#lemonade male enhancement

[ethepearl]

Mammon Headcanons;

[YES, I KNOW SOME OF THESE HEADCANONS ARE JUST CANON BUT, dont worry about that sweetheart /j /ref.]

Basic Info:

Sex: male

Gender: demiboy

Pronouns: he/they

Attraction: pansexual

Race: black & white

Ethnicity: hispanic latino

Nationality: brazilian dominican

Species: half demon

Personality:

Skills: dancing, running, good stamina

Traits: also very low impulse control, loud, chismoso

Habits: stealing, fidgeting, probably blows on food when its not hot and then questions why he did it, talking rlly fast, saying outta pocket shit with the straightest face in the history of straight faces, soccer

Hobbies: spending money (obviously), playing electric guitar, playing drums, beatboxing, making beats with pens (I dont know what its called💀💀), playing soccer

Disorders?: ADHD (inattentive)

Fears: thantophobia (fear of losing a loved one), debt, and

Pet Peeves: being ignored, being left on read, invasions of personal space (hypocritical fr)

Strengths: driving good when he feels like it,

Weaknesses: lying, stubborn, hot headed

[Is usually shy when meeting a new person]

[will have nightmares after watching a scary movie / or anything scary]

Interests:

Likes: sunshine, shopping, music, money obviously, traveling, photography, roadtrips, spray painting, racing (cars), weed

Dislikes: horror movies, books, french hot chocolate, documentaries

Favorite Foods: yaniqueque, french vanilla bean icecream, edibles

Favorite Drinks: hot chocolate, passion fruit tea lemonade (whatever the devildom equivalent of starbuck is)

Favorite Songs: Whats up Danger by Post Malone, Dinero by Trinidad Cardona, Tone Deaf by Eminem

Instruments: Drums & Electric Guitar

Favorite Instrument: Drums

[Photography Major]

[Can drive well — chooses to drive recklessly anyway]

[no spice tolerance AT AWLL]

Physical Characteristics:

Height: 6’ 0”

Body Type: skinny

Hair Type: 2a

Hair Color: off white

Eye Shape: upturned almond

Eye Color: blue

Ear Shape: blue & yellow

Powers:

enhanced speed

“Users can move faster than the peak members of their species, making it very difficult for one to be able to react to them. The users of this ability are also very resistant or even outright immune to the side effects of moving at such speeds. These effects include, but are not limited to, g-force, inertia, intense heat build-up, massive kinetic energy build-up, etc. They are capable of running 64-616 km/h (40-383 MPH). They are also fast enough to outrun helicopters, motorcycles, and others vehicles within that range of speed. With their speed, they can move faster than the eye can see and avoid an opponent’s perception. Furthermore, they can move faster than the speed of sound.” — superpower wiki

greed embodiment

“Users become the embodiment of greed and gain power from the greed in others or oneself. They can use greed as a power source to extend their life span or as a weapon and can become immune to death unless certain conditions are met.” — superpower wiki

greed magic

“The user can utilize form of magic dealing with greed, also known as avarice. They can induce high levels of desire to keep anything the person has, throw attacks composed of greed, or any number of things. This kind of magic is often associated with precious metals such as gold.” — superpower wiki

Scenarios:

Dividers made by; @rookthornesartistry

[drchiraggupta]

Six Tips For Passing Kidney Stones Effectively

Some people are prone to kidney stones. This could be due to their lifestyle habits. The kind of job they are into has an effect on the lifestyle. Alternatively, they might suffer due to hereditary reasons. If either of the parents has a problem of kidney stones, the children might get it in their genes. When you detect kidney stones at an early stage, whatever the reasons their cause you could get treatment. There will be fewer complications if the treatment starts as soon as you detect you have stones. The best option is passing Kidney.

 Kidney stones comprise of calcium oxalate. They have very small size. To give you an idea, the diameter of a stone could be less than 5 mm. Mostly, these stones can be passed out of the body by treating them at home itself. Using a flush or acid dissolvent, you could dissolve the stones and eliminate them. Male Infertility in Jaipur

 Mostly kidney stones pass away naturally without any problem. However, issues arise when the stones get bigger in size. Then they start getting painful. Ideally, the patient has lot of fluids. The doctor then observes if it works for the patient.

 Here are a few tips for passing kidney stones:

 1) Consume plenty of vegetable and fruit juices. Sip carrot juice, orange juice and grape juices. Natural juices are loaded with citrate. Citrate - a citric acid derivative aids in dissolving the stones, especially cysteine stones. Such stones are nothing but amino acids that are left unabsorbed.

 2) Take in plenty of water. by 'plenty of water' meaning abundant quantities. A minimum of ten to twelve glasses must be a part of your daily intake. Water prevents crystallization of oxalates or insoluble salts. Water also enhances urine secretions. By this, it is possible to flush all toxins and oxalates out of the body.

 3) If you do not like consuming plenty of water, then sip lemonades or lime juices. In case you have stones due to calcium oxalates, it will work very well for you. The fibre and citric acid in lemon dissolves and enables the stones to pass out of the body. This works especially on stones that form due to unabsorbed calcium.

 4) If you try this home remedy, it might work for you. Mix together one tablespoon of lemon juice with olive oil. Take this with one glass of water. Olive oil makes the stones greasy and drives them out. This works for some and its natural. Kidney Stone Surgery in Jaipur

 5) Keep your mind occupied all the while. This will keep you from thinking about the pain associated with kidney stones. Surgery might be more painful and uncomfortable.

 6) Listen to the doctor's advice and follow it to the 'T'. If the doctor has barred you from consuming certain foods, follow the instructions. It is best to solve the problem of kidney naturally. It is OK if you have to forgo your favorite foods for a short time. passing kidney stones is a less painful way to get rid of kidney stones. Besides, consuming certain foods will enlarge the size of the stones creating complications.

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number) 

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

*    *    *    *    *    *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter. 

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat. 

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society. 

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’  his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room. 

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck. 

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin. 

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

 Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips. 

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had. 

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango. 

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion).  The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere. 

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it. 

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’ 

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough. 

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did. 

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother. 

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat. 

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door. 

 Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be. 

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company. 

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants,  and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.  

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel. 

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already. 

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.” 

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like. 

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy. 

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation. 

Right? 

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy. 

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table. 

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon. 

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants. 

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny. 

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could. 

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again. 

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared  trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin. 

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class. 

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go. 

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.  

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’. 

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence. 

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said. 

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement. 

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.” 

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible. 

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked. 

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t. 

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited. 

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible. 

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another. 

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart. 

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent. 

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.” 

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy. 

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.” 

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully. 

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”  

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be. 

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her. 

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest  as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer. 

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning. 

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him. 

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked. 

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home. 

His home. 

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture). 

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too. 

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did. 

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number. 

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room. 

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise. 

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her. 

“Oh my god!” She said,  “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with.  She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’. 

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’. 

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm.  The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow. 

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up. 

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf. 

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.” 

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.” 

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.” 

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three. 

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said. 

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n. 

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her. 

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.” 

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck.  Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements. 

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm. 

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous. 

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing. 

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”  

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram. 

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added. 

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?” 

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.” 

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma. 

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time. 

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates. 

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat. 

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store. 

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should. 

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage. 

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead. 

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance. 

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way. 

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day. 

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that. 

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning. 

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart. 

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down. 

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content. 

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.    

It’s no use. 

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true. 

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be. 

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him. 

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier. 

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin. 

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible. 

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy. 

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips. 

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay. 

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day? 

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look. 

“Back again so soon, H?” 

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop. 

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.” 

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said. 

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal. 

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and- 

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart. 

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?” 

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off. 

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove. 

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.” 

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.” 

 It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence? 

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.” 

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.” 

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out. 

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle. 

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly. 

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice. 

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. 

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like. 

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.” 

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.  

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance. 

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought. 

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).    

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling. 

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.” 

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!” 

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles. 

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!” 

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all. 

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else. 

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time, 

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.” 

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s  side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands. 

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm? 

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.” 

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose. 

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.” 

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her. 

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.” 

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum. 

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face. 

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body. 

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything. 

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers. 

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes. 

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning. 

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole. 

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum. 

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.  

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?” 

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-” 

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists. 

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?” 

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.” 

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning. 

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching. 

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?” 

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center. 

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?” 

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.” 

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent. 

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling. 

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.  

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning. 

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom. 

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.  

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds. 

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface. 

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves. 

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button. 

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like. 

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut. 

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock. 

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her. 

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself. 

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm. 

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge. 

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base. 

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum. 

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum. 

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out. 

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again. 

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body. 

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads: 

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name. 

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

[ofmermaidstories]

By the time you were 12, you knew exactly what men liked.

(‼️📍18+/MDNI — content/trigger warnings for: dark/problematic content, male gaze & objectification, sex work, implied violence against women/murder, murder in general lol, vague smut but it’s not with anyone we actually like (tho we do imagine a few faves), smoking. This is set in the BNHA world, and while I’d tentatively say there’s some vague Bakugou x Reader elements, they are very much not the focus.)

Your mother’s the one that teaches you, unwittingly. In the early evenings she’d get ready for work, down at the club: you’d sit as quietly as a mouse on her bed, watching her as she sat at her vanity, running her hands through freshly curled hair. Your mother was beautiful, and knew how to enhance it: with eyelash curlers and creamy blush and eyeliner to darken her eyes, widen them.

She kept her makeup carefully organised and after she’d leave you for the night, you’d go and sit in her place and stare at your reflection, trying to map your mother in your own features. You’d use her eye-lash curler, her blush. The expensive eyeliner that she’d later yell at you for wasting. Try and tousle your hair like she had—wild and windswept, like you’d walked a long way just to see someone special. You’d dab at your lips like she did, with pottles of lipstick that darkened your mouth, made it flush and shiny. Her perfume would sit pride and centre of her collection—a squat little bottle with a golden top, pale pink liquid inside that smelt like pressed roses. You’d spray it liberally around you, on you, and later get yelled for that too—but in the moment afterwards you’d stare at your reflection and see the glimmer of someone you could grow into, if you tended to her. The kind of woman who’d grow up and wear satin dresses that were cut to show the swell of her breasts—the kind of woman who could pull out a packet of cigarettes, and have someone else light them for her. The kind of woman who could shift in her seat and let her dress ride up, just a fraction—showing off smooth thigh, not minding the lingering gaze of whatever man was sitting next her.

That was the kind of woman your mother was; what she delighted in being. You’d watch it all, when you were younger—bundled up and taken to the club some nights when she couldn’t trust you alone, hidden away in the dressing rooms or otherwise behind the bar, set up with your picture books, your games. If the other girls had free time they’d play with you—treating you like a little pet or a doll, easily amused by the placid, trusting way you’d let them dress you up or otherwise pass you around.

Your favourite was Himiko. She would play music for you, in the dressing room: songs from her mother’s day, songs she’d dance around to with you, the pair of you swinging around wildly. She was the one who would teach you the patience for neatly cutting out pictures from magazines, photocopies from encyclopaedias, figures from the polaroids she’d let you take. Together you’d decorate her makeup table with starlets, pop singers, dogs running free, flowers; paste cherubs and roses on her cigarettes, a pink packet she swore smelt like peaches but just stank, to you. Your school books. Valentines Day cards for your mother and the other girls, the bartender who’d give you glasses filled with lemonade and glazed cherries and little umbrellas that you faithfully kept, lining them up according to colour.

Himiko brings you a tin box, one day, for your little treasures—your umbrellas. Together you decorated it with cut-outs of smiling, gentle fairies and frogs with golden crowns, shinning stars cut out from the foil of Himiko’s cigarette packets or the chocolate bars the other girls would slip you.

“You’re a good kid, Baby,” Himiko would tell you afterwards, watching you arrange your little paper umbrellas just so. Sitting with you on the floor, you could not have loved anyone better, you thought: Himiko in dark lace and shinning ribbons, a small, sheer skirt. She smelt sweet—not like your mother’s roses but something gentler, more sugary. It was her eyes, though—you’ll never forget her eyes that night. Big and dark and sad and smeared with golden glitter. She was beautiful too—in a different way to your mother, in a softer way, the kind of person who’d lean forward and laugh at someone’s joke, who’d shift shyly at their sudden attention. Who would cup someone’s hand when their own slid to her knee, or higher. Demure, you’d realise later, as an adult. She was someone demure, different from your mother’s silky directness. Through them both, your mother and Himiko, you learnt what men liked: power. Power over things they thought were beautiful. Power over things they liked to think they owned.

A week after bringing you your treasure box, Himiko goes missing. The man who sat with her the most—a tall salaryman, with round glasses who brought her presents every time—never comes back, and Himiko is eventually replaced by a younger girl. A meaner girl who demands that Himiko’s beautifully collaged table get replaced.

“Look at this rubbish,” she complains to one of the other girls, who glances to you apologetically. “It’s stupid and tacky. How was it even allowed?”

“You’re stupid!” You’d burst out, unable to help it. “And a ratty bitch!” One of the others quickly ushers you away as the new girl glared daggers at you—with her little, beady rat face but you had the vindication of being right, even if your mother would yell at you, again, for it later.

Management got rid of Himiko’s carefully decorated table—the starlets and pop-singers, the dogs running free, the flowers, all left to sit under the city snow on the curbside.

You told your mother you didn’t want to go with her to work, anymore: that you were old enough to stay home by yourself.

You were 12 by then. It was a relief to both of you.

By the time you’re an adult you’re no longer talking to your mother, though just like a prophecy made on a mountain you have indeed grown into her face, her habits. You wear the same kind of inviting dresses and tousle your hair and smile at men when they press in closer, letting them run their grubby hands up your bared thighs. But you keep tiny parts of Himiko, too—engrained in the fabric of your being, now. Playing her songs as you get ready, dancing around your room, loose-limbed. Dabbing glitter over your eyelids, the way she’d do hers. Pasting cherubs with rosy-buttocks and vintage illustrations of kittens onto packets of cigarettes you’d buy from the vending machine at work.

“Cute,” men would say, dryly, whenever you’d pull them out. “You’re real cute.”

You’d smile easily and lean in—aware of their eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts. “Light one for me?” You’d ask, willing yourself to go soft-eyed, to give them the power, even over this tiny thing, that you knew would go straight to their dicks.

It was easy. You were good at it, at charming them into your room and stripping them down, washing them. You could do sexy; breathing in just a little too hard when they touch you for the first time. Making the right kind of noises, the ones that suggested you’d never felt this way before, hadn’t imagined it with anyone else but them and their rough, stupid hands. Serving them that power they all thought was their right, while you rode them into the satin sheets and imagined your favourite Pro Heroes underneath you instead, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. Random pop stars—something, anything, anyone—more interesting.

Life goes on like this. You and your mother ignore each other and you make friends with the other girls that work at the same club as you and you walk back home in the early morning, stopping at the konbini to buy coffee or instant noodles or wrapped kimbap. Sometimes you’ll buy a magazine—Vogue, with flawless models holding designer handbags, on white-sand beaches. Tabloid rags screaming DEKU TURNING TO THE DARK SIDE? with a blurry photo of the hero in the corner. You cut out your favourite photos of him, of Dynamight and Shouto and collage them onto your smokes with some flowers and gold foil stars, smiling the next time you pull them out for a client.

“You into heroes?” He asks, quiet. He’s older but wears it well—tall, hair silver at the sides and matching the silver frames of his round glasses. He dresses neatly, in clean, neatly pressed suits—a salaryman you guess, though he never wants to talk about work.

“Mm,” you agree. “I think they’re brave.”

You shift in closer and smile when his eyes behind those glasses flicker over you. “Light me?”

You imagine you’re with Pro Hero Shouto that night, half a world away in your mind as he traces his long fingers over your skin.

Mr. M, as you come to call him, becomes a regular. You see him once a week—he always brings you a present. A jar of tiny seashells. Sheets of music for an instrument you lied about learning to play. Gift boxes of tiny cookies from his travels—and lingerie. You learn he has expectations when it comes to his tastes, when it comes to how he wants to experience his power with you.

You wear the lingerie; wine-red lace and matching ribbons. White silk slips, long and deceptively demure. Silk stockings you roll up your legs. Thongs made out of pearls that you have to make sure glisten before you’re allowed to take them off. Mr. M watches you in all of these gifts—silent as you pretend every session gives you some new sensation. He likes to hold your hands above your head—pinning them to the pillows as he ruts into you, your breasts spilling out of whatever lace, whatever silk you’re wrapped in that night. His panting over your face is hot and you close your eyes and pretend it’s some oiled-up Pro from the latest issue of Hero Days—Dynamight, maybe. Someone with a strong grip, who looks like they might run hot, be slick to touch, like how your legs slip against Mr. M’s back as you meet his thrusts.

He’s not a talker, dirty or otherwise. But one night you’re together and you’re trying not to moan—a deliberate move, your mind a thousand miles ahead—when he nuzzles near your ear, and breathes out, “Himiko,”

You think he takes your answering gasp as an indication of his performance—not the shock at hearing that name. He continues on moving, seemingly unaware of his faux-pas as he huffs against your shoulder and you barely even feel it when it comes, staring at the ceiling.

Himiko, he’d said. Himiko.

Your throat burns. Himiko, you repeat to yourself. Himiko.

If your mother’s surprised when you call, she doesn’t sound it.

“Himiko?” She repeats, when you ask. “I mean, no one knew what happened to her, kiddo. That was the whole point.”

“There must’ve been something,” you argue back, pacing around your living room.

You can hear it when your mother shrugs. “Baby like it or not, it’s a hazard of the trade. Himiko had a few regulars that would’ve known their way around hurtin’ someone—maybe she just rejected the wrong person at the wrong time.”

You make an impatient noise, and sink down into your couch. “There must’ve been a suspect, at least—”

On the other side of the phone your mother sighs, annoyed and you think, angrily, that she’s going to tell you to drop it, but then your mother surprises you by saying, “We all thought Maruya-san might’ve… done something. The girls and me. He was pretty… intense about her. I think he liked that doe-eyed fantasy.”

Your skin is cold and you are thinking of Himiko’s eyes, the night she gave you your tin box—large and dark and sad. “Maruya-san?” You ask.

Humming, your mother adds, “yeah, lanky bastard. I don’t know if you’d remember him, he was there enough times when you were. Tall guy, with these poxy little glasses—he used to make Himiko wear these sets he’d buy her—”

Maruya-san. You stare at your TV, blank now—and barely hear a word your mother is saying.

You make sure you do your research.

You look up articles, dated to Himiko’s disappearance—a couple of men were questioned, you learn, but the leads never went anywhere. Maruya-san doesn’t appear in any of them but you do some cross-referencing on some social sites, work related ones. There’s a lot of Maruya-sans in the country even when you narrow down the age and it takes you questioning your mother a few more times before you have enough information to guess which one he might be.

Your salaryman pops up, his picture younger than the man you know, now, but undeniably still the same. Between that, the stories you now have from your mother and the way he had whispered Himiko that night—you’re sure. You think you know.

Some tiny part of you begs you to weigh your options first—but what options are there? The police packed away Himiko as quickly as they could. Could you tell a Pro Hero? Run to whatever one you find on patrol and spill out the whole story? What a stupid thought. No, it had to be you.

The afternoon of your last session with Mr. M you sit on your bedroom floor, playing one of your records—one of Himiko’s songs crooning along—as you open your old, precious tin. Your paper umbrellas are still in there, along with some polaroids the other girls managed to save for you, when the club dumped Himiko’s things. She’s smiling in one of them, beaming up at whoever’s taking the photo—younger than you, now, you realise. You flip through the stack, most of them of girls you barely remember, one of them of your mother—and one of you, eyes closed as you grin, a gap in your teeth. You look so happy, you think, your eyes watering. You don’t even remember this being taken and hadn’t realised the gravity of Himiko keeping it, as a child—that she had loved you enough to.

“I’m going to do this for both of us,” you tell the air of your room. The song on your record player hits it’s end, scratchy silence reigning and you dab at your face and move to get ready.

The piece you’re wearing tonight is special—some high-end brand he gave you a while ago, with handmade lace woven into doves, their wings framing your cleavage. You run your hands through your freshly curled hair—smear your makeup on. Spray yourself with your perfume and sit there in silence, in your black satin dress, staring at your reflection.

You have a new packet of cigarettes for tonight. You have them with you when you meet Mr. M at the bar—drinking the cocktail he orders you, smiling at him all the while. When you get him back to the room, you lead him to the bed—letting him run his hands down your back, where the zip for your dress is.

“I wore this especially for you, tonight,” you whisper, and let him peel your dress down—revealing the doves, the curves of you. He thumbs over your breasts, marvelling and you gently push away from him, coy.

“You know what I could use, right now?” You ask him, breathy.

He shakes his head, and you slip away from him to your handbag—pulling out your cigarettes. His face doesn’t change—not at this break in character, though when you move closer and offer the packet to him you get the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen, behind those round glasses.

You smile, and it doesn’t falter when he roars ablaze in front of you.

It’s Dynamight that comes for you, in the end.

Sirens wail in the distance and you watch the dawn—the pink promise of the sky—and think of how much you’ll miss this, how much you miss Himiko.

When you hear the clip of heavy boots against concrete you turn, half-curious—raising your eyebrows when you see Great Explosion Murder Mystery Dynamight himself, glaring at you.

“Hello,” you greet, pleasant. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a fuss.”

“Move away from the ledge,” he says, voice rough and a part of you wants to laugh because you can imagine that voice, perfectly, saying obscene things in the dark.

“I’m not afraid of heights,” you tell him, rattling your smokes as you pull them out. You can feel when the Pro behind you tenses at the action but you thumb over Himiko’s picture fondly, surrounded by roses as she is, smiling—and pull out a cigarette.

“Want one?” You ask, politely. Dynamight’s jaw just tightens when you glance to him—he’s a big man, you think to yourself, letting your eyes flicker over the Pro. His arms thick—skin gleaming. The distaste he has for you is all over his face, though you don’t miss how those dark eyes—red now, in the dawn—trace over the wings of your lace doves and down your body.

“Smokin’s disgusting,” he grunts, and you laugh, letting the flames of your Quirk flicker at your fingertips—a makeshift lighter.

“Yeah,” you agree, easily. “I guess it kinda is.”

[casefilesmdr]

Top 10 Health And Fitness Tips For All

Health and fitness are the most important objectives in the world of. It's not only about living a long and satisfying life, but also about being happy and enjoying the most enjoyable living experience. This article aims to give you some perspective on what we can do to live a healthy and active lifestyle with technology.

Listed below are our top tips for fitness and health:

1. Eat healthy and nutritious food

Eating healthy food is important for health and fitness, but it is important to know that there are many foods that are not healthy. The consumption of processed and sugary foods are harmful to the body.

Foods high in protein and carbohydrates can be beneficial to your overall health.

They can help you feel better, maintain a healthy weight and help you reenergize your body.

Food can also bring happiness. It can bring a child joy and even stop him from crying. Simply mention the name of the food that is loved by someone in front of him and watch the excitement even without eating it.

Ask any fitness trainer, and they will advise you that no matter your fitness goals eating a balanced and healthy diet is the most important thing you can do.

It is essential to ensure that you are properly nourishing your body before and after your exercise routine. Include vegetables into your daily diet, whether you eat smoothies or eating them. The more variety you can find in your diet, the better it is for your fitness and health.

2. Exercise Regularly

There's no better way to stay healthy than regular exercising. Exercising can reduce the risk of developing many chronic diseases including diabetes, cardiovascular disease and some cancers. It can also help maintain an ideal weight and enhances mental health and wellbeing.

Read our guide on why exercise makes you feel better?

3. Maintain an Ideal Weight

If you are overweight or obese or obese, even losing a small amount of weight could have a big impact on your health. It is suggested that males aim to lose between 1 to 2kg each month while women should strive for 500g to 1kg per month.

By doing certain fixes in life, you can even lose weight with no exercise.

4. Make sure you drink plenty of water

Water should be consumed at least 2 litres per daily. You may also consume other liquids like herbal teas or juices made from fruit. This will help you stay hydrated and avoid headaches, dizziness and fatigue.

Check out our A-Z guide to the health benefits of drinking water.

5. Eat Fish

Fish oils like mackerel, sardines, and salmon are loaded with nutrients that can help to defend against stroke and heart disease. Try to eat at least 2 portions of oily fish each week.

6. Reduce Sugar

Cola lemonade, energy drinks and lemonade are loaded with sugar. Drinking water is more beneficial than sugary drinks like lemonade, cola, and energy drinks.

7. Consume a balanced and healthy diet

Consume a lot of fruits and vegetables.

8. Sleep well and get a good night's rest

Sleeping enough is essential to your overall health and well-being. Aim to have between 7 to 9 hours of rest every night. Try some relaxing exercises like meditation or yoga prior to bed to help you wind down and get a good night's sleep.

9. Move faster

Make it a goal to walk 5000 miles a day. This will help keep you active and help prevent weight growth. The best method to become healthier and fitter is to be active and move less. A minimum of 30 minutes of moderate exercise should be completed each day.

10. Make sure you eat plenty of fruits and vegetables

Consuming five portions of fruits and vegetables every day will aid in keeping your weight under control lower the risk of heart disease and stroke, improve your skin tone and keep your digestive system in good shape.

Try to include a variety of different vegetables and fruits in your diet, like carrots, oranges, bananas, apples and pears.

Conclusion:

All that's within our top 10 Health and Fitness tips. It is crucial to maintain your health and remain fit by living an active life. The importance of maintaining an active lifestyle can't be understated. It is the most efficient method to remain healthy and fit. It benefits our well-being and offers many long-term benefits.

[chicagocityofclans]

Judson Cleirigh → Jamie Dornan → Warlock

→ Basic Information 

Age: 761

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Sapiosexual

Powers: Therionology

Birthday: August 16th

Zodiac Sign: Leo

Religion: Buddhist

Mark: Cleirigh 

Generation: 2nd

→ His Personality Judson is very kindhearted, passionate, and loyal. He is willing to risk his life for a loved one in every way possible. He sees helping others as his purpose in life, but while normal people can be found engaging rescue efforts and doing charity work, Judson's real passion is to get to the heart of the issue so that people do not need to be rescued at all. Though soft-spoken, Judson usually has very strong opinions and will fight tirelessly for an idea he believes in. He can be decisive and strong-willed. While in his lab, he acts with creativity, imagination and faith. Also, with sympathy to not create an advantage to the supernatural community only, but to create for the human population too. He wants to take care of the world. As a user of theriogenology, Judson had to fight for the respect of his peers and most of the supernatural community, because of the power to control animals and eventually mythical creatures. He holds that respect and the trust he gained above all else. 

→ His Personal Facts

Occupation: Potions Master and Owner of Wondering Worlds of Magic

Scars: None

Tattoos: Infinity symbol on left ankle  

Two Likes: Kiwi and Potions

Two Dislikes: Green Peas/Beans and The Color Orange

Two Fears: Called out or Judged For Being Ambidextrous and Somniphobia

Two Hobbies: Stress Eating and Surfing

Three Positive Traits: Unselfish, Approachable, Passionate

Three Negative Traits: Jealous, Obsessive, Vindictive

→ His Connections

Parent Names:

Ronan Cleirgh (Father): Judson takes his love and art for magic from his father. Ronan has taught him nearly everything he knows today.

Ishtar Cleirigh (Mother): Judson takes his personality after his mother the most. Ishtar gives the best hugs and no one comes close to her cooking. 

Sibling Names:

Nathan Cleirigh (Brother): Nathan was always the doting older brother. He never lost his patience with Judson or his temper.  

Ethan Cleirigh (Brother): Being a couple of years apart made them closer. Judson will never forget that Ethan volunteered to postpone his studies so that they could start schooling, and later on, training together.

Sean O’Payne-Cleirigh (Brother): Judson never hung out with Sean. He’s sure Sean hated him with a passion. Ishtar and Jo forbid them being in the same country at one point.

Teyla ‘Tikka’ Cleirigh (Sister): Judson wasn’t sad that he wasn’t the youngest anymore when Tikka was born. He was the first to note the scent of decay, alerting everyone she was a necromancer. She’s already his little potion master in the making and everyone knows it.

Altair Cleirigh (Brother): Judson wasn’t sad he wasn’t the youngest boy anymore when Altair was born. Loland couldn’t pry Judson away from his little brother. Judson has recently taught Altair how to swim and have many future beach trips planned out already. 

Children Names:

Ryan Cleirigh (Son): Ryan is Judson’s greatest accomplishment. Sometimes it's easy to forget that Ryan is his son because of their close friendship. 

Romantic Connections:

None

Platonic Connections:

Katherine ‘Kate’ Brooks (New Friend): Judson likes her and he thinks that Ryan does too. She’s a fascinating human.

Jev ‘Patch’ Cipriano (Best Friend): Patch is the little brother that Judson always wanted. Their friendship is one of the best that Judson has ever had. 

Bill White (Good Friend): Bill might as well be family at this point in their friendship. Bill, Patch and Judson have an amazing connection. 

Fenrin Gustafsson (Friend): Judson and Fenrin first met whilst surfing years ago. When they bumped into each other again in Chicago a friendship formed between them. Judson is currently using Fenrin as a lab rat for potions to help battle dehydration. Fenrin has been a great help and Judson plans on crediting him.

Cassandra Askeris (Old Friend): Cassandra and Judson have been friends for centuries. Judson considers her basically family at this point. 

Jia Hu Cleirigh (Friend): Judson has a deep respect for Jia. It's something about the man that peaks Judson interest. 

Audo Wilhelm (Friend): Audo isn’t bad for a Wilhelm. He was weary of him at first but once Judson got to know him more, Audo wasn’t that bad.

Emmett Wilhelm (Friend): Emmett isn’t bad for a Wilhelm. Everyone is usually familiar with the local liaison but Emmett has earned more than just a title. 

Minsky Edison (Friend): Minsky is a cool dude. They do a lot of business together which Judson appreciates because Minsky is old enough not to need him. 

Kenneth McStevens (Friend): Ken secretly works for Judson. As a Benevorous user not a lot of magic users trust Ken but Judson sees potential in him.

Lyla Wilhelm (Friend): Lyla is married to Emmett and is Audo’s best friends. Emmett and Audo introduced her to Judson and they have been friends since. 

Kudzai Rinker (Strained Friendship): Not a lot of people agree with Kudzai ways but due to her age and success, a lot of people show her respect. Mainly Judson.

Naomi Goode (Mentee): Naomi came to him not to enhance her powers but to master potions, which Judson is used to. He enjoys her as his student.

Margo Wilhelm (Mentee): Margo is absolutely adorable. He has been helping Audo care for her and is proud that her first words were ingredients to a potion.

Mattie Cocci (Mentee): Mattie came to him not to enhance her powers but to master potions, which Judson is used to. She’s not bad but has far to go.

Roman Cleirigh (Former-Mentor): Roman is also Judson’s uncle. At a young age Judson was attached to Roman hip and for the most part he still is.

Kaylor Genesis (Former-Mentor): Kaylor is also Judson’s aunt. They share the same powers and same carefree attitude. They’ve always got along.

Brighton ‘Bee’ Genesis (Business): Bee is also his uncle by marriage. Bee joined him and Ethan on the battlefield and saved them both multiple times. Bee powers also come in handy when he needs rare ingredients for projects.  

Belle Cunningham (Business): Belle can do amazing things with her powers. She uses Wondering Magic as a Consignment Store.

Garrett Cleirigh (Employee): Garret is also Judson’s uncle. Both of them are willing to drop everything at once to help the other out. 

Hostile Connections:

Louis Martin-Rovet (Dislike): Judson has nothing against other supernatural  creatures but Louis and his rats are pushing it too far. 

Pets:

Diaval Brazil (Familiar/Exotic Shorthair Cat): Diaval is Judson familiar. He was a gift from Kaylor and Roman once he started working on his Master level powers. 

→ History Judson has always been a happy person and a go-getter. He rarely cried as a baby, his parents believed he was benevorous, that was until animals annoyingly tried to enter his room and smother him with kindness, love and woodland gifts. His toddler life and childhood was a Disney movie as far as Judson is concerned. He’d wake up to birds singing him a song, deer playing with him outside and raccoons bring him berries and nuts for snacks. Life couldn’t have been any better. He saw no evil in his parents and siblings like the world around them did. As far as little Judson was concerned he had a time traveler for a mother and death as his father. 

As he grew, Judson developed a sixth sense for magic. He muttered spells daily, like they were prayers and could mix potions quicker than chocolate milk or lemonade. Before Judson started mentoring, he had potions, spellworks, charms and warding down enough to start selling his personal products to witches and warlocks locally. Judson eventually made a name for himself away from his family and banked on it. 

First, Judson mentored under Kaylor and she taught him zoolingualism which took just over a century. Learning to understand and imitate every animal nearly drove him mad but taught Judson how to always smile even when he was dying inside. Zookinesis came easily after being able to communicate with animals in their own language. It was around this time that Judson switched to his second mentor, Ronan. While Kaylor did continue to help him with his advance powers, Ronan took over teaching Judson about more physically created magic. They focused on wards, shields, charms and curses. Judson was as young as 356 years old when he had his third mentor, Roman. Roman had been itching to get his hands on Judson since he had mixed his first potion correctly at the age of 7.

Judson loves potions. Name it and Judson has tried to create it. He pushes the envelope nonstop, wanting nothing but perfection to go with his name. This is mostly thanks to Roman. His uncle had broken him down and built him up again multiple times to make him a legendary potion master before he finished learning his master powers. Judson had put learning his master powers on hold after turning 420. He started deploying with Ethan and Bee during international wars and putting his potions to work on injured, lovelorn or homesick humans and other supernaturals. He became internationally known within the supernatural population. Only then did he allow his current mentor and his previous two, to drag him off and teach him mythikinesis and animal guide generation. Judson was nearly in his mid 500s when he completed his mentorship.

It was the early 1800’s when Judson finally stopped travelling to people around the world and opened a local shop in Chicago. Witches and Warlocks were able to teleport safely into a backroom and shop around for the rarest treats. Judson had scheduled cross country teleports to take goodies to his other supernatural customers who trusted him but were unable to teleport. While it took awhile to gain the trust of the locals in Chicago because of his mastered ability of mythikinesis, Judson is glad that they didn’t take too long to come visit him. Judson had even begun to put in the efforts to help find solutions for animal shifter hypershift and dementia.

It was sometime in the early 1830’s when Judson decided he wanted a progeny. He wasn’t in a serious relationship and finding orphaned with unknown warlock or witch marks was nearly impossible. He tried and failed multiple times using spells and potions to make himself the perfect progeny. Judson even entered the dating scene but quickly left after having put everything he worked hard for on hold for ungrateful, unworthy and abusive assholes. That’s when Judson heard about a private witch and warlock surrogate program and sperm donors. Without telling anyone, Judson closed up shop to ‘find himself’ and returned 9 months later with a newborn. Judson didn’t share his story because of confidentiality clauses. He later told his son, Ryan, the truth about his birth but it is still a secret to their community, that is besides a few rumors. 

→ The Present Judson is absolutely excited about having three mentees that are eager to learn. He genuinely enjoys babysitting Margo and having someone to listen to him blab on as he dances around his potion room. Mattie and Naomi stroked his ego hard when he found out they travelled far just to mentor under him as a potion master. Wanting to give them the full experience, Judson has recently made it public that he would not be accepting any more mentees for some time.

Judson has never tried his power, Mythikinesis, within North or South America. He never wanted to use that power without reason and absolute need! He trained with Roman and Ronan off and on in Africa, Asia and Europe years ago and perfected it, much to his dismay. The influx of unfamiliar supernatural creatures and rats has made him uncomfortable. Judson can feel the power boiling over, he is fighting to keep it at bay and from losing control.

While Judson’s plate is full between his shop, mentees and personal life/battles, he has also been putting in effort to help the local witch and warlock population with their phenomena. Specifically he seeks to help those which are not helped with potions, spells or charms. What's foremost on his list is the private experimental study to help find a remedy or cure to the frequent hand spasms that Biokinetics experience daily. Judson does have a few people signed up but is looking for more. Recently, Judson has visited Ryan’s podcast and announced to the local animal shifters that he is finally ready to begin testing on those dealing with dementia or hypershift. 

[shinrasfirst]

a very descriptive and detailed profile of your muse. repost; not reblog! if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

tagged by: @cultivatxr​ thank you ❤ tagging: @rcdwrxck​ @makostamp​ @cssnei​ @dogof-war​ @fraxcxccl​ @lifedxbt​ @madamdirectcr​ @speedjunkie​ @sweettifalockhart​ @hiislegacy​

name. r. a. biggs ;) age. 27 species. human gender.   male. orientation.  bisexual profession. former teacher; currently unemployed but takes freelance jobs & helps out at the orphanage

(physical aspects.)

body type. fit, athletic eyes. dark hazel / brown skin. tanned; plenty of scars height.   6′0″ weight.  idk what grown up men weigh, honestly who cares

(family.)

family. barret, tifa, jessie, wedge siblings.  eloa marcia biggs (older sister) parents. jando & izabel biggs disorders. nothing diagnosed any pets ? none

(skills.)

biggs has a lot of skills and characteristics that make him a good teacher or caretaker. he loves to work with children and look after them, and he’s very patient, understanding and calm around them. he’s also a good cook, a skill he learned early from his grandma, but really had to develop when he moved to midgar on his own. he’s good with weapons of various sorts - both using them, and repairing or enhancing them. he’s good with his hands in general, concerning all sorts of repairs or engineering.

(psychology.)

fears. loss, loneliness, war dreams. to help & build a better future, to have a family desires. peace, love, freedom

(likes.)

colours. green, yellow, orange, red smells. oranges, the sea, freshly baked cookies, herbs, summer mornings food. home-cooked meals, pasta, lasagna, fish, fruit cakes fruits. oranges, peaches, apricots, grapes, pineapples - fresh or dried drinks. tea, coffee, juice, occasionally lemonades alcoholic beverages. beer, cocktails if they aren’t too creamy or sweet

(other details.)

smokes ?  no drugs ?  no driving license ? yes ever been arrested ?  not.. really

[lenezdansleruisseau]

UN GROUP QUI A FAILLI DEVENIR HISTORIQUE - playlist

Are you a group of young students and one worker, in Paris, with Republican ideals, mostly coming from the South of France, trying to run a club to teach poor children how to read and write and not at all trying to overthrown the King? Then this playlist is for you.

High Hopes - Panic! At the Disco

Mama said/Fulfill the prophecy/Be something greater/Go make a legacy/Manifest destiny/Back in the days/We wanted everything, wanted everything/Mama said/Burn your biographies/Rewrite your history/Light up your wildest dreams/Museum victories, everyday/We wanted everything, wanted everything

Le Sud - Nino Ferrer

C'est un endroit qui ressemble à la Louisiane/À l'Italie/Il y a du linge étendu sur la terrasse/Et c'est joli/On dirait le Sud/Le temps dure longtemps/Et la vie sûrement/Plus d'un million d'années/Et toujours en été 

Pink Lemonade - Watsky, Invisible Inc.

You want to run a country? that makes me shiver/Bitch I wouldn't trust you to run with adult scissors/Flushed ass face/Flash that cash/Your fleshlight wouldn't let you smash/Collection plate passing through the church benches/Pastors pull up to their chapels in Benzes/I guess that I musta missed class that day/It's so senseless, baby please pass that J

Napoleon Complex - The Divine Comedy

Who was the true inventor of,/The infamous circular firing squad?/Who has all the brains but non of the stature?/Who'd make/Margaret Thatcher look like Mary Magdalene?

(It’s Good) To Be Free - Oasis

So what would you say if I said to you/It's not in what you say it's in what you do/You point the finger at me but I don't believe/Bring it on home to where we found/Head is like a rock sitting upside down/In my mind there is no time

Best Friend - Jason Mraz

Thank you for all of your trust/Thank you for not giving up/Thank you for holding my hand/I've always known where you stand/As I feel my life is better/So is the world we're living in/I'm thankful for the time I spent With my best friend

Domino - Van Marrison

There's no need for argument/There's no argument at all/And if you never hear from him/That just means he didn't call or vice versa/That depends on wherever you're at/Or and if you never hear from me/That just means I would rather not

I Funerali di Berlinguer - Modena City Ramblers

Eravamo all'Osteriola, una sera come tante,/a parlare come sempre di politica e di sport,/è arrivato Ghigo Forni, sbianché come un linsol,/an s'capiva 'na parola du bestemi e tri sfundon./"Hanno detto per la radio che c'è stata una disgrazia,/a Padova è stato male il segretario del PCI"/Luciano va al telefono parla in fretta e mette giù/"Ragazzi, sta morendo il compagno Berlinguer".

The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance - Vampire Weekend

A devastatin' backstroke/All the way from France/With shiny, shiny cuff links/A shirtsleeve to enhance/The pinstriped men of mornin'/Are coming for to dance/With pure Egyptian cotton/The kids don't stand a chance

Buonanotte Fratello - Francesco de Gregori

Dov'eri tu col tuo sorriso onesto/dov'eri tu col tuo vestito hippy/e il tuo ospedale per amori infranti/chiusi dentro un cassetto insieme al vino/dov'eri tu col tuo buonumore/Tu mi stavi ammazzando/tu mi stavi ammazzando con amore

Poet - Bastille

Your body lies upon the sheet,/Of paper and words so sweet./I can't say the words,/so I wrote you into my verse./Now you'll live through the ages,/I can feel your pulse in the pages.

El Futuro Es Nuestro - Residente, Goran Bregovic

Ya el pecado no es pecado/Ya no somos pecadores/Somos gente normal, porque normal son los errores/Aunque huela mal, abraza al que tienes al lado/Los que no brinquen ahora se quedarán en el pasado/Hoy es nuestro momento para que el presente evolucione/Lo que siento ahora es lo que siento/Y que el futuro nos perdone

Cops and Robbers - The Hoosiers

Catch a revolution/Now your waging war again/Marching on the spot when you should have made amends/Cause you say you fight for us/Cross your heart and hope to die You're the bully in the playground and we'll hang you out to dry

Paris is Burning - St Vincent

We are waiting on a telegram/To give us news of the fall/I am sorry to report/Dear Paris is burning after all/We have taken to the streets/In open rejoice revolting/We are dancing a black waltz/Fair Paris is burning after all

I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied/And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs/If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks/Then I'll follow you into the dark

EGALITE - Egalité

Caminem, per la senda imposada/Treballem, per finançar el vostre fum/Rebutgem, la proposta coordinada/per titelles absorbides pel terror./L'Egalité, es troba a faltar,/junts tenim que començar,/una revolució animal, multicultural.

[madelaineschramm-blog]

Muscle Soreness - Use Muscle Soreness To Your Advantage

While i do very much respect the privacy of my clients and their desire educate out for the limelight, for some that I wouldn't willingly share various key aspects what makes pro athlete workouts far superior from the average guy is hammering away at with much less results. Yourrrre able to . lies with what they Don't do rather compared to what they Create.

What are wonderful sources of protein? Chicken, Fish, Lean Red Meat, Eggs, Beans etc. are common great regarding protein and ought to be a major part of your diet. The center of your consumption of Carbs, ought to mainly are derived from Vegetables, Cereals such as Oats, Brown Rice and 100% whole grain bread, and potatoes. Furthermore, inside your type "exercise to reduce belly fat" into specific search terms engine, you roughly one particular.3 million results. So, this is usually a trendy topic of interest testosterone boost . The top result shown is an internet site that has a list of 10 kinds of sit up and abdominal crunch. It is the same scenario on every site on that first page of search results, which regarding honest, astounds me. Arm swings are a smart way to warm up and loosen the arm muscles. Swing your arms from front to back, for 1 to 2 minutes. However, make particular to control your movements. To avoid to end up injuring yourself before then. Move as many as possible. Diet is the most important factor for burning calories, however there are a handful of great exercises that may refine do to totally heat up your body. But cardio is not the fix. The best exercises you may do are muscle building ones. Exercises like squats and Double X Pills benchpress will build some muscle / tendon. As you build muscle human body burns more energy (even when you are resting). The crucial for this question also affects your judgement. If your working outside in the morning, then you are usually pretty safe within your choices. By simply cooking you workout in the evening, also later overnight. you need decide upon carefully. One way link the goods that contain caffeine and other stimulants recommend taking them 4-6 hours before sleep, to avoid sleeplessness. In case you can't get training in early enough to that recommended 4-6 hours, you might like to reconsider your pre-workout choice. Theres number of stimulant/caffeine free options that can allow you still enjoy the benefits that pre-workout supplements provide. So even though you can't do an exercise to reduce belly fat and specifically target it, at least now whining what sort of exercise reduces your bodies' overall fat content, as well as may adjust your exercise routines accordingly. And finally we have C4 Extreme from Cellucor. Still a fairly "young" pre-workout but because of very popular since its release. It gives users about 135mg of caffeine per single scoop, which is really a nice sized dose for just in the beginning. This will keep things very reasonably priced too. Along with the caffeine, they've included Creatine Nitrate for strength - which is suggested to you have to be easily digested and by simply the body compared to regular Creatine mono. Exact same endurance, Double X Male Enhancement X Pills Review its uses Beta Alanine (yes, the tingly stuff) as well as a host of B Vitamins which will you sustain that energy all by your workout. For anybody who is thinking about C4, the Pink Lemonade flavor was my favorite and I highly recommend it.

[sidekickhq]

⌜ BILL SKARSGARD, MALE, HE/HIM | blood like lemonade - morcheeba, morose, the libertine ⌟ ⏤ blink and you’ll miss GUNNAR FOSTER-THORSON, the TWENTY-SIX year old son of THOR and JANE FOSTER ! they’re a BLACK MARKET GOODS DEALER in town, and i’ve always found them to be pretty ASTUTE & STAUNCH, though i’ve heard that they can also be really VOLATILE & CYNICAL. i don’t think getting their way is a smart thing to do - everyone knows that their power / ability is ENERGY MANIPULATION and ENHANCED STRENGTH. { morgs / she/they, est, 23 }

WELCOME TO HELL, gunnar ! bill skarsgard is now taken. don’t forget to read over our checklist and follow everybody here. you have 24 hours to send in your account or you will be reopened !

[boisenmahoney0-blog]

What Is The Right Food To Build Muscle?

Regrettably, as men age their body doesn't produce as much testosterone due to the fact used to assist you. When men use tonkgat ali, they turnaround for the their biological clocks web site. Because it's safe and effective, this herb became one of the most common male enhancement supplements in today's times.

I hope this has helped you decide on which pre-workout supplement make an attempt next. Like MY SPOUSE AND I said, I've used each supplement for as a minimum a month and so i could formulate a precise review. I'm going to be trying other pre-workout supplements here yearly few months, together with appreciate any ideas. Who knows, maybe yet solution . will take during the #1 see! Simple carbs and complex carbs. Simple carbs can certainly be digested additionally should definitely try avoiding this connected with carbohydrates. We include in this particular category foods such as chocolates, candy, sodas or white loaf of bread. Milk and fruits additionally simple carbs, but they're better regarding carbs whenever they contain plenty of of different minerals and vitamins. However, keep in the mind that fruits are mostly made of sugar (fructose) and just an apple contains about 29 grams of carbohydrates, which means that you shouldn't just eat fruits all day. Your daily calorie consumption should include 40% of carbohydrates (mostly complex ones). Moreover, buying a health good things about adding muscle to program. Activator Pro Muscle Review reduces the risk that realize that some suffer from heart disease and you'll as an end result remove it can be that therefore suffer from your local neighborhood heart attacks. Problems with the heart become the cause of a lot of deaths each which considerably it is vital to does not this is not a risk factor for you personally. There are three macronutrients you need to consider inside your muscle gaining diet: carbohydrates, protein, and fat. All of these your involving energy (measured in calories) which is desirable for basic survival and then fuel your workouts. As a one other consideration - alcohol. Inside your drink, you'll want to reconsider doing so because alcohol can affect your skill to gain the muscles. Not only can alcohol affect your workout intensity from the hangover, but it lowers your testosterone and increases the extra estrogen! Experts says that by consuming protein foods could help the fat reduction process. When you a associated with grain foods is just be harder to losing the belly stored fat. Essentially, foods we were in order to eat. Additionally you must time your exercises everyday to find result much farther, since now you intimately know the required diet strategy. Your exercises plan also have eto take on muscle building and strength training. The benefit of start muscle building is to boost your lower tummy's muscle and help it to fine toned abs. And finally we have C4 Extreme from Cellucor. Still a rather "young" pre-workout but numerous very popular since its release. Provides users about 135mg of caffeine per single scoop, which is a nice sized dose pertaining to just getting going. This will keep things very reasonable too. Below your sink caffeine, they've included Creatine Nitrate for strength - which is required to a little more easily digested and utilized by the body compared to regular Creatine mono. Dwindles endurance, its uses Beta Alanine (yes, the tingly stuff) and also a host of B Vitamins that may testosterone boost you sustain that energy all through your workout. For anybody who is thinking about C4, the Pink Lemonade flavor was my favorite and I highly recommend it. In case you don't know, Vince DelMonte is often a former skinny guy (like me, and in all probability you!) turned fitness trainer, model and drug-free muscle builder. His body speaks for itself; carry out an image search for his moniker.

[diednoble]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.  

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons,  etc.  if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some others of your own !

NAME.     jason peter todd NICKNAME(S).     jay, jaybird, littlewing ALIAS(ES).   robin, red hood AGE.    between 18-24 SPECIES.    enhanced human GENDER.     male. ORIENTATION.    bisexual. ZODIAC.   leo MORAL ALIGNMENT.    chaotic good ABILITIES / POWERS.     enhanced speed, strength, and durability. enhanced healing factor. expert marksman, tactition, and hand-to-hand combatant. multilingual. INTERESTS.   reading, watching competition shows on netflix, cooking FEARS.        dying again, being alone, ending up like his father/bruce GUILTY PLEASURES.   drinking, smoking, shitty reality television SPOKEN LANGUAGES.   english, french, german, italian, russian, asl, manderin, greek, spanish PROFESSION.    crime lord, vigilante BODY TYPE.    muscular. vaguely dorito-esque HEIGHT.   6′4 COLORS.   green, red, yellow, white FRUITS.   strawberries DRINKS.   spiked strawberry lemonade  ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES?    tequila or vodka. either straight or mixed w fruit juice  DRUGS?    no DRIVERS LICENSE?   several, none legal EVER BEEN ARRESTED?    lmao

TAGGED:  @ichorim

TAGGING:  @spiderquip @hellsholyground @golddome/ @goldsaviour @ragetrusted @shesurvivor

[halsteadproperty]

‘Know Your Strengths’: Leadership Lessons From A Real Estate Entrepreneur

By Jill Griffin

Diane M. Ramirez, chairman and CEO of Halstead, is known for her passion and devotion to the residential real estate industry. She is a 35-year veteran who started her career in Palm Beach, Florida where she worked as an agent for a number of years before returning to her hometown—New York City—and embarking on a successful and rewarding career.

Together with Clark Halstead, she helped found Halstead in the fall of 1984. Their vision for the company was a high-end firm that utilized advanced technology combined with old fashioned elegance that covered all segments of the market and was located in the communities that they serviced. Due to their vision, Halstead became the first big firm to utilize storefront offices in Manhattan as well as the first to be on the West Side and in Downtown.

Under her leadership, Mrs. Ramirez has strategically grown the firm from its original goal of three storefront offices in some of the most important communities in Manhattan to its current size of 22 offices with nearly 950 agents throughout the tri-state area.

I had a chance to interview Diane recently and learn more about her and what drives her.

Jill Griffin: Where did you grow up? Describe your early childhood and its significance on your life.

Diane Ramirez: I grew up in a middle-class family in Jackson Heights, Queens. I have two older brothers, but am the oldest daughter, which led to my taking on a lot of responsibilities at a young age. Growing up with four siblings, I learned how to deal with people, how to diffuse a situation, and how to get your voice heard. It was truly a wonderful way to grow up, surrounded by love and support, but also challenged me to navigate how to make my own way in the family.

Griffin: When did you first get the whisper that you belonged in business?

Ramirez: I can’t remember a time in my life when I did not already know that I wanted to be in business. This is owed immensely to my father and the strong influence he had on my life. He made me feel like I could do anything, including being successful in the business world. My background was in marketing and advertising and I put my career on pause when I married young and had children. I was happy to focus on my family, though my strong desire to work in business never died down. I knew that unless I wanted to wait until my children were grown, I needed to pursue a career with flexible hours.

I was living in Florida at the time when it hit me—real estate. The hours seemed flexible, I had already bought and sold a couple of properties, and I loved the close interaction with people. I began working in real estate in Florida, before we decided to move back to New York City where I got my real estate license. I liked real estate in Florida and I loved real estate in New York.

Griffin: Was there an early teacher that inspired you?  Who and how?

Ramirez: I had some wonderful teachers in my life but it was my family that inspired me the most. My dad gave me a sense of confidence and real belief in myself. He passed away when I was just a teenager, having instilled in me that he felt I could accomplish anything I put my mind to. It wasn’t this false sense of flattery, but rather a true belief in my potential that I then took on in my own persona. There is nothing I look at now that I do not feel I can do, even when faced with challenges. If I didn’t believe I could do it, I would never have taken some of the risks in my career that have brought me here—and that definitely came from my father.

Griffin: What’s a great piece of business or life advice you received, who gave it to you, and how has it enhanced your life?

Ramirez: There are two people whose advice has enhanced my life. My husband taught me to treat everyone with the utmost respect. He always treated everyone he encountered in business with such incredible regard. I knew that was a beautiful trait, one that I hope was in me anyway but watching his interactions with people definitely shaped how I look at people in life.

My business partner and cofounder of Halstead, Clark Halstead, taught me to always look to the horizon and never lose sight of the bigger picture. He was always a visionary thinker, and I always thought of myself as the meat and potatoes in the relationship – I crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s. Working alongside him, I developed a visionary sense of thinking as well, which is something I needed to grow and enhance Halstead to where it is today.

Griffin: Please give me the top three bullet points in your personal leadership credo.

Ramirez:

Know your strengths. Embracing who you are will allow your authenticity to shine.

Say what you’ll do and do what you say. Following through on your word is one of the most important things you can do for building foundations of mutual trust.

Failures are not fatal unless you don’t have the courage to continue your journey. If you look deep down, you will have it in you to keep going.

Griffin: Describe a painful setback in your life and what it taught you.

Ramirez: I feel blessed that I haven’t had a lot of setbacks in my life. My most painful setback was losing my father unexpectedly, at a time in my life when I thought I had my future all planned out. It did turn my life upside down – as it was sudden, he had been the one providing for our family, and I was the oldest one at home. The well-planned vision I had for myself as a teenager had to be rearranged and I had to be there for my mother and younger siblings. It was devastating at the time but I did make lemonade out of it. I didn’t take the road I thought I would but when I look back at my life, it was beautiful and just the way it was supposed to be. Facing tragedy at a young age has ultimately served me well, as I’ve been able to embrace challenges in life.

Griffin: What advice do you have for young, talented, ambitious women who want to rise?

Ramirez: Be the best you can be, and always work hard. When people see that you are working hard, that your work ethics are there and you’re a team player, it will not go unnoticed. Often, younger people want to shine right away, but remember that collaborating, working as a team and working hard does bubble to the top.

I am often in male-dominated situations, and the main thing that I do is to approach the situation as a talented person who is meant to be there. Not as a female, not as a male, just as a person — a bright, intelligent person who has something valuable to add. You are there because you have the talent to be there.

(Source: Forbes)

[getthebutters]

Anti-Aging ❌ Face Oil w SPF | Red Raspberry, Carrot Seed + Jojoba

The zit zapping, tone evening, glow enhancing, sun protecting, redness reducing, elasticity, enhancing, fine line filling, pore shrinking face fixer in a bottle. With regular use, your skin texture and tone will look like you're wearing a BB cream even when you're fresh from bed.

Overview:

The zit zapping, tone evening, glow enhancing, sun protecting, redness reducing, elasticity, enhancing, fine line filling, pore shrinking face fixer in a bottle.

My anti-aging face oil is a powerful, balanced, & science-backed blend of nutrient packed botanical oils guaranteed to fix your face (balance skin) from the inside out. Made to naturally eliminate the signs of aging: pimples, inflammation, flaky patches, redness, and that swollen-yet-deflated look - all while never looking or feeling oily. Now, with the addition of jojoba & carrot seed oils, your skin has even more SPF protection and skin softening ability – at the same price.

With regular use, your skin texture and tone will start to look like you're wearing a BB cream even when you're fresh from bed. Soothes acne, dermatitis, fungal infections and more! Don't let hidden inflammation and infection bloat your face. If you love my Zit Zappers, you'll be addicted to this.

 Common Uses:

Face oil

Serum step

Oil cleanser

Makeup remover

Body oil - perfect head to toe

Aftershave

Night oil

Before & After Sun Skin Care

 Details:

SPF 10

For external use only

Reduces UV damage. Not a tanning oil but will help you tan more evenly.

Great for ALL skin types, including oily acne prone skin. Helps reset oil production to normal levels.

2oz Bottle

Shelf Life is indefinite

Ingredients: hempseed oil, tea tree oil, isopropyl myrisiate, sweet almond oil, neem oil, evening primrose oil, red raspberry seed oil, cucumber seed oil, carrot seed oil, jojoba oil, eucalyptus essential oil, fragrance, vitamin e oil (tocopherol) That’s it.

 Instructions:

Apply a thin layer all over face and rub in. If used for oil cleansing, apply oil to cotton swab or pad and gently rub over skin.

 Why I made this:

For most of my life, I'd taken my perfect brown sugar complexion and literal handful of pimples over my lifetime for granted. Sadly, at 28, my skin decided to have it's Lemonade moment rebellion. I'd gone from perfect skin to a fucking mess of under-eye bags, crow's feet, deeper laugh lines, big dermatitis patches, a dull/uneven complexion, & a new daily constellation of zits thanks to my hubris.

I was shook, had my come to Bey-sus slash 4:44 moment, and made the first batch of Anti-Aging Face Oil. Although things are better now, I'm honestly still traumatized. Thinking about how bad it got gives me goosebumps. Thankfully, with Anti-Aging Face Oil, I never have to go back there again!

 How it works:

Hempseed oil: A rich and balanced source of omega-6 and omega-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids (PUFAs) & vitamin e. Scientifically proven to treat dermatitis. This is due to it's antimicrobial, conditioning, and immune system support properties. Hempseed oil does not clog pores. Considered a "dry" oil, because it doesn't feel slippery.

Red Raspberry Seed Oil: The highest and widest SPF UV protection of any oil. SPF value was found to be 28-50 for UVB rays, and 6.75 – 7.5 for UVA rays. UVB rays are the rays that cause sunburn. UVA rays are what contribute to aging and skin cancer. Packed with carotenoids - strong antioxidants that inhibit UV damage and stimulate cell repair - 23 mg/100 g of oil. Incredibly high natural vitamin E content: Alpha Tocopherol: 12.6mg/100g, Gamma Tocopherol: 19.4mg/100g. It's approximately 52-56% Linoleic acid (omega 6) and Alpha-29-33% linolenic acid (omega 3). Anti-inflammatory properties. Ellagic acid to reduce collagen loss and provide UV protection. Antioxidants phytosterols promote new collagen production, leading to healthier, younger-looking skin.

Carrot Seed Oils - One of single best oils for skin. High natural SPF, some sources claim up to 40 SPF. Conservatively, 20 is more reasonable. Packed with vitamin c, e, and caratols. Refreshes dull lifeless skin. Helps lubricate skin cells to help them refresh easier. Highly moisturizing and packed with nutrients. Helps kill a wide variety of fungus and bacteria including Candida, Dermatophytes, Escherichia coli, and Salmonella. When ingested may help reduce flatulence.

Cucumber Seed Oil: Incredibly high natural vitamin E content: Alpha Tocopherol: 12.6mg/100g, Gamma Tocopherol: 19.4mg/100g. Anti-inflammatory properties. Antioxidants phytosterols promote new collagen production, leading to healthier, younger-looking skin.

Sweet almond oil: a scientifically proven treatment for eczema, powerful antioxidant, pore cleansing, anti-inflammatory properties and reduces irritation. It evens skin tones by promoting healing and cellular reproduction. It also provides SPF and UV damage repair, & prevents sun burns. On top of all that, it's one of the best anti-aging oils around. It provides body and firmness to your skin, which reduces the look of wrinkles. That's because it has high levels of omega-6 fatty acids which are excellent for strengthening hair from the roots & supple skin - plus, vitamin K and essential [3] B-complex vitamins such as riboflavin, niacin, thiamin, pantothenic acid, vitamin B6, and folate.

Jojoba - Jojoba is very similar to the natural oil or sebum humans create. It's molecularly a liquid wax and helps create a seal over tissues. Some of the most notable benefits of jojoba oil include its ability to moisturize the hair, prevent hair loss, reduce inflammation, prevent acne, soothe sunburn and psoriasis, rejuvenate the skin, eliminate dandruff, fight free radical damage, boost the immune system and speed up the healing process. Jojoba oil is rich in iodine, which fights harmful bacteria growth that leads to breakouts. The antioxidants present in jojoba oil soothe fine lines, wrinkles and naturally slow down other signs of aging. Jojoba oil contains beneficial ingredients, including vitamin E, vitamin B complex - High in B5, silicon, chromium, copper and zinc. It has a very high percentage of iodine at 82 percent, which gives jojoba oil its power to heal. It contains three fatty acids: erucic (13.6 percent), gadoleic (71.3 percent) and oleic (11.2 percent).

Evening Primrose: helps treat hormone/endocrine imbalances and associated problems in the body thank to its high concentration of gamma-linolenic acid (GLA). This includes acne, PMS, cervical mucus production (possibly sperm motility - more research needed), male pattern baldness, menopause, polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), obesity/metabolic function, & spotting. It also helps sooth psoriasis, atopic dermatitis, rosacea, & eczema.

Neem oil: rich in essential fatty acids (EFAs), triglycerides, vitamin E and calcium. Need also stimulates collagen production, good for aging skin. Indeed, if used regularly, neem may help smooth wrinkles and fine lines while helping to prevent the signs of aging. Neem oil may prove to be a natural remedy for eczema symptoms — including dry, red, itchy skin — and be very soothing, but it will not cure the root causes for eczema. Neem oil has been used in traditional folk medicine and as a home remedy for acne because of the aspirin-like compound that helps rid the skin of bacteria.

Lemongrass: Used as aromatherapy to relieve muscle pain, externally to kill bacteria, ward off insects, and reduce body aches, and internally to help your digestive system. Lemongrass essential oil is a source of essential vitamins such as vitamin A, B1, B2, B3, B5, B6, folate and vitamin C. It also provides essential minerals such as magnesium, phosphorous, manganese, copper, potassium, calcium, zinc and iron. Great to ward off dandruff and an itchy scalp.

Eucalyptus oil has antimicrobial and antiseptic properties that are effective at treating wounds, burns, cuts, abrasions, sores and scrapes.

Isopropyl Myristate: is a gentle, non-toxic emollient that helps your skin absorb the oils and their nutrients. It also prevents glide and shine. This is what helps make the face oil not feel oily.

  OUR REVIEW STARTS AT 21:15 BUT WATCH FULL THROUGH FOR HELPFUL TIPS AND TRICKS

“…It made it easier that it really did have some great effects on my skin. It was brighter all around, remained moisturized and my recurring psoriasis stayed away for the most part...”

-https://loveisafetish.com/2020/09/16/when-a-face-oil-heals-more-than-skin-deep-a-review/

 “…Now I’m obsessed. This stuff feels majorly luxurious. My skin feels softer, smoother, and in general, calmer and. What could be better than that? The fact that even the biggest bottle (8oz!) of The Butters Face Oil is less than half the price of the other oils. The 2oz bottle that I’ve been using for MONTHS is just $10!”

-https://www.redheadbedhead.com/thebutters/