[freakxerror-blog]

✘ a house rivalry ↺

[partner :: @crxrose ]

“Stupid Gryffindors.”

Sage raised her eyebrow at the younger girl’s words, looking up from the homework she was trying to concentrate on. She didn’t know much about Rose, Sage generally kept herself to the same small group of people when she wasn’t causing mayhem or working on her homework. Even though she was known very much as a bit of a delinquent, her grades in nearly all subjects were unmatched. And she was slightly annoyed she had been stirred from her potions homework.

The Slytherins were some of the few who knew that Sage was female simply because of the fact that she slept in the female dorms. However, many of them didn’t say anything to others because either they simply didn’t care or they enjoyed watching the hilarious confusion ensue about her gender. She had less enemies in Slytherin house than she did in all of the other houses, mostly because many of them had a lot of the same qualities. Sage had just gotten out of bed maybe half an hour ago that Saturday morning (though it was really closer to noon) she was still in her pajamas. A pair of simple black pj pants and a red shirt with a thunderbird on it, her house shirt from when she was at ilvermorny. A pair of black slipper boots adorned her feet and her hair was rather messed up. This was a state that only other Slytherins ever saw. 

She ruffled her hair and closed the book, now unable to focus. It took her several minutes to really respond, ignoring the expectant looks she was receiving. Even though she would probably never show it, Sage was particularly fond of one specific Gryffindor. But at the same time, she did agree that the majority of them were idiotic – especially the one she was fond of.

“Did one of them do something to you?” She asked silently, her sharp eyes moving up to look at her housemate. “If so, tell me who and they will suffer.” Sage wasn’t big on friendships, but she had the tendency to be protective of slytherins, especially the ones in lower classes.

[crxrose-blog]

Rose did not like to think of herself as a drama queen, but it couldn’t be denied that the girl never suffered in silence. Her annoyance was always clearly declared and very well known and Rose liked to pin it on the quick tempered veela blood that was cursing through her veins. If one thing led to her morning being ruined, she thought, at the very least, her house mates deserved to know. Usually, there would be a few boys ready to coddle her and volunteer to take revenge in her name and although she didn’t need their help, the ease with which she could gain control over them never failed to give her ego a small boost.  Today, she chooses another victim.  Or, perhaps, the term victim might not be quite accurate. Rose is rather certain that no amount of charm would actually have an effect on Sage.  Her exaggerated sigh and loud complaint are met with deaf ears and after a full three minutes, Rose had been close enough to get up from her seat and go look for Woobin, when the older girl finally placed her book aside and directed her attention at Rose.  A sweet and content smile threatens to spread on her lips, but the question of what it was that had annoyed her in the first place made it easy to suppress any joy she felt at finally being noticed. The pink tiers purse instead, Rose’s legs curling close to her body before she turns to face Sage completely.  “Two of the upperclassmen tried to harass me before. They probably thought if they provoke me enough, I would snap and it would lead to trouble and house deduction for me, but luckily, I was able to walk off before my hand decided to act on its own accord and jinx them.” She leans her head against the back of the couch, fluttering her lashes once before a curse quite unfit for a young lady of her standing left her lips: “They’re such bellends.” 

[coruscorp-blog]

HEARTS HEADCANONS

Send a heart, send multiple hearts to learn something about another person’s muse!

❤: does my muse consider themselves a romantic?

♡: how does my muse act, consciously and/or subconsciously, around people they are romantically interested in?

❥: what is my muse’s ideal date?

ღ: how does my muse feel about displays of affection in public and/or in private?

💕: how does my muse express their feelings? do they do through small but meaningful gestures, or through bold declarations?

💘: how does my muse act/react when they first realize that they had a crush on somebody?

💝: what would my muse consider a “perfect gift”?

💓: how does my muse feel about physical intimacy?

💌: how would my muse go about confessing to someone they liked? would they do it indirectly or directly, or maybe not at all?

💟: what are three traits that my muse looks for in a partner?

💙: how would my muse handle seeing their object of affection falling in love with someone else?

💚: how does my muse feel about love? about falling in love? about being in love?

💜: how long might it take for my muse to say “i love you” for the first time?

💛: does my muse believe in love-at-first-sight? in soulmates? in fate?

[crxrose-blog]

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

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

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?”

She studies Woobin closely and closer than anyone else. His habits and ticks aren’t unknown to her and she easily spots the nervousness that lingers in his movements, drags behind the last syllable of his carefully picked words. They’re like eggshells that he’s balancing on and while his face isn’t visible through the mask, she spots the shift of his pupils and the tension of his shoulders. It’s a sudden and cruel reminder that it’s a role he’s playing and it’s a layer that she peeled off, leaving her more vulnerable to his games than she’d ever want to be.  The smile vanishes from her lips and she images the morning after, the days that follow. Lies will pile up without a doubt, the walls that she will build back up and return to their former glory with harsh comments and a cold shoulder. Tonight will be a sweet memory of what could have been if they weren’t who they are and their meeting hadn’t been the way it was.  She avoids his eyes by studying his mask, her attention lingering on the details and the hand that’s placed on top of it. Longing fills her; to hold his hand, to feel it against her cheek, combing through her hair. Warm and familiar. The goblet joins the mask and Rose finally looks back up and although Woobin’s mask is now removed, she isn’t sure how much of himself he is actually showing and how many walls she was staring at.  Dainty fingers reach for the silken ribbon that’s holding her mask up, carefully pulling them loose and trying to avoid pinching any loose hairs in the process. Her last mask falls, placed right next to his. No matter how much she would laid bare, it would be easier to tell him that none of it was true, later on. The soft thudding of her heart was a lie, the stars shinning in her eyes weren’t adoration and the smile on her lips didn’t cause her physical pain.  “Yeah. Let’s dance.” Her fingers circle around his wrist in a hold too secure and tight to not make it obvious that she’s worried and anxious as she pulls him to the dance floor. Pain and pleasure goes hand in hand with Woobin and she makes sure to savour every moment of it, drink it like a bittersweet wine, her eyes never leaving his and hands eager to pull his closer to her body and to her waist. “Are you ready? We haven’t danced together in a long time. I hope you got better than you were last time.” It’s a joke, a quip, a tender prod that’s born from the desperate need to distract from the way her own hands quiver as she sets one on his shoulder and the other on his upper arm. “And I promise to try not to step on your feet.”

[crxrose-blog]

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

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

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?”

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?”

[crxrose-blog]

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

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

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.”

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.” 

[crxrose-blog]

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

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

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.”

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.

[crxrose-blog]

                                                          stillness has never been in your blood                                  you bleed life into all c a n v a s e s                                                           and white does not always mean blankness

[crwoobin-blog]

.there’s still time

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

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?”

He looks happy and Rose feels giddy. Woobin still smiles like a kid; big and warm and careless, with his heart on his sleeve and hers on the palm of his hand. She hides her lips between velvet flower petals and hopes he won’t see, won’t notice the twitching of muscles while her lips curve into a secret smile that’s not yet for him to see. (And maybe it never would be.) On the tip of her tongue is the question ‘Why are you so surprised?’, but she hasn’t been making it easy on him the past two years, for all Rose knew, Woobin might think she dislikes him.  The moment the music is turned off, she has her expression back under control and finally lowers the flowers to stop hiding. “The only thing the boombox did it made me want to watch it burn.” Rose quips, the sharp words softened by the ghost of a smile, the edge of upturned lips. It’s a memento of when they were kids and banter was more common between them, but Woobin doesn’t fail to remind her why things are so askew. There’s the dimple on his cheek and the protruding bones of his cheeks and just the peek of collarbones beneath his shirt and it’s a cruel reminder that they aren’t kids anything and things won’t ever be the same again. “The suit is- it’s nice. You just wear whatever you wish, but don’t be late. I’m busy right now so you should probably go, but we’ll meet at the staircase that’s next to the dinning hall.”  She closes the door in his face and hides in the safety of her bed, beneath thick covers, but his smile is still in her head and her heart doesn’t cease its rapid beating.

[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

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  i suppose we could play pretend ⎬

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

he remembers his manners, distraught as he is. he’s older, after all, and it’d be good to maintain a sense of dignity in front of a girl. she was still his friend, after all, and he was well aware it was pathetic for a twelve year-old boy to cry in front of a younger kid. if any of his other friends found out, he’d be done for! (oh, but he can trust her, can’t he? they’ve known each other forever. she will never tell.)

he nods obediently, and removes the coat and discards it somewhere to the side. the elves exist to clean up after them, and surely they won’t say a word to either of their parents if woobin or rose remember to specifically order them not to say a thing. he accepts the box with small, protesting, “hey, be careful –,” but doesn’t say much else, and follows her to her desk, not yet noticing the trail he’s leaving in his wake. instead, he cradles the box with all the gentleness that his awkward frame can muster, and settles it carefully upon her nightstand. this way, it’s stable, and they can see it properly, and it’s warm. “thank you,” he mumbles, taking the handkerchief from her, and trying to gently wipe away the still-fresh blood on the cat’s thin, heaving flesh. the barbarity of it almost makes him want to cry again. “don’t – don’t say anything to anyone, okay? not just to your parents.”

he’s not aware of it, not really, but the heat on his cheeks is not just because he’s been crying. the mere thought of being made fun of, of being imagined as someone who doesn’t belong in slytherin – was absolutely horrendous. even he wouldn’t stand for it. but he doesn’t say a thing because he reminds himself to be grateful; that doesn’t stop him from pouting, just a little bit. “he’s not going to die. i won’t allow it.” here, see – a boy, too much fire, too much ambition, too much hope. it’s not just the gryffindors that seek glory, the sorting hat said, and there’s something in him – pride, maybe, or pure, utter loyalty to what he believes in – that he’ll do whatever it takes – “can you get warm water? we’ll nurse the kitten back to life, and he won’t die, and we’ll get to name him afterwards. you’ll see.”

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?”

[crxjoon-blog]

paved grounds 🌫️

@crxrose ; flower prompt

“I’m not plucking the petals like that, alright? This has nothing to do with love,” he says. He lowers his head to focus on the flower – or rather, the skeletal remains of the flower – in his hands. “Why can’t you accept that I just like picking things apart?”

Blunt fingernails press into the flower’s stem, splitting it off into sections he can peel like it’s a celery stalk. He likes the satisfying, juicy crunch against his fingertips and the leafy scent to burst from the plant’s open wounds. The plant itself is whittled down to just the stem – he’s already meticulously peeled the petals off one by one, plucked the pistils, and gotten pollen smeared on his knuckles.

“A person can pick apart flowers without it being a they love me, they love me not kind of thing,” he murmurs. He plucks a new flower from the grass and peels it apart before Rose’s very eyes. Each time he destroys a part of the flower, he names it in his usual monotonous drone.  “See: petals, peduncle, receptacle, sepal, stamen, anther, filament, pistil, stigma.”

[crxrose-blog]

Joon was... odd. More so, than the average Gryffindor idiot and Rose thinks that perhaps she should just leave, but there’s something fascinating about his peculiarity and she finds herself silent and rooted to the spot, instead. The poor plant in his hands is cruelly mistreated, plucked and crunched and pulled apart like a worthless piece of parchment and in a senseless folly, Rose feels pity for it.  “If your intend is to study the flowers closer, you can do that by simply opening a book, as well. What point is there to plucking them and systematically taking them apart?”  The Gryffindor is odd, but she takes careful steps closer, stares down at him from a high horse and down the bridge of her nose with a fair amount of unconcealed judgement. “There is none. And if there’s no meaning to what you’re doing, then why not just stop? I realise this must be vaguely entertaining to you, but there’s people that use those flowers for potions and you’re wasting them. I’d suggest you stop.”

[snatchedbyloona]

teaser 1 vs teaser 2

“My face in the mirror I ask myself who it is“

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  mentor & apprentice⎬

@crxkai​

Her skills aren’t lacking, as much as they needed some fine tuned improvement. Firing spells quickly and without hesitation is a skill and Rose tends to second guess and weight options, but still insists on striving for perfection. When she asks for advice on improvement, the teacher simply refers getting a tutor and while the idea of her having a tutor seems preposterous at first, she eventually understands the appeal.  She’s heard mentions of his name, but everything is vague to the point that Rose doesn’t know what to expect. The classroom she sits in is empty, her wand pinched delicately between her fingers as she plays around with the avis charm. The idea of being alone in a room with a boy still made her slightly nervous, twisted her stomach into anxious knots, but she would have to trust the teacher on this one. Unconcealed apprehension is visible in her eyes when the door finally opens and the other student walks in, her lips pressed into a tight line and with a swish of her wand the birds vanish.  “Good morning.”

[crwoobin-blog]

.there’s still time

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

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?”

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.”

[crwoobin-blog]

.there’s still time

it’s not enough just to be friendly, and assume his parents will get the hint. if the past year has taught woobin anything, it’s that his parents will stop at nothing to get what they want, and maybe – regrettably – this apple doesn’t truly fall far from the tree. he, too, will absolutely assert that he and rose can be friends, and nothing more. their marriage, arranged as it may be, remains in the uncertain future, and woobin refuses to let it settle and cement. they can do better. just because he’s trying to spite his relationship with his parents doesn’t mean he has to break another heart; not again; never again. he’s sure that there are men and boys (all pigs, in his opinion, whenever they look at her) are lining up for a dance, for a date, for her time, and the least he can do is keep her from them. she’s better than that.

so he tries. really, he does. and it’s an act of friendship, of camaraderie, of we’re-in-this-together-let’s-fight-it-together sort of thing. that’s why, he tells himself, i’m cheesy and gross and disgusting, in a suit and a muggle boombox (lord knew how many ministry asses he had to talk to for this one) and flowers instead of a wand in his hand, all cavalier and proper in front of her door. 

he knocks. swallows. tries not to be embarrassed, and hits play. 

@crxrose

[crxrose-blog]

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?”

[fyloona]

skellytp

[crxrose-blog]

⎨ &&  i suppose we could play pretend ⎬

[crxrose-blog]

crwoobin:

woobin nods; he has half a mind to say thank you, but thinks better of it, at least not until she’s within better ear shot. their parents are in league with each other – he knows it, and surely everyone else does – and if they ever find out that he’s here, they’d tell his parents, who’d surely get even more upset at him, not just for raising his voice at them, but for daring to escape with the very thing that got him into trouble in the first place. but he’ll prove them wrong. he’ll treat the creature back to health and take him to hogwarts as his pet and it’ll live a long, healthy life without any muggle kids trying to pick on small, defenseless creatures – oh, just the memory of it has his face feeling warm again! 

and by the time rose makes her way down to him, he’s close to tears, this time out of anger – righteous anger, surely – and he blinks them away when she gives him a coat and takes the box out of his arms. “wait –” he sniffs, wraps the coat around his shoulders; it drags against the wet grass, and even more so when he follows her inside. small fists bundle up under the cloth, rubbing against his nose, over his cheeks, just to wipe away the signs of the tear-filled night. “you should let me carry him,” he whispers back, following just as closely, and hoping that the mud clinging onto the soles of his shoes and the ends of the coat would go unnoticed in the morning. that’s what elves are for, he thought, and tried to keep his steps as light as her own, though such a feat was surely impossible for a boy.

“i saw other kids hurting him, so i saved him,” he mumbles pathetically, unaware of the pout on his mouth, or in his words, and thusly pausing at the doorway to her room. this is no-boy’s land. no one should come in here. who knew what horrors awaited? – but some concerns are bigger than others, so he follows her inside anyway, and tries not to look at anything, or touch anything, helplessly standing there, too short to grow into the long coat she gave him, and shivering lightly from the cold clinging desperately on his skin. “and my parents didn’t want me to keep him, so i had to run away.” he looks at her, close to tears again – no, no, he shouldn’t! – but the sheer effort has him sniffling – “please don’t tell your parents. they’ll tell mine, and get angry at me – you understand, right?”

Their shadows hush over deserted and dark corridors like ghosts. Maybe other children fear the dark, maybe they prefer the light, but Rose felt comfortable in cold, pitch black darkness. Woobin looked upset but he had looked the same even before, so she doesn’t think it has to do with him being afraid. Just her luck! She didn’t want to hold his hand, just because he was a big baby. They might have been forced to play house before, but Woobin was still a boy and boys were gross.  She remembers just how gross they are when he steps into her room and carries mud and dirt inside the previously pristine and immaculate place that was the princess’ kingdom. he looks terribly out of place, with his blotchy face and shivering body and too long coat. Like a dirty puppy that has been allowed inside for the first time. She presses the box back into his hands and closes and locks the door of her room before hurrying over to the nightstand and turning a lamp on, bringing just enough light into the room to see everything more clearly, but not bright enough to alarm someone. When she turns back to him the tall boy that had seemed much more like an adult already than her, looked like a helpless kid. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears and his nose is running with gross snot, but if Rose learned one thing from playing house it’s that it was her responsibility to take care of him. A finely embroided handkerchief is pulled out from one of the drawers of her nightstand and held out to him in a silent promise of help. “Of course, I understand. I’m not stupid, just because I’m younger than you.” Her sulky tone wasn’t dropped, despite the situation and them becoming partners in crime.  Pink lips pursed as she took another, good look at the kitten in the box. There was a wound on its head and it looked horribly dirty. If they didn’t take care of it soon, the wound might get infected. “You ran away because of a kitten? How did you get into Slytherin?” The girl quips. Gentle and small hands reach into the box to pull the kitten out and the clear, white cotton of her nightgown was completely forgotten as Rose cradled the tiny cat against her chest, trying to get a close look. “If all that’s wrong with him is the wound then I probably know what potion to put on it, but if there is anything that’s hurt on the inside, I can’t help.” There’s a pause with words weighting heavy on her tongue, before doe eyes shift to study Woobin’s face in the dim, warm light. He must have been crying a lot. Because of the kitten? “He’s very small and if he’s too hurt then he might die.”