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artficlly · 2 months ago

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read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary.

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again.

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel

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elumish · 11 months ago

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I've been reading Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros, and it's gotten me thinking about how worldbuilding is multilayered, and about how a failure of one layer of the worldbuilding can negatively impact the book, even if the other layers of the worldbuilding work.

I don't want to spoil the book for anyone, so I'm going to talk about it more broadly instead. In my day job, one of the things I do is planning/plan development, and we talk about plans broadly as strategic, operational, and tactical. I think, in many ways, worldbuilding functions the same way.

Strategic worldbuilding, as I think of it, is how the world as a whole works. It's that vampires exist and broadly how vampires exist and interact with the world, unrelated to the characters or (sometimes) to the organizations that the characters are part of. It's the ongoing war between Earth and Mars; it's the fact that every left-handed person woke up with magic 35 years ago; it's Victorian-era London except every twelfth day it rains frogs. It's the world, in the broadest sense.

Operational worldbuilding is the organizations--the stuff that people as a whole are doing/have made within the context of that strategic-level world. For The Hunger Games, I'd probably put the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and even the existence/structure of the districts as the strategic level and the construct of the Hunger Games as the operational level: the post-apocalyptic nature of the world and the districts are the overall world that they live in, and the Hunger Games are the construct that were created as a response.

Tactical worldbuilding is, in my mind, character building--and, specifically, how the characters (especially but not exclusively the main characters) exist within the context of the world. In The Hunger Games, Katniss has experience in hunting, foraging, wilderness survival, etc. because of the context of the world that she grew up in (post-apocalyptic, district structure, Hunger Games, etc.). This sort of worldbuilding, to me, isn't about the personality part of the characterization but about the context of the character.

Each one of these layers can fail independently, even if the other ones succeed. When I think of an operational worldbuilding failure, I think of Divergent, where they took a post-apocalyptic world and set up an orgnaizational structure that didn't make any sense, where people are prescribed to like 6 jobs that don't in any way cover what's required to run a modern civilization--or even to run the society that they're shown as running. The society that they present can't exist as written in the world that they're presented as existing in--or if they can, I never could figure out how when reading the book (or watching the film).

So operational worldbuilding failures can happen when the organizations or societies that are presented don't seem like they could function in the context that they are presented in or when they just don't make any sense for what they are trying to accomplish. If the story can't reasonably answer why is this organization built this way or why do they do what they do then I see it as an organizational worldbuilding failure.

For tactical worldbuilding failures, I think of stories where characters have skillsets that conveniently match up with what they need to solve the problems of the plot but don't actually match their background or experience. If Katniss had been from an urban area and never set foot in a forest, it wouldn't have worked to have her as she was.

In this way (as in planning), the tactical level should align with the operational level which should align with the strategic level--you should be able to trace from one to the next and understand how things exist in the context of each other.

For that reason, strategic worldbuilding failures are the vaguest to explain, but I think of them like this: if it either 1) is so internally inconsistent that it starts to fall apart or 2) leaves the reader going this doesn't make any sense at all then it's probably failed.

#worldbuilding

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obsessedwithceleste · 2 months ago

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Lilac You A Lot

Theodore Nott x reader

week 2 of @acourtofchaos ‘s Festival of AUs

Summary: flower shop! au— Theo just wanted to send his roommate hate flowers…

word count: 3.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

The shop was quiet as you carefully trimmed the leaves off of a fresh shipment of daffodils, placing each stem into a new vase with care. It was a bright and sunny day with white, fluffy clouds floating through the sky and a light breeze carrying bubbles down the street as children chased after them. Out the window you could see families and couples alike enjoying the beautiful spring day, one of the first of the year. Truly picturesque.

It's perfect, and serene, and completely ruined by the loud thud of the door slamming open, the bell above the door letting out a sharp ring. Your eyes shoot up, alarmed by the sudden noise and a bit annoyed that your peace had been so rudely interrupted. A tall boy with fluffy brown hair comes storming in, a scowl marring his his face as he slams a wad of cash onto the counter in front of you.

"What do you got in here that I could give to someone to say something along the lines of 'you're the worst and I actually hate you?'" the boy asks.

You blink, sure you must have misheard the boy.

“Sorry?” You ask, completely dumbfounded by the request.

People often underestimated how strange some requests could get working at a flower shop, and you’d seen a lot of weird stuff, but this was new.

The boy blinks back as if he’s confused how you’re confused.

“You know how some flowers have certain meanings? Got anything that says ‘fuck you’ or something of the sort?” he replies.

Your mouth forms an “o” as you finally realize what he’s asking before you begin tapping your lips, brainstorming. Stepping out from behind the counter you begin meandering about the shop as the boy follows behind.

"Well. I suppose we'll start with orange lilies then, to represent hatred," you say, carefully picking out a few of the blossoms. "Then maybe some tansy? The Victorians used those as a declaration of war," you mutter under your breath, plucking a handful of the yellow blooms.

The boy just nods along as you continue down your path.

"Definitely yellow carnations for disdain and disappointment. And then perhaps some black dahlias to finish it off? Those are known for betrayal."

You glance up, waiting for the boy's approval only for him to shrug in response.

"You're the expert here, I trust your judgement," he says, giving you a lopsided grin.

For the first time, you realize how handsome the boy in front of you is and you feel a faint tinge of red make its way up to your cheeks as you quickly turn back to the counter. Setting down your assortment of flowers, you delicately trim each one, arranging them into a nice bouquet before wrapping the whole thing up in thick brown paper.

The whole time the boy watches you quietly, hands tapping away on the counter as you work.

"So. You guys get a lot of business here?" he asks awkwardly as you begin to ring the flowers up on the register.

"Um, I suppose," you reply absent mindedly, tapping away on the screen. "Mostly from funeral homes and the like."

The boy lets out a wheeze and your eyes go wide, realizing what you'd just said.

"And anniversaries!" you say quickly, trying to salvage the situation. "Lots of anniversary bouquets. And Valentines day is always busy."

You nervously glance up, wanting to gauge how poorly the conversation is going, but the boy just laughs, shaking his head a bit as his gaze meets yours.

"Um, I have to ask," you say, clearing your throat, "What this particular bouquet is about? I've never had someone come in asking for 'fuck you' flowers. Apologies sure. All the time. But this is a new one."

"They're for my roommate," the boy responds bashfully, "he's been acting like a dick lately and I sort of snapped at him this morning before I left. Want to apologize without actually apologizing."

Now it's your turn to laugh as you finish ringing in the order, reaching out for the bills that had been left on the counter. At the same time, the boy goes to push the money towards you, his fingers brushing against yours as you feel heat returning to your cheeks.

You quickly wrap up the transaction, printing out the receipt and sliding it over the counter along with the flowers.

"Have a good day," you chirp, returning to the daffodils you had abandoned when the boy first entered the shop.

"Yeah, thanks a bunch," his eyes flicker down to the small plastic name tag that was clipped to the front of your shirt, "y/n."

"No problem," you reply with a tight lipped smile.

"Theo. My name is Theodore," he finishes before giving you a small wave and disappearing out the door.

Truth be told, you really weren't expecting to see Theo again, well, ever. Not in the flower shop at least anyway. About a month had gone by and you'd all but forgotten about the boy, save for the funny story the whole encounter had made. So when the little bell above the shop door rings out, Theo's fluffy hair and tight lipped grin were the last things on your mind. But now they were walking towards you.

You look up, surprised to see the boy as you set aside the irises you'd been preening.

"Hey there! Back for another bouquet of hatred and disappointment?" you ask.

Theo smiles.

"'Fraid not this time. Going more for 'love and happiness' this time around," he says.

You can feel the smile on your face falter for a split second before your warm smile returns. So what he had a special someone? You'd met him once, it really was none of your business.

"Course," you reply, flowers already coming to mind as you lead Theo through the shop. "Think we'll start with pink roses this time then, for joy and positivity. Lavender for devotion. And maybe some white daisies," you decide, plucking a few of those as well. "Those stand for pure and joyful love."

Once again, Theo just nods along, eyes scanning the rows and rows of flowers, all organized by color and size. It really was a beautiful little shop.

"What about those? I think she said she liked those pink ones over there," he says, making his way over to the vase that held your pink carnations.

"Those are, definitely a choice. Carnations represent beauty, pink ones specifically are known to represent motherly love," you reply.

Theo is quite for a moment, weighing his options as his finger tips brush the soft pink petals.

"Can we add a few?" he asks finally.

You nod, pulling out a handful of the delicate flowers and bringing them back up to the counter. You methodically begin trimming each stem, the movements practically second nature to you at this point. When you're finally done arranging the flowers, you present the bouquet to Theo for his approval and receive a small nod.

"Your partner is lucky, these flowers are gorgeous," you say, trying to make small talk as you begin tapping away at your register.

"Oh no, these aren't-" Theo all but splutters as you look up from the screen.

It looks like he can't tell whether he should laugh or be utterly horrified by your words.

"It's my mother's birthday," he explains quickly, hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Hey wait a second, you thought I would put flowers that stand for motherly love into to bouquet for a partner?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing at the realization.

"Alright, in my defense, the last time you were in here you were buying hate flowers. I figured it was best to just not question it," you reply, not able to help the small laugh that escapes your lips.

"I don't even have a partner," Theo mumbles as his laughter joins yours, his face tinged red.

"Well. if you did, I'm sure they'd be very lucky, even if they were receiving motherly love flowers," you reply lightly, as you hand over the bouquet. "And I hope your mom has a wonderful birthday."

Theo stiffens, shifting awkwardly as you silently curse to yourself. Dear god what had you said now?

"Well, she actually, kind of, passed away," Theo replies.

You feel your hand slap over your mouth, eyes going wide as you scramble to apologize.

"I'm so sorry-"

Theo cuts you off.

"No, no. You didn't know. I don't even know why I brought it up, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking," he rushes out, gripping the stems of the flowers so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"It's not your fault. It must be a hard day. Um, but for what it's worth, I really am sorry.”

You can see Theo visibly relax, his grip on the flowers loosening and a slight smile returning to his lips.

“Thanks.”

And just like that he’s gone again.

Mattheo lets out a long, low whistle as Theo sets down yet another vase of yellow, orange, and black blossoms on the countertop.

"For me?" he asks, batting his eyes at his brown haired roommate who just scowls.

"You see, this? This is exactly why I bring you these flowers," Theo scoffs, batting Mattheo away from the bouquet he'd just placed down.

"You reward him with flowers for being an annoying prat?" Lorenzo asks dryly from his spot on the couch.

Theo glares at his other so called friend. While Enzo might not officially be their third roommate, he was practically a permanent fixture in their shared apartment. Though he wouldn't be for long with that attitude if Theo had anything to say about it.

"No, no dear Enz. Theo isn't getting flowers because he cares about me. He just wants an excuse to see the pretty shop clerk that works there. Why do you think he's suddenly constantly showing up everywhere with flowers?" Mattheo teases.

It was true as much as Theo didn't want to admit it. In the past month and a half he'd basically had weekly visits to your flower shop looking for any excuse to stop by. The Malfoys invited them over for dinner? Hydrangeas for Narcissa. Daphne's younger sister was ill again? Blue chrysanthemums and a get well soon card. Pansy's birthday bash? Pink tulips. He'd actually gotten into a bit of trouble for that one after Pansy told Draco he should take a page from Theo's book and get her flowers from time to time.

Enzo leans back on the sofa, a familiar sly smirk forming on his face as he stretches his legs out on the coffee table.

"Really? Maybe we outta take a trip to this flower shop Matt. See what all the fuss is about," he suggests.

"Like hell you will," Theo snorts, grabbing the nearest item off the counter, a suspiciously brown banana, and chucking it at Lorenzo.

The other boy catches the rotten fruit with ease as he laughs gleefully at how easy it was to get under Theo's skin.

“Well are you gonna ask ‘em out or not?” Mattheo asks. “Cause at the rate you’re going, this apartment is going to end up a greenhouse.”

The scowl on Theo’s face deepens as he rolls his eyes and joins Lorenzo on the opposite side of the sofa. His phone buzzes, screen lighting up as he quickly flips the phone over, trying to slip it into his pocket. Enzo is faster though.

“Nah ah, I saw that Nott. What’re you trying to hide?” His eyes gleaming at the idea of yet another chance to tease his friend.

“It’s no one,” Theo groans, head falling back onto the couch cushion behind him.

“No one wouldn’t have you trying to hide your phone. What? Does flower power have competition or something?” Mattheo questions.

Theo doesn’t reply which only causes the grins on Mattheo and Enzo’s faces to grow.

“Is that your little flower shop lover?” Enzo asks excitedly, leaning forward.

But they all already knew the answer.

“Been holding out on us, eh?” Mattheo laughs as Theo tries his best to melt into the sofa. “If you like ‘em that much, just ask ‘em out. We won’t scare them off or nothin’. Who knows, maybe they’ll even like us bet-“

Mattheo is cut off by the thud of a pillow hitting him square in the face.

“I’m getting around to it,” Theo mutters.

When the bell above the shop door rings out, you look up half expecting to see Theo sauntering towards you; so when you see a head of platinum blonde hair that definitely did not belong to Theo stalking towards you instead, you’re more than a little surprised.

The brunette boy had been coming in a lot more frequently as of late. Not that you were complaining of course. You’d even managed to procure the boy’s number, though it had taken a bit of stumbling from the both of you. Nevertheless, you liked talking to him. Something about the two of you just seemed to click.

You’re brought back to reality when the boy slams his wallet onto the counter, eerily mirroring your first encounter with Theo.

“Can I help you?” You ask cautiously, giving the boy a healthy amount of side eye.

“I need the most expensive and most romantic bouquet of flowers you can make me,” the boy replies.

“Um, just how extravagant are we talking here?”

The boy narrows his eyes.

“Whatever will make those pink tulips you did for Theo last week look like they were found in a gas station dumpster,” he replies, speaking as though he’d never said anything more important in his life.

The only thing that stops you from bursting out laughing on the spot is the boy’s mention of Theo. If he didn’t have your full, undivided attention before, he certainly did now.

“You know Theo?” You ask, tilting your head and trying to sound as nonchalant as humanly possible.

“Yeah, and can you believe him? Shows up to my girlfriend’s birthday bash with a big ole bouquet of flowers. Completely steals my thunder. Do you know what Pansy has been saying to me? She says ‘Draco you should take a page out of Theo’s book for once.’ She says ‘Theo has been bringing everyone the most lovely flowers.’ ‘Theo is so considerate, blah blah blah.’ As if I wasn’t there when he brought my mother those hydrangeas. Lovely work by the way. But it isn’t as if he’s doing anything special, he’s not even the one doing the brunt of the work. And of course I know all about you already. Theo won’t shut up about you.”

You can’t help but be amused by, who you assume is Draco, as he continues to monologue about how completely overshadowed he’s been since Theo found the flower shop. And you also can’t help but notice the way Theo seemed to have talked about you quite a bit to his friends. Your heart flutters a bit in your chest at the thought before you decide it would probably be best to steer Draco back on course.

“I think we have a couple dozen red roses that have your name on them,” you say with a breathy laugh as you direct him towards the back of the shop.

You were on your toes today. You’d been texting Theo all morning when he casually mentioned possibly swinging by the shop that afternoon and now your eyes were snapping up towards the door at every little noise in anticipation. It was getting bad. You were down horrendously.

The only sounds now in the quiet shop was the soft snipping of your gardening sheers as you focus in on your new batch of orchids. There'd been a huge order of them placed and you'd always found them a bit hard to work with. Especially since their stems needed so many extra supports.

You're so wrapped up wrestling your orchids and trying to get them to stand upright, that you don't even notice the light ring of the bell above the door, or the familiar tapping of fingers on the counter, or the intense gaze focused on you- happy to just watch and observe quietly.

It's not until you finally step back, mostly satisfied with your work that you notice the boy who'd snuck in.

"What do you think?" you ask him, proudly showing off the rows of plants you'd been laboring over.

Theo just smiles giving one of the flowers a soft poke and causing it to spring free of the stake that held it in place. Your smile drops as you glare at the offending plant, clipping it back into place.

"You know if you're going to continue to cause problems, I'll have to ask you to leave," you quip as you check over the rest of the pots to make sure they're all secure.

"Oh come on now, you wouldn't kick out your favorite customer," Theo replies, that grin on his face telling you that he knew well and good that you'd never actually make good on your threat.

"Well I don't know about favorite, let's not push it. You know I'm quite fond of Mr. Lupin. Comes in every Sunday to get his wife sunflowers," you tease as Theo just rolls his eyes, shaking his head at you. "Oh and speaking of favorite customers, I had the funniest conversation with one just the other day. You might know him. Platinum blonde hair-"

"Draco was here?" Theo asks in horror, cutting you off.

"Mhmm. Would not stop going on about how you kept showing him up bringing flowers everywhere."

You can see Theo visibly gulp.

"He, mention anything else?"

"Mmm, just that you never shut up about me or the flower shop," you reply with a taunting grin.

"Yeah well, how could I not when you've been such a help in slowly breaking down Draco's sense of self worth."

"I'm sure. So what are we putting together today? More hate flowers? Or a retaliation bouquet perhaps since Draco walked out of here with four dozen red roses?"

"Four dozen- he was being serious then? Alright. Um, I'm actually here for something a little different today. I uh, have a list of what I want," he tells you, pulling out his phone. "Let's see, I wanted to start with peonies."

You raise your eyebrows, surprised he'd brought a list as you both usually just made it up as you went, but you step out from behind the counter, easily seeking out the pretty, pink flowers.

"You're lucky it's peony season, we only get these beauties for a couple months of the year," you tell him as you begin to gather them up. "What's next?"

"Uh, pink roses? And I was also thinking baby's breath," he replies, following you dutifully through the rows of flowers.

You could clearly see where this bouquet was headed, you weren't dumb. No wonder he'd already picked out the flowers himself, you think wistfully to yourself as you continue to pull flowers from their pots.

"And then the last one is lilac," Theo says, stashing his phone back into his pocket as he glances nervously around the shop.

You give a small nod, collecting the last of the blooms before taking your usual path back up to the counter. There's an awkward silence as you begin to arrange the bouquet, evening out stems and plucking off stray leaves. Theo just watches quietly like he usually does, apparently oblivious to the sinking feeling in your gut.

When you finally finish, you hand Theo the flowers and he pays quickly before shyly thrusting the flowers back over the counter at you. Your brows furrow, head tilting in confusion.

"For you," Theo clarifies as you hesitantly take the flowers. "I looked up all the flowers. The peonies for uh, love and good fortune, and the pink roses for admiration. The baby's breath is for everlasting love, and the lilac stands for first emotions of love. Or at least that's what google told me. But, I was wondering, if you maybe, possibly wanted to go out sometime?"

You can’t help the giddy smile that appears on your face at his words, or the way your face presses gently against the petals of the flowers as you inhale.

“Of course. I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me,” you reply, setting the flowers back down.

“That obvious huh?” Theo asks, the pink tinge returning to his cheeks.

“Nobody needs flowers for as many random functions as you’ve had in the past two months Theo. Not even someone trying to crush his friend’s ego into the ground.”

My all-time favorite flower shop prompt🤗

#slytherin boys #Theodore nott #Theo Nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfic #theo nott fanfiction #flower shop au #festivalofaus #theodore nott fic #theodore nott one shot

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daincrediblegg · 1 year ago

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no you know what I'm going to scream about the stuff I talked about in the tags of this post publicly

I'm tired of the well-meaning "don't feel bad if your work only gets 20 notes your genius is what counts and do it for you!" bullshit. I've had a good handful of friends who have straight up DEACTIVATED in recent months because their work was not getting reblogged AT ALL. No, it wasn't from lack of not being well-liked, no it wasn't from lack of trying to make sure it was getting out there to the people they knew would engage with it. It was because no matter how much they were praised privately for their work, when push came to shove, absolutely NOBODY reblogged it and gave it the audience that it was due, and I'm tired of people shoving the "unsung genius" narrative as an excuse for it. Nothing excuses that. And the boop event really proved that.

because I know given the opportunity, indiscriminately pressing a button (sometimes 10 thousand times, as I did) is not beyond this website's capability. y'all loved doing that. and look at what it wrought. nothing but love and affection and happiness. just from a couple of quick clicks of a little paw button. sure. nobody knew who you booped but the other person (which is how likes used to work on this website, btw). there was an element of anonymity to it. but that is kind of the core of this website that no other social media platform still has: the ability to be anonymous. and hyper-curating a blog on here like you might on twitter or instagram to project an image is simply not viable. and hey. you wanna know a secret: literally nobody cares what you post or whether it goes with the "theme" of your blog or not. yeah. I know. CRAZY concept in this day and age. but literally. I myself have reblogged things that have had nothing to do with whatever I am currently fixated by and you know what happened to my follower count? not a damn thing. in fact, I actively try to reblog things specifically BECAUSE it's my friends who made them (even though I'm not always good at KEEPING UP WITH HOW MUCH THEY POST @prismatica-the-strange will NEVER GO UNRECOGNIZED by me).

And you know what fucking sucks? I have to deal with this too. surprise right? you ever wonder why I reblog fics or art I post like 20 times the day that I post them? do you ever wonder why I ask about tag lists and beg for asks all the time? IT'S BECAUSE EVEN I GET LIKE. 5 LIKES ON THE THINGS I POST. AND THE REST OF THE REBLOGS ARE MINE SO I CAN MAKE SURE THAT PEOPLE WHO WANT TO SEE WHAT I MAKE GET TO SEE IT. and I say that knowing that I'm certainly not an unpopular blog, or an unpopular writer. I know that people love the stories that I create. Hell, half of the people that I've talked to about lady terror have told me that they consider her to be canon (AND EVEN SOME!! THOUGHT SHE WAS!!! WITHOUT EVEN HAVING WATCHED THE SHOW! WHICH IS STILL SO SO WILD TO ME!!!) But especially in the last 4 years (which really dates this phenomenon), my posts, no matter how well received they've been amongst people I've talked to about them directly, I still go into the notes and at least half (often more than half) are MY reblogs to make sure people saw what I posted. and it happens every single time, and I can't tell you how much it crushes me considering that it used to be that I would be able to post it only once, and people would reblog it sometimes even HUNDREDS of times.

It's not about popularity. it never has been. it's not about anxiety. or shifting website cultures. even if you lurk, the simple fact is, that if you want people to keep making what you love. you have to reblog. your theme won't suffer because you reblogged a fanfiction that you really admire. your posting won't be ruined because you reblogged some fanart from someone in a different fandom. really. I promise. and if people do unfollow you for that? who needs em. followers come and go but you should NEVER have to cater to them. on this website it has ALWAYS been the other way around. lean into it. make it yours. put stuff you ACTUALLY WANT to be seen and that you love and appreciate on your blog. no matter how old it is, how new it is, no matter how niche or off-theme it is.

so please. if you really want to show your appreciation for someone's work? you reblog. it's really as easy as that. check the tags. add some when you reblog if you like. but please for the love of god reblog. it's as easy as booping and even more rewarding for the people who you reblog from. if you want to let someone know that their work is genius and appreciate it? show it. reblog. then DM them if you're too nervous to say what you want to say but not in a public forum. but for christ's sake. REBLOG.

#fanfiction #fanart #reblogging #boop

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icewindandboringhorror · 9 months ago

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youtube

golf

#another case where I post something entirely random that has nothing to do with anything I've ever posted here #and seems very different from costumes and cat pictures or etc. but ghbhj..... I could spend hours having pointless conversations #with myself like this. briefly got fixated on making fake chats on this website for a period of like 3 days straight a few months ago #(its 'chat-simulator.com/simulator' I think..???) but I made a ton of them.. one with some random family bickering with each other. another #that was like a magic school group chat with like 8 differnet students helping each other with an assignment #and just talking about things. another was a fake text xonversation between a king's assistant #and someone who was working in the castle kitchens and they were trying to plan a time to meet up to exchange the stuff that the assistant #stole from the king so that the chef could sell the items on a black market or whatever. then this one with just some weird #group of friends trying to plan to meet up to play golf and etc. etc. etc.#Talking to myself has always been one of my favorite hobbies. for some reason it's so fun lol #just making up random discussions people might have #not even entertaining or interesting or funny ones but just like... anything.. it doesn't matter. It could be a 5 hour long discussion abou #cheese or something.#THOUGH maybe that is just an extension of having always been a writer like.......... isn't that basically just what writing is? making up #fake scenarios and conversations between fake people?? lol... But I guess Writing Writing usually has some sort of goal or story you're #trying to tell. Whereas stufff just like ''3 elves discuss their favorite bread toppings for 15 minutes'' has no purpose #and is not even that interesting or cool so there's no reason behind it and is more just silly fun I guess #Aside from the physical health problems and ocd over something bad happening to me or etc. I've often thought I would be good at one #of those 'get locked in a blank white room for 24 hours' type challenges. since I would probably just sit there and be like 'okey. :3 #I shall have an elaborate group conversation about elven politics with myself.' and would just pace around the room acting as different #people arguing with each other for like 6 hours lol #ANYWAY.. ultimate recreational activity...#one tiny little glimpse here of the sorts of things that my computer is full of but that i never post lol #Its interesting how communication develops when you're just talking to yourself alone in a vacuum. Sort of like inside jokes between two #best friends that just seem nonsense to everyone else. My folders of things that probably just read as disconnected gibberish or something #but are just mildly amusing to me.#Though also I just realized this is so tiny on tumblr I can barely read it.. hrrm.

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jarofstyles · 3 months ago

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Migraine

Hello!! I've got part one of a two parter here for you. It was originally a one shot but it’s close to 18k... so I decided to split it up. Next part will be posted in a week or so!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings and series

DISCLAIMER- People with migraines get different auras, have different triggers, etc. I tried to represent them as I am familiar with, it may not be the same for you or a loved one who deals with them!

WC- 6.1k

Warnings- descriptions of migraines, asshole H, angst, pining, mention of nausea and pain, mention of bullying

The office was filled with the usual hum of keyboards and muffled phone conversations, but unfortunately, Y/N could always pick out Harry's voice above the rest. He was always laughing too loudly, always arguing with the printer, always finding some reason to be annoying. She sat at her desk, trying to focus on her task list, but Harry's constant chatter was grating on her nerves. "Y/N!" Harry called out, wandering over to her desk.

“What?” She sighed, the persistent rising of the headache throbbing at her temples as she didn’t bother looking in his direction. Feeding into his antics never ended up going the way she wanted. And yet, it always happened.

"I need you to print out this report for me." Harry said as he strolled into her office like he owned the place, dropping a stack of papers onto her desk. Her body jerked as the paper was plopped haphazardly, as usual, almost knocking over the far too expensive iced latte she’d picked up on her way in. Reflexes caught it in time, but a few condensation droplets wet the papers she had currently been working on. Ever since he’d been assigned as the lead on the project he’d been rubbing it in her face, acting like her boss even though he wasn’t… and she was tired.

“I’ll also need you to make some copies of these contracts. Oh, and while you're at it, could you grab me a coffee from the break room?" He leaned against her desk, his eyes tinged with amusement as he waited for her to respond. Like this was some sort of game.

“I’m not your assistant Harry. I’m working on my own stuff. Find someone else to do it- or better yet, do it yourself.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise at her sudden defiance. He really hadn't expected that level of backbone from her. Usually it took a little more to make her get snappy, but she was playing into it today even if she thought she wasn’t. A slow grin spread across his face as he leaned in closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, Y/N, aren't you just adorable when you're mad at me." He tapped the stack of papers with his fingers. "And here I thought we were a team. Is it too much to ask for a little teamwork?"

She could see her vision waver- and unfortunately, it wasn’t just from the annoyance his presence tended to naturally bring. It wasn’t uncommon for ocular migraines to get her, but her headache had been bad all day. The warning signs had been there when she woke up, even more so an hour ago when the metallic taste had entered her mouth, but she’s decided to go to work regardless. Dedicated to the job, Y/N didn’t take time off unless absolutely necessary.

Harry really didn’t understand how brutal migraines could be and she knew that, but he chose the worst times he possibly could to mess with her. Like he had some sort of monitor on her to tell him exactly when the worst time was to bother her. “Yes. I need to be left alone, please.” She took a sip of her watered down coffee to get caffeine in her, but it was taking a bit to work on her.

He knew she got headaches sometimes, but he also knew she hated it when anyone really brought it up because she didn't want anyone to 'baby' her. So… he decided to push a little more. Watching Y/N's hand as she brought her light colored coffee with condensation dripping down the side to her lips again, he got momentarily distracted by her lips wrapped around the straw before snapping out of it. Simply staring wasn’t going to get her to respond. Leaning in closer, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. "You know, there are studies that show that loud noises can actually trigger headaches t’get worse." He tapped his fingers on her desk, the sound deliberately loud and irritating. "And some people say that stress makes it even worse too."

“Yeah, it can. So can you go away?” She snapped, glowering down at the desk in front of her. What she really meant was Fuck Off, but she didn’t really use that langauge too often. Usually, she didn’t want to give in to whatever antics the stupidly stubborn man tried to bring to get her to break- but the throb at her temples made it hard to have any tolerance at all. Harry liked to push buttons but especially liked to get under her skin. “Go get your own coffee and give me some silence.”

Harry chuckled, the sound grating on Y/N's already frayed nerves. "Aww, come on Y/N," he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy- like this was a game. "I just want to make sure Y’know that, so you can get your job done. Maybe I should just sit here with you until your headache goes away. Make sure you’re not slacking off, hm?" He reached out and turned her computer monitor up to maximum brightness, the sudden blast of light making her wince. Harry was messing with her. He had no actual clue on how bad headaches could mess with her. It was fun to poke and prod to see her snarl back. “There. That should wake you up, since the coffee isn’t doing its job.”

Y/N had barely slept, her head was throbbing, her eyes blurry and her nerves completely fried. At some times he was a mere nuisance, like a fly buzzing in her ear that she could ignore if she tried to tune him out. Harry was a bit of a clown around the office, liked to make people laugh, but he especially liked to mess with Y/N. Perhaps it was because she was quiet and not as outwardly receptive, but she really didn’t like how obnoxious he could get. 9 times out of 10, she could deal with it.

Apparently, he caught her on the one day she couldn’t.

Ignoring him, she shut her monitor off and buried her face in her hands, wincing as the pain radiated through her temples to the back of her eye. If you’d never experienced it you’d never know how blinding the pain could be. Literally and metaphorically.

Apparently, he was missing the memo, thinking she was playing along. He reached out and grabbed a nearby stapler, tapping it loudly on her desk. "Y/N?" He called out, his voice deliberately cheerful. "C’mon, enough with the headache excuse. Why are you ignoring me again?" He tapped the stapler faster, the noise grating and irritating. "I’ll stop once you tell me why you’ve got t’keep being such a killjoy. We’ve got work to do and ignoring me isn’t good for team building.”

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes against her will. The last thing she wanted was to have him see her cry. It was embarrassing, and she didn’t want him to know he had any power over her at all- even if this probably wasn’t the desired outcome- but it was hard not to react. She wanted her room, she wanted her blackout curtains and complete silence except the low sound of her fan. The last place she wanted to be was stuck in a room with someone who loved to make her insane, fucking with her and making her headache worse. Curling into herself, she let out a shuddering breath- and the tapping stopped.

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened as he let the silence take over, hearing her shaky breath. Harry hadn’t realized it before how her usual put-together appearance was completely disheveled- but he sure as fuck did now.

Y/N wasn’t the type to come in with a hair out of place. Sometimes it pissed him off. Smart, put together, pretty Y/N not even looking his way. Thought she was too good to be his friend or something… but through his teasing he wanted to get her attention. Wanted her to talk to him since she didn’t on her own. The last thing he wanted was to actually piss her off… Let alone hurt her. "Shit..." he muttered, his voice losing its usual mocking tone. "Y/N?" Reaching out hesitantly, his hand hovering near her shoulder. It probably wasn’t appropriate to touch her but he felt a slight lick of panic run through his stomach. "Hey, are you alright? I was just messing around…" He trailed off, genuinely concerned. Harry could be annoying, he’d been told that plenty of times before- but purposefully inflicting pain wasn’t something he’d meant to do. That wasn’t something he’d ever want to truly do to someone.

The girl sniffled, shaking her head. “No.” The break in her voice was enough to display that. “My head hurts and you couldn’t just leave me alone. I was trying to prevent this and now I feel like I’m going to throw up.” She wanted to be angrier, sound meaner, but her voice was shaky. Pathetic. She hated every bit of this. “Please, can you get out of my office? Let me turn my lights off.”

Harry's hand froze in mid-air as he’d gone to touch her again, her words hitting him like a physical blow. He hadn't meant to make her feel this way, to push her to the point of tears and nausea. His face fell, genuine remorse etched into his features even if she couldn’t see it. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry." He whispered, his usual bravado gone. "M’so sorry. I didn't realize... I thought you were just being stubborn, like always." He pulled his hand back, standing up slowly. "I'll go."

On his way out, he was especially gentle turning the lights out and closing the door. Guilt swam in his gut as he ran his hand over his face, going towards the break room. All he’d wanted was to play around. See if she’d shoot back and if their little dynamic of her being slightly irritated at his presence had changed to something more fond. He’d been trying to gain some sort of joke with her, make her spat back and forth with him until it would make her laugh. In the weird way he tried to show it, he had wanted to be her friend.

No chance at that now. He’d properly blown it.

Harry poured himself a cup of coffee, staring at the steaming liquid without really seeing it. The sound of Y/N's shaky breath echoed in his mind, making him feel like absolute shit. Running his hands through his hair, the frustration with himself built at the lack of cues he had really taken from her. Of course he’d known he could be oblivious, but he hadn’t anticipated a joke going wrong. The joke was on him - he’d broken her. For once, he wasn’t in control of the situation, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Sitting at the break room table, his coffee say untouched as he stared off into space. He kept thinking about Y/N's tears, the way her usually perfect hair was messy and stuck to her face. He kept replaying the way she'd asked him to leave her alone, her voice shaking with frustration and pain. He'd never seen her like that before, and it was hitting him hard. He felt like an asshole for pushing her so far, for not realizing how bad her headaches really were.

“Hey. Do you know if Y/N having a headache? Her door is closed and the lights are off but I thought that she came in today.” Niall asked as he popped into the break room, taking the seat across from Harry.

Harry looked up, wincing slightly as he was broken from thought. "Yeah, she's got a bad one. Think I accidentally made it worse." The admission was spoken quietly, hand rubbing his face. "I was trying to be a dick and mess with her, but... I didn't realize how bad it was until she started crying." He sighed heavily. It was his own fault, but he couldn’t stop feeling like a complete idiot. "I just left her alone, but now I feel like shit for making her feel that way." He glanced up at Niall. "You know how she is with her headaches, right?" Much to his annoyance, Niall and Y/N had seemingly become friends much easier than he had been able to.

“Harry…” His disapproval was already on his face. “It’s not just a headache. Migraines can get really bad. My sister gets them. Been to the hospital multiple times just for relief because regular paracetamol doesn’t cut it. If Y/N ever misses a day, it’s because of them- and you know she hates missing anything. It’s like… a throbbing in your brain, sharp pain. Like the worst hangover you’ve had times a thousand. That’s how she said they were to me. They’re different types but…” Niall sighed. “You’re not a cruel guy, mate. Why were you messing with her if you knew she didn’t feel well?”

Harry's face fell in succession as he listened to Niall, realizing just how little he actually knew about migraines. He'd always just thought of them as a minor annoyance, something she could brush off- pop a pain relief and keep it going. But hearing Niall describe them as a "throbbing in her brain" made him feel sick to his stomach. He'd been so caught up in his own stupid game that he hadn't considered any of that. All he had wanted as her reaction. He’d gotten what he’d wished for, but it didn’t end up being the result he wanted.

"I just... I don't know, Niall. I thought I was being funny, you know? Poking at her a little to get a reaction. But then she started crying and I... fuck, I feel like the biggest dickhead." Harry ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "I didn't mean to hurt her- I’d never want that and you know that. I just wanted her to talk to me, to acknowledge me since she never does on her own. But now I've probably just pushed her away even more."

“She’s not actively not trying to talk to you. I mean, after a bit yeah she probably is, cause you keep fucking with her, but she’s just a quiet person. Enjoys being behind the scenes. You’re always the center of attention. You probably intimidate her a bit.” Niall mused, taking a bit of his candy he’d pulled from his bag. “She’s not ridiculous. If you apologize and really feel bad, she’ll probably see it. But you keep acting like a prick trying to get the attention of the girls at school in front of her. You’ve got to cool it.”

"You think so?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing as he considered Niall's words. He'd never really thought about the fact that he might be intimidating to Y/N. He always just assumed she was ignoring him on purpose, like she was too good to talk to him- and besides, he didn’t considering himself intimidating in the slightest! Sure he was tall, a little loud and had some interesting tattoo choices but he was nice…. Wasn’t he?

"So, you're saying I should apologize genuinely and lay off the jokes for a bit? That’s it?" He took Niall's advice seriously, seeing as Niall seemed to understand Y/N better than he did. It didn’t seem like enough to properly apologize but he would take his advice.

“Yeah. I’ve told you for a bit to lay off of her but you kept going at it.” He said with his mouth full, sending him a look.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face again. "I know, I know. I just... I was just joking with her, Niall. She's always been so quiet and reserved around me, it's like she's not even there half the time. And then when she does speak up, it's always to tell me to shut up or leave her alone. It's like she's just tolerating my presence or something." He shook his head, frustrated with himself. "I guess I just want her to notice me, you know?"

“Well, can’t say ya went about it the right way.” Niall snorted, shaking his head at the dumbass attempt. “But you can start when she’s done hurting. Make her a gift or get her a coffee, sit with her and genuinely apologize. She’ll hear you out, even if you probably don’t deserve it.”

——-

Hopefully, Niall hadn’t been full of shit.

Harry watched nervously from his office across the hall as Y/N arrived, noticing the gift basket on her desk. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't just throw it away without looking at the card. Annoyingly enough, her door had closed behind her. Letting out a breath of his own nerves, he leaned back in his seat- there had been the hope of at least seeing if she smiled.

Putting together a gift basket was much more difficult than he had anticipated, especially for Y/N. It was then that he realized he didn’t know much about her, and especially about migraines as a whole. He'd spent a long time picking out things he thought she might like - dark chocolates, a fancy journal, some cozy tea blends, migraine medication, some essential oils google said could help with headaches. And of course, a heartfelt apology note tucked away inside, scribbled in his messy handwriting.

Y/N, I'm an idiot. I realize that now more than ever. I'm sorry for pushing your buttons and making your headaches worse. I'm sorry for being a jerk and not realizing how much pain you were actually in. That isn’t an excuse, though. I know it isn’t going to make it better and I promise this isn’t an attempt to buy your forgiveness, but I made you a little… basket thing? There are some things that might help - chocolate for the sugar crashes, tea for relaxation, oil for your temples, and medicine to keep at your desk. I googled it, it’s the best rated one. Please forgive me for being a complete dickhead.

- Harry

As the day wore on, Harry found himself constantly glancing over at Y/N's office, hoping to catch her attention when her door propped back open but he wasn’t having much luck. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding him, her head down and focused on her work. By the time 5 o'clock rolled around, he was starting to get frustrated- he had been buried in his own work as well, not able to get up and ask her much at all. He hadn't even had a chance to talk to her about the gift basket or his apology- or hear if she was telling him to fuck off The not knowing was killing him.

Harry slumped in his chair, a deep frown etched onto his face as he watched Y/N gather her things to leave. His shoulders were tense, his stomach twisted in knots. Rejection clung to him like a damp sweater, uncomfortable and constricting. He felt foolish for thinking a gift basket would somehow magically fix everything, erase all the hurt he'd caused with his foolish teasing. It wasn’t like he thought she would just instantly accept his apology or something- but it had been a hope. His pride was stung, but more than that, he felt genuine regret and a tugging worry that he'd damaged their working relationship beyond repair- let alone any chance of actually being friends.

It had been obvious to him now more than ever, his flirting style needed work. His mother would absolutely smack him upside the head if she ever caught wind of any of what he’d done. This wasn’t the playground. The excuse of men being mean to women because they liked them was bullshit. In his defense, he wasn’t trying to be cruel on purpose. He was trying to tease her, get her to think he was funny, and start banter with her. Get her to react to him because she stayed to herself. She didn’t react to any of his jokes he’d told in the break room, scurrying off, barely interacting with him unless it was 100% necessary- it stung his ego but also motivated him to try and get her to laugh. To react in any way he could because he wanted her attention.

Y/N was beautiful. He’d noticed that the first day she started. They’d been introduced by their boss, Harry nearly stumbling over his words as he greeted her. She’d let a little shy smile on her face as she waved at him and he’d felt his heart flip flop in his chest. She wasn’t his usual type, but she’d taken up a lot of his mind since that day. It had led to frustration, albeit immature, that she wasn’t paying him any mind unless he was bugging her and it became their norm. It wasn’t what he had wanted, no, but it was the only way he’d seen results. So he kept at it until he’d nearly fatally fucked up.

But finally, knocking him out of his train of thought, he heard her door close and the rattle of keys as she emerged from her office. Much more put together than yesterday, the only sign of anything being off being slight darkness under her eyes, she looked perfectly pieced in every place.

As Y/N headed for the elevator, Harry finally gathered his courage and jogged to catch up with her. "Y/N, wait!" he called out, slightly out of breath. She paused, turning to face him with a guarded expression as he pulled to a stop outside the elevator. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, unsure of where to begin, he just let his mouth take over. "I just... I wanted to make sure you got the gift basket. And the note." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "Did you... did you read it?"

“Not yet.” She said quietly, shifting slightly on her feet. “I didn’t get a chance. I left early yesterday and couldn’t get all my work done yesterday so I had to immediately jump into things.”

"Oh, I see..." Harry nodded, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest at her admission. At least she hadn't dismissed his apology outright. He took a deep breath, deciding to lay it all out there. "Well, I put my heart into that note. I meant every word, Y/N. M’truly sorry for being such an inconsiderate dick. Your migraines aren't a joke, and I should have respected that. I truly didn’t know." He looked down at his shoes before meeting her gaze again, his expression earnest.

“Thank you for the apology. I’ll read it when I’m home.” It had been a curiosity for her all day. She had a feeling it was from him considering she saw his sloppy handwriting in the envelope resting on top, but she truly hadn’t had the time to read anything. This was more than she had expected from him, that was for sure. He apologized in person and in the note she had yet to read and looked like he had been reprimanded but who knew? As genuine as his nerves seemed to be, it could have been another part of a joke. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry managed a small smile, relief washing over him knowing she hadn't thrown his apology away unread. "Okay. Yeah- yeah, no problem. Take care of yourself tonight." he said, his voice warm with sincerity that had been missing in most of their prior interactions. He’d always gone with the joking route, but it was apparent now that he had read her completely wrong. As Y/N stepped into the elevator, Harry watched the doors close, a plan forming in his mind. He would continue to show her through his actions that he was serious about changing. Maybe tomorrow he'd bring her favorite coffee as another peace offering. Baby steps, he thought. It was a start.

—

When Y/N got home she could properly inspect the small basket, but more importantly- the note.

Y/N blinked in surprise as she unfolded the note, her eyebrows raising slightly at the raw sincerity of Harry's words- and his slightly sloppy handwriting. A small, incredulous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she read about the idiocy he confessed to. She couldn't help but chuckle softly at the mention of chocolate for sugar crashes - a detail that showed he had actually looked some things up. The mention of the oils and medicine touched her unexpectedly, realizing the actual thought he'd put into items that could genuinely help her.

The more Y/N read the note, the more she wondered why Harry would go through all this trouble. He'd never shown this level of consideration before, always preferring to tease and joke around instead. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this apology than met the eye. As she set the note down, she couldn't help but wonder what Harry's endgame was.

As Y/N looked through the gift basket, she found herself softening towards Harry. The chocolates, the tea, the journal - it was all thoughtful and considerate. He'd clearly put a lot of effort into selecting things that might actually help her. And the note... the note was something else entirely. It was heartfelt and apologetic, with a hint of humor that made her smile. For the first time, she started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Harry was genuinely sorry for his actions. If so, that would be a first.

It was quickly decided that she needed to talk to Harry in person to get a better read on his intentions. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his apology than met the eye, and she wanted to know what was behind his sudden change of heart. To go from constant irritation to this? Maybe he really had learned his lesson and was genuinely trying to be a better colleague. Or maybe there was something else at play. Either way, she needed to have a conversation with him to clear the air. She just hoped he would listen.

———

The next morning, Y/N arrived at the office looking composed and put together, despite the lingering fatigue from her slightly sleepless night. The whole scenario had been hard to read and she knew there wouldn’t be much understanding until she actually got to speak to him. Walking in with her head held high, her eyes scanned the doors until they landed on Harry's office- thankfully with the light on and the door cracked open. She hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Harry looked up from his computer, his face lighting up in surprise as he saw her standing there. "Hey- hi," he said, setting his pen down. "What brings you here so early?"

“I read your note.” She said softly. “Weirdly enough, I believe you… about being sorry, and not knowing how bad my headaches got. I know I haven’t talked to you about them so I don’t expect you to fully understand it.” Rocking on her heels, she took another step into his office and closed the door behind her. “I just… I had a few questions that I don’t really understand. Why do you keep messing with me? Do you not like me or something? Did I do something?”

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he processed Y/N's questions, leaning back in his chair and studying her intently. "You read the note?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words to explain his behavior. "Look, Y/N, I haven’t been messing with you to piss you off. I was… I was trying to joke with you. You said you didn’t like people babying you over your headaches and stuff, so I didn’t think it was that serious. I was hoping you’d push back a bit and we could banter. I’d never purposely want you in actual pain." He promised. It felt a bit surreal to be talking to her like this, but she was giving him a generous opportunity to apologize. He’d been a real prick, and the least he owed her was the truth- even if it made him feel anxiety like never before. "I do like you, which might be the problem..." That lingered in the air before he continued.

"You're so quiet and always focused on your work that I thought you didn’t like me." Harry continued, his voice lowering as he admitted it. The concept felt a bit silly now saying it out loud. "I thought you were ignoring me on purpose because you were like… I don’t know. Not convinced I was cool enough. Or it was something personal about me that you disliked, and I don’t like being disliked. One of my many flaws.” He sent her a half smile before continuing. “So, I kept pushing your buttons to get a reaction out of you. But then I started realizing that you weren't ignoring me because you hated me, you were just... ignoring me. I felt frustrated because you seemed to get on with everyone else well enough, but you never laughed at my jokes or really interacted with me when I tried to make you laugh... And then I figured out you’d snap back at me or talk to me if I irritated you a bit. It’s not my finest work, and I do regret it. Believe me." He paused, his mind reeling as he tried to put his thoughts into words. Being in front of her, even if he was the one behind the desk, was anxiety inducing. “I just didn’t know what to do to get you to like me.”

Harry couldn’t exactly read her face. It was hard to tell how she felt about it, so he continued on. "I know it sounds stupid now, but I really thought if I could just make you react to me, even if it was anger, it would be a start. But then you started crying and I felt like the worst prick alive. I never wanted you to actually be in pain. I thought we were just continuing on, you’d tell me to fuck off or something. Seeing you cry and be in pain made me feel like shit." Harry's voice cracked slightly as he relived the memory, his eyes dropping to the mess he’d made in his desk. "I've never seen you that upset before, and it scared me. I realized that I've been going about this all wrong and that I need to change my approach." That was an understatement. He shouldn’t have gone at it like that to begin with.

"So, to answer your question directly - no, I don’t dislike you. In fact, I think I might like you too much, which is why I've been acting like an idiot..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushing slightly as he admitted these things out loud. Thankfully Y/N had more sense than he did, not lingering on that confession.

“I never disliked you or anything. Not until you started picking on me.” She admitted with a furrowed brow. Had he really thought that? “I’m just not a super extroverted person. I don’t talk a lot to most people. It isn’t a reflection of you. Yeah, you were obnoxious sometimes.” The statement was blunt but it needed to be. “But only because I felt like you were singling me out to fuck with me. I dealt with that in school. People picking on me because I’m quiet and they don’t know much about me. In reality it would be easier to come up and ask me about things, try and talk without making it a joke. But there was never this… preconceived hatred of you or anything” That made her feel a lot of things. People always used to assume a lot about her feelings without talking to her first. It was human nature, she knew, being uncomfortable with the unknown- but that didn’t mean she liked people assuming stuff about her. Projection at its finest. “You know being rude to the girl you think is cool isn’t going to get you anywhere, right?”

He'd never stopped to consider that his teasing might be triggering past experiences for her. Honestly, he hadn’t considered that her being bullied at all was even an option. She was beautiful and sweet, definitely one of the most intelligent people on the floor. What would they have to tease her for? The idea that he'd inadvertently hurt her by projecting his own insecurities onto her made his stomach churn. "Fuck, I never even thought of it like that. M’sorry.” He murmured, running his hand through his hair sheepishly. "I guess I just assumed everyone reacted to jokes the same way. But being rude... yeah, I get it."

Y/N sighed, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked at him. She could see the full realization dawning, the way his face fell as he understood the harm he might have caused- and that was hard to fake. It was a small comfort, but it was something at the very least. "It's okay." She said gently. "We all make mistakes. The important thing is that you're recognizing it and apologizing sincerely. That means a lot to me." In all actuality, it’s the most sincere apology she had received in a long time. “Your gift basket was very sweet, by the way. Well researched. I appreciated it a lot.”

"I'm glad you liked it." His shoulders fell a little at her response, a hint of relief coloring his tone. Sitting up a little straighter in his chair, he felt the reassurance he had needed too. Not that he was owed any, but it was nice to get regardless. He'd spent a considerable amount of time picking out items that he thought would help her, not knowing if she'd appreciate the gesture or throw it all away- but he had had to try at the very least. Y/N deserved it. "I really did put thought into it. I know google has to be sick of me."

“You did a good job. I brought some of the stuff back here to keep in my desk in case of another headache.” It was beyond thoughtful. It hadn’t been lost on her that Harry had alluded to having a crush on her, but that wasn’t a subject she was going to broach with him today.

It was something she was going to silently obsess over in the comfort of her own office.

“We can be friends, Harry. Just remember that if I’m not over the top reactive to your jokes or anything, it isn’t because I don’t think you’re funny, or that I don’t like you. I’m just… like that. You know?” The hope was that he would get it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings at all. “I’m only really somewhat loud around people I know exceptionally well. My behavior at work isn’t personal.”

Harry nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her words. Friends. That was a start, right? That was something he could work with. He'd been so caught up in his own feelings and insecurities that he hadn't stopped to consider that maybe she just wasn't the type to be that way. He was used to women laughing at his jokes, leaning into him. It was no secret that his humor was half of what got him into people’s beds. Everyone had loved funny man- but Y/N was different. It made sense, really. She was always so calm and collected, even when he was being a dick. Even when she snapped, it took her a bit to get there and she never yelled, only used that sharp tone with him. It was something that he wouldn’t admit aroused him a little bit.

"Yeah, I get it," he said, smiling softly. "Friends.”

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fairyminnie444 · 6 months ago

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𝕷𝖆𝖜 𝖔𝖋 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

> READ THIS BEFORE ASK <

му ρσѕтѕ ✮⋆˙

your subconscious is simpler than you think it is

you are NOT persisting if you are checking 3D and waiting for you DR!

you don’t try to manifest

Embodying the reality of your imagination

Manifesting is instantly

how should I see the role of other people in my reality?

ENDING the cycle of main frequent doubts that arise in our minds once and for all

“At your command”

EIYPO explained for you to understand and absorb

do you sometimes have that feeling that you NEED TO DO SOMETHING/TAKE ACTION to receive what you want?

“BIG” manifestations

What’s the “secret”?

Why You Can Change Your Physical Appearance and Overcome the Limitations of Biology

Why Others’ Manifestations Can’t Block Yours

I already know everything!! How do I apply this to my routine?

The “Sabbath State”

Yes, it’s perfectly okayyyy if you forget or get distracted by your routine.

affirmations to make it easier and “faster”

the ultimate post u need to LET GO

understanding your EGO so you don’t let it hold you back anymore

how to feel your desire in a natural way even if it seems unlikely?

even a negative view of circumstances can lead you to a positive one

manifesting $100,000 is as easy as manifesting $1

you already understood that! you are already there!

𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕚𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕞𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤

manifesting is supposed to be fun, light and easy!

~bad moments~ along the way happen, instead of ignoring them how to deal with them?

Act like the GOD you know you are.

Breaking Free from the Need for Proof

࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ𝓐𝓢𝓚𝓢 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ

i want to increase my height

what if my desires stay in imagination ans never externalize?

can we manifest multiple sps?

time travel (2)

What if others also try to manifest my celebrity sp…

how do you/did you convince yourself that manifesting/LOA is real

dealing with the 3D when it comes to using LOA (living in the wish fulfilled)

doubts affect my manifesting?

How does one take a very famous person « off the pedestal » in order to manifest them?

I want to change my birth name but i have to sign documental stuff

How I could live in the end when revising smth that if materialized would totally change my live in the 3d?

SPEC method

will it still manifest what we want even if we don’t have a clear picture on it?

I need help with my imagination.

how do i know if it's just taking its time or if i'm doing something wrong?

Can you go deeper into days/weeks of the 3D not changing and how to persist throughout the whole day when you're doing things?

What are your thoughts about getting back people who have p@ssed away? REVISION

YT Channels (sub, meditations, mentors)

I want to manifest the absence of something I've been experiencing for a long time (health and wellness related).

work on my self concept / deal with people who criticize or make me feel drained

simple breakdown to help you manifest your SP even if it feels delusional right now

trying to manifest a modeling career

manifest changing appearance and dna, but i also want to change my past to always have been this appearance and my parents too

everytime i think something is "never going to happen" or "hmm i've never seen xyz" it ends up happening?!?!

How can I manifest when I absolutely don't believe that I can?

how can i use daydreaming and listening to songs while manifesting?

someone asked me about my sp. what should I do in this case?

why is consuming more information about this law considered to be coming from lack when doing something in the 3d that "opposes your desire" not considered to be coming from lack?

I have too many things to manifest so what should I do? advice to me in harsh way

struggle with is my celeb sp and my dream job

how would you manifest hectochromia eyes?

EIYPO everything like a puppet and me it’s master pulling the strings? Does it mean that “ancestors,” “angels,” etc. are not existent, only me?

Why Some Manifestations Work Effortlessly

advices for manifesting with mental disorders

can manifest such extreme beauty that everyone in a shopping mall turns to look at me. Even though I'm not the standard and I'm common

I’m manifesting a new face, but visualising it doesn’t make me feel anything?

how do i make sure that happens for certain? i'm scared it won't

What do you think about manifesting being immortal?

+ tips on manifesting a bf/significant other

struggling with feeling the feelings and believing that it’ll happen.

I can never manifest anything related to MONEY purely

date with the guy I like However, I am a very physically insecure girl and I am too scared and nervous.

i dont know what i did wrong, i really thought this would work, i was sure about it but it didn’t and i can’t helped but feel discouraged

I have a fear that some of my manifestation will dissapear

If everything we are seeing in the 3D is assumptions we made through our life, why does sometimes when we are like 100% sure of something and then we figured it is not?

was confident, my affirmation was "no matter how and what, i have all A's" but alas i did in fact not get all A's.

i WANT to see a people who actually manifested things that changed their past, their reality

i wanna manifest more lenient parents

I’m religious so I believe in a higher power/god, but I do still believe in my own power/ Will this hinder my manifestation process because I believe in a higher power?

What am I doing wrong? SP related

how can i.. like manifest or just "undo" it??

I want to manifest my natural hair color being blond, but i have black hair and also my parents, do i have to detail everyone in my family who is blonde for my new genes?

I feel like I can't anymore, that I'm giving in… I feel stuck

i’m really confused in the living in the end thing and others things in my manifestation

I simply want to be like those people who are successful in curing their illnesses

what do you recommend me doing to change my birth year while not ignoring the reality and still living in the end?

Can our negative thoughts manifest if we think them for a long time and then stop thinking them?

How to use chatpgt to clear doubts and manifest

Tips for beginners

why do some people's jokes manifest if they don't assume those jokes are true?

how to stop paying attention to old failed attempts

How do you deal with hopelessness or desperation.

i’m scared that my fears will manifest itself and it’s out of my control

waiting mode

I feel guilty wanting to manifest

࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ PART 2 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָָ࣪☾.࣪˖ ִֶָ

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