[ Rose ] For Barkovitch... Or Stebbins.... Or Both

[ rose ] for barkovitch... or stebbins.... or both

[ rose ] for a lovesick memory.

Barkovitch has never been the kind of kid that people got along with. always a little too snide, mistaking pride for honey, a little too rough around the edges, sharp like a dull blade digging into your side in the way there wasn’t the adrenaline of being cut, just the annoying digging in your side. He was like burning rubber ; loud enough to catch your attention, usually obnoxious, and usually made you sick by the smell. You could recognize him anywhere, and when you could avoid him, it was relief, and irritation & a headache when you couldn’t.

But every kid gets lonely, and almost every kid tricks themselves into thinking about things in ways they’re not.

Barkovitch was the kid sending store-bought Valentine’s cards that never led back to who sent it after one too many mocked him for it, one too many went looking and turned back when they found the answer, one too many. ━ so Barkovitch never writes his name, barely writes much at all, uses practiced handwriting to keep it up in the air, unrecognizable, but sweet. The kind of Valentine you’d always wonder about, the kind of Valentine that meant something, if only because you didn’t know who it was from.

One year, he went looking in places he shouldn’t, and he saw someone that burned a little too bright for him not to stare a little too long. He wasn’t stupid, even if you could argue otherwise, he knew the kind of kid he was, and he knew that who he was wasn’t the only issue. People aren’t meant to be like that, you know, at least that’s what he was told, and so its what he knew. kids only know what they’re told, so he looked, never touched, and one year he sent that lighter a Valentine come February 14th. He spent the rest of the year watching like being told staring at the sun makes you go blind makes you look longer, even if all it was was chlorine swimming pools & sitting alone at lunch & knowing him but never knowing him. For the rest of that year, he stared, and never got caught, and that Valentine laid untouched in that desk for the next 2 odd-years. Looked, never caught, and under a stop-light in a cold passenger seat of a beat up car on a young enough morning to still nip you in the throat, Barkovitch wonders if that hotshot ever thinks twice.

Probably not, he decides as it turns green, probably not.

( she senses. something. )

character development anon! what are anatoly's three favorite types of flowers?

Anatoly has never really been a flower guy, believe it or not!

Anatoly focuses himself on herbs & edible plants as a whole, which by all means encompasses flowers, but the focus is the food of it, not the flower itself. He sees the rose for the tea, not its petals, in a sense. Though, he’s not completely ignorant to the aesthetic beauty of flowers, he simply prefers other kinds, such as the golden fields of wheat, the bright red shine of lingonberries, or the sturdy cultivation of thick stems from sugar beets all lined in fields.

If he did have to pick, however, he’d probably pick the carpathian snowbell, erysimum hungaricum, and the bird's-eye primrose. He is very fond of buttercups, angel’s trumpets, dandelions and as well bluebells however.

but I knew how to dress it up

━━━ MISC LOKI HEADCANONS.

━ Loki has a tendency to hoard food more than actually eat. It’s not uncommon for him to hide stashes of containers of food around places he considers a home, or at least he considers safe, at times even putting illusions on them to ensure they’d go undiscovered. it’s not difficult to snare his wrath if you were to steal from him. its unclear why he does this & why he’s so possessive of it, but given he’s been in prisons for much of his life which often don’t give up a buffet if they can help it ( some, if not most he’s been within, bordering on starvation tactics, yet another thing he’s become incredibly accustomed to ) is likely the cause, or at least a reason.

━ As a soothing mechanism when faced with restraining his temper, he’ll tongue over his teeth & molars. it tends to act as a sense of intimidation, be that intended or not. Then again, one should always fear an angry god.

━ He’s always been keen for blades, in and out of battle. Obviously his weapon of choice is the dagger if available, but his use of knives aren’t limited to just that. He used to aid his Father & Thor in preparing game, including skinning and de-boning game. Cattle, swine, poultry, fish. Tying to this, he simply enjoys the act of properly working with his hands that comes with using a knife and cooking, even if its rare to find him in a kitchen without being poked and prodded.

━ He’s surprisingly easy to bruise, something he was often embarrassed by in his youth. the marks heal easily, as one might suspect, but they appear much too often for his liking.

━ He’s always had a hard time crying, regardless of if its on cue or genuine. He’d suppressed the impulse & want so long and so vehemently that it’s incredibly difficult, often forcing him to rely upon illusions when using alligator tears to his advantage. On the few occasions he does cry, it often leads to full-on sobbing. He’s not beautiful when he weeps, but then again, no one is.