flowers are out of his hands. he bounces a little on the spot, right on his heels, and self-consciously moves his hair out of the way when it falls over his forehead. “i mean – yes, good. good. i’m glad.”

belatedly, he realises that the music is still playing, so he bends down to turn it off. “wow, the boombox did the trick, huh? did you know these things are called ‘boomboxes’?” he lifts it, carries it under his arm, and grins with all excited boyishness and light heartedness; a hand loosens his tie, undoes the first button on his shirt. “or was it the suit? do you like it? do you think i should wear it to the dance?”

[crwoobin-blog]

“i can’t believe my eyes.”

woobin scrambles, for the nth time in his life, to maintain some sort of dignity. he’s a slytherin. he shouldn’t be caught doing these things. it’s too embarrassing, it’s taking his pride away, and he’ll lose the respect he’s been attempting to command from others. but here he is, trying to gather the muggle materials – comics – while, at the same time, trying to be careful about it, because merlin forbid that there’d be a single fold on the edges. 

“you can’t tell anybody,” he says – and to think he thought that this would be one of the moments he’d be alone. granted, he usually enjoyed the company of others. he loved their attention, basked in it, and pandered to the amusement of others to the point that bonds of friendship often crossed the boundaries of house rivalries. but this – this is alone time, this is woobin time, meant to be spent alone, and no one usually comes to the library so late at night. “please?” he continues, piling the comics into a plastic sleeve, and holding it to his chest.

[crwoobin-blog]

.there’s still time

[crwoobin-blog]

crxrose:

The same, firm and curt exhale of the word ‘no’ had been about all that had left Rose’s lips in the last couple of day. Hearing the same, annoyed or desperate, ‘but why not’ had not made her any less reluctant to leave her room or made her feel any less like she ought to start throwing hexes like there’s no tomorrow. She resorts back to threats instead; glaring and snapping blunt teeth and claws like a kitten that’s trying too hard to be intimidating in order to hide the fact that she feels cornered.  Woobin’s appearance feels like a blessing and a curse, simultaneously. Everything about him screams cheesy and cliche and Rose is almost inclined to shut the door in his face, just to avoid further embarrassment. There’s whispers from her roommates and Rose knows that whatever is going to play out will be repeated to the rest of their house, one way or another and she almost hates Woobin for putting on a public display like that. Almost. (She still likes to think herself actually capable to do so.) “W-what are you doing?” She asks, her voice much more meek than usual. The idea that he could or would actually ask her to go to the masquerade with him hadn’t crossed her mind. After a whole year of Woobin insisting that they’re friends, she had thought herself the very last person he would want to ask, yet there’s flowers in his hand and gross, muggle music coming from the music device and she doesn’t want to admit it, but Woobin looks impossibly dashing in a suit. “Is this a prank?”

it isn’t as if he doesn’t have any other options. this isn’t a last-ditch effort. it isn’t a choice that he took lightly, either – otherwise, he wouldn’t have made such a huge spectacle out of it. but there are, indeed, two fundamental truths to his motives: one, that he’s doing this for the preservation of his male peers, seeing as they were most likely to ask for her company; and two, he wouldn’t be a very good friend to her if he let her suffer through this alone. besides, this works to both their interests. there are no cons if both of them enjoy themselves; platonically, of course, even though they’re bound to marry someday. someday. they at least have to be comfortable with the idea of dancing and spending the night in each other’s company if they’re to do it for the rest of their lives.

so when she opens the door he tries not to be too frazzled by the spectacle he’s making. he scrambles to lower the music, and puts it down on the floor, and smiles as if he isn’t totally embarrassing himself, and as if he isn’t expecting her to say no to him, too. “it’s not a prank,” he answers, biting back the goblin that threatened to follow soon after – out of pure affection and friendliness, of course. it’s their thing. “i’m most definitely, one-hundred percent, asking you out to the dance with me, as the kids put it.”

he smiles more, and outstretches the arm holding the flowers towards her, urging her to take it. at least, he hopes she would. it’d be a terrible waste of money if she doesn’t. “i believe this is what the muggles call a ‘big ask’,” he clarifies, laughing a little, aiming to put his hands back into his pockets if she ended up taking the flowers from him. he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands otherwise. “did it work? are you going to say yes?”