#they are NOT struggling ffs

[ragnarssons]

people out there pretending the watcher dudes are struggling wittle poow artists having to live by capitalist rules :((((( to justify their dumb ass move... y'all are cute, i guess.

[pleaseinsertwittyurl]

There are always 2 sides.

The discourse around Louis and Lestat being a victim and abuser and nothing more drives me insane.

Something i don't think enough people remember is that the very same reason the fight began in 1×05 (lestat grabbing claudia by the throat when she tries to "take louis away") we see Louis himself do to her in 1×07 when she tries to get Louis to burn Lestat.

They BOTH would harm her rather than live in a world without the other. They are both guilty of abusing her and each other.

There is an implication that a good deal of time passed between Louis and Lestat meeting and the church. Louis expresses that he shares himself with Lestat in a way he only had with Paul. I would assume that goes both ways, to a degree. We know Louis knows at least enough about Nicki to discourage Claudia poking that wound. He also clearly knows that the threat of leaving is his most powerful weapon against Lestat.

Mental abuse is abuse. And Louis abused Lestat mentally for years. Shaming him, ridiculing him, shutting him out, manipulating him into making Claudia (a traumatic moment for him, whether Louis understands the depths of it or not) by promising to give him what he's being denying him, promising to never put him through what he fears the most.

Louis admits to purposely making Lestat suffer. He admits he was warned that Claudia would suffer and he wanted her anyway because he needed to feel redeemed. He is not innocent. He is not a trapped, weak victim. He made choices to hurt both Lestat and Claudia time and time again.

Does this justify Lestat's actions in 1×05? Obviously not. But we now know Louis was not willing to stop the fight. He taunted Lestat the same way he taunted the Alderman. He was unleashing years of frustrations just as Lestat was. His priority was not to protect Claudia, it was to hurt Lestat, consequences be damned.

I hate the drop scene as much as the next person and Lestat has admitted he will never earn forgiveness for what he did. But if you view Louis as some squeaky clean victim who was manipulated, trapped, and abused by Lestat you are missing so much of what this show is conveying.

We will always tend to paint ourselves as the hero of our own story. It is hard to accept your faults or that you hurt people you love. It is much easier to shift that blame on to someone else, to frame them as the villian. But life is not usually that black and white. Claudia had harsh words for them both in her diary, even before they got to Europe, for a reason. They both made hurtful mistakes with her, both treated her like a pawn in their relationship instead of a person, both harmed her, took away her choice, never prioritized her.

That is the great tragedy. That she never had a choice and was not allowed to be her own person. And in the end, they both are responsible for her misery and her death. That's what makes the reunion scene so important. They have been grieving her and carrying that guilt alone, all the while longing for the comfort of the other for 70+ years. Louis has found clarity in his memories, he has accepted his role in their suffering, he has seen Lestat's perspective more fully. Lestat is broken, totally consumed with that guilt and grief. Both know that although they cannot change what they've done, they can forgive the other, even if they can't forgive themselves. They can love each other despite everything they've done to one another because they cannot stop loving each other. But now they can try to rebuild that love from the rubble.

[starlitcrows]

a kind warmth, a protective wing, and a forgotten flare

[au fic here]

[johnskleats]

hey so do you guys remember how zuko was deemed worthy and blessed with the true nature of fire by the guardians of light themselves and became 100x the firebender he was after, with a newfound understanding and oneness with his element

kind of like how katara handled the moon and ocean spirit with her own hands and was blessed with unmatched waterbending power and oneness with her element and also spirit water but get this, also the healing ability to bring someone back from certain death

y'all remember that

[seonghwacore]

[waokevale]

Not so Different – Comic by me (WaokeVale!)

I've had this idea for months! (Since November, to be exact) and now I've finally had the time to complete it....(mostly)

I hope you enjoy this FAMILIAL bit with these two, some bits of angst here and there.

And if ANYONE interprets this as anything other than Familial/Platonic, I will maul you alive. 😀

(Btw seperate versions of the glitched part at the end)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

These FFS inner demons are very “disco elysium skills” reminiscent. I NEED to meet that cast! Also freaking awesome work to you and your buddy :]

May it be an open secret that one of my inspirations was Disco Elysium. I think they could party together.

[fairycosmos]

im at the 3rd round of interviews for this job i am going for and they've asked for FOUR references god i don't even know four people

[ariannabananasstuff]

MET A FELLOW AO3-ER IN THE WIND (aka my french class) FOR THE FIRST TIME TODAY. i’ve never had anyone know what it is or got the hints i dropped

(here’s how it played out if anyone was wondering, even if you weren’t your getting it)

me: (showing off the lupus, canis major and leo constellations i have on my computer case)

her: (talking about galaxys bc that’s her thing and asks about the other stuff on my case)

me: oh yeah this one (hang painting here pink sticky note) is a reference you probably won’t get, i don’t think you would have read it if you don’t like marauders

her: oh yeah is it from a book or-

me: *hesitates* -yeah it’s a book-

her: -or a fanfic?

awkward silence for a second

me: YEAH ITS A FIC

her: OMG WATTPAD OR AO3 USER?

me: AO3 BUT I DID HAVE A WATTPAD PHASE

her: OMG ME TOOOOO AO3 IS SO MUCH BETTER

(we then talk about if she’s writing anything and try’s to see if my other friend who was distracted by the work we had finished [she had no clue what we were talking about and we outed ourselves for reading fanfiction, she thought it was porn for a bit until we convinced her we didn’t read that])

[julesnichols]

How do people seriously think Gemma was going along with what Lumon was doing to her. How do you look at what they've done to her and think she's a willing participant and not a prisoner????

[mikareo]

⌗ RENAISSANCE ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (2.1k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ he's never been one to appreciate art, but you've given him a new set of eyes— the love he feels for you is overwhelming, and he hopes it lasts forever. (bonus for rationalism and romanticism; necessary to read first!)

contains; colorblind!rin, painter!reader, rin’s mom is reader’s art mentor, swearing, immense fluff, kissing, sae and rin actually have a good relationship, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness author's note; bonus ending for rationalism/romanticism!

This is a fancy-ass venue. 

Rin can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Rin can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it. 

It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster. 

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Rin is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are. 

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching. 

“She’s talented isn’t she?” 

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Rin, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all related when Sae walks up with his teeth beaming. Long lashes and a toothy grin, the physical brand of the Itoshi family; famous in not only football, but good looks!

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Itoshi has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her youngest son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her youngest son, and Rin doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his teammates saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Rin sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Itoshi’s eyes and Rin can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Sae gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Rin knows he loves them. Their mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Rin.”

Sae smirks, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first hug he’s given Sae since he was nothing but a young boy, six years old and playing soccer for the very first time. Rin finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his older brother, who was his rival for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he made his first goal and ran into his mother to celebrate his newfound passion. For a long time, Rin believed that it was only possible to have that one singular passion. Oh how wrong he was.

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Sae pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his younger sibling, to which their mother laughs. 

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Itoshi nudges Rin on, standing beside Sae. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room. 

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking. 

Never in Rin’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his teammates).

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Rin looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Rin believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Rin feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Rin’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You're everything to him.

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Rin raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it.

He sees himself.

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his brother, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his teammates, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life.

He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular.

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Rin can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Rin. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much.

A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.

There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.

"I love you."

this is the end of this series! every part was such a joy to write and i'm so thankful for all of the feedback i've been given. more fics coming soon love y'all <3

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[cosmogyros]

modern music sucks, people need to sing worse and write better songs

[katsdynam1ght]

… bkdk oneshot soon… if the stars align… bkdk oneshot…

[iholli]

me when all my selfships are very popularly shipped with other characters (I hate canon sharing)

[voidbeau]

"Hey. Come here often?" I posted the wip for this a couple months back i think and im only just now finishing it orz Being that i feel like im in an art slump im just going back and finishing old stuff for now i guess. This was part of an au i had where Thorn and Mr. Flower get to meet much earlier in life. So Thorn is probably like 17-18 here or sumthin. Still a smoker. And jus a baby. Anyway, enjoy this short fic to go with it:

-+-+-+- Mr. Flower passed through the cemetery gates like he did every week, though this time was a little bit different. With a lily clutched in one hand and the strap of his backpack gripped in the other, Mr. Flower tread along the uneven cobblestone path with a vacant stare. He was behind schedule sadly, and the creature felt a tinge of guilt for having to switch up his weekly visit from Sunday to Wednesday. Aside from preferring to stick to things as scheduled, Mr. Flower was more distraught at the fact that he had left his poor dad to have to wait on him. Though Mr. Flower's mother, Maddie assured him it made no real difference.

"The dead don't get lonely, honey. You're wasting valuable study time!" He recalled her saying, shaking her head at him as if visiting his father's grave was some sort of inconvenience to her. Though Mr. Flower supposed it would be like her to see things that way.

It had been years since his father's passing and it seemed like everyone was ready to move on except for Mr. Flower.

The young floral creature sighed, the sound of autumn winds whirling across the open graveyard, passing over the now bare trees that shook and scraped against the sides of the grave sites and the various monuments to the dead.

Crows gathered and cawed as Mr. Flower ventured down the familiar cemetery path. There seemed to be more around than usual today. It was a little unnerving in a way, not that being in a cemetery alone ever spooked Mr. Flower, he was long past the idea of ghosts and ghouls. Still there was always something unsettling about how empty and quiet it always was. Not that the floral creature would expect a graveyard to be a popular gathering spot for anyone, though he did see other creatures coming to visit lost loved ones from time to time.

Mr. Flower expected no more and no less. Today however, there was a bizarre chill in the air and a pit in his stomach that he felt would be much alleviated by the presence of another. Mr. Flower glanced at the setting sun in the distance, the way it glowed an almost ominous crimson as it reflected off the clouds above.

The creature wasn't far off from his father now.

Mr. Flower continued on, clutching the front of his navy jacket- something that was proving to be not enough for the chilly bite of the season. The young man would have to remember to dress a little heavier next time to combat the chill in his body.

As the young floral creature approached his destination amidst the various burial sites, he knelt down and cleared off the old white lilies that had remained from previous visits. He set his backpack aside and retrieved an old cloth from it, quietly working away at the built up dirt and debris on his dad's resting place. Once Mr. Flower had dusted off the marble and gave the plate a quick polish, Mr. Flower quietly placed the fresh flower on the stone cover of his father's gave.

For a moment Mr. Flower just sat quietly, kneeling as he considered the past few years without his dad around.

It had been tough on him, naturally. Especially when it seemed like he was the only one who seemed affected by the sudden loss of such an important figure in the family. His siblings seemed unphased and their mother went about her business as usual.

They had all recovered so fast.

Mr. Flower's dad had always been the one source of calm and comfort in the midst of his family's chaotic ways, and the one person who stood up for him against his mother's tendency for hostile behaviour.

Now it was just Mr. Flower. His siblings were around sure, but they had a way of quietly falling in line and staying out of the way that left Mr. Flower feeling alone.

"Sorry I'm late." Mr. Flower apologized quietly, "Everyone's been busy as usual so it's just me again." He went on, ending his words with a sigh. The young man glanced down at the white lily on his dad's grave. Madonna lilies, something specifically picked out by his mother and the only kind of flower she would accept anywhere near her husband's grave. Not that she was ever around to oversee its upkeep, especially lately. The only thing keeping Mr. Flower from changing up her request was the fact she insisted they were her husband's favourite.

Mr. Flower often rolled his eyes at the idea, considering his mother both resembled and shared a name with that particular lily, he usually assumed it her was prioritizing herself in his dad's life the way she often did.

However, Mr. Flower himself regretfully couldn't confirm how true that claim his mother made was, as the topic never really came up between him and his dad, but if that was the case, then it was for Mr. Flower's dad that he'd keep up his mother Maddie's silly rule.

As Mr. Flower stood, the winds picked up and with it the gust had kicked up loose leaves and debris. Shielding his eyes, Mr. Flower yelped as bits of dirt and leaves collided rather roughly with his face. It took a moment, but the boy waited for the sudden burst of wind to die down. When it did, Mr. Flower had looked down to see that his father's lily had been carried off by the current.

Mr. Flower's shoulders dropped in dismay, as did his petals as he searched the nearby headstones to see where the little memento had ended up.

Down the long path at the foot of another grave site, Mr. Flower spotted the bright white petals of lily resting against the cold stone. The floral creature rushed down the path towards it, hoping to get there before another gust of wind carried it off. He ran along the lineup of headstones, statues and monuments to the dead, all growing more elaborate the further the creature travelled. Stopping where two different rows intersected, Mr. Flower leaned forward to pick up his father's lily, and as he stood again, the smell of cigarette smoke caught his attention.

Clutching the flower in hand, the Mr. Flower glanced around him curiously until his gaze fell upon a black clad, rose headed figure laying far too casually on the top of an above ground grave off to his right. He was a little further down the intersecting path that crossed over the one that Mr. Flower had come from, and the rose seemed completely unaware Mr. Flower was even there. The mysterious boy was obviously very relaxed, one hand draped over his chest while the other held a lit cigarette between two fingers. His eyes were closed but the young man was clearly awake, noted by the way his odd shoes tapped rhythmically as they lay propped up on the headstone at his feet. He seemed to be humming to himself.

Mr. Flower frowned, finding this guy's choice of resting place to be a rather rude gesture to whoever was actually resting there. While Mr. flower himself had no clue whose grave this person was irreverently laying on, it still irked Mr. Flower knowing that person no doubt meant something to somebody. "Uhm, hello?" Mr. Flower spoke up, watching as the rose boy's eyes popped open- wide and spiralling and though it wasn't unusual for any resident of the void to be sporting unique eyes, Mr. Flower had never personally seen any like that before. And even though they were new to him personally, there was still something uncomfortably familiar about them. The rose boy seemed to smile at Mr. Flower, which only caused Mr. Flower's frown to deepen. That pit in his stomach he had felt from earlier seemed to deepen as well, and the floral creature found himself clutching his arm with his other hand. Regardless, the creature stood his ground. "Oh, hello!" The rose responded, taking a long drag from his cigarette before unhooking his legs from the head stone to roll over on his stomach. "Can I help you?" He asked with a grin, baring two rows of unnervingly sharp teeth as he did so.

Mr. Flower's petals tightened in alarm, just like his grip on his arm did.

A monster..?

Mr. Flower shook the apprehension from his mind, deciding it didn't matter in the moment if he was a monster or a creature. This guy was still being disrespectful and so Mr. Flower was going to voice it. "I don't think you should be lounging around on someone else' grave." The creature spoke up, his voice much steadier than his hand was at that moment. The fan-like petals on the sides of his head were stiff and tightly held together, pressed firmly into the sides of his head.

The rose boy looked confused for a second, but he seemed to get the picture quick enough as he examined his spot. He shrugged and his grin returned to him. "What's the big deal? Cemetery's are resting spots after a fashion, right?" He said with something of a shrug, trying to make light of the situation.

Mr. Flower was not amused. "Yeah. For the dead." He said flatly.

The rose chuckled, lifting himself off the stone slab enough to slide off of it and onto his feet. An action that highlighted the very obvious but expected height difference there was between him and Mr. Flower, even at the distance they were at. Regardless of size, this rose boy looked to be around Mr. Flower's age, but the uncertain creature had never seen this guy around school before. He had to have been from one of the neighbouring voids.

"Fair enough." The rose said as he slid his hands into his pockets. His cigarette sat between his lips. The rose monster seemed to look Mr. Flower over, an action that made the creature shuffle uncomfortably where he stood. Mr. Flower returned with his own scrutinizing gaze of sorts, unsure of what to make of this guy. He had a very interesting manner of dressing, a style he knew his mother would absolutely despise. But Mr. Flower was always careful not to make judgments based on anything his mother thought.

At least he tried not to.

"Does this dusty old rock slab mean something to you then?" The rose monster spoke up, motioning towards the stone memorial now behind him. Mr. Flower shook his head. "No." He said simply, which seemed to earn an eye roll from the monster. "Then what's the big deal?" He replied, unphased by the stern glare he was consistently earning for himself from Mr. Flower. "Just because it means nothing to you doesn't mean that's the case for other people." The creature responded, the usual gentle tone of his voice slowly being replaced by the clear irritation he was feeling for this rose guy. But it seemed as though Mr. Flower's biting remark had hit something of a nerve in the rose, and his annoying grin had quickly faded.

The rose took another long drag of his cigarette, moving it from his lips to his fingers again as he exhaled. The crows in the area seemed to be caught up in the exchange, cawing noisily as they flapped around in the sky above, watching the events unfold below them. It wasn't long before the rose smiled again however, though he seemed a little more tense now from what Mr. Flower could see. "I promise you, there's not a soul left in this void or the next who gives two shits about the people buried here." The rose seemed to say with full confidence, allowing himself to sit back down on the edge of the stone slab. When he did, the monster looked almost solemnly at the headstone that he had been resting his feet on just moments before. There, Mr. Flower could make out a faded insignia of some sort, an elaborate crest with rose shapes carved into the stone. A pattern similar to the ones that were neighbour to it, and at the centre was some sort of crescent moon bordering an eye.

Much like the symbol that hung from the rosary beads that hung from the rose boy's wrist.

And interesting choice of accessory.

Still, with all that in mind it dawned on Mr. Flower that he may have jumped to some conclusions in the moment, and he felt his face flush slightly with embarrassment.

A silence hung in the air as the winds picked up to fill the quiet void.

"Uhm-... I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"Don't worry about it." The rose quickly replied, cutting Mr. Flower off before he could finish. A sigh escaped the young creature. "Truth be told, I wouldn't be here either if it wasn't expected of me." The rose admitted, leaning back on his arms as they held him up. It was then that the creature noted the intricate patterns across the other boy's skin. Like thorns and roses, marking that seemed to crawl up his arms and disappear underneath his loose sleeves. Mr. Flower watched as the monster tossed the last of his cigarette onto the cobblestone path before him, putting the butt out with his shoe. As he did, the monster's words seemed to sink in and Mr. Flower found himself a little irked by his statement. "So is desecration a typical pass time for you then?" Mr. Flower asked with a frown. The rose scoffed and shrugged. "Desecration is kind of a strong word, don't you think?" He replied with a chuckle. "I'm just resting my feet. Besides, ol uncle Bourdon here doesn't mind. Hasn't for at least three years!" The monster said with a grin, slapping his hand atop the marble cover of the grave.

Mr. Flower quirked a brow at the monster, unsure of what to make of him. He seemed not to care in the least bit, and it reminded Mr. Flower of his siblings. How nonchalant they had been throughout the entire funeral process.

Three years did he say? That was about how long it had been since Mr. Flower's dad had passed too. Though clearly this guy's uncle and Mr. Flower's dad meant very different things to each of them.

Mr. Flower's stomach twisted. He thought it was best just to start heading home now. "Right well, sorry to bother you." Said the creature, about ready to turn and leave, but the rose took it upon himself to speak again, much to Mr. Flower's shock and immediate regret. "You're lucky you're cute or I might have had to kick your ass for not minding your own business." The monster said, and though the comment seemed lighthearted, Mr. Flower couldn't help but grimace all the same. Not because of any sort of perceived threat, but because Mr. Flower was certain that was this guy's attempt at being some kind of... charming.

"Right. Bye then." Mr. Flower said, wanting to end the interaction as fast as he could before things got anymore painful than they were already turning out to be. The rose boy seemed to have no more to say thankfully and Mr. Flower quickly made for the nearest cemetery exit, sprinting home before things got too dark out.

Mr. Flower expected his mother would have an earful for him once he returned home.

And he was right. As soon as Mr. Flower was back at his void and through the front door of his house, he found his mother there waiting expectantly, arms folded across her chest. "And where have you been?" She asked, brows furrowed while the corners of her mouth pulled downwards. Mr. Flower made no visible reaction, just stood quietly at the doorway with his arms at his sides. "I was at the cemetery. Visiting dad." He explained quietly. His mother tsked. "Do you have any idea what time it is? School was over hours ago!" She exclaimed and Mr. Flower bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I had stuff to do after class today." The floral creature said, entirely truthfully. Mr. Flower had two clubs he helped oversee and a few students who often went to him for help with their studies. Something Mr. Flower didn't mind doing at all so long as it didn't cut into the schedule his mother had set out for him. Today Mr. Flower made some exceptions though and even though he skipped out on a few of his extra curricular activities, it seemed like Mr. Flower spent more time out than he realized. "I didn't mean to take so long, I promise. There was this rose boy up by the old mausoleums, he-" "Rose boy? A monster?" Mr. Flower's mother cut him off. She quirked a brow and moved to rest her arms on her hips. Her jaw was tight. "Uh, I didn't say that..?" Mr. Flower replied in slight confusion. Maddie stepped closer to the young creature and Mr. Flower stiffened, grasping at his arm as she drew near. She seemed to look him over, as if checking for something. She seemed, concerned? "What did he say? Did he do anything? Was he alone?" She asked, one question after another and Mr. Flower had no idea how to respond or what to make of his mother's reaction. "What? No. He- it was just me and him. We just talked, that's all." Mr. Flower replied, brows knitted together in bewilderment. All the while Maddie seemed to look down at her son with a narrowed scrutinizing gaze. Somehow Mr. Flower regretted ever bringing him up. "Alright then, go on." Maddie sighed, waving her son aside. She relaxed just enough to let her shoulders drop, though the stern look never left her face as she glanced to the side. "Don't let it happen again." She added on, her final message for the night. A warning Mr. Flower would take to heart, as he ordinarily did. Mr. Flower opted not to press the matter further and turned to make his way up the stairs that were nearby the front door. When he made it into his room, Mr. Flower took a deep breath, shutting his door tight behind him while being careful not to slam it, lest he give his mother more things to be on edge about. The tense creature made his way over to his desk just across from his bed, pulling the chair out and sighing as he threw all of his weight down onto it. Mr. Flower had questions swirling around in his mind now. While it wasn't out of character for Maddie to be strict about the kinds of people Mr. Flower associated with, he had never known her to react so intensely before. It was odd. Mr. Flower rested his chin on his hands, his mind wandering to the interaction he had with the rose boy from earlier. While irritating at most, there was nothing about him that seemed off or suspicious. He seemed like any other kid that Mr. Flower would have bumped into at school. Self absorbed and overly confident. At least the was the air around him from Mr. Flower's perspective.

Though to be certain, none of the kids at Mr. Flower's school were monster citizens. Not that he knew of anyway, but would it have mattered either way? Was that the reason his mother was so on edge? Or was there something else? The insignia on the graves behind the rose boy flashed across Mr. Flower's mind now, as well as the strange rosary draped around the monster's wrist. He couldn't help but wonder if they bore any sort of significance. Mr. Flower reached into the drawer of his desk, pulling out a piece of paper and a pencil. He jotted his thoughts down, reminding himself to look into it later. For the time being, he needed to get started on his homework- Mr. Flower shot out of his seat, eyes wide as he realized something crucial. "I forgot my backpack by dad's grave!" He said aloud. Mr. Flower was just about to exit his bedroom, though the view from his window told him he'd be better off waiting until the following day to go looking for it, as not only was it dark out but it was raining too.

Mr. Flower just hoped and prayed his things would not only be present the next day but also salvageable.

The floral creature groaned, his petals drooping as he fell into his bed.

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[the-golden-comet]

I should be sleeping but my OCs are running around in my brain at 3:00am like a cat performing zoomies.