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razorsadness · 1 year

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A week ago Thursday, I took a long walk around my neighborhood. Later, at night, I sat out on the back steps for a while, listening to all the night sounds: the pop and snap of wood burning in a neighbor’s fire pit, critters rustling in the weeds, the lonesome howl of a freight train in the near distance.

The next day started off kinda shitty. I was dealing with more confusing and annoying bureaucratic red tape re: energy assistance, plus some other stuff along similar lines, and the kids were cranky, and I was feeling all sad and cranky myself and dwelling on some old issues that rear up from time to time—maybe cuz of PMS, maybe cuz of Mercury Rx, probably a little of both. C. and I took a little outing to the garden center, and I got some more soil for this year’s garden, and some pansies for outside, and a little African violet for indoors. That helped a bit, but when I got back, I was still stressed and sad, and P. could tell, and he told me to take the rest of the evening to do whatever would make me feel better. So I had a tiny bit of an edible, then took a long, hot bath and ate some dark chocolate, and it worked wonders.

Saturday was better. I wrote a poem, worked on editing some poems, and submitted some poems to a couple lit zines. After the kids were asleep, P. and I had sex.

That night I had a strange dream that P. and I were visiting some old friends of his, and we were there for hours and hours and I wanted to leave because I was tired, but he decided he had to make this elaborate slow-cooked pepper sauce (??) before he left. So I was like: “Can I just leave, and you can crash here?” But he said that would be rude so I had to stay, too and I was pissed. I don’t know where the fuck that dream came from.

The next day my anxiety was through the roof—about (lack of) money, about bills, about other things that I couldn’t even identify. And we were going to have dinner with my mom because my dad was out of town, and having dinner with my parents often stresses me out. But it turned out okay. I remembered that my parents are much less awful to be around when it’s just one of them, not both.

That night I had another weird dream. I was in Chicago, at a zine fest held at my alma mater, CCC (much like the actual MWPZF was, last October), and I had a new zine with me that I’d just finished the day before and hadn’t had a chance to make copies of. (Which, again, is much like real life experiences I’ve had—I’m notorious for rushing to make copies the day before or day of zine fests.) Anyway, someone told me there was a Xerox machine in one of the offices where they’d let me make copies for free, so I went there. The guy working was this super hot punky French dude named Guillaume, and it was like we locked eyes and immediately knew we wanted to bang. We were just gonna fuck right there in the office, but people kept coming in and interrupting us, so we couldn’t. Later, we decided to go find a hotel and get a room and fuck there, so we were wandering downtown Chicago looking for a hotel we could afford, and we finally found one—but it was being used as a vaccine clinic, and was so packed with people waiting to get vaxxed that we couldn’t even get inside to see if there were rooms available. Also my parents were there for some reason, waiting to get vaccines at a hotel in Chicago, which kinda killed my horny mood. It was a terribly frustrating dream. And also hella weird. (And also my dream dude Guillaume was really hot, and he’s been popping up in my fantasies ever since.)

The first of May was probably the best day of the week. It was too cold and rainy to do any outdoor activities, but I taught D. a bit about the labor rights/anarchist history of May Day for school, did a bunch of artsy-crafty stuff, did some witchy stuff. I started mapping out my new poetry project—a (book-length!) sonnet sequence about a love affair I had in the summer of 2005. I’d already planned on writing a poem about that lover and that summer, but then realized I had more to say about it than would fit in just one poem. Then I thought of a book I recently read and loved—Maggie Millner’s Couplets, which is a book of poems about a love affair—and thought: oh! I could write a book of poems about it! And then I thought of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s Fatal Interview, and thought: oh! the book could be a sonnet sequence! Which is incredibly nerdy, I know, but is also super exciting for me, as I’ve been getting back into sonnets with a vengeance; and seems especially appropriate considering that the spring/summer of 2005 was when I first got obsessed with Edna Millay and with writing my own sonnets. Later, I listened to electro-swing while making pasta primavera for dinner. And P. and I got to have sexytimes again that night.

Tuesday, my period started, and my anxiety was through the roof again. But I did yoga, which helped a little, as did listening to some good old fashioned punk rock. And I worked a bit more on my sonnet-book, which, I decided that day, will be titled Untrue Aftermath—both because it has the same syllable count as/a similar feeling to Fatal Interview, and because it comes from a sonnet I wrote in the summer of 2005.

I started off Wednesday feeling so good. I did yoga, made myself a strawberry-blueberry-banana smoothie for breakfast. But then I got a phone call from energy assistance saying that I needed to call back and verify more stuff—stuff which I had already verified, by the way—or my application was going to expire. Which sent me into a panic, because I’d already received the disconnection notice from the power company, and though I didn’t know what day they’d turn it off, I knew it wasn’t far off. So I verified it all again, and then kept calling back to make sure they had all the information they needed and my application wouldn’t expire, and they assured me it was fine! It was all good now! So I thought I had that taken care of, but I was still stressed just from dealing with it, and also was thinking about my cousin C.W., who was going into surgery later that day, to remove part of his colon and intestines, due to cancer.

But the day got better. It was sunny, and warm enough to go outside and plant the pansies and get some veggies sprouting. We also did other yard work, like cutting back the mulberry bushes which are trying to overtake the yard, and then I helped C. build a lean-to from some of the mulberry branches. Then I worked on more of Untrue Aftermath, and P. and I cooked delicious Jamaican jerk burgers for dinner. And I got good news about my cousin—the surgery went well, and they’re pretty sure they got all the cancer.

I didn’t sleep well that night, either. At first it was fun being up late; I sat on the porch alone to listen to the night sounds, to dream and scheme. But then, even when I wanted to go to sleep, I couldn’t, and started, once again, worrying about everything.

I woke up the next day exhausted, with jaw and tooth pain, because I sometimes grind my teeth in my sleep when I’m stressed. The morning light on the yard was beautiful, though, and in the afternoon, I dropped D. off with my parents, and went to run a couple errands. I was feeling good, driving around, drinking an iced coffee, looking at all the trees in bloom and singing along to old favorite songs I still love. I thought I’d get home, work on my sonnet sequence, and make a cake. And then I got home and I just crashed. I felt ancient and tired and sad and ugly. I started missing the good old bad old days, while simultaneously feeling like I was in them.

Let’s see if I can explain…working on Untrue Aftermath, well, I’ve been delving back into the summer of 2005, reconstructing events and emotions from old journal entries and photographs and mix tapes. But what sometimes happens when I fall too deep into the nostalgic k-hole of a particular timeframe—it’s happened before, and it happened this time—is, I start remembering things I hadn’t even kept record of, and I start feeling how I felt back then, and then the wave of memories and emotions becomes so vivid and intense that it feels like it’s happening again, in real time. Which, to paraphrase myself, is good for my writing, but so very bad for my delicate heart.

But then the other thing that happens is that, though I may be experiencing all the old memories and feelings in real time, my brain also likes to remind me of all the ways that the Now is not like Ye Olde Days. That was happening on Thursday, too. You know, my brain was going: Remember all your lovers and all your adventures? You barely have adventures anymore. And you’ll never have a new lover again, not just because of the relationship you’re in but because you’re old and ugly and no one would even want you. (To quote an Edna St. Vincent sonnet that’s not from Fatal Interview: I only know that summer sang in me / A little while, that in me sings no more.)

All that got me too sad and restless to focus on writing or baking. So I read my friend Jonas’s newest book, and built some LEGOs with C., and ate linguini and clam sauce for dinner. Later, I sat out on the front porch again and watched the almost-full Flower Moon rising through the flowering trees. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was what I had, and it was enough to get me through.

Friday, I woke up in a better mood, and the weather was good. I had such plans for the day. I was going to bake the cake, and then we were going to do more gardening, and then make burritos (with homemade guacamole) for dinner. I was in the middle of making the cake—batter was more than half done, oven was preheating—when our gas and electricity got shut off. I immediately called energy assistance to see what the fuck was going on. The woman I talked to was like: “Well, see, it was really confusing because you reported this and then you reported this conflicting thing, you sent in this form but then sent in that other form, blah blah.” And I didn’t yell because I knew it wasn’t her fault individually, but I said: “It was confusing to me, too! I only sent in and verified what I was asked to, it’s not my fault that people told me to send in and verify conflicting things.” She said: “We can book you for a crisis appointment over the phone at 4:40 p.m. today, to cancel out your previous application and put in a crisis one.” I agreed to it, but said: “This would not have been a crisis situation had everything been processed a month ago like it should have been.” I was pissed. For once in my life I was on top of my end of shit, and this still happened?!

We packed as much of our refrigerated food as possible into an ice chest with a bunch of ice and packed all our frozen food (plus the meat for the burritos) into the big freezer in our basement with several large bags of ice. Then I booked a hotel room for the night, and put a call for help on my main blog.

It may have been slightly irresponsible, financially, to book a hotel room, rather than stay with my parents—but mentally/emotionally, it was the right thing to do. Because my parents would have made that night hell for me. Whenever anything like this has happened in the past, even if I am not asking them for financial help and am finding other ways to take care of it myself, they just berate me, endlessly. “Why didn’t you just pay the bill off months ago?” they say. “We didn’t have the money,” I tell them. “Why didn’t you have the money? Why don’t you get a better job? Why doesn’t P. get a better job? Blah blah blah.” This time would have been no different. They wouldn’t have cared that it actually wasn’t my fault, that I applied for assistance as soon as I knew I wouldn’t be able to pay the bill, and that I stayed on top of it but e.a. didn’t have their shit together. No, that wouldn’t have mattered at all. They would have insisted on giving me the money to pay the bill—even if I told them I didn’t want them to, and was working on other ways to get the power back on. Then they would have spent the rest of the night lecturing me about how they shouldn’t have to help me out financially like that anymore and can’t afford to now that my dad’s retired (which I know and agree! which is why I wouldn’t ask them to!), and on all the ways in which both I and my partner are fuck-ups (which, news flash: lecturing someone about how they’re a failure doesn’t help them not be a failure).

Once we got to the motel, I did the math, and figured out that if I got around $1000 from my emergency post, I could put that together with the money I had set aside for rent, ask my landlord to hold off on cashing the check until I get paid from my most recent proofreading gig (which should be by the 10th, and she usually doesn’t cash our rent checks until after the 10th of the month anyway), and pay the minimum balance to get the power turned back on, so that even if the e.a. thing didn’t work out, I could still get our power back on the next day.

Then I had the crisis appointment. If only they had given me one of those a month ago, it wouldn’t have been a crisis! The woman I spoke to this time was actually on top of things. She gathered all the information she could from our previous application, and just asked me to verify/clarify a few more things. The approval for the amount of help they can give went through right away, but she told me the payment wouldn’t go through until Wednesday. Well, fuck, I thought, there’s no way we can afford to stay in a motel for that many nights, plus by then all our food would spoil, and we can’t afford to replace all that, either. So I was just praying that my emergency post would get enough of a response that I could pay the minimum the next day. I asked the woman from e.a. what would happen if I did that, if it would somehow cancel the assistance, and she said no, it would just go toward paying off whatever was left on the bill and/or be put towards the next one.

After that, there was nothing more I could do for the night other than periodically reblog my emergency post, so I decided to try and enjoy myself/relax as best I could. I did have a brief thought that the universe heard me longing for ye olde days, and decided to grant my wish, in a very monkey’s paw way. Like: Oh, you want the old days back? The days of adventure, when you could never afford to pay your bills on time and were constantly living with no gas or electricity? Fuck, Universe, that’s not what I meant; guess I should have been more careful what I wished for.

But I also did get a bit of the good parts of the old days—namely, staying in a roadside motel. I just love hotels and motels so much. All the people coming in and out, the free coffee 24/7, the way that they’re liminal spaces so even if you’re staying in your own town it’s like you’ve stepped out of daily time and into something different. We ordered pizza for dinner, cuz one of the better pizza places in town opened up a new carryout-and-delivery spot just down the road from where we were staying, and they delivered it right to the room. P. and I both took long hot showers; the kids both took baths.

I kept going outside to smoke, which I have been so good about not doing recently, but all the stress just fucking got to me and I caved. I’d go outside to smoke, watch the cars pulling into and out of the parking lot, the people checking into the hotel, the parking lot across the way with the rehab center next to the coffeeshop where I saw Adam Fell do a reading back in early 2018. I watched and listened to the redwing blackbirds, swooping and chirring in the roadside marsh. In my head, I played a medley of all my favorite hotel and motel songs. One of them being, of course, “Can’t Hardly Wait.” And at one point I noticed that most of the vehicles in the parking lot had Minnesota plates. Turned out that there was a youth football team from Minnesota staying there for the night. And then a little while later, outside having another smoke, this trio of young punks approached me—I guess they saw my tattoos and my t-shirt with the sleeves torn off and knew I was one of them—we all stood around smoking and chatting, and it turned out they were a punk band…from Minnesota. What are the fucking odds?

I was up late. Full moons and motels both make me restless, plus I was still worried about the power situation. Wondering if my emergency post would get enough traction to get me the money I needed; wondering if my landlord would be pissed when I asked her to hold the rent check, and if I’d have to pay her the $50 late fee. I was up late, sipping whiskey, wishing that I was having a fun motel night of drinking and sex rather than the type of motel night I was having, but I was enjoying myself despite it. When I went out to have my last cigarette of the night, and look at the full moon, I took my little plastic motel cup of ice & whiskey out with me, and the Minnesota punks were out there too, smoking and drinking beer. We talked again. They asked me to come party with them in their room, and I was like “oh, boys, thank you, but I am here with my husband and kids and I don’t think they’d appreciate me bailing on them to go party.” I mean I really was thankful that they asked me. Made me feel like I’m not so old and boring after all, if some punk kids nearly two decades younger than I am think I’m cool enough to party with.

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt that I met [redacted] and we got drunk and had sloppy-drunk motel sex.

In the morning, we partook of the complimentary breakfast and coffee, and I checked on the money and energy situation. People really stepped up, I got enough that I could have paid the minimum balance and any late fee my landlord asked. So I called the energy company, asked them how I needed to pay the balance to get my power back on that day, and they let me know. I went on the website, and as I was entering my information to pay, I mean I was literally about to hit the ‘complete payment’ button, I got a phone call from energy assistance. Telling me that, because they’d marked it as a crisis, their assistance amount went through that day instead of needing to wait until Wednesday. So I called the power company back, they confirmed it had gone through and told me how much I now owed, and because it was less than I’d initially thought due to the assistance going through, I was able to pay the bill completely off without even needing to put a hold on the rent check.

After that, we packed up, grabbed some more free coffee (and cocoa for the kids) from the lobby, checked out, came home, and called the power company one last time to get the power back on. Then we checked our food—everything was still good, hallelujah.

The rest of Saturday, I was exhausted, but happy. Glad to be home. Thinking maybe I learned a couple lessons from all this. One being that if I ever need energy assistance again, I should apply at least two months ahead of time. The other being: appreciate what you have. Adventure’s not all it’s cracked up to be, at least not when it comes with that kind of chaos. And I was appreciative. Appreciative that friends and strangers alike helped me out when I most needed it. Appreciative that the energy assistance came through after all, even if it was last minute. Appreciative that the food was still good, and we were able to make the guacamole and burritos for dinner that we’d planned on making the night before.

I was so sure I’d sleep well that night because I was so tired. I fell asleep fine, but then C. woke up in the middle of the night, and it was difficult to get him back to sleep. And then even when he did fall back to sleep, I was awake for another couple hours.

So yesterday I was even more exhausted than I was Saturday. I mean, I hadn’t slept well in several nights; that was a problem even before the power outage. I was exhausted, and C. was exhausted and cranky, and I had to catch up on a bunch of laundry. But it wasn’t all bad, in fact there was a lot of good. The weather was beautiful. A couple of the poems from one of the lit zine submissions I sent out at the end of April got accepted for publication. I got hired for a new proofreading gig, a pretty well-paying one. Because of that, and the fact that I’m getting the paycheck from my last gig very soon, and the fact that my energy bill is now square, I actually have a teeny bit of extra money—which I’m using a portion of to give to other causes and people who are in urgent situations right now. Then, last night, we went to have dinner with my parents. We did tell them some of what happened on Friday, but because it was no longer urgent we could play it off as ‘oh, our power was out for a night, we stayed in a motel, it was an adventure,’ and there was no lecture and everything was fine. They watched the kids for a bit; P. and I went to get takeout to bring back for everyone, and had a round of beers while we waited. (My parents treated us.) I was absolutely enamored by the bartender and the two waitresses. They were all queer femmes (takes one to know one); these young, rough-ass bitches (and oh, I mean rough-ass bitches in an absolutely positive way) wearing these ridiculous, amazing outfits (stuff I would love to wear but probably wouldn’t have the guts to; but probably would have worn when I was as young as they are). And Halsey’s “Bad At Love” came on, and they all started singing along, at the top of their lungs and so full of feeling in that “I’ve been there” way and god, I love people. Truly, I do. Then, dinner with the kids and the parents, and it was actually pleasant and low-key, for once. And then home again, home again, once again exhausted and happy. We all finally slept well. I only woke up in the night once. I was having a dream in which I was reading a beautiful poem (I am one of those rare people who can actually read text in my dreams sometimes), and I woke up with one line from the poem still in my mind. I rolled over, pulled up the notes app on my phone, typed it in, then went back to sleep. This morning, I read what I’d typed: in the time of the witches / the streets were smoked with blue perfume. That’s pretty excellent. I need to use it (or something like it) in a real poem. Today I started my new proofreading gig, did schooling with the kiddos. I had to make one last call to the power company, to make sure the payment/arrangement went through so we don’t end up in that situation again; according to them it’s all good and now this hellish cycle of phone calls and panic is done. I’m not in the best mood today—all the stress of the past few days has worn me down; and everything has been so weird and wild lately that the past few days has felt more like a few weeks. And oh, now our oven is crapping out, which is another thing we can’t afford. Plus it’s rainy and chilly again, so I can’t go outside and garden or just sit in the sun, and I’m just kinda sad, really. I’m trying to make the most of today and not get into a total funk. I dressed up in a way that’s comfy and fabulous at the same time. I made myself a box of Annie’s mac and cheese for lunch, because that’s one of my comfort foods. Now I’m drinking tea, and I’m hoping to find the time to work on poetry stuff later. Tomorrow the weather is supposed to be better, so I’m planning to go to the library (I have a novel on hold there that I’m very excited for); maybe go to the post office (some people ordered books and zines from my emergency post; also the post office has Lichtenstein stamps now and I need some!). Over all, I am so grateful for how everything turned out. It’s been a fucked up few days, but it could have been a lot worse. And next time I’m lonely for adventure? Please remind me that just a trip to the library or a walk around my neighborhood will suffice.

#ashtrayfloors #dear livejournal #this one's long #and i don't feel like tagging for everything so.#read at yr own risk

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flowersinfos · 23 days

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Flowers are one of nature's most beautiful creations. They add color, fragrance, and life to our world. But beyond their beauty, flowers have some amazing and interesting facts that many people may not know. In this article, we'll explore some fascinating facts about flowers that will make you appreciate them even more.

1. Flowers Are Older Than Dinosaurs

Did you know that flowers have been around for a very long time? In fact, the first flowering plants appeared on Earth over 140 million years ago, during the time of the dinosaurs. However, flowers evolved much later than other plants like ferns and conifers. Today, there are more than 400,000 species of flowering plants on Earth.

For more detailed information on different types of flowers, including their names and meanings, be sure to check out flowers names. Whether you're a flower enthusiast or just curious about these beautiful plants, you'll find plenty of fascinating information to explore.

2. Some Flowers Bloom Only at Night

Most people are familiar with flowers that bloom during the day, but did you know that some flowers bloom only at night? These flowers, like the Moonflower and the Evening Primrose, open their petals after the sun goes down. They often have strong fragrances to attract nocturnal pollinators like moths.

3. The Largest Flower in the World

The largest flower in the world is the Rafflesia arnoldii, also known as the "corpse flower." This gigantic flower can grow up to three feet in diameter and weigh up to 15 pounds! Despite its beauty, the corpse flower has a strong odor similar to that of rotting meat. This smell attracts flies and beetles, which help pollinate the flower.

4. Flowers Can Change Colors

Some flowers have the ability to change color depending on their environment or stage of life. For example, the Hydrangea can change color based on the pH level of the soil it’s planted in. In acidic soil, the flowers turn blue, while in alkaline soil, they turn pink. This unique feature makes Hydrangeas popular in gardens.

5. Flowers and Their Meanings

Flowers have long been associated with specific meanings and emotions. For example, red roses symbolize love and passion, while white lilies represent purity and innocence. This practice, known as floriography, was especially popular during the Victorian era when people used flowers to send secret messages.

6. Some Flowers Are Edible

Not all flowers are just for looking at; some are also edible! Flowers like pansies, nasturtiums, and marigolds can be used to add color and flavor to salads, desserts, and other dishes. However, it’s important to make sure that the flowers you eat are safe and free from pesticides.

7. The World’s Oldest Flower

The fossil of the oldest known flower is of a plant called Montsechia vidalii. This ancient flowering plant lived around 130 million years ago and was discovered in Spain. The discovery of this fossil helped scientists learn more about the early evolution of flowering plants.

8. The Scent of Flowers

The scent of a flower is one of its most delightful features. But did you know that the fragrance of a flower is a way for it to communicate? Flowers produce different scents to attract pollinators like bees, butterflies, and birds. Some flowers have sweet, pleasant smells, while others have strong, pungent odors to attract specific types of pollinators.

9. Flowers and Bees

Bees play a crucial role in the life of flowers. They help with pollination, which is the process that allows flowers to produce seeds and reproduce. Bees are attracted to the bright colors and sweet scents of flowers. As they collect nectar, they transfer pollen from one flower to another, helping plants grow and thrive.

10. Flowers and Health Benefits

Flowers are not just beautiful to look at; they also have health benefits. Some flowers, like lavender and chamomile, are known for their calming and soothing properties. Lavender oil is often used in aromatherapy to reduce stress and promote relaxation, while chamomile tea is a popular remedy for insomnia and anxiety.

11. The World's Most Expensive Flower

The most expensive flower in the world is the Kadupul flower, also known as the “Queen of the Night.” This rare and delicate flower blooms only once a year, at night, and wilts before dawn. Because it is so rare and cannot be harvested without damaging it, the Kadupul flower has no market price.

12. Flowers and Cultural Significance

Flowers hold significant cultural importance in many parts of the world. For example, in Japan, the cherry blossom is a symbol of renewal and the fleeting nature of life. In India, marigolds are used in religious ceremonies and celebrations. Different cultures around the world have their own unique traditions and meanings associated with flowers.

13. Flowers That Attract Hummingbirds

Hummingbirds are attracted to flowers that are brightly colored, especially red, orange, and pink. Flowers like trumpet vine, salvia, and petunias are particularly popular with these tiny birds. The shape of these flowers makes it easy for hummingbirds to reach the nectar with their long beaks.

14. The Healing Power of Flowers

Flowers have been used for their healing properties for centuries. For example, the calendula flower is known for its anti-inflammatory properties and is often used in creams and ointments to soothe skin irritations. The echinacea flower is believed to boost the immune system and is commonly used in herbal remedies to fight off colds and infections.

15. Flowers in Space

Flowers are not just limited to Earth; they have also made their way to space! In 2016, astronauts on the International Space Station successfully grew a zinnia flower in space. This was an important step in learning how to grow food in space, which will be crucial for future long-term space missions.

16. Flowers and Art

Flowers have inspired artists for centuries. From Van Gogh's famous sunflower paintings to Georgia O'Keeffe's close-up flower portraits, flowers have been a popular subject in art. Their vibrant colors, delicate shapes, and natural beauty make them a favorite among artists and art lovers alike.

17. Flowers in Literature

Flowers are often used as symbols in literature. For example, in Shakespeare’s play “Hamlet,” the character Ophelia uses flowers to symbolize her emotions and relationships. In modern literature, flowers are still used to convey themes of love, beauty, and the passage of time.

18. Flowers as Gifts

Giving flowers as gifts is a universal gesture of love, appreciation, and celebration. Whether it’s a bouquet of roses on Valentine’s Day, a bunch of daisies for a friend, or lilies for a wedding, flowers are a timeless way to express our feelings.

Flowers are truly remarkable, with so many interesting facts and qualities that make them special. From their ancient origins to their cultural significance, flowers have played an important role in our world for millions of years. They bring beauty, joy, and a touch of nature into our lives, making the world a more vibrant and colorful place.

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onlinefloristsg · 1 year

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Birthday Flower Fun Facts: Impress Your Friends

Birthdays are no exception to the wonderful ability of flowers to give beauty and elegance to any occasion. Flowers have rich myths and symbolism that go beyond their aesthetic appeal and can astound and amuse your companions. Here are some interesting birthday flowers facts to impress your loved ones and spice up your next celebration.

Birth Month Flowers: Did you know that each month has its birth flower? Gifting flowers associated with the recipient's birth month adds a personal touch to your birthday wishes.

Language of Flowers: The Victorians had a complex language of flowers, called floriography, where each flower held a specific meaning. This allowed secret messages to be conveyed through floral arrangements.

Rose Colors: Roses come in various colors, and each color carries a distinct message. Red roses symbolize love, while yellow roses represent friendship and joy. Mixing rose colors can convey a range of emotions.

Edible Flowers: Some flowers are not only beautiful but also edible. Consider adding edible flowers like pansies or violets to your birthday cake for an elegant and tasty touch.

Lucky Numbers: In some cultures, the number of flowers in a bouquet has significance. For instance, giving a bouquet of seven flowers is believed to bring good luck.

Flower Clocks: In the 19th century, people created flower clocks, where different flowers would bloom at specific times of the day. This was used to tell time through flowers.

National Flowers: Many countries have national flowers that hold cultural significance. For example, the lotus is the national flower of India, symbolizing purity and enlightenment.

Preserving Flowers: Pressing and preserved flowers is an ancient art form. It allows you to capture the beauty of birthday blooms to cherish for years.

Floating Flowers: Floating flowers in bowls of water is a calming and decorative way to enjoy their beauty. Lotus and water lilies are popular choices for this practice.

These intriguing facts not only add depth to your knowledge of birthday flowers but also provide interesting conversation starters for your next birthday celebration. Sharing these fun flower facts with your friends can make your gatherings more engaging and memorable.

#birthday flowers #preserved flowers

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bethestaryouareradio · 2 years

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The Smell of Fall

By Cynthia Brian

“Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day! Every leaf speaks bliss to me, Fluttering from the autumn tree...” ~Emily Brontë

When it rained this past week, did you smell it? The scent of earth mixed with fallen leaves and decomposing plant matter signals the transition of the seasons. On the calendar, autumn began on September 22, 2022, but it wasn’t until November that I inhaled this intoxicating aroma that brought back childhood memories of the end of harvest, jumping in piles of leaves, and blazing bonfires.

In just a week, it seemed that so many trees changed their wardrobe from vibrant green to sunset colors of amber, gold, red, bronze, and yellow. The “foliage show” is late here in California, yet it is glorious. As the leaves turn, they also drop, blanketing our landscapes with a marvelous source of nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, and nutrients that the soil craves. As much as you want to tidy your garden, refrain from raking the leaves into your green bin. Leave a layer of leaves on the ground to encourage the photosynthesis process in the natural circle of life. If leaves are too big, mow or cut them and add them to a compost pile with food scraps, lawn clippings, eggshells, coffee grounds, and other biodegradables. After a few months, you’ll have a rich mulch filled with worms and beneficial microbes to add back into your garden at no cost to you. When you add organic materials to your soil, you are providing food for the organisms that improve soil aeration and drainage while reducing soil compaction. The nutrients will release over time

As we inhale the delicious flavors of fall and experience the cooler temperatures, it is also time to perform tasks in preparation for winter.

AUTUMN CHORES

ü CLEAN patio furniture before storing or covering it for the season. It is especially critical to remove bird droppings left on your umbrellas, hammocks, or other furniture.

ü TURN OFF sprinkler systems.

ü CHECK for any irrigation leaks.

ü LEAVE leaves where they fall, spread them around your garden, or add them to a compost pile.

ü FERTILIZE grass, especially when it is going to rain.

ü REMOVE debris, sticks, and weeds from garden beds.

ü PLANT cover crops to fix nitrogen. Fava beans, mustard, and clovers are excellent choices.

ü PICK pumpkins, apples, guavas, squash, and any fruits or vegetables left hanging before frost and rain.

ü DIVIDE overgrown clumps of perennials such as daylilies, agapanthus, iris, or naked ladies. Move them to other locations or share them with fellow gardeners.

ü COVER any exposed soil with straw, grass clippings, aged wood chips, pine needles, or even shredded newspaper to reduce weed growth, moderate soil temperatures, retain moisture, and reduce erosion over winter.

ü BUY six packs of perennials including columbine, carnations, penstemon, and coral bells.

ü BRIGHTEN your fall garden with pops of color from pansies, cyclamen, violas, Mums, stock, Iceland poppies, and primroses.

ü FIND favorite fall color trees to add to your landscape where selections are vast at your local nursery.

ü SCATTER California wildflower seeds including poppies and lupines and sow seeds of sweet Alyssum, bachelor buttons, forget-me-nots, and milkweed.

ü DEADHEAD roses for continued blooms during the holidays.

ü PRUNE dead branches from trees and shrubs.

ü BEWARE hungry coyotes have been on a rampage killing poultry, cats, and small dogs. Keep your animals and small children safe.

ü ENJOY the many colors of lantana blooming throughout fall in purple, orange, red, white, and yellow.

ü GET READY to plant bulbs towards the end of the month for a spring show.

IN THE VEGETABLE GARDEN

During a cold winter, there is nothing better than knowing that you have organic, tasty, greens and vegetables growing right outside your door. Fall is the best time to get these nutritious edibles going for a bountiful harvest in the new year. Most of these plants prefer extra nitrogen. Side-dress them with a balanced fertilizer as they grow.

Plant seeds or seedlings of:

Varieties of lettuce

Asian greens

Spinach

Arugula

Swiss Chard

Chicory

Kale

Cress

Beets

Cabbage

Radish

Broccoli

Broccoli rabe

Carrots

Cauliflower

Kohlrabi

Peas

Turnips

Make sure to plant shallots and garlic now to harvest next summer.

NOT TO BE MISSED

Saturday, November 12th from 3-5 PM, I’ll be in-person reading, telling stories, and signing books from my new children’s book, No Barnyard Bullies, at Point Richmond Art Gallery, 145 West Richmond Avenue, Point Richmond, California, 9480. Families with children are welcome. If you have purchased an NFT from www.StarStyleCommunity.com, you’ll be given a gift.

Monday, November 21st at 2 PM, I’ll be hosting a “Thanksgiving is Every Day” celebration via Zoom for members of the StarStyle® Community. Buy a StarStyle® NFT today that benefits Be the Star You Are!® 501 c3 charity and participate in numerous exclusive experiences designed for members only. www.StarStyleCommunity.com

Although I don’t like the darkness that descends so much earlier when I still have so many chores to complete, I am reveling in the cooler days that allow for laboring longer with less strain. Digging in the dirt in fall bequeaths the most luscious autumn aromas…musty, musky, intoxicatingly earthy. I wish I could bottle it!

Thank you to so many readers who sent me notes of healing. You touched my heart and my spirit, and I am very appreciative. I am following my own advice. Each day anew…and a wee bit slower!

Go outside and breathe in the fragrance of fall and know that, as gardeners, we will be resting soon, along with Mother Nature.

Happy Gardening. Happy Growing!

Photos and more: https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1619/Digging-Deep-with-Goddess-Gardener-Cynthia-Brian-The-musty-sweet-smell-its-fall.html

Press Pass: https://blog.voiceamerica.com/2022/11/11/autumn-aromas/

Raised in the vineyards of Napa County, Cynthia Brian is a New York Times best-selling author, actor, radio personality, speaker, media and writing coach as well as the Founder and Executive Director of Be the Star You Are!® 501 c3. Tune into Cynthia’s StarStyle® Radio Broadcast at www.StarStyleRadio.com. Her newest children’s picture book, No Barnyard Bullies, from the series, Stella Bella’s Barnyard Adventures is available now at www.cynthiabrian.com/online-store For an invitation to hang out with Cynthia for fun virtual events, activities, conversations, and exclusive experiences, buy StarStyle® NFTs at https://StarStyleCommunity.com Hire Cynthia for writing projects, garden consults, and inspirational lectures. [email protected]

https://www.GoddessGardener.com

#fallsmellofautumnplantingchores cynthiabriangardengoddessgardenerstarstyle

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dreamylittlesugarcube · 2 years

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Exo react to their s/o giving them flowers for no particular reason pleaaassseee

Hello, lovely anon! I have completed your request so I hope you like it! Thank you for the fluff-spiration 💕

*Readers, please comment, like, and/or re-blog for others to enjoy!*

*Also, please not that I do not own the images a below, so credit should go to the original owner(s)*

EXO Reacts to their Partner Giving Them Flowers for No Reason

Xiumin

*He’d giggle seeing you standing there holding out a bouquet of flowers to him. “Aren’t I supposed to be getting you flowers?”, he’d ask jokingly. Being the cute little bean that he is, he’d dramatically smell the flowers, then pull you close, resting his chin on your shoulder.*

Baekhyun

*He would get home to find a vase of flowers waiting on the table with a little card saying “Baekhyun”. He’d be confused because it definitely isn’t his birthday. He’d ask why you got him flowers and pout when you just shrugged your shoulders with a little smile. He’d instigate a tickle fight trying to get the reason out of you and you’d distract him with smoochies.*

Chanyeol

*He’d come home to find you waiting with a bouquet of flowers. An internal freak out would ensue as he’d think he forgot your anniversary or something. After you told him it was just for fun, he’d smile shyly and rub the back of his neck before pulling you in for a hug.*

D.O.

*He'd come home to find you standing next to a vase filled with pansies, honeysuckle, and lavender. He’d be bashful when you told you got him flowers just because you wanted to. He’d kiss the top of your head and whisper how adorable you were. “You know these are all edible, right?”*

Kai

*He would literally not know what to do with himself. He’d be blushing all over the place, just being his shy Nini Bear self, then pull you in for a squeeze.*

Suho

*He’d be surprised when you hand him a bouquet of red carnations when you greet him at the door. Blushing, he’d ask: “Did you know red carnations mean ‘I ache for you’?” When you nodded your head, he’d press a soft kiss to your lips.*

Sehun

He’d smile as you presented him with flowers, curious as to why, but only on the inside. On the outside: “Of course you got me flowers. There doesn’t need to be a reason because every day with me is special. You’d roll your eyes and playfully swat his butt, not surprised at his antics at this point (lol).*

Lay

Wakes up to find a vase of flowers waiting for him on the kitchen table. Calls you to ask what they’re for. Blushes when you say ‘just because he’s cute’. Plots to get you the biggest bouquet of red roses he can find in return. Who’s surprising whom, hmmmm….*

Chen

He’d smile when he sees you holding flowers with a big “Chen” card sticking out the top. “Ahhh waeeee”, he’d say, but with laughing affection. He’d put the flowers on the table before leaning down to whisper “You’re so cute” in your ear.*

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ofcloudsandstars · 3 years

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Spring Crossquarter {Beltane} Fantasy Feast

We are nearing the pinnacle of Spring! I long for the day when I can have the most dreamy aromatic sensual Beltane feast and celebration. However creating visual boards is the first step towards that reality. I did go overboard with some of the selections with this one, like I tried to be more Honest in my Imbolc and Ostara board (like as if I were to actually have a feast and constructed a menu) but this one I did not care about portions or the amount of dishes present, I just threw everything in there.

As I have decided to update my 2016 fantasy feasts Beltane was next after Ostara and Imbolc. These visualization posts have helped me manifest some incredible celebrations and gatherings and as my tastes have gotten more extravagant and complicated its time for an upgrade.

In the read more there are the recipe links and additional explanations on personal symbolism and of course the image credits! I also always plan my feasts to be vegan inclusive for those with dietary restrictions but also aim for all the food to be somewhat local which matters in these seasonal feasts since it's celebrating local nature. Anyway there is something for everyone here.

1: Starters Since we are in still in Spring of course there will be a crudité board, yet unlike Ostara which was refreshing and green, this would show all the floral extravagance of spring from the zesty radishes, edible flowers (Romanesco broccoli is technically a flower!) to floral seasonal toppings. To make the dip vegan for all to enjoy I would go for an Oatley crème fraiche dipping sauce I would infuse with some olive oil and chive blossoms. Along with this I would love to have the delicacy of chive butter snails with chive flowers. Not everyone would be adventurous for snails but there are a lot of other ideas here for starters such as the Creamy Garlic Scape with Chive Flower Pesto tart. Or the Purple Pansy Salad Rolls which would be a nice addition to the crudité board. Lastly I just love the presentation of the butterfly sandwiches. I'd imagine them to be like the little cucumber or spiced egg sandwiches you'd get at high tea. If I were to slap all of these dishes into one feast I would mostly have the crudité board with the scape tart and the snails. I am unsure about the rolls and sandwiches because it would just be really filling before the main course! But they deserve to be seen haha.

Floral Crudite Board Creamy Garlic Scape + Chive Flower Pesto and Asparagus Tart Recipe Purple Pansy Salad Rolls Recipe Snails with Chive Flowers Tea Party Butterfly Sandwiches Source

2: Sides The bread choice would be chive rolls. To accompany this would be floral compact butter. A lot of flowers are actually more savory and salady then fragrant and sweet. Even some of the more aromatic blooms have a vegetal undertone to their flavor which is why the violet vinaigrette caught my eye. That would definitely accompany the artichoke veggie main where guests would be able to dip each artichoke petal in. Lastly there will definitely be asparagus locally grown as they taste incredible when fresh out the garden. The ones the local garden I volunteer at taste so aromatic yet also slightly meaty? It's hard to describe but incredible sensual like the same way truffles have a somewhat "meaty" or umami flavor to them but are very aromatic.

Compound Flower Butter Recipe Honorable Mention: Compact Chive Garlic Butter Recipe Cheddar Chive Bread Rolls Asparagus Source Violet Vinaigrette

3: Mains The Main two dishes would be an aromatic duck served with a side of spring onions sliced into blooms. Duck also has such a fragrant and rich flavor to it that would accompany the floral salads and dishes very well. The vegan option would be roasted artichoke that guests can dip into the floral vinaigrette.

Roasted Beer Duck Recipe Garlic Butter Charred Artichoke Recipe Red Onion Flowers with Rosemary Recipe Roasted Onion Flowers

4: Desserts Ok this is definitely where I have gone overboard but there were too many dishes to choose from which made the selection difficult so I just included all of them for the visuals. If I were to host this feast I would realistically just pick 1 or 2 of these things (A cake and a tart) but for each sabbat I have a special dessert, a tart and a simple cake in mind so it would really depend on how many people are attending. For the special dish I would love a floral jelly, a floral panna cotta or floral jello cake like with blossoms or violets. The tart is rhubarb (I know in some regions rhubarb is very summer-y but mid-April is when it's season starts here in the UK) and the pound cake would be rose buttercream or violet sugar. I do love how buttercream can be easily shaped into flowery shapes so I’d be leaning towards that. I just love the complexity and versatility of floral desserts. You do have to be a little familiar with what you're doing because floral flavors can easily go from sensual and enchanting to soap/perfume getting squirted in your mouth. Some flavors like rose and jasmine are very safe but others like lavender and violet can get edgy. A great way to balance those flavors out is adding honey as it balances it with a nectary undertone which makes you feel like you are eating delicious butterfly food instead of a block of soap. Lastly the Wondersmith's beautiful cake is very summer solstice vibe I will admit, but I really loved the presentation of butterflies and the elderflower blooms which are starting to bud around this time of year anyway so I thought it was worth adding in. Usually I would not include anything like strawberries in something like this as I feel they peak closer to summer solstice and are more symbolic to summer than spring for me and the region I live in currently.

Rhubarb Rose-twisted Tart The Wondersmith Elderflower Rhubarb Fairy Cake Lilac & Violet Panna Cotta Tart Lavender Lemon Sugar Pound Cake Rose Buttercream Cupcakes Cherry Blossom Jelly No bake Cheesecake Buttercream Pansy Cake Black Sesame Swirl Cake

Honorable Mentions: Lilac Cake with Matcha Glaze (Gluten Free) Flower Bouquet Cake

5: Drinks Every beverage of course would be infused with more blooms and nectary flavors. I would love to serve fleurette cocktails upon arrival with fairy floss in them that would melt down upon pouring. Fleurette cocktails are pink prosecco, st germain (or elderflower syrup), rose water and a flower garnish. There would be so many options for non alcoholic drinks such as Lavender lemonade, floral teas and of course I would love to have a blooming tea being served in a glass pot during the main course.

La Fleurette Cocktail Fairy Floss Champagne reference Lavender Lemonade Flower Tea Source Blooming Tea Source

Honorable Mentions: Rose Tea Turkish Delight Cocktail

6: Treats Ok finally last part!! This would probably be omitted from a real feast I would host because we would probably get our sweet-tooths satisfied by dessert, however I always feel like including this part as treats always made holidays more memorable for me as a kid. Each holiday had its specific candy or snacks and they were like memorable tokens you acquired and snacked on days later after the celebration. Especially the candy!! If there were kids present these treats would definitely be given in little goody bags maybe in flower pots or planters as buckets to encourage them to grow something for their garden in them. Some ideas for treats would be glazed sugar cookies (the butterfly ones), home made pixie sticks with edible glitter, rose pops (I also love the idea of dressing up regular lollipops as flowers), rose Turkish delights, violet candies and gummy worms. The only savory treat I can think of would be like kale chips.

Rose Cake Pops recipe Butterfly Iced Cookies Homemade Pixie Sticks Homemade Rose Turkish Delights Leone Violets

___________________

Please share your thoughts with me!! Tell me about the recipes you like to have on this day or what you associate with spring. I feel like my approach to Beltane may be different from what most of the community does but its because it's often a reflection of the nature that surrounds me. I grew up this time of the year being bombarded (literally I was surrounded by magnolia trees) with flowers so Beltane has always been a sensual floral flirty fairy festival to me.

_________________

Image Credits:

Beltane Tea by Julia Nikitina Butterfly Animation Gif Embracing by: James R Eads Floral Tablescape Bigger Floral Tablescape Rose Lanterns Misty Forest with Bluebells Magnolia Tree Mushroom Lantern Floral candles and Lilac Dessert tablescape

#beltane #feast #recipe #recipes #food #spring crossquarter #crossquarter #sabbat #feast days #I went overboard with this one #fairycore #spring magic #long post #I'll probably end up redoing this one cause it's so excessive lol

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 3 years

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Hogwarts No.1 Ship

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader Word count: 3.4k Summary: You - Rubeus Hagrid’s niece and a surprising slytherin - have a crush on the Slytherin prince himself, but you are sugar and he is spice and there is no world where the two of you would fit together...right? Warning: Swearwordsm concussion, broken bones, but mostly fluffffffffff Requested by the amazing and patient (I’m really sorry it took so long) @onlycherryblossom: Hi! I love your work and I was wondering if you could right a Draco Malfoy x Reader. you know, the one we talked about. It'd be so awesome! i hope you have a good day/night! (I won’t put our chat in here so that I don’t spoiler anything)

Hogwarts had rarely ever known two students who were as opposite to each other as Draco Malfoy and Y/N Hagrid. Draco - who was the embodiment of how people imagined the stereotype of Slytherin to be - was (most of the time) a prideful, cold, unempathetic prick, while you were a selfless, positive thinking, kind and gentle soul that could‘ve been a descendant of Helga Huffelpuff herself. The two of you did have one thing in common though. Your house. The hat had made you both into Slytherins which was on Draco’s side not surprising at all, but quite a shock for everyone who had talked to you for even a minute. Probably the biggest shock was courtesy of Rubeus Hagris - Half-Giant and your adopted uncle (on his father’s side) - who insisted that the hat must have made a mistake, but was quickly shot down by Dumbledoor who assured that the hat didn‘t make any mistakes. After some initial tumbling though, Hagrid realized that the house didn‘t make the person and that it didn‘t matter in what house you were sorted into, you’d always be his little pumpkin. And he was quite right. Even after you had been a Slytherin for just about five years, you had only grown more kind and loving - having bonded with many people in the other houses and years, but not quite as many in your own house. You’d call Blaze and Millicent maybe something close to friends and Pansy tolerated you which is why you gave her the title of ‘good acquaintances‘, but other than that you didn‘t really have a lot of contact with them in your free time. The most complicated relationship you held though was the one to the aforementioned Draco Malfoy. In a weird twist of fate the two of you somehow became the main ship in Hogwarts (with Harry and Ginny or Harry and Hermione as close second) even though you couldn‘t remember more than two or three times that you had talked to the boy outside of a classroom or study environment. Sure, he had never bullied or teased you which already differentiated you from most of the students, but you simply explained it by the fact that you were a good student - especially in potions class - and behaved well enough to gain a number of house points which made you into a good asset to Slytherin and as such made you a less logical target. Now all in itself that would‘ve been more than fine with you, but for some stupid reason your heart decided to betray you against it‘s better judgement and fall for him. Somehow, even after years of seeing him kick others down and behave like a complete douchebag you couldn‘t help but blush slightly at the mention of his name and feel your heart flutter when you walked by him in the hall or in the common room. The worst part was in potions class where he sat right beside you after Snape deemed your former partner as way too unqualified for one of his best students and exchanged him for Draco. Working with him in and of itself was actually rather nice. He was a good student and did his work thoroughly and mindfully, but you found it hard to concentrate when his hand brushed yours as you read a passage in the book or when he poured ingredients in the coultron that you were stirring. You really tried to ignore your feelings and ban every thought of him, but it seemed like you weren‘t doing the best job at it since your uncle kept asking about what it was that was distracting you all the time. On a rainy October day fairly at the beginning of your fifth year you decided you had enough. You were sitting in your Uncles hut with a plate of more or less edible cookies in front of you and a cup of something that was surely supposed to be tea when you finally gathered the courage to say what you had been meaning to say for weeks now. “Uncle Rubeus, can I ask you something?” Hagrid turned to you with his usual smile as he patted fang who was drooling all over his lap where he had laid his head. “Course ya can pumpkin. What’s it about?” “Uhm...well… you know there is this boy that I-“ “Ohhh Ah see,” Hagrid quickly interrupted you before you could even ask the question, “Ya know, usually I’d be more than happy to help ya with every question you have but ah really don’t thin’ I’m the right person for this, I’m sorry.” A little bit disappointed but not really surprised you just sighed and shook your head, telling him that it was okay, before bidding your goodbyes and making your way back to the castle quietly mulling over what exactly your plan b should be now that plan a had failed and you still had no idea what to do with or how to get rid of your stupid crush on Draco.

“You know what I would do if I were you?“ Ginny asked and pointed the end of her quill at you. The both of you were sitting in a corner of the library where you had planned to help her study for her upcoming potions exam, only for her to basically interrogate you until you admitted that you had an unlucky crush, even though she luckily hadn‘t pushed you to tell her who the guy you had a crush on was. “I‘d probably just tell them, I mean what do you have to lose. Either he‘ll say yes and you‘re happy or he says no and you just avoid him like he doesn‘t even exist - which would honestly be the appropriate reaction if he refuses a snack like you. See, no real downside to it.“ “Oh really? Hmmm, I wonder why you haven‘t told Harry how you feel yet then,“ you teased her and tapped your chin. Ginny‘s face immediately started to rival the colour of her hair and the way she crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted reminded you of an overgrown toddler - but in a cute way. “I-I don‘t like Harry, okay? I mean I did when I was like ten because he was famous and I was a child,“ she tried to make sure you really knew how silly she wanted you to believe she thought it was by drawing out the word child for a good few seconds before rolling her eyes and looking to the side, “And anyway, it‘s not like he‘d date his best friend’s sister…“ “Oh Gin,“ you immediately felt bad and grabbed one of her hands with yours, “Have you looked at yourself? You‘re amazing and if Harry doesn‘t see that through his stupid invisible cloak and these glasses than he doesn‘t even deserve you.“ “Even though I admit that yes, I am amazing, this isn‘t the topic that we should be conversing about right now, remember? I think there‘s a certain blond Slytherin that you should be worried about more right now.“ Immediately blood shot right to your cheeks and you quickly looked around to make sure no one could‘ve heard her before leaning forward and hissing: “What? No? I don‘t like Draco? Why would you even think that? I never said that he is the one I have a crush on.“ Ginny just raised her eyebrows in an unimpressed manner, leaning back in her chair and picking the quill back up to play around with while she talked. “Listen honey, I‘m not judging you or anything. Don‘t get me wrong, I still and probably will always think Draco is a major asshole and doesn‘t even deserve to breath the same air as you-“ “He isn‘t that bad…“ “Yes he is, but anyways, no matter what I think of him I also know that you are a clever girl that knows how to protect herself and who knows, maybe you‘d even have a good influence on him.“ Images of you and Draco together with your friend group laughing and having fun crossed your mind and you could feel your heartbeat fasten involuntarily. “That‘s all great and good, but like I said, I don‘t have a crush on Draco,“ you gave the hope of getting out of this situation with the lie you‘ve been telling yourself for months still intact one last try, but Ginny didn‘t give it the time of day. “Oh please, I see the way you look at him in the dining hall and how your eyes are always on him when he‘s playing quidditch and just now you defended him even though the two of you aren‘t even friends. My love-radar is pinging like crazy around the two of you which is why I, Ginny Wealey also known as the love witch-“ “No one calls you that,“ you interrupted her only to be shushed by an evil glare. “I, Ginny Weasley, will help you in fulfilling your desire and getting together with Draco and I already have the perfect plan.“ “No no no no, please don‘t! Don‘t do this! Ginny no!“ you tried to make your point clear but she was already cleaning up her stuff and getting ready to leave. “Don‘t worry oh sweet Y/N, the next time we‘ll talk everything will be set in motion,“ she winked before dashing off leaving you standing in her figurative dust with your mouth agape for a few seconds before you let your head sink onto the table. This would definitely take an interesting turn…

After that you definitely started to actively avoid Draco which was - surprisingly enough - not as easy as you thought. Somehow he was almost always at least in your near vicinity. Besides the obvious factors of class (where you tried to focus on working and on praying whatever Ginny had planned wouldn‘t happen) and when you were eating in the great hall (where you had resorted to sitting at the very end of the table as far away from him as possible) he seemed to also be there in your free time. You were relaxing in the common room? He was there reading a book. You were outside with Harry and co.? Guess who’s coming their way to insult them (while not saying a single bad thing about you). By now there were just about three places where you were sure that he wouldn’t be able to pop up at any given moment. Your room, the bathroom and the potions classroom on Wednesday and Friday afternoon when class has already ended. After Snape had realized that he had some real potions-potential sitting in front of him he offered you extra credit as some sort of teaching assistant which basically meant that you helped him prepare lessons, helped him grade the first to third years tests and that you cleaned up and organized the potions classroom twice a week. Now usually, knowing that you were more than capable of handling the potions and ingredients standing around on your own after having seen you do it for a few months, you‘d be alone while you cleaned up except for the occasional visit of your professor to tell you which ingredients you should put on the students desks for the next class, but for some reason the next Friday - three days after Ginny had made her promise to you - the door already stood open and you could hear Professor Snape talking to someone. “I really expected better of you, your action is the reasons Slytherin has lost 50 housepoints and I hope you know that it is on you to gain them back, no matter your status,“ Snape‘s voice carried to where you stood and you wondered who the student was if Snape went so easy on them with his lecture. Usually you‘d be afraid for your life after losing even ten house points so getting such a calm reaction for 50 must‘ve really meant something. Your questions about the identity of the student were answered when you entered the dungeon room and immediately felt yourself freeze. Of course not even you (time dependent) sanctuary was safe anymore. Of course Draco just had to stand there and look at you without any identifiable emotion in his gaze. “Ah, Miss Hagrid, right on time as always,“ Snape nodded after he also noticed you and you felt slightly more at ease knowing that with him there nothing could really happen. “Should I come back later?” you asked politely, not sure if you had interrupted something. “No, you may stay. Mister Malfoy over here has got himself caught trying to sabotage McGonagall class, a childish act which I would’ve expected of the Weasleys but really not from you. As a punishment he will be the one to clean the potions classroom bi-weekly from now on until he has regained the house points lost. You’ll supervise him.” “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure I understand.” “Malfoy will do all the cleaning but since he has no experience with it I can’t just leave him alone so, since you’d be here anyway, you can watch him and make sure that everything goes orderly.“ It wasn‘t really a question as much as a command, something that you were used to from Snape, so you just nodded and bid him goodbye as he went to his office, leaving you and Draco behind. By now you had seen through what was happening. This was Ginny‘s plan. Somehow she must‘ve managed to blame Malfoy for the prank on McGonagall - something rather extreme given the taken house points- hoping (or somehow knowing) that his punishment would force you to spend at least an hour with him alone in a dimmed room twice a week. Inwardly you cursed your friend, while outwardly you tried everything to avoid directly looking at Draco as you explained his tasks to him before you sat down at your usual place and pulled out a book really hoping you could get him to not talk to you that way. Either your plan was working great or Draco just really didn‘t care for you, because an hour later you still hadn‘t exchanged any words, instead he dutifully, but slightly pouting, had done his job while you shot him the occasional glance to make sure he was doing it correctly. “I think that was all, you should be good to go now,“ you told him with a small smile, relieved that you were finally free to leave the room and with that the tension that had built up inside you as a mix of nervousness and fear. Draco had opened his mouth to respond when a third year came rushing inside with at least twelve books in her arms that almost towered over her which she quickly placed on a table, slightly out of breath. “Professor Snape sent me. He said these have to be sorted and put away.” You could probably feel Draco’s sigh before he had made it and - not really fond of spending more time so frustratingly close to your crush and yet so far - you just nodded and told both of them that you’d take care of it and that they could leave, which both promptly did. You took the books and carried them to the back of the room where a sole, old bookshelf was standing - since the students mostly had their own books - and started putting them away when you heard a sickening crunch before suddenly the shelf including books came crashing down at you and before you could even think to pull out your wand, the world turned black.

“I’m so so so sorry, you were right I shouldn’t have interfered, if I’d just listened to you you wouldn‘t be lying here now,“ Ginny whined from beside your bed where she had been sitting for the past twenty minutes apologizing over and over again and blaming herself for the broken arm, leg and the concussion that had you unable to leave the infirmary for the next three days to a week. “Ginny, how often do I gotta tell you, it isn’t your fault! I would’ve sorted those books in anyways - no matter if you had pulled that prank or not - and it would’ve fallen anyways,” you tried to reassure her and gave her a soft smile. “But-“ “No but, okay? We can’t change the past anyways, and even if we could I wouldn’t because thanks to you, I don’t have to take that stupid DADA test.” Your attempt to lighten the mood seemed to work, because soon you and Ginny were back to your usual conversation-style and it relieved you immensely. It made you feel okay again. She was just telling you of a stung Harry had pulled in the Gryffindor Common room when she suddenly paused mid sentence and looked up. You followed her eyes to where they were placed firmly on a certain Platinum blond boy that looked simultaneously like he’d rather be everywhere else and like he was glad to be there, it was a sight to see. “I think I’ll leave for now, I’ll come back later with tons of sweets that Luna and I are going to steal from Harry’s personal stash,” Ginny said goodbye and gave you a wink as she walked away making you torn between wanting to roll your eyes and feeling yourself blush. Unsure of what to do next you motioned to the chair that Ginny had just occupied and Draco seemed to get the hint because he quickly sat down. “Hey-“ “Hi-“ “Sorry, you first.” “No it’s fine, you’re injured, you go first.” “Well, uhm-“ you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, “-I wanted to thank you, for bringing me here I mean, Madame Pomfrey told me you carried me all the way.” You looked away hoping that he wouldn’t see how nervous you were. “You don’t need to thank me, I couldn’t just let you lay there buried under books, your not Granger after all,” he said, seemingly trying to joke but immediately noticed that it was probably not the best thing to say given that you and Hermione were good friends. “Listen, what I came here for,” now it was Draco’s turn to take a deep breath, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but you were always with Potter or avoiding me or whatever, but after I saw you lying there… I guess I was just worried for you, I really don’t want you to get hurt.” Now that definitely caught your attention. For a second you played with the thought that this could possibly not be Malfoy but just someone else playing him with the help of polyjuice potion because he was definitely not acting like himself, but something in his word convinced you otherwise. “Thanks, I think, but would you mind me asking why? I mean...we’re not really the closest of friends,” you asked him, looking directly into his face to search signs of a possible answer. “Fuck it, I like you, okay? Happy?” You were completely stunned. Stunned, speechless, shocked. In all the time that you had been crushing on him you had never even really considered even the slightest possibility that he could reciprocate your feelings but now here he was telling you straight up. “You-You like me? Like like-like me?” You asked, just really wanting to be sure. There was a hint of nervousness and worry in his eyes, but he hid it behind a wall of annoyance. “You heard me, didn’t you? So, just get it over with, do you like me too or do you not, because if you don’t then I don’t want to waste my time any longer.” This definitely sounded more like the Draco you were used to and you had to giggle a little bit. “Yes, yes I like you too,” you confessed and like it was the most natural thing in the world you moved the uninjured hand over to where he laid on your bed and took it in yours. For the moment, you were caught in the shimmer of happiness and glee at having your crush there with you, definitely something more than your crush, and it would probably take a while until you‘d realize that there were some interesting things to follow, like telling your uncle about this for example...

#Draco Malfoy #Draco Malfoy x reader #draco #harry potter #hogwarts x reader #harry potter x reader #ginny weasley #professor venomous #oneshot #hogwarts oneshot #harry potter oneshots #hogwarts

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thesweetestkimberry · 4 years

Text

“try this!”

pairings: tamaki amajiki x latina!reader

summary: you get bored, so one day you decide to test out some new foods with tamaki’s quirk.

warnings: sexual innuendo, tamaki being a blushy baby, spanish, yeah?

notes:don’t have much to say about this one but ENJOY!

『° 。✰˚⋆☾⋆。✰°』

“baaaabe.” you say gently poking your head into the bedroom in your shared apartment. “y-yes love?” he responds, head looking up from the book he had in his lap.

you grinned and ran to the bed, launching yourself onto it. he made a sound of surprise as he scrambled to curl himself away from the way you jumped onto the bed.

you sat up on your knees and slapped your thighs, tamaki stared into your wide eyes and swore he saw sparkles in them. his face flushed at how close you were to him, noses practically brushing against each other.

“wha-what is it bunny?” he asked you, as you kissed the tip of his nose. “can we try something with your quirk?” you ask.

the poor boy froze and stared wide eyed, his face leaving his blank expression which then exploded into a flustered embarrassed look. you swear you saw steam coming out of his ears as he slumped down. confusion settling in on your face until a blush creeped up on your own.

“no no no! not like that! cochino” you say fanning your poor boyfriend. “what did you mean?” he quietly asked as you rested his head on your thighs, the blush never leaving his face.

“what have you eaten for your quirk?” you ask as he looks up at you, thinking for a moment. “well, chicken, ta-takoyaki, horse meat, clam, cow, and i think that’s all...” he thought aloud,

“there was also that crystal from the shie hassaikai raid.” he mumbles, “oh yeah! i remember that, well i doubt that tastes any good.” you respond, watching him shake his head, remembering the way the crystal went down his throat, nearly coughing at the memory. while you bounced excitedly in place at your idea, you just had to ask him, “can i feed you some stuff?” you ask bending down to press your forehead against his.

“sure bunny.” he said gently with a smile that matched yours. he reached a hand up to run it through your hair, making you giggle and place a kiss onto his lips.

“be right back.” you say getting up and running to the kitchen, to gather a bunch of foods and produce, running back into the room after about three minutes. tamaki sat criss cross on the bed, waiting patiently for your return.

you jumped back onto the bed, arms full of different foods. sitting in the same position as him, you lay out the foods next to you, tamaki staring at them warily.

you scoop up a piece of birria and hold it up to his mouth, “say ‘ah’.” you say laughing as he shyly opened his mouth blushing as you fed him. he chewed and swallowed, watching you as you waited for the food to settle. “okay go!” you saw after a few minutes, watching as he thought for a moment. suddenly, two little horns began to grow atop his head.

“woah!” you shout as you gently rub the horns, tamaki even watches in awe, eyes darting to the mirror on your vanity to check out his reflection. “now this.” you say holding up a piece of chicharrón to his lips.

he bites into the crunchy snack, flinching a bit at the loud noise it made while also leaning over your cupped hand to catch the crumbs. watching him chew and swallow, you ate the remaining piece and waited for him to activate his quirk.

he quickly covered his face and his eyes scrunched shut at a feeling in his nose, “you okay??” you ask slightly worried it may have had a negative effect on him, only to relax when he felt the tension in his nose dissipate, he did however feel something different.

slowly removing his hands, an adorable pig nose was in place of tamaki’s, the new feature twitching at the scent of the other foods.

“aw!! how cute!” you coo, pulling him into a hug, his face buried in your chest until he managed to wiggle his way out.

“next!” you cheer, looking through your various snacks and foods, this time unwrapping a paleta payaso.

“bunny that’s a lolly pop, i-i don’t think anything’s going to happen.” he says a little dejectedly, you chuckle and plant a kiss to his cheek, smiling when he flushes and tries to hide his face.

“can’t hurt to try, toma, it’s marshmallow inside.”you say holding the candy up to his lips, you wait patiently for him to take a bite, and when he does, his face lights up.

“t-this is really good.” he nods and tries to activate his quirk, only to become saddened when he sees nothing happened. before he could apologize, you gasp, “are you feeling okay? you went pale!” you explain, moving a hand to hold his hand, only to squeeze it.

that may sound normal, but no, your hand was really squeezing his like it had no bones, in face, the more you poked and prodded you realized his whole body was,

“like a marshmallow!” you laugh out, watching him pinch his own skin in amazement, “that actually might be useful...” he says more to himself.

“okay, what about this?” you say holding up a concha, “okay, now i really think that isn’t going to do anything.” tamaki offers, a little more excited to try the snacks and foods you’d feed him, even if some may not work with his quirk.

“just try it.” you say as he once again takes a shy bite of the pan dulce you fed him, waiting a moment and activating his quirk. he stared at his hands and watched as they slowly turned pink, both your gaze and his watching in awe as his whole skin turned a light pink.

“guess it’s the dye?” you offer. you noticed he had a few crumbs of sugar left on his cheek, so you slyly went and licked away the crumbs making him stutter. “wait!” you shout, making him jump and freeze. you lean in again and lick his cheek a bit, offering the poor boy no personal space, “tamaki, you’re sweet!” you cry out.

“i’m what??” he asks, lifting his hand to offer the tip of his finger a gentle lick, only to reel back in surprise when he did in fact taste sweet.

“if that’s what that does, only god knows what would happen to you if you tried a mazapán.” you joke to yourself, tamaki not understanding your implication.

“okay last one,” you say as you hand him a pansy flower, making him arch a brow and stutter. “it’s edible, I promise. my grandmother taught me this.” you say as he took the flower from your hand, biting it off it’s stem, chewing and swallowing it.

soon enough, small buds began to sprout all over his arms and a few on his face. you cooed at how adorable he looked covered in the purple and gold flowers. a few smaller ones that splayed across his face looked almost like freckles. some even grew out of his hair!

“ay que lindo!!” you shout. enamored with your boyfriend, you took his face in your hands and gently placed a kiss on his lips. tamaki sat rigid but soon melted into your kiss.

after a few gentle moments, you felt him place his hands over yours and kiss back. “i love you.” he says softly as more flowers begin to bloom over him, making you kiss the empty spots on his cheeks. “i love you too, Tama.” you say placing the final chaste kiss on his lips

#tamaki amajiki #amajiki x reader #mha amajiki #amajiki fluff #tamaki x reader #bnha tamaki #latina reader

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iicarusflew · 2 years

Text

Catch-22

Things hadn’t gone exactly to Draco’s plan.

Correction: It was absolutely, empirically, nauseatingly worse.

Like, Olympics level of shit, top-tier gold level mess.

[ALTERNATIVELY, Draco is a brat, Hermione is intrigued and he gets a truckload of shits wrong before he gets something just right] [Modern AU. Non magical setting]

Things hadn’t gone exactly to Draco’s plan.

Correction: It was absolutely, empirically, nauseatingly worse.

Like, Olympics level of shit, top-tier gold level mess.

______

He didn’t mean to cheat. And, to be fair, it wasn’t even cheating. It wasn’t as if he and Pansy were on some mutual agreement to settle on monogamy with boring nightly calls and goodbye kisses and dinner dates with her comically unfortunate roommate Daphne. It was Pansy—it was supposed to be banters and sneerings and parties interspersed with fun, athletic sex. They weren’t exclusive, they weren’t permanent.

Except… maybe they were. Maybe when Pansy asked him if they were serious, he shouldn’t have kissed her instead of answering. But she looked so kissable, so absolutely edible—his mouth went dry, he thought about their friendship, the length of it and how it tigented the noose around his neck. He thought about him and his messy, chaotic life and how she’s always, always been there. She was looking at him, legs stretched over him on the loveseat in his living room. Bleary eyed Pansy, smoking on that godawful weed Blaise had bought, trying to act as if she didn’t care, didn’t even count that. But she did. He knew that—and understood the necessity of the act—because she was his friend. His oldest friend. His only source of stability in a world of shifting loyalties.

Of course he couldn’t break her heart.

Of course he did so so much worse.

He hates himself.

______

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, is what the law says. If you push an object, it will push back, if you say something hurtful, remnants of the words crack on the atmosphere and flick back at you, like splinters on your skin.

Bad decisions are like that, too.

People like Draco and Pansy double down on that. Conundrums one on top of the other and the other until it’s a seven story fuck-up. Until it’s entanglement and friction and everything they wanted to avoid in the first place. If you hate confrontations and take roads that avoid the electrifying, mortifying stretch of nerves, you will most definitely end up in a much much worse place.

Draco hates confrontations, the contrite words condensing at his stomach, the claw of them as he tries to push them out into the air and come clean. He is his father’s son, with his platinum blond hair and pointed chin and a drastically bad wordsmanship. He was a Malfoy with the charm and the ego and the propensity to fuck up and never look back.

Draco wanted to change that, he did. After lawsuits in his father’s name and the court cases and cover ups and hefty donations to charities he wouldn’t bother to know the names of, he was supposed to change. Grow up. Be better. Own up to his mistakes.

But.

But that wasn’t what he did. He called her religiously every night to say goodbye, made those awful kissy noises on the speaker to which she either replied with equally sticky noises or a gag. He met with her dad every other Sunday for golf and lost every time. He went on double dates with Daphne and whichever tattooed bohemian asshole she decided to date for the week. He did all of that so he wouldn’t have to talk to her. Tell her he’s been feeling stuck, which isn’t how it was with them. It was easy, to talk to her, to let her solve whatever new shit he fucked up.

She was his girl. Just not… his girlfriend.

How the fuck do you explain that?

So there he was, drunk enough to partially dull his senses, partially forget that he’s decided to confront Pansy tonight. But sober enough to realize he’s doing it again. Deflecting, running, pressing down the cold sense of responsibility with dull, dumb determination and he keeps kissing this girl. Unnamed. Unimportant.

He thinks she initiated the contact, he’s sure of that. Seventy percent sure of that. He’s sure of her dress that was maroon and tight and he was sure that she had sky blue eyes. In fact, he could swear that when she flicked her eyes at him the blue in them were the glaring neon signs of bad fucking decisions.

And before he even knew what was happening he was shoved into a room and he was kissing this girl—unidentified, unnamed blonde—and he had his fly undone. And she was pushing his jeans down and down and he kept thinking—

Wow this does not feel great.

And, I really should talk to Pansy.

And, does she taste like salmon?

And, he’s an asshole, he knows. He was thinking that as he helped her out of her lacy black bra, as she gave him a lopsided smile and he absentmindedly thought she was pretty. He dipped down to kiss and bite and suck on her shoulder and thought how much he hated himself. And he really should sit down and tell his girlfriend that just because she knew how many ways he was a douche didn’t help him—

But then. A shriek tore them apart, mostly out of their clothes. And it was a familiar shriek, she was just who he’d been thinking about and—

Oh god.

“Pansy?” he blurted, instinctively reaching for his shirt. Because there she was, wide-eyed, open mouthed and… choking on her words, holding the handle of the door as if her life depended on it.

The other girl scurried to put back her clothes. And Draco almost complimented her on how fast she was. How deft. Was she into sports? Did she find herself in these situations often? If yes , then could she advise him on how to handle this?

This . Pansy, slowly sliding past to let her go, not even sparing a glance on her, even as she spluttered an apology. She didn’t close the door, didn’t move a muscle as Draco put back his clothes. His fingers spasmed, he couldn’t button his shirt.

“Pans…” he started, stopped, then again. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I didn’t think—”

“There are so many things you don’t think about, Draco,” she says calmly. Much too calmly. “Which one is it now?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Already said that.”

A terrible shiver rose up to this throat. He took a step, then another, then another by some great persistent pull towards her. Pansy backed a little, her entire face screwed shut like it does when she’s disappointed, and dissipated, and really fucking sad. Not for the first time, he feels regret, and a violent rush of shame. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wasn’t even that into the girl, he wanted to tell her it’s his old fucking vice. One bad decision led to another and he loved her like a friend. And there’s no other way he can love her. And he’s reaching to her, his hand, stretched out palm and he thinks he’s mumbling that he's sorry. That he made another bad decision. He’ll do anything to make it up to her, even continue the relationship and—

He doesn’t get to tell her any of that.

As soon as his fingertips touch her cheeks she coils back and, before he can blink or think, punches him straight in the nose.

He sees a blinding white light.

And then he sees stars.

______

He runs after her. After his head stopped spinning. It takes a while to fight through a clear vision. He can distinctively feel the rush of blood to his ears and his head as he runs through the flashing disco lights and hallways filled with people. The entire campus feels alive with the beat of the party, the walls vibrate with music. His nose hurts like a bitch. Pansy looks tiny, but she has been training Jiu-jitsu since she was eleven, after her mum died and her father became paranoid about—well, just about everything.

Draco knows that because he has known her all his life. Which only makes it worse. He’s never been on the receiving end of her spite.

Spite. What a mean little word. Full of venom. And hurt and anger and everything he used to feel for everyone. The emotion he only recently started associating with her. Is it easier that she reciprocates now? Is it—

He bumps into a guy while he runs, head still heavy, mind still clouded and he barely thinks before he calls out to the guy already speeding past people as loud as he could—

“Watch where you’re going!”

The guy stops, faded denim jacket and dark hair. His shoulders straighten and he turns back. His face is scrunched up in annoyance. He pushes his specs on the bridge of his nose, as he comes closer, Draco thinks he looks familiar.

“ You pushed me ,” he says gruffly.

“Yeah?” Draco snorts. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

“I was avoiding a fight.” He still has all of him scrunched up. Like his entire body is contorting into a dot. “Or was trying to.”

And he has the calm sneer. The patient chiding that reminds him too much of Pansy, and incidentally, too much of himself and he can’t help it. He decides that he hates this guy, dark hair swept up like he’s been through the wrong end of a tunnel. Which is also when memory pours onto his with such drastic force that he can’t help but blurt out—

“I know you!” he points his finger. “You’re Harry Potter.”

This changes something in him. A ripple. Like a violin string snapped with a finger. He suddenly takes a step back, then, reimbursing, takes a step forward and seethes, “You don’t know me.”

Draco laughs. “Blaise said some celebrity is coming here, man. I thought it was that YouTuber… that whatshisname or summat. The one who ate a dozen raw eggs.” He feels lightheaded. “But we only got you.”

“Are you high?” he asks incredulously.

“Do you have the scar? Of course you have the scar. Can I see it?”

“Fuck off, man.”

“Oww come on. Isn’t it what makes you so special, Chosen One? I heard some of the papers even call you the Boy Who Lived.”

Draco eyes the fist on the guy’s free hand and something about it—the veins popping on the skin, the anticipation of a fight, the electrifying ordeal of it, the need to know how much he can push this random guy until he breaks—makes him even more determined. Insufferable. Douchey.

“Is it easier with girls?” he asks. “I’m having a tough time with my girlfriend as of now. I bet you don’t have any of these issues. I bet it’s easy for you to pick up girls. Do you just show them your scar?”

Harry Potter stares at him as if he’s a bug, or a giant baboon. Draco stares with anticipation as anger and then disgust and finally, finally, dejection flashes over the guy’s face. “You’re not worth it,” he snaps, backing away.

And Draco won’t— can’t— take that. Of course he’s worth it. A tiny shot of electricity jumps at his forehead. He has the last word on anything. He is Draco fucking Malfoy and this—

“Hey, Scarface! Talk to me. Tell me how you—”

He can’t talk. Suddenly, before he can process, there’s a blunt force to his nose and it stings. His hand reaches up to his nose and Potter is already pushing past him. Draco blinks and the lights seem brighter, more out of focus and… floating. He thinks of Pansy and the girl he kissed a moment ago, about the fact that no one plays any good songs at college parties and what the fuck did Blaise put in the drink? He feels lightheaded, he bumps back to the wall.

Fuck me, is his last thought before he falls down for the second time in the night.

______

He notices her eyes, first. Big, wide eyes. Brown, earthly, concerned. Very fucking concerned and sweet. And they just of swim in and out of his consciousness, the only focal point in the blurry mess of his vision, and he lets it, holds on to it for a moment until he yanks himself up, palms pressed on the cool tiles of the floor and sits up, straighter, with more purpose, against a solid background. He feels slightly dizzy and slightly bummed out and massively fucked up as he squints at the owner of the eyes. Holds on to their color for another moment. The eyes blink.

Then the rest of her resurfaces. Hers is a familiar face. Familiar, someone he glances past each day, familiar, how her curls framer her face, like the shape of her eyes makes perfect sense with her eyebrows, the folded skin between the spaces of those, the arch of her nose, the freckles studded cheeks and the arch of her cheekbone and he squints at her, again, because doesn’t he recognize the heart-shaped lips and how they move when she talks about—

Books?

Simone de Bouvier?

French toasts?

“Are you alright?” she asks, and then cringes at herself. “I mean, as much as you could be in the current situation. Better?”

He groans, hitches his shoulders, tries to wiggle his fingers on his much too flaccid arms, moves his knees which are, by the way, spread flat on the surface as the girl crouches by his side. He does his entire self a good—moderately good, questionably good—once over and says, rasps, really, “I think so. Good. Better.”

She nods encouragingly. Now the rest of the senses come in. He can hear the loud, roaring noises of the party and the beating thump of the floor as they blast Cool for the Summer with the highest, campiest fucking base and the space is cramped and sweaty and he smells something sweet. Something like cinnamon and cloves and his head stings again. He blinks against the piercing light.

“How long was I out?” he manages to groan.

“No idea. I saw you like ten seconds ago? You were—do you want to get up?” she eyes at him like someone would eye at a cat caught in a net. “I’ll help you?”

He slumps back down from his effort. “Yes, no. Let’s just sit here for a while.”

She lets out a chuckle, a really breathy, really soft chuckle that makes him wonder if it’s an impromptu giggle. Or a snort or some rendition of—

“So… you were just kind of slumped and no one was even noticing and honestly it was sort of panic inducing to see this lifeless body—”

“Not lifeless.”

“ Perceived lifeless body. Middle of the busty party with people dancing all around you. Sort of enigmatic, prophetic. Like maybe Gatsby if he fell flat on one of his parties.”

He smiles instinctively. “It happens. At these parties. Everyone’s just kind of used to it. They probably saw the entire thing.”

“What happened?”

“Someone punched me.” He scrunches his face. “I probably deserved it… though I don’t remember that much.”

“I’m Hermione—”

“Granger, I know.” And he does, suddenly, like lightning, like a blip. He pushes on his hands and sits up straighter. He definitely knows her. “You finished the reading list Flitcwick gave us over the summer.”

Her eyes light up for a moment before she lets out a soft chuckle and says, “Yeah. It was nothing. I had most of them down already.”

He had all of them down already. But he didn’t want to tell her that. He wanted to linger on that chuckle, the soft gasp of breath. And her smell. Cinnamon and clove and something that reminded him distinctly of books, the kind of first editions that had yellowing pages and really crumbling texture.

The music stops being less awful. There are people passing them without so much of a second glance and shit, his head hearts. And he wonders if it’s for the drink of the punch of just him being a douche. Is it just his life? The party. Pansy.

Pansy.

He groans.

“What?” Hermione suddenly looks worried. “Are you feeling worse?”

“Yeah… no.” He shakes his head. “I just did something shitty. Really shitty.”

“Is that why you’re—?”

His eyes widen. “ No . Yes. I don’t—fuck.” He tries to get up, he falls back down. Hermione Granger has a very particular expression splattered all over her face, it’s something he knows very much of. It stings. The pity in her eyes as she helps him get up, lets him warp his arm around her shoulder for support. “It’s all the same.”

She makes a noncommittal shrug, and he turns his head to stare at her face, and something else—something very unlikely in the current scenario, but very him— comes to his mind like a trip of consciousness, like a trip of words.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles, the scoffs, “of course you are.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It makes sense. Bad things come in threes.”

“Yeah. Yes.” She snorts. “That actually doesn’t explain anything, so.”

“Pansy says… bad things come in three,” he says, as if that explains everything. They were sitting in his tree house—a few thousand dollar monstrosity with wallpapers and a password protected lock system his mother gave him for his eighth birthday—sniffing, not letting tears pull in her eyes, her mother had died, she learned about the fact that her parents were opting for a divorce before that, and she was just so so scared about the third thing.

Draco gifted her a dog the next day to make her feel better.

It turned out that she had a very specific allergy to furs. She had to be hospitalized.

So.

In present time, Granger continues to stare at him with appraising eyes. He coughs awkwardly.

“So I did something really shitty to Pansy. She punched me. And then I came here and… another guy punched me. I deserved it both times, but, you see. Two disasters. The other one was bound to happen.”

“And that is…?”

“You’re pretty.”

Her eyes widen, he watches her watch him with some sort of incredulity, some exasperation, and sometimes really, intensely warm that his breath gets hitched, gut wrenches and there may be some mixing of his internal organs, could be the entanglement of some of his nerves as he sees her cheeks catch onto some of that fire that has the back of his throat burning and she blushes as she catches on to his words with all the shameless implications . And she stares and he stares and he thinks—

Yeah, bad things come in three.

So maybe it’s the myriad of complex emotions, maybe it’s the blood loss. But he leans in, catches her lips with his own and kisses. Softly, hesitantly.

She makes a sound that is somewhere between a gasp and a snort and pulls back. She looks flushed, breathless and… worried?

“Do you want to talk?” she asks. Not what he expected. And he should say no, he doesn’t harbor the habit of talking to people who haven’t known him before The Disaster, before the solidified persona he’s built, or something that was built around him, for him. He doesn’t talk to strangers. But.

Hermione Granger stares, and he focuses again on her eyes.

There’s something else in there, too, besides pity, besides worry. Curiosity, maybe. Intrigue. Draco wonders if he took a far worse blow than he suspected. As he leans in and the music stars being bearable, the lights mellower, he turns to her, her side profile in the disco lights, red and blue and purple all interchanging in seconds, time slows, he retracts to hours before and who he was then, who he is now.

“I do,” he says, gushes, really. Like it’s a confession in itself. Like it’s the beginning of something much worse than confessions.

“I think we should continue this somewhere else,” he hears her say.

“Yeah.” He runs his tongue over his lower lips and tastes sugar, really, something like maple syrup. Something so sweet it can leave a toothache. He wants to taste that again. “Yes, definitely.”

______

Pansy doesn’t talk to him for a week.

Draco tries to meet with her, he does, he taps his fingers into the screen of his iPhone and his thumb ghosts on her number for an excruciating amount of time before he closes the screen. The face reflecting on the dark screen is scrunched in disgust. He tosses it aside on his bed and mashes his head inside the pillow.

The pillow smells like cinnamon.

He hasn’t talked to Hermione Granger either.

Which is… okay? Acceptable? He doesn’t remember what they did. Everything comes in flashes and blips when he tries to push back into the night. He remembers her hair, a big nest of curls, dark and pretty and smooth. He remembers her laugh and the bristle it covered his skin with. He remembers talking, talking and how sore his throat was in the morning.

He doesn’t remember if they slept together, which is a problem.

He doesn’t know if he should try to solve it.

And as she’s spent the whole of the week ducking away and downright sprinting whenever their eyes meet—six times—he’s pretty sure she doesn’t know either.

______

He feels her eyes on him, though, when she thinks he isn’t careful. Big, curious eyes, appraising eyes. Not constantly. But it’s consistent. It’s there, on the back of his head, as he tries to navigate the hallway without facing professor Snape, as he navigates outside classes he won’t really attend, he feels her like a shadow and a shiver and… he can tell that she’s studying him. He knows that because he is looking, too.

He corners Blaise after his soccer practice one afternoon, finally mustering up the courage. Or not. His voice creaks and groans, he cowers a little. They stand beside the goalpost and Blaise is covered in sweat, heaving, and he really tries to associate the glower in his eyes with adrenaline, with the rush of the practice, not— not —with him, not at him.

There’s an undercurrent of shame as he asks Blaise how she’s doing. There’s a clear sharp relief when he learns that—

“She’s good. Better.”

Draco purses his lips, he pinches the top of his nose and instantly regrets it.

“She’s actually seeing someone,” Blaise murmurs, eyeing him skeptically.

“What?”

“Yeah. I know.” He shrugs. “Too soon?”

“That’s not what I meant.” That’s exactly what he meant. Not that he was hoping for her to pine after him. But… nothing. It’s just. Not like Pansy. Dating someone else on a whim. Something indecisive about it, like a freefall. She has had three boyfriends in her entire life. She doesn’t date just because she likes somebody. She a checklist, for fuck’s sake, with pros and cons and a specialised catalogue filled with traits and quirks that would match with hers.

“Just… not like her.”

“Yeah. She seems happy, though.”

A sudden thought strikes his mind. He cringes, “God, it’s not Pucey, is it?”

Blaise snorts. “Nah. It’s Harry Potter, actually, and—”

“What?” Draco snaps, his mind backtracks. “Potter? Harry Potter? The one who punched me?”

Blaise’s eyes widen for a moment before something else—something colder passes over. He shrugs. Everyone’s heard about it by now, it’s basically in ancient history, except for Draco, obviously. “Yeah, the one who punched you.”

“Fuck,” Draco hisses. “Fuck fuck shit—”

“Yeah.”

“ Why is she with him? Is it because he punched me?”

Blaise scoffs. “What? No.”

“Some sort of revenge impulse or—”

“Not everything is about you, dude.”

“I’m not—” Draco stops, backtracking at his scowl. The scowl. It’s cold and dismissive and… aggressive? His eyes widen, he feels… another very familiar, very unfriendly rush of emotions.

“Hey, Blaise, are we okay?”

Draco sees the muscle in his jaw tighten, sees him gulp back whatever words were simmering in his head.

“Yeah, sure,” Blaise bites on the words. “Sure we’re good.”

Draco doesn’t tell him that he sincerely, sincerely doubts that.

______

Draco is almost sprawled on the shadowed grass beneath the massive, distinctive Hackberry tree on the east side of the campus. The air smells fresh, clear and sharp. He squints at the screen of his laptop, the sunlight glinting through the leaves making it harder to read the painfully mechanical words on the email he’s been crafting for the better part of three hours. He lets out a tired groan as he presses the backspace key again, then again, with more vengeance. He turns his head over for words of apology and really, it’s excruciating how many ways you can ask forgiveness and how many ways you can get them wrong.

He’s sorry for cheating on her, he’s sorry for starting the deadbeat relationship when all he wanted to do was… just get this done with, that’s where they were always heading, weren’t they? His mum said that Pansy was just like her and Draco was just like his father. And the timing helped, too, it was after his dad’s verdict. Just after. So. He’s sorry for mucking it all up and he’s sorry for the tangled mess, he’s sorry for making her bump into Harry fucking Potter, he’s sorry if he turns out to be an asshole.

“Hey,” a voice—tentative, soft—calls from behind.

Draco’s heart backflips a little, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he recognises it instantly or because he didn’t think she’d ever address him in the daylight.

He shuts down the laptop, takes a long, deep breath—the kind athletes probably take before running on a 500 miles racetrack—and turns to find Hermione Granger—tentative, soft—standing beside him with a half smile.

“Hi.”

“Can I sit?”

He nods stiffly. She has an armful of books in her hand, her arms are always full of books, or an assortment of academic materials. She is perpetually hunched, perpetually busy and nerdy and cute. Really endearing is the fact that she has a steady record of four point ohs and she is the acting head of an organization with only five members. Something about a dying breed of flying fish. He also knows she’s in five different clubs and she has an infuriatingly high score of performance on all of them.

She sets the books aside. She sits down closer, closer than he’s expected. Their shoulders brush.

She looks at him with single minded determination. And something about the look—anxious and appraising and apologetic —sort of reminds him of doctors. When they tell you that you have a rare and incurable brain cancer, or that you have five weeks to live.

And it’s weird. They aren’t in… anything . She hasn’t spoken to him after that night, although she’s been looking, staring and following his tracks.

Draco only knows that because he follows her too.

“What?” he asks blearily.

“Well,” she starts in a really concerningly tv doctor voice. “There’s actually no blunt way to say this, but—uhm. Do you know about the guy who punched you?”

“What?” he bleats. “Uhm—what? Harry Potter? What about—?”

“He’s sort of dating Pansy.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He… met her at the party and, well, you know. Sparks flew.”

“Uhm, yes.” He shakes his head, baffled and… disappointed. She’s here to talk about her friend? “I know he is. They are. And—” he glances at her. “I know he’s your friend.”

Her cheeks pinken. “Yeah. Yeah, I actually brought him to the party. So.” She shrugs. “It’s just—”

“Weird.”

“A bit like happenstance. You know, destiny.”

“Or doom,” he grumbles, pinching his nose.

“Harry is a good guy.”

“Of course you’d say that.” He scrunches his nose, still haunted by the memory. “He really likes Pansy?”

She smiles, sincerely, dotingly.

“He’s sort of a tortured soul, isn’t he? PTSD and shit?”

“Hey, I don’t like the tone,” she says, a little shrill, a little more like her. She straightens up, making no attempt to leave. “Or the gross simplification of his trauma. He’s—”

Draco snorts. “He is, isn’t he? Tortured?”

“ Yes, but —”

“It’s just that Pansy has a type,” he explains, cutting her off.

“And?”

“And it isn’t him.”

“Yeah, it was you, and look how well that turned out,” she snaps, then immediately clamps her mouth. “Oh—”

Draco glances down, his throat constricted, eyes stingy. “Yeah. Yes, I deserved that. I wasn’t her type though. She made an exception.”

“You haven’t talked to her, right?”

“I’m writing an email,” he says, mumbles.

“That’s… what? An email?” she sounds incredulous, appalled, an amplified mess of whatever he’s feeling.

“Yeah I’m—” he coughs, not knowing whatever that’s coming out, but realizing that they aren’t going to be enough. Not nearly. “I don’t… I am not good with confrontations.”

There’s silence, and silent contemplation. Granger shuffles in her space, he can see her knees, there are scratches on the skin, brown and healing. He wants to ask her about those, he wants to ask her about anything else, really.

“She’ll understand,” she says finally. “She’s been your friend forever.”

“That’s part of the problem. She understands too much. I’ve… messed it up too much.”

“You’ll be surprised what friendship can take.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” He has half a mind to bring in her friendships, because he’s flitted past her Facebook profile, he’s seen the awkwardly endearing comments of Ron Weasley on her posts, he’s seen her deflate the admiration with almost mechanical precision. Sharp wit. Awkward humor. He chuckled at her replies.

He doesn’t feel like chuckling now.

“I speak from experience,” she says, and he’s almost sure he hears a sigh. He remembers that sound too, from the night. A sigh when he kissed her again in his room, a huff and—

“Did we have sex?” he asks abruptly. “Because I don’t really—”

“No, we haven’t,” she replies quickly. And he glances up, sees her face glowing with an imprudent blush as she chuckles. “Not from the lack of your trying. You kept pulling at your pants.”

“Oh fuck.”

“It was cute.”

“Oh fuck. ”

“But then you… talked. We talked.” She flexes her hand over her books. “A lot.”

“Did I tell you, in detail, what I did?”

“Yes.”

“You still think I can fix it?”

“If you own up to it,” she says, and it’s a little pointed, the suggestion, a little distinct the way her lips curl. It feels like an accusation, and Draco doesn’t take accusations from anyone. He suddenly feels as if it’s gone too far, he’s been sitting here for far too long and—

“I am owning up to it,” he says coldly.

“You’re sending her an email. ”

“She wouldn’t want to see me.”

“Won’t she?”

“She’s angry at me. She’s also dating the guy—”

“It’s not about you.”

“Why does everyone—I’m not saying it is, but—”

“But it’s always been like that, right? You hate someone and your friends hate them too? Now you suddenly can’t take the fact that—”

“ What? No.”

Yes. And now that she’s said it, actually thursted it at his face, he suddenly can’t stand to think of it. And she keeps talking, keeps—

“You’ve had Pansy solve everything for you, Blaise as well. You’ve been the center of their universe since the beginning, and now you’ve mucked it all up.”

“How’d you—”

“You told me. Bits.” She shrugs. “And that’s what you always do, isn’t it? Talk in bits and pieces and the people around you always did the stitching? That’s why you have so few friends. Not just because your attitude is douchey—purposefully douchey—but also because you’re… exhausting, sometimes. You’re hard work.” Her eyes trail off to the library, the roof, the window panes framed in wood. “Harry’s a bit like that too.”

She purses her lips, narrows her eyes. And god, he can hear it. What she’s going to say next. About his walls and his ego and the futility of it all. The damage. He can hear her teeth mashing against each other with the effort of not saying them. He blinks, suddenly realizing how much he’s told her, how much she knows, this… nobody, practically a stranger. This one night stand who he didn’t even have sex with. He has a habit of not letting people in, to either see the ruin or the constant destruction. It makes the room for disappointment smaller, less people to worry about letting down. It also makes it lonelier. And the guard he has on crumbles on other people, too. Like Pansy, or Blaise, who had their whole lives being stretcher to his mess, his reputation. It must be awful, for them to be sidelined by him and his name and his dad and the string of tabloid news. All that and he still failed. That’s why it hurts so bad, he thinks, that’s why it stings like nothing ever did before.

Hermione Granger sees it, and she doesn’t have Pansy’s soothing, doting huff. She doesn’t have Blaise’s silent support. She’s demanding, she’s confronting. She’s… different. And there’s an exciting tilt to it, a rush of exhilaration. He leans back, sighs, lets her see his defeat, her win. His hand finds the laptop, opens it, and deletes the empty draft. He feels his fingers quiver from the weight of the truth he’s thinking and his throat is dry—remarkably dry—as he shuts down the laptop and stares at her.

“Do you have time for coffee?” he asks, hoarsely, not charming, not like he’s ever heard himself speak.

She rolls her eyes, and there’s the hint of a mischievous smile, just at the corner of her lips, that answers for her.

______

He finds Pansy sitting alone in the park of the campus, knees folded over the grass, eyes narrowed in concentration. She’s working on her sketchbook. Pansy has a dream of making her own line of clothing. Her brand, different from the one that has her mother’s last name. Better than that.

“Pans,” he says. Her head snaps up in an instant. She blinks, clutches on her pencil and takes a minute before she turns her head.

He hesitates a moment before moving closer, sitting down, in space for a private conversation. Her eyes are wide, cool, and calm. But he can see her lips tremble and—well, he gets it. How much he hurt her. The weight of the betrayal on their friendship. He does.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been lying to you for—for a long time and you didn’t deserve that. I should’ve told you how I felt. You’d understand. I know that. I was scared of losing you. You’ve always been a constant presence in my life and I didn’t want to mess it up for not feeling something I should feel and… I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

He had a speech, a whole page, in his head the words all made sense, picked one after another after another to make the perfect story. How much he depended on her—on them— and how much he resented that after the relationship didn’t seem to work.

But Pansy huffs and scoffs and turns away, he sees a smile, small and sour, mostly. But there.

He knows she understands.

“I know I’ve been the shittiest friend for the longest time and—”

“Not the shittiest,” she replies. “But yeah. Yes.”

He groans, combs his fingers through his hair. “Will you forgive me?”

“I already have.”

His heart picks up, and he reaches his hand instinctively, to touch her shoulder.

But she flinches back. Her voice is gruff as she says, “Maybe not entirely, but going there.”

His hand drops to his side. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be here. Whenever you decide to… I’ll be waiting.”

There are two decades worth of understanding between them, twenty years of unadulterated love. Pansy smiles, a little lighter, her face more relaxed as he takes her space with respect. Her hair is open, framing her face, smiling, pretty face. She chuckles a bit before starting talking. Blaise found his newest passion, she tells him. It’s ghost hunting. Apparently someone brought a medium named Luna Lovegood to the party and he is absolutely smitten. She tells him about her dad who is ready to murder him. The online course she’s been meaning to take. About her—her eyes light up—boyfriend. About Harry Potter and how he’s a lot like him. A lot different than him. Understands her. Admires her.

Pansy giggles, and it’s really something he hasn’t seen her do in a long time, and he chuckles at it, savors it.

The morning light is clear and sharp around them, everything is bright. Almost perfect.

______

“You are a problem,” Hermione Granger says in greeting.

Draco swallows a dry breath. He tries to smile. He hasn’t spoken to her since he sent her the text that he talked to Pansy. “Well, good morning to you too.”

Granger shakes her head, absentmindedly, as if he answered wrong—to a question she didn’t even ask. She leans against the doorframe of his room, and really takes a second—a few appraising seconds to scan his room, check if anyone else is here—to come inside.

Then she just stands still, looking absentminded, pretty.

Draco thinks now maybe he ought to feel offended. She called him a problem. But then he thinks maybe it’s a bit far fetched. She didn’t call him problematic. Just—problem. And she didn’t even say it in a mean way, or a particularly judgy way. It was an observation, at best, as if he were a math problem. The insipid constant number in an integration no one knows why it’s there or what to do with it. He was a problem, unsolvable, uncalled for conundrum, maybe, okay. But—

“A problem to who?” he asks.

She slides in further but stays on the far side of the room, closer to the door than anything and she stares for a second, as if taking everything in. The daylight reflecting on his beige wall, the sight of his clothes on the bed and on the table, strewn carelessly, messy. And he sees her fingers spasm, almost as she eyes the back cover of a book thrusted carelessly between his socks and the Chanel scarf Pansy had gifted him on his last birthday. She eyes at it inquisitively.

“It’s Kafka,” Draco says finally. “Metamorphosis.”

“Oh.” She purses her lips, trying to stifle a smile, trying to look as if she isn’t impressed.

She is impressed.

Draco starts the conversation to avoid giving into that pull in his face, the smug which—as Pansy stated—too self-induced to look good. “Is there any reason you are here?”

“Uh. You’re a problem.”

“You’ve said it already. Any other unscrupulous insight?”

“Well, you are careless and vain and proud.”

“Hmm.”

“Terribly sarcastic, kind of a douche.”

“Charming.”

“But you’re also insightful in a way that doesn’t make a deal of itself. You’re smart, but don’t have an aim in life as I see. You have a very specific brand of affection for the people you love and it’s… intriguing. It all makes me annoyed. You’re annoying.”

“I am not sure where this is going.”

“This is—well, I am extremely organized. I like planning, I like long-term. High-maintenance.”

“How is it working for you?”

“Great. Hectic and panic inducing and—” she lets out a chuckle that’s more neurotic than charming. “And sometimes I feel like I am going to die alone because I am so busy being everything I can be to have a normal… life. Fun, lightness. Stupid drinking game and bad decisions and whatever.”

Draco can’t help but grin. She’s absolutely, terrifyingly adorable. “Bad decisions are overrated.”

“A steady life is overrated.” She huffs. “Good grades and being valedictorian and—whatever.”

“I see now it won’t work between us. We’re too different.”

“Exactly. You’re… basically unfiltered chaos.”

“You’re not so steady as you think, you know. I know you botched McLaggen’s soccer training so your boy toy would have a chance at being captain.”

Her cheeks turn red, and it’s so satisfying, so fucking delightful that Draco can’t help letting that smug grin smooth over his face, plastered like cement.

“Ron’s my friend. ”

“Did you tell him that?”

She huffs. Again. And takes the remaining few steps to sit on his chair. Hands folded neatly on her skirt, which was, not short. But up close, closer—between him and her —it seems extremely purposeful. Ruinously purposeful. The stretch of the seams. The soft, cotton fabric. Her bare knee and the glimpse of the creamy skin—

“My eyes are up here ,” she snaps bitingly, but when he blinks up, she’s… smirking.

He feels a hot grip on his neck. It’s a new side of her—the teasing. A bit electrifying. “Yeah, well, your legs are not.”

“Stop being creepy.”

“Well, you just came into my room, uninvited, and declared I am pretty much insufferable. Cut me some slacks, Granger.”

She crosses her legs and Jesus she’s doing it on purpose. And what’s even worse is that he likes it. Her and her big clever mouth and messy hair and dark circles under her eyes and sunken cheeks because she probably hadn’t eaten anything since last week and didn’t have any sleep either because she’s an overachiever. And probably neurotic on some very important levels and Jesus Christ he probably has some very specific, very private kink that she resurfaces and Draco stares at her thighs—more, intentionally bare skin—and he is so turned on that it’s ridiculous. She’s ridiculous.

“You’re very vindictive,” he grumbles.

The pride on her face is too cute to be meanly smug. “And I have a massive complex of trying to fix any problem I see. Any mathematical equation or enigma or… person. I’ve basically mothered Harry and Ron since we were eleven. It’s grown in a thing, now. They come to me with every problem. I have a habit of fixing things for people.”

“I see.”

“So if we… you know, engage, I’ll probably try to fix you. Try to give you an aim. Break down some of those stone walls and—”

“You’re very confident about that.”

“—fix your room and your ridiculous sleeping schedule and whatnot.”

“You have bags under your eyes bigger than Eurasia. I’m not sure you’re qualified to fix up someone else’s sleeping schedule.”

“I have a test,” she says dismissively. “My point is: you’re the ultimate mess. It’s sort of catnip to someone like me.”

“Nice.” He snorts. “It’s a great visual.”

She tries not to smile.

Draco straightens up, he hadn’t made up his mind about them, he still isn’t sure if it’s anywhere near the vicinity of a good decision. She’s right—she’s bossy. And neurotic. And demanding. And excruciatingly smart. Smart enough to knock his excuses cold, fierce enough to cut him off of his bullshit.

But it’s okay to like those things, right?

“I like you,” he says simply. “And you like me too.”

She narrows her eyes, still trying not to smile. But she leans back on the chair, slightly more relaxed, slightly… less neurotic. She tilts her head as if to challenge him to talk further, talk her into his life.

And he smiles, inadvertently, smugly, because it’s easy with her. Surprisingly, terrifyingly easy with her.

He knows he wins the argument, even before he speaks.

______

Things hadn’t gone exactly to Draco’s plan.

They were much, much better.

____

my other dramione stories

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter... and Spring Again

Trouble

Serendipity

Fault Lines

Astronomy

Magnolia

#dramione short fic #dramione one shot #modern au #alternate universe #modern setting #draco is a brat #hermione is intrigued #draco malfoy x hermione granger #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #harry potter×pansy parkinson #non magical au

6 notes · View notes

celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Get Well Soon

Harry gets the magical flu and he’s laid up in bed for a week. The only reason he doesn’t fall behind in classes is because he gets notes from a classmate, but he doesn’t know who it is.

For @loveyprophet

(You can read it on AO3 here)

Magical flu – who would have thought that’d be a thing? Unfortunately for Harry, it was.

He’d been laid up in bed for three days now, swaddled in blankets and sleeping through the day.

The first few days he had spent in the hospital wing, but once his fever broke the matron agreed to let him rest in the Gryffindor dorms.

The first letter came that evening. Harry watched as it fluttered through the open window of the dorm room, fluttering wings keeping it afloat as it gracefully circled the room, the paper crackling with the movement.

Harry cupped his hands and held out his arms, watching – mesmerised – as the enchanted paper bird landed in his hand and fell still.

He carefully unfolded the paper, feeling a strange warmth settle in his chest as he looked down at the elegant scrawls of lettering across the page.

There were pages upon pages of notes, each titled by which class they were for. There were notes for the past three days of lessons—about what they had learnt in class as well as observations the writer had made and doodles and illustrations along the edges of the paper.

Among the notes for Herbology, there were illustrations of the plants as well as notes on the side about how to tend to them, what potions and medicines they were used in, and their own magical properties.

There were more notes on Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. The notes for Astronomy were covered in illustrations of stars and constellations that sat alongside the lesson notes: Canis Major with a brilliantly vibrant star—Sirius; Cygnus, Lyra, and at the bottom of the page Draco.

For Potions, there were detailed notes on what the potion was used for and step-by-step instructions. In the columns were small illustrations of the ingredients – herbs, beetles, flowers; all beautifully drawn – and an animated drawing of a potion blowing up in Seamus’ face—a common enough occurrence that seeing the animated sketch play through made Harry smile.

Harry read the notes avidly, finding himself smiling more and more as he read through the pages. But what caught him off guard was the final page; it was empty except for one sentence, the beautifully elegant handwriting making the words seem all the more meaningful.

Get well soon.

The next day, another enchanted letter appeared, fluttering through the open window. It landed in Harry’s hand, stretching its wings and slowing before falling still.

Harry felt his heart flutter with anticipation, shocked to find himself looking forward to seeing that beautiful handwriting again.

He unfolded the notes, letting out a small sigh of relief as he looked down at the elegant scrawls of ink.

He first few pages were Herbology notes, the boarder of the pages beautifully illustrated with drawings of fungi—bundles of enoki, rows of hiratake and oyster mushrooms that grew likes rippling shelves on the side of a towering tree, rounded toadstools with bright tops, and clusters of honey agaric. There were notes of which fungi were edible and which were not.

The next page were notes from Potions class. Harry read through them all, turning the page over. He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked down at the illustrtion at the bottom of the page; a rather unflattering animated doodle of Snape blathering on with a seach bubble that read ‘blah, blah, blah’.

When he finished laughing, he drew in a deep breath and read through the rest of the notes, feeling his heart sip a beat as he read the message on the final page—the one line of elegant writing.

Get well soon.

Harry stared at that one sentence for a while.

Finally, he let out a measured sigh and laid the rest of the notes on top, reaching over to his bedside table and picking up one of his notebooks. He opened the cover and set the pages of notes inside, setting them aside where they’d be safe.

The next day, Harry was starting to feel a lot better, even more so when another enchanted letter flew through the windows and into Harry’s hands.

His heart fluttered as he read the beautiful script.

He turned through the pages, reading the notes.

The third Herbology class that week was about flowers, the pages of notes decorated with beautiful illustrations of lilies, jasmine, dandelions, and hawthorn as well as notes on how they could be used for healing and potions.

Among the notes was a pressed hawthorn flower.

Harry gently picked it up off the paper, turning it around in his fingers.

It was beautiful, delicate. The crisp white petals seemed enchanting on their own.

He set it aside carefully, turning his attention back to the letter.

The pages of notes from Potions class were filled with silly jokes and mocking doodles of Professor Snape.

He couldn’t help but smile as he read through the pages, feeling a warmth settle in his chest as he read the elegant handwriting.

“What are you smirking at?” Ron asked as he made his way into the dorm and flopped down on the end of Harry’s bed.

“Nothing,” Harry said dismissively.

He picked out one of the pages and handed it to Ron.

“Does his handwriting look familiar to you?” he asked.

Ron looked down at the page.

“No,” he said, turning the piece of paper over and bursting into laughter at the crude doodle of Professor Snape. “But whoever they are, they’ve captured Snape perfectly.”

Ron passed the letter to Neville.

Neville looked it over, snickering at the illustration before passing it to Seamus who then passed it to Dean, but they all had the same answer: no one knew who wrote the notes.

“Whoever it is, they’ve got to be a Ravenclaw,” Seamus said. “No one else pays that much attention in class.”

“Hermione does,” Ron countered, looking at another page he’d picked up off the bed. “But that’s not her handwriting.”

“Is that so?” Dean said, his voice drawn out in a suggestive tone. He smirked and arched a brow as he looked at Ron.

“Shut up,” Ron replied.

Harry chuckled. He took the pages back, sliding them in place with the rest of the notes.

He flicked to the last page, the same as the last page of all the others.

Get well soon.

The others began to talk about their day but Harry wasn’t listening though; his attention was focused on the pressed flower in his hand. He turned the hawthorn around in his fingers, looking at it with wonder.

“Who are you?” he mused, his voice a quiet whisper.

He carefully set the flower back among the pages, reaching for his notebook and setting the notes aside.

Days later, Harry was finally well enough to join classes, and as happy as he was about being able to leave the dorms and spend time with his friends, there was something that weighed on him. The thought of never receiving another letter broke his heart.

That morning, before breakfast, Harry opened the notebook where the letters had been stored, picking up one of the final pages that read ‘Get well soon’. He stared down at the curves of the lettering, feeling his heart flutter in his chest. He folded up the piece of paper and stowed it in his pocket.

Throughout the day, Harry and his friends would compare the elegant scrawls of writing from the letter to the penmanship of their classmates, but none of the girls’ handwriting matched up.

That evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione were gathered in the Gryffindor common room. Ron was stretched out across the couch in front of the fire while Harry and Hermione sat on the floor.

Harry had brought out the letters in order to show Hermione the notes, hoping she would recognise the handwriting.

“It almost looks like…” Hermione’s voice trailed off. “Never mind.”

“What?” Harry asked, hopeful.

“Forget it,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she handed the page of Potions notes back to Harry.

“Hermione,” Harry pleaded.

Hermione let out a sigh.

“When Malfoy takes notes in Herbology and Potions, he sometimes draws the flowers, herbs and whatnot beside his notes,” she said. “It almost looks like his drawings.”

“Malfoy?” Ron repeated, his voice a mix of shock, disbelief, and disgust.

“But I don’t know what his handwriting looks like and I doubt Draco Malfoy would be sending you letters, let alone ones that say ‘get well soon’,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry let out a dejected sigh, looking down at the page in his hand.

“Oh no,” Hermione said. “I know that face.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking up at her.

“Harry, you can’t seriously tell me you’ve fallen for someone you don’t even know because they sent you a letter,” Hermione said.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, but he didn’t deny it.

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice soft but scolding.

There was a heavy thud as a stack of paper dropped between them.

“Bloody hell,” Ron gasped, looking up at his brothers. “What’s this?”

“Samples of handwriting from every house,” Fred answered.

“You’re welcome,” George added.

Harry stared at the pile, his eyes wide with shock. “How did you—?”

“We called in a favour from Cedric Diggory,” George explained. “He put together examples of everyone’s handwriting from the Hufflepuff dorms—guys and girls alike.”

“Ginny talked to Luna and got her to ask everyone in Ravenclaw to write something down,” Fred added.

“We had to bribe Pansy Parkinson to get examples of everyone’s handwriting in the Slytherin dorm,” George said, his voice a little tense.

“How did you know—?”

“That you were looking for who wrote the letters?” George finished Harry’s question. “The whole dorm knows.”

“The whole of Hogwarts knows,” Fred countered teasingly.

Harry looked down at the stacks of paper and then back up at the twins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” they said in unison.

A couple of others joined them, sorting through the mountain of paper – pages of notes, scraps of paper with things written on them, etc – and comparing the handwriting to the elegant script of the letters.

There were a lot that came close, but weren’t quite right: the slant of the writing wasn’t the same, there wasn’t as much of a curve on the upwards stroke of the “d”s or the downwards stroke of the “y”s.

Harry was about to give up hope when he picked up another page of writing.

His heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat.

He help the page up to the letter.

It was an exact match.

His eyes drifted to the name at the top of the page.

Without a word, he held the page out to Ron.

Ron took it, comparing the writing. He opened his mouth to say something when he noticed the same thing as harry—the name at the top.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

Ron passed the age to her, letting her see for herself, but Harry couldn’t get the name out of his mind.

Draco Malfoy.

The next day, Harry sat alone in the library.

He watched as the light outside the large windows of the library began to dim and the sky lit up with a brilliant display of colours.

He turned his attention to the blank piece of parchment before him, staring at the paper as he tried to figure out what to write.

He jumped at the loud thud of someone dropping their books on the table.

He turned to see Draco pull out a chair a few seats down from him. He sat down and opened the large text books, pulling out his notebook as he set to work writing things down.

Harry looked down at the piece of paper in front of him. He picked up his quill and began to write.

He wrote down two words before sketching a paper crane below it.

He set aside his quill and pushed the paper across the table.

Draco looked up from his work, his brow furrowed slightly as he picked up the piece of paper and read it.

‘Thank you.’

Draco looked up at Harry, puzzled. Thoughts swirled like storm clouds in his grey eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked back down at the letter and smiled.

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dorthyanndrarry · 4 years

Text

The Liars Department -28-

tags: drarry, auror Harry, ministry employee Draco, Harry is oblivious, Draco is an unrepentant flirt, Asbestos is a little shit, and then there’s disillusionment, there’s just so much disillusionment

suggested rating: T+

Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <– Part 27 || Part 29 ->

Shunter waved at Jeremy, “You hold the dog.” She told Kalya, “You dispel the charm.”

The Juniors stiffly followed her orders, Jeremy looking like he had never held an animal in his life, clutching the dog under the armpits as far away from himself as humanly possible. As soon as Kalya released the spell, the dog-cat began squirming and wriggling trying to escape. Before it could, Shunter deftly reversed the awkward transfiguration so that it was a dog once more.

Kalya made a face, “Are you sure you did it right, sir?”

“This isn’t my first transfiguration reversal, Junior. You see a lot of them in this job,” Shunter said.

“But... it was cuter before,” Kalya said.

Jeremy nodded, “Its face is flat. Was it dropped on its head?”

The dog wasn’t happy with how Jeremy was holding and started whining.

“Haven’t you held a dog before?” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. He pushed his ice cream cone into Harry’s hand and took the dog from Jeremy, holding it close to his chest. “It’s a Pekingese, they’re meant to look like that.” Malfoy’s voice dropped to a murmur as he told the little white mop, “I think you’re cute just as you are.”

The dog looked up at Malfoy, wagging its tail faintly and giving Malfoy a lick on the chin.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Harry asked. The pale purple ice cream was all gone, and only half the pink remained.

“Eat it,” Malfoy said, “It will soothe your bruised ego.”

“I’m not a kid,” Harry said.

Malfoy huffed in amusement, “We’re all children Auror Potter. We just pretend to be adults. The longer we do it, the better we get at it, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re all whiny sticky little monsters underneath it all.”

“Sure you’re not projecting there?” Harry asked.

“Oh, shut up,” Malfoy said.

Harry grinned at him.

“Asbestos will return this now,” Asbestos said, grabbing the broom and disappearing with a pop.

“Listen up, Juniors,” Shunter said in her ‘time for a lesson’ voice.

Kayla and Jeremy straightened to attention.

Harry didn’t listen, he had heard Shunter’s various lectures on proper dispelling procedure to have had dreams of them, and they were just as boring the second time around.

Ice cream dripped over the edge of the cone and onto Harry’s fingers. Harry looked at the pale pink mess and hesitantly lifted it to his mouth. Tasting it felt strangely illicit, his mind drawn over and over again the image of Malfoy’s tongue swiping over the cold treat. But the flavour pulled him right back out of his thoughts.

“What is this?” Harry asked, “It tastes weird.”

“Rose and guava,” Malfoy said.

“So that’s why you gave it to me,” Harry said, vanishing what was left and aiming a cleaning spell at his hand, “Wait, what was the purple flavour?”

“Lavender. And the flavour wasn’t bad, I just don’t like melted ice-cream,” Malfoy said.

“Lavender?” Harry repeated, “Why are we- they- eating flowers?”

“Some flowers are edible and quite good, if you happen to have taste,” Malfoy said.

“If you’re the type to wander around the garden sticking random plants in your mouth,” Harry said.

Malfoy ignored him and leaned close to the dog. His voice was a soft murmur that made the dog wag its tail in a gentle sweep back and forth, its flat face and bulgy goldfish eyes watching Malfoy’s face with rapt attention.

“You like dogs?” Harry asked.

“Who doesn’t?” Malfoy said, petting the dog.

“You dropped Care for Magical Creatures.”

Malfoy gave him a look, “Shockingly enough, I prefer animals that can’t murder me in half a second.”

“They weren’t all deadly,” Harry said weakly, knowing any defence of Hagrid’s classes in that direction was pretty hopeless.

“Pansy’s family always had crups, and Theo’s mum had half a dozen little dogs at any time.” Malfoy said absently, “I wanted one, but Father wouldn’t allow it. He hated mess.”

“You could get one now,” Harry said, “You’re master of the house, right? He can’t say no.”

Malfoy’s studied the happy little dog with a sombre expression, “I can’t watch it all the time. I wouldn’t risk it.”

“You don’t need to watch it all the time. It’s a dog,” Harry said.

Malfoy sighed, “You don’t understand. If my father thought he could hurt me by hurting my dog, he would.”

“But- your father wouldn’t hurt you?” Harry said in confusion.

Malfoy snorted derisively which made the dog tilt its head in confusion, “He wouldn’t lay a hand on me if that’s what you mean. He’s always preferred a cutting word to the lash, but words don’t work as well anymore so he’ll look for anything he can use to leverage power over me.”

Harry frowned.

Malfoy glanced at him and then back down at the dog who whined, and Malfoy gave it a smile, scratched it behind the ears.

“Alright, lads. We’ve done our part,” Shunter said loudly, “Now it’s your turn to do- whatever it is you do.”

💜 Next update will be tuesday pst 💜 decided it was better to post a short part rather be late again. I’ve been thinking about moving my post day to wednesday permanently but I don’t know 💜hope you enjoyed draco being cute with doggies 💜

Tags below v (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages on the previous 2 parts.)

💜 @pain-changes-everything thank you so much!!!! 💜

💜 @potter-harreh thank you!!! harry has the worst luck 💜

💜 @havingaverydrarryday thank you!💜💜

💜 @witch19 build depth, I love that 💜💜💜 thank you 💜

💜 @myravenboys they are very much getting closer, learning not to take oneanothers barbs as personal it’s delightful 💜 thank you so much!! 💜

💜 @victor-morgan :D thank you!! 💜

💜 @justafangirlslikes thank you! 💜

💜 @dewitty1 I’m feelin much better now that the orange shitstain has been voted out, thank god for that 💜 thank youuuuu so much!!! 💜

💜 @irasantu thank you! 💜

💜 @languedor71 thank you soooo much!!!! 💜 the election results was the best good news I could have hoped for💜💜

💜 @lilyinthebreeze thank you!!!! 💜

💜 @devilrising excellent!!!! i love making people laugh it makes me so happy 💜 💜 💜 💜 thank you!!!!! 💜

💜 @iamactuallya-cat 👍👍 yeahhhh 💜 thank you!! 💜

💜 @whenrainbowsend saaame 💜 thank you! 💜

💜 @dracodragon19872 thank you so much! I am doing much better and being as safe as I can while also being an ‘essential worker’ 💜

💜 @podsgirl thankyou! 💜

💜 @addicted-to-w0rds thank you!! I’ve never dove into the ministry side of things much before so this is a lot of fun 💜

💜 @cportera thank you! 💜

💜 @bisexualronaldweasley 💜 @champagnemonarch 💜 @shadowybook 💜 @snarkyship 💜 @microscopicfocus 💜 @sugaredsundrop 💜 @sspectacularlyignorant 💜 @nourix-png 💜 @thiscrypticfangirl 💜 @princessofweirdos 💜

#dorthyannwrites #the liars department #drarry #drarry fanfiction #fanfiction #harry potter #draco malfoy #cw long post #long post

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celestialgaea · 4 years

Text

Connor Kenway x Reader // The Baker’s Daughter Next Door

pairing: Connor Kenway x Reader

warnings: Fluff

He adored you, a lot. Watching you from afar when your small form wandered around the forest looking for edible flowers to adorn the pastries, admiring the red colored tint that covered your cheek from squatting to much when plucking flowers. Not only you did he adore, but those short moments of skipping heartbeats and rapid breaths whenever your fingers would brush against his when handing him the freshly baked bread in the bakery. Or just the delight of hearing your sugery voice saying his name softly did enough to make the butterflies spread across his body.

You knocked on the door of the homestead, carrying a rush basket filled with sweet smelling pastries while rocking back and forth from the tip of your toes to the balls of your heels. Your father assigned you to deliver the sweets to his good old friend Achilles. it was something that you did since you were younger because the old, crippled man shouldn’t be neglected, so your father hoped that both the generosity and the taste of the sweet dough would brighten his day.

That’s how you met Connor. You’d always made him taste one of the pastries you brought and he would compliment you shyly, not daring to look you straight in the eyes without the red flush kissing his cheeks. But he grew up so fast. Everytime he opened the door he was way taller and broader than before, his towering frame casting a dark shadow, englufing you with the darkness. But let his emotionless face and build proportions not fool you! He was a very timid lad and still blushed whenever he complimented your baking crafts.

The red oak door opened with a slight creaking sound, exposing the man behind the door. His eyes slightly widened in surprise when seeing you as if he wouldn’t have expected your visit. A faint smile was plastered on his face and he fully opened the door.

‘Hello, Connor. I brought a few pastries like usual,’ You said sweetly, lifting the basket up. ‘I made them myself, I hope you’ll like it.’ His eyes wandered from the basket to your glowing face. His hands reached the basket and retrieved it from your grip, his big hands enveloping yours while doing so. The touch of his rough hands created a tight knot in your stomach that radiated warmth.

‘Thank you, (Y/N),’ He moved from the door so you’d be able to pass and closed the door right behind you, while his other hand held the basket. ‘Achilles and I are happy to see you again.’ He said with a slight hesitation. He guided you to the dining room where you noticed that the large wooden table was filled wih breakfast. Achilles at the head of the table, pouring himself tea before his gaze met yours and a big smile was written on his face.

‘Welcome back, darling,’ He said warm-heartedly. ‘I see you have brought something delicious with you.’ He gazed at the basket resting in connor’s arms before showing slight smirk. ‘Connor, set the basket on table before you’ll eat everything and nothing is left for us.’ Connor blushed in annoyance as he put the basket on the table and sat down next to Achilles.

‘Child, let me tell you. Connor loves your pastries, he always eats them without leaving one for this poor crippled man.’ Achiles chuckled and Connor stared in embaressment at the table while biting his lips, not daring to meet your eyes.

You chuckled softly and walked towards Connor’s seat. ‘Connor, if you like them that much you should’ve just told me to bring more.’ You smiled, your hand resting on his shoulder and squeezing it a little.

You turned your gaze to Achilles who smiled with full amusement at the flustered native man. ‘Mister Davenport,’

‘Quit the formalities, darling. Achilles is more than enough.’ You grinned.

‘Forgive me. Achilles. I guess i’ll be going, I’m sorry if I have disturbed the breakfast.’ He waved his hand in front of his face and gestured you to sit at the table. ‘Sit, eat. You haven’t disturbed anything, (Y/N). The more the merrier, they say.’ thanking him, you sat at the table and offered both the men your pastries. But connor shook his head, his hand also shaking a ‘no’ gesture.

‘I know you love them, Connor.’ You locked eyes and you decided to give him your soft, doughy eyes. ‘You know what they say after all; A man’s love is through his stomach.’ Achilles laughed. ‘Right it is. Ain’t it, Connor?’ The timid Native American took a pastry from the basket and took a bite out of it.

‘It’s filled with apricot jam and pecan nuts . I hope you like pecan nuts, do you?’ With puffed cheeks filled with the doughy good and a stain of jam next to his mouth he turned to you, nodding his head while swallowing a whole piece down his throat. You melted by his innocent and adorable behaviour. You wanted to cup his cheeks in your small hands and place soft kisses all over his face.

‘You have a bit of pudding on your face.’ You pointed with your finger towards the skin next to your lips. But before he reached to his mouth, you let your thumb touch his skin and wiped the stain off of his face. Your thumb caressing the edge of his mouth and even caressed the skin of his lips. He gazed down at you intensly while you were busy wiping away the excess pudding, feeling your skin heat up underneath his burning eyes.

You withdrew your hand and began further eating your breakfast in silence until you were full. You aided Achilles by clearing the table and insisted on doing the dishes, even though he dismissed you several you still went to the kitchen to do the them. it didn’t took long before you were done and you dried your soaking hands.

deciding to leave, you turned around and flinched when you saw Connor standing in front of you, his hands behind his back as if he were hiding something. ‘Connor, You scared me! When did you come in? I haven’t heard any footsteps.’ You exclaimed with a hand upon your chest, feeling the rapid beats of your heart resonating against it.

‘I, uhm, I got you these,’ He removed his hands from behind his back and handed you a bouquet of, what seems, freshly plucked flowers. ‘These are for, uhm, decorating cakes. They are edible.’ He said softly while you smelled them the fresh and earthy scent of the Pansies, Chamomiles and Dandelions.

‘My goodness! Thank you, Connor!’ He shuffled slightly while scratching his neck. ‘It’s no problem, really.’ You smiled at him. You stood on your tippy toes and held his arms for support while your cheek grazed against his, feeling his strong nose and his hot breath stroking your neck. You turned your head, your nose touching his cheekbone and pressed your lips against it. The sound of your lips departing from his face reverberated through the whole kitchen, making both of you flustered as of how intens the small gesture felt. He looked wonder-struck at you, hearing his heartbeat pound in his ears.

‘Do You mind me walking you home?’

‘Yes, I would love that.’

#Assassin's Creed #connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #ac #aciii #ac3 #assassins creed fanfiction #connor kenway fanfiction #connor kenway x reader #ratonhnhaké:ton x reader #achilles davenport #connor kenway fluff

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currywaifu · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: pansy 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: hyodo juza/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.3k words 𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨: Pudding~☆ ~, Anne, & ballpoint✨

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: reader teachers juza how different flower colours can mean different things 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: this work is a part of the flower shop event, a series of unconnected flower shop AU one-shots

“Will you let him stay for a while?” Tsumugi asked you, your eyes immediately shifting to the tall, purple-haired man beside him. Though his expression was tough, he refused to even spare you a glance save for the when he first entered the store.

“Well…” you trailed off, still a little conflicted on what decision to make. On one hand, it was hard to refuse one of the flower shop’s regulars— especially when the explanation behind his sudden request reasonable enough. On the other hand, as nice as Juza probably was on the inside, if he was just going to stay silent the whole time it not only would be awkward, but there was a chance he’d scare some customers away.

As soon as the thought entered your head, you felt a little awful. He literally hasn’t said a word to you?

Making up your mind, you slowly nodded in response. “I don’t mind. He’ll just be observing the flowers, right? And looking at the reference book?”

“Yes, that’s pretty much it. Thank you for accepting,” Tsumugi turned to look at his junior, patting his arm lightly, ��see you back home.”

“Thank you for your patronage, Tsukioka-san.”

“… see you, Tsumugi-san.”

As soon as the blue-haired man left the building, all was silent again.

What were you supposed to do? Would he appreciate you showing him round the store? Telling him about all the flowers? Do you ask him about what he needed to know for this role? Would he prefer to be left to his own devices and do it on his own?

When he suddenly called you by your name, well, surname, you’re caught off-guard. You turned to face him, and though he still can’t look you straight in the eyes, he at least knew you were listening.

“… sorry, I’ll try not to be a bother,” he says, frown still present but voice unexpectedly genuine, “…might scare your customers away, though.”

He didn’t sound sad about it, resigned if anything, but you found that you were kicking yourself anyway despite him not knowing what was going through your head a while ago. While you couldn’t comfort him or anything, there was at least something you could do to help him.

“Juza-kun,” you said, and for the first time, his eyes met yours. Perhaps if the two of you were to lock gazes at another place and time, you would have been intimidated; enclosed at the space of your flower shop, you somehow figured you’d end up enjoying his company.

“Would you like to see some flowers?”

…

Sunday.

“… don’t really get it,” Juza muttered, the pads of his fingers carefully brushing against the petals, “why I got chosen for this role.”

You paused your previous ministrations, setting aside your spray water bottle to look at him questioningly. By the manner Tsukioka-san explained Juza’s situation earlier, he made it seem as though the latter was enthusiastic to play this role— was he mistaken?

“What do you mean?” you asked, walking over to the same spot Juza stood. Neither of you faced the other, as though you two were talking to the vibrant colours instead.

“Flowers are delicate,” the petal slipped from his index, “I’m not,” he said matter-of-factly.

Neither of you could deny that.

“… maybe you’re focusing too much on thinking of flowers generally,” you replied, the silence consuming the both of you thereafter.

The two of you barely talked the rest of the day, the only other time the two of you glanced at each other was when he said his farewell.

Monday.

Coming back from school for your shift at the shop, you didn’t expect to run into the purple-haired man on the way there.

“Juza-kun?” He stood quietly at a street corner, his stillness making you wonder how long he’d been there. Weren’t… weren’t people looking at him suspiciously? Did he notice? What was he doing?

He greeted you back, and you found yourself in an awkward stare-off with him for a few seconds. With a cough, he darted his eyes away from yours. “You weren’t at the shop,” he replied gruffly.

Oh, was he waiting for you?

You let out a little laugh as you asked him to follow you, failing to miss the small hint of surprise on Juza’s face as he walked behind you. The walk was quiet, but your mind was noisy with questions.

“Did you want to look at the flowers again?”

“… thought about what you said.”

You couldn’t react immediately, already stood at the storefront. Stepping into the shop, you greeted your co-worker and your companion quickly distanced himself, taking to the assortment of potted plants instead.

“Is that delinquent your boyfriend or something?” your co-worker whispered quietly, peeking behind you worriedly. You stopped in the middle of tying your work apron, narrowing your eyes.

“What?”

“He was standing outside a while ago,” she explained, “but he left pretty quickly. I thought he was being shady, but then he comes in with you?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Right, you didn’t get the chance to mention Tsukioka-san’s request from yesterday. You didn’t think you had to?

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you corrected, immediately shutting down whatever notion she had in her head, “Tsukioka-san asked me to help him with something.”

You almost giggled at how quickly she perked up at the familiar name. You bet he didn’t even realise how popular he was.

As you bid your adieus in advance, you exited the storage backroom and nearly yelped at the sight of Juza hunched over the counter, looking through the reference book.

“Are you looking for something specific?” you asked, leaning onto the counter to peer over the pages.

“… yesterday, you said I was being too general.”

You raised your eyebrows. Was he still thinking about that? “Guess I did, yeah.”

He flipped over another page, eyebrows furrowed as he skimmed through the content in front of him. You were sure he was trying his best to absorb the content, but you had a feeling it wasn’t working out as well as he had hoped.

You placed a hand over the book, and though you barely covered anything he got your intention pretty quickly.

“That’s going to take you forever,” you insisted, angling the book to face you instead as you flipped the pages over to the table of contents.

“What do you need for your characterisation, anyway?” from the corner of your eye, you could see the gears turning in his brain.

“Something happy,” he started, and you found yourself mentally listing down all the readily available flowers that fit into that meaning. Should be easy enough, there were many flowers that corresponded to happiness—

“Something calm,” he continued, and you found yourself turning around to look at him incredulously. “Something innocent.”

Was he gonna keep going?

“Something passionate, and something about new beginnings.”

“That’s a lot,” you stated the obvious, racking your brain for any flower that could possibly mean all of those. Maybe even a set of flowers from the same family? Happiness and innocence were often associated with each other anyway, and there were many flowers that meant passion anyway— though more on the love side of things. The other two, though…

“I’d need to look a bit more into that,” you apologised, eyes flitting from name to name to find a similar flower, “did Tsukioka-san say anything that could help?”

Juza let out a small hum, “he gave me a list.”

You thought he’d pull out his phone or something, so you couldn’t help the small laugh as he brought out a ripped out piece of notebook paper from his pocket. As soon as he handed it to you, you found yourself ticking off the flowers that wouldn’t work— whether it be obscurity or having a too vague meaning.

Lavender… Lily… Magnolia…

You stopped at the next flower listed. Oh, that could actually work?

“I think I have a reference for you,” you said. Unbeknownst to you, Juza subconsciously registered that as the first time you smiled at him.

Tuesday.

Why weren’t you surprised he would be at the street corner?

“Juza-kun, just wait inside the store,” you told him, a little exasperated. You understood his intentions, but he didn’t have to keep waiting outside every time for your arrival? "What if I got back a little late?”

“S’fine,” he mumbled quietly, falling into step with you, “it was only for a few minutes.”

“Ouka High is a lot closer, though,” you reminded him, “at this rate you’re gonna end up as a landmark.”

The conversation fell short again, the background noise filling up your silence. The door chime rang as you opened the door, and you checked in with your co-worker while Juza found himself with the flowers again.

“Did the delivery—?”

“Yep, it came today! Aha, he’s actually looking at some of them right now?”

Thanking her, you headed over to him and stared at the vibrant pink.

“Gentleness,” you said, loud enough for Juza to hear you, “pastel pink pansies mean something along the lines of gentleness and innocence.”

With Juza’s head bowed down, you thought he himself looked a lot like a pansy— a flower that resembled the human face, intelligent and pensive, nodding forward late in the summer as though deep in thought. The colour of his hair didn’t help diminish your imagination, either. After minutes of silence, he finally spoke up again.

“Muku,” he muttered. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Muku?”

“… my cousin,” he explained, “is a lot like this flower.”

Maybe it was your imagination, but somehow he sounded, looked a little softer.

“You must be pretty fond of him,” even if he weren’t to reply, you knew you already had your answer.

Wednesday.

You were running. Somehow you got distracted by the new cookies they were advertising at a cafe near your high school. Perhaps it was because of your ongoing situation with Juza, but as soon as you read the words “dessert” and “edible flowers” you made a bee-line for the store.

… and you ended up buying more than one, too. A whole pack of 6, actually. Really, who could blame you? The blue, pressed pansies atop the honey glazed lemon shortbread cookies looked absolutely scrumptious!

But now you were in a rush to get to work, and in your haste, you accidentally bumped into someone. You found yourself a little shocked as you looked up, familiar purple hair coming into vision.

“Oh, Juza-kun,” you greeted, “you’re actually not at the corner today?”

“Got dismissed late,” he said with a shrug, “you?”

You let out a chuckle, lifting the paper bag so he could see. “I bought some cookies after school. I thought the flowers on them were cute,” you explained, and for a split second, you swore Juza’s eyes widened slightly.

“… cookies?”

“Hm? Yeah. Do you like cookies?”

“… they’re fine,” he turned to face sideways, though that didn’t hide the pink blooming on his cheeks.

Oh?

“I’ll give you one later,” you said, doing your best to stifle the laugh that threatened to escape. How unexpected! That was kind of cute, actually. “We’re going to keep blocking the sidewalk at this rate, we should go.”

Somehow, the silence wasn’t so awkward this time, a little calming, even.

Thursday.

That was weird. No sight of Juza on the way to the flower shop— was he running late? Would he not be coming today, after all? For some reason, the thought made you a little sad. Perhaps you were starting to enjoy his company, after all.

Your co-worker gave you a knowing glance as soon as you entered the building, and any confusion immediately dissipated as you saw your purple-haired… friend? (Did he consider you two as friends?) by the yellow pansies.

“Juza-kun!” you greeted with a smile, pleased to hear him say your name as he greeted you back. Even with just this much, you were glad to have crossed a new boundary with him.

You nearly ran over to him, only stopping midway as you heard quiet laughter. You turned to face your fellow florist, holding up your work apron.

Aha, right.

“I’m only doing this as a favour to Tsukioka-san,” she mimicked as soon as you stepped in the backroom, “he’s not my boyfriend~”

How was this woman older than you?

You groaned, trying to put on your apron as fast as possible before bolting out the door. “Byeeee,” you said, hiding from her line of sight as you rushed over to Juza.

“Hey,” you greeted again, alerting him of your presence, even though he probably already knew you were there beforehand.

“Haven’t seen this one yet,” he commented, eyes a little narrower as he looked at the bouquet of yellow blotch pansies. “You said they meant happiness, right?”

The corners of your lips turned upward. “Oh, you remembered!” you said in delight, if not a little proud, “yep! Happiness in general… but,” you trailed off, causing your companion to look at you with interest.

“Is there another meaning?”

You laughed a little awkwardly, not meeting his gaze while not exactly avoiding it either. “I mean, it’s more of a personal interpretation, so it’s not really important.”

You could still feel his eyes on you, making you feel a bit self-conscious. Aha, seriously, the atmosphere between the two of you was already good— what were you doing?

“… I do think your opinion is important, though.”

You coughed, looking at him with a mixture and disbelief. Surprisingly, he didn’t retract or back down from his statement at all, further amplifying your flustered feelings. He remained unbothered, almost as if he somehow didn’t realise your reaction?

“Um, well,” you began, “you know how there’s like a dark coloured blotch within the yellow follower?”

Juza hummed in response, letting you know that he was following.

“On one hand, I think it could mean pretending to be happy even though you’re in a dark place,” you explained, “but it could mean finding happiness even though you’re battling your inner demons…”

He doesn’t respond for what seems like minutes, and you have half the mind to quickly change the topic. Your interpretation was probably a bit of a reach, wasn’t it? Too edgy, perhaps?

“… that was good,” he said, “I liked what you said.”

Though his praise was simple, you found yourself beaming anyway. It… was nice to know that he appreciated what you said.

Before you could get another word in, you heard the door swing open. You should probably attend to that.

You turned your back to Juza, about to walk away from him until you felt a tug on your arm. You stilled, wondering what could have possibly prompted the sudden contact.

“Juza-kun?” you asked quietly, voice unexpectedly shaky.

“… your apron is loose.”

“Oh! Thanks, I, uh, probably didn’t tie it properly,” you reasoned, your arms reaching back behind you to tie it, a somewhat futile attempt but an attempt nonetheless.

You failed to notice the cherry red blush on Juza’s face, to focused on trying to remove your own.

Friday.

“So how many colours are there?”

“Way too many,” you answered, “like sometimes they come in one colour, sometimes two or three; sometimes pastel, bright, or dark— all of them probably have different meanings too.”

You propped your elbows on the counter, hands cupping your face. In the past few days, you were able to accompany Juza wherever in the shop, but Fridays tended to be more busy compared to the other weekdays, causing the need to be heedful for incoming customers.

“So even more colours to learn…” you laughed out loud. How seriously was he taking this? Just for one flower?

“I mean you only really need to stay until you have enough info to flesh out your character,” you pointed out.

He didn’t reply for a while, and you had nearly worried that something had happened back there, but Juza piped back in the conversation eventually.

“So red symbolises passion, right?”

“Yep!” you said, fingers idly playing with the loose thread of your apron, “though I supposed a lot of red flowers mean passion and love, huh.”

“… and the white pansies?”

“It can mean purity and spirituality,” you started to explain, “but some say that when you give it to someone, you’re telling them to give you a chance.”

The room fell silent once more, but over the course of a week you didn’t mind it anymore. It was a little comforting, actually, having someone around— not even to help you with the shop or anything, but just a friend to talk to.

As you were about to close the shop, Juza appeared in front of you.

“I think I have my character figured out now,” he told you, and you felt yourself swelling with happiness and accomplishment.

“That’s great! Our hard work finally pulled through!”

The tiny hint of loneliness that you felt got left unsaid.

“Sorry for bothering you all week.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t bothered at all!”

Saturday.

“Huh, he’s not gonna be here today?” your co-worker asked as you arrived for your shift, “I legit thought you were joking about just helping him out of the goodness of your heart or whatever.”

You smiled a little sheepishly, “he already figured out what to do for his role. I’m sure he must be busy practising now, so I probably won’t see him around.”

You pretended to not see the look of sympathy thrown your way.

Sunday.

Two weeks had passed since you last saw him, and you chided yourself for thinking that the shop felt a bit emptier lately. At what point did you get so fond of him?

Even now, on the way to the shop, you found yourself stopping at the street corner, as though he’d be there again and was just too shy to enter without you.

Seriously, just what were you doing? Friends could go a while without seeing each other, it wasn’t a big deal.

Or at least that was what you told yourself for a grand total of three minutes, because that all came crumbling down as you saw his familiar figure standing outside the flower shop.

“Juza-kun?”

You approached him with slow steps, briefly wondering if you just went through some next level hallucination, but the closer you got the more evident that he was the real thing.

“Umm, is there something you need?”

His eyes wouldn’t meet yours, not unlike the first couple of days you spent with him. “… here,” he unloaded the two things into your hands, one of which you recognised while the other was a mystery.

You checked the envelope first, a pleasant surprise greeting you.

“A play… your play ticket?” you asked him, and he nodded as though to confirm your assumption.

“I remember you said you weren’t busy during that time and day, so…” with a gentle smile, you tucked the ticket back inside the envelope for safe-keeping.

“I’ll be there to support you, for sure.”

With the mystery item set aside, only the white paper bag with the flower logo was left. Somehow, even without opening it, you already knew what the contents would be.

“… they had other colours and flavours for the cookies,” he said as you took out the small box of 6, “the ones with the white pansies are vanilla and cinnamon flavoured, and the ones with the pink pansies are dark chocolate and raspberry flavoured.”

It took a while for you to comprehend the situation, still a little befuddled by him even appearing again until you realised what he was trying to say.

“White and pink pansies,” you said with a laugh, before ushering him back inside the shop.

You suddenly felt a lot less lonely.

“ thank you for your hard work today at the flower shop! here, feel free to take home these pansies with you~ ”

【 pansy 】 admiration, remembrance 【 pink pansies 】 gentle tenderness, innocence 【 blue pansies 】 calmness, trustworthiness 【 yellow pansies 】 happiness, bright disposition 【 red pansies 】 passion, love 【 white pansies 】 innocence, purity, “take a chance on me”

“ maybe you’d like some more flowers before heading home? ”

-ˋˏflower shop masterlistˎˊ- | -ˋˏfic masterlistˎˊ-

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! juza #juza hyodo #hyodo juza #cafe: dessert menu #nathya's flower shop #a3! game #a3 actor training game #a3! actor training game #a3 imagines

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