#I love gardening. I love the smell of potting soil. I love playing in the dirt.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

A couple months ago (at least I think it was, but time is weird for me), I purchased an African Violet. This is a plant that's been in my life since early childhood. I had one until my husband killed it during one of our moves; he put it in full sun on a hot day. These plants burn. Just an hour in direct sun is enough to do serious damage. I was at our new place, directing where things go, and six hours later he arrived with a completely cooked plant. No, I was no okay, and more than ten years later I'm still very fucking upset. He's well aware of this.

Which is why he didn't argue when I said I'm getting an African Violet. They were $6 and poorly cared for at the local gardening place. On the container, it says "keep out of direct sunlight" and "water from the bottom." They had them in barely filtered light and were water from above. Yes, I fucking corrected them. The guy threw a fit and called the gardening manager over, who asked if I wanted to work there and sent the other guy to put the plants in a different area.

They had no self-water pots, nor African Violet food. Those are the kind African Violets need. So I've had mine in its original container until today. It started showing signs of dying a week ago, and was getting way too large for the container it came in. I'm using general potting soil because that always worked fine for my previous plant. I had to repot that thing four times! African Violet food will need to be acquired soon-ish.

My husband came home with a self-watering pot today. He went to four different places to find one! A couple days ago I was have a Very Bad Day, and seeing my plant rapidly failing was what set the dam of tears flowing. It was Bad. He was my hero today, didn't even tell me he was getting a pot. The plant has since been re-potted. I soaked the soil before adding the plant and dry soil, something my mom taught me (she has around half a dozen African Violets). If it does well, I'll see about acquiring more in the future. I have a spot on my PC desk set aside for an African Violet. The one I have is on my cutting table, the corner nearest the window.

I now have six pothos plants (all cuttings from the same one), one spider plant that may soon become two, and an African Violet. Next week, I may be filling some containers with soil and wildflower seeds from the front yard. There's too many weeds and general crap in the front yard for anything but more weeds and general crap to grow, so we're more or less destroying it, then adding layers of organic matter (six inches or more of fallen leaves and other similar stuff), and leaving it alone for a year or two while I add more containers. I intend to acquire tires of various sizes, a bathtub, and some other similar items, to decorate the yard and serve as containers. Because it amuses me, we own the house, and I fucking can. Even told the neighbors, and they found it hilarious. When the soil is ready, I'll add native wildflowers, some milkweed (monarch butterflies navigate through here), and other native plants that self-seed and will require minimal effort. The backyard will be treated much the same, but with raised beds for food and herbs, and walkable paths.

For now, my current plants will have to do. I'm just hoping my African Violet survives the transfer and thrives in the significantly larger and more appropriate pot. The other held maybe two cuts of wet soil. This? A gallon, possibly more.

[searchingforserendipity25]

Glasshouses | on ao3

for @spring-into-arda, 'loyalty'.

It had been - an understanding, an understood thing, in Gondolin. Grief, and loneliness, and long friendship bound them; but besides the devotion, the courtesy, the masks of power, Turgon had made him glad.

Turgon was dire at times, and his will long enduring, but not beyond sense - most of the time. When the matter was very wretched he went to the place where such things were attended. He called upon the wisdom of the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower at last, showing to him his hidden work, and bid him share his counsel.

Glorfindel smiled. "My liege, see you not how well it flowers? Tis only that the roots are too deep."

Grimly, Turgon said, "I have killed it. The seeding was good, the soil is sound, the air ever-safe. Still I have killed it." 

Very grimly. It was some effort that kept Glorfindel from outright mirth.

The King looked at him with a reproaching look, not altogether convincing. He, Glorfindel knew, liked to see in others, and in Glorfindel particularly, perhaps because it came so easily to him, and Turgon liked to see it.

He would have warned the king not to fall into the temptation to seed sunflowers too deeply, but he had not known Turgon had availed himself of the seedling library of his House. 

“I wished to join in the praise for Arien this feast,” said he. “And grow as many do the flowers that most adore the light that was Laurelin.” A little wryly, he nodded at the finely glazed pot, and the stubborn bud peering out in an incongruous light. “Alas; this here blossom was not of those that grew in the Gardens of Indis.” 

Glorfindel smiled. “The rosebushes do grow quite well, my lord.”

“They ones that are no longer rotting,” Turgon said, straight-faced, eyes glinting. It had been eleven sun-years since since the one and last time he had tried to hide his offering plantings from Glorfindel. The ensuing rose sickness had attacked the trellis of the Tower of the King, which being as stubborn as Turgon himself had survived well, with some few sacrifices. 

Glorfindel had sang himself to hoarseness for that; and the Lady Idril never failed to tease at her father when the smell of the camellias starting wafting through the open windows. 

It was not for lack of instruction that Turgon’s hands failed to prosper. 

Many hours had been spent in the Noontide of Valinor in that way; Glorfindel with the pruning and planting and watering, Turukáno studying the costumes and the poetry and the arts of engineering under the shadow of the clementine trees. Turukáno the Wise, he had been called, by cousins and siblings trying to pry him from his papers, prickling the scholarly solemnity out of him until he squawked and chased them off, or let himself be carried off to sail with Finderáto or go hunting for amusement in the theaters with Arakáno. 

 Clever he had been, hungry with a quiet hunger for perfect knowledge; but often, too, he had raised his head from the low table and kept the scrolls open as he spoke with the youngest gardener of the palaces of Tírion, asking at Glorfindel’s own craft, and Glorfindel’s own life.

When did the cypresses need to be pruned, and why was the sap of the oak tree gathered, why did the plum boughs need to be separated from their blossoms to be of use in the stillroom? - and did he like dahlias best, did he think the recipe for Vanyarin rosewater had changed from last year's, was Lady Earwën' suggestion of milk-of-almond to treat stings from bees useful, did he wish to play a game while the new earth settled over the newly-placed roots? And always when he tried to grow a gift for Lady Anairë it grew into a long quest, the two young heads bent over the same plot of soil or porcelain cup.

 And he had welcomed Glorfindel’s conversation as few did; for Laurefindil did love to talk. Much had changed since then, but not their companionship, nor the need for Glorfindel's counsel regarding all things fragile and green. Turgon was many things, but well-favored in the gardens was not one. More of Ulmo than of Yavanna, it might be said by the polite. 

Glorfindel would have said, The King is for the people. The great efforts of the raising of Gondolin were possible only by the planting of Tumladen; Turgon was not shy from the field, when harvesting season came, with the long days of sunlight refracting off the distant mountain snow, falling over the merry bands of scythes and fruit-pickers singing. 

But most of the time he kept to the city, a common figure in the streets, the courts and gardens and markets, and ruled them all well from his tower. For the keeping of the planting and stewards that kept Gondolin lively and fed, and her people in good relations with the land, he had the House of the Golden Flower. 

Which was quite well. They did much with the oil and seeds of the sunflower, and the king did know he was not very apt at it. 

Glorfindel raised the pot, carefully. Spoke with the flower for a little time; it had a thin, strident, ambitious voice, a promising inclination to grow. It was not reticence that kept it from a great triumph of beauty. It had been waiting, patient, for the right hands to come to tend it. 

“It is only a matter of taking care with the uplifting of the roots.” 

“I shall take care, as you counsel,” Turgon told him. He frowned once more at the dirt staining his hands, the wavering gold of the weary flower. “Yet it is not uncommon that all the care one may give is not enough. It is a strange misfortune, to have hands of stone!”

Ñolofinwë’s son had studied healing once, as well. A bold and rare choice, in Amanyar of old; but bold and rare had he been, even then. But not since the Exile did he find much sucess at it. Not since the Ice, after all the scope of his skill for renewal had been worn in despair, and the bare stretch of his fingers bare in the cold to press against the hands of the sick had grown too cold to warm anything, and to heal anything. 

Turgon’s brows were drawn together still. He was, Glorfindel thought, very beautiful; but he looked best when he frowned, less like a statue to line one of the Seven Gates and more the peevish lordling he had been when first they knew each other. Strong-willed, in all things: for one had to be very strong, to live as fully and determinedly immersed in the world as Turgon did, treasuring it as he did. 

It was a solemn sort of earnestness that won him many friends, and many followers. It had won him Glorfindel, a long time ago. 

“We may do the work together,” Glorfindel said, imprudent as a friend would be, as sincere about it as he had been as a boy. “If my King permits it.” 

Turgon did permit him much. Not all that might be wished. But Glorfindel was patient himself, and not greedy. He did not ask for a great deal, either. 

The king visited the Gardens of the Golden Flower often.

There was not often a need for an excuse. The sunflowers grew well. They had their own garden, along with all the living things planted in gratefulness to Arien, and indeed, clever blackbirds liked to come peck at the seeds; but never too many, and always watched by careful eyes.

The truth of the matter was that Lord Glorfindel was not often to be found in the great halls and solars, nor were his people of the kind to be overly fond of closed walls of thick stonework and mortar. Between the duties and directions of Gondolin, Glorfindel picked up the lance not nearly as often as the spade. When it was the time to don armor, he did his rounds in the guardianship of the Gates while day-dreaming of leeks and begonia; sketched the groundwork of steel and glass on the back of his reports. 

They built the House and all its covered gardens together, Glorfindel and Turgon. He had asked it of his king as a boon, in the days of their first settling in the shelter of the mountains; for Turgon was an architect of great skill and vision, and the House of the Golden Flower was much concerned with gardens and tiered orchards, and counted with few builders of stonework among them.

This was a kindly way to say it. They were not the House of the Mole, honored among smiths; not the House of the Fountain, builders of aqueducts and ditches, great bridges and lakes full of summer-blooming lilies. There was no one of honour in the House of the Golden Flower, not as the Noldor of Tírion had valued honor. 

But they had survived the Ice. They, the horse-keepers and servants, the gardeners: they had scavenged the sterile plains, studied the lichens, cured the kelp and gathered the plankton. In the city of Turgon, that was a glory greater as great as mastery of harp or might of hammer.

So: it had been Turgon himself had drafted the plans for the manses, the halls and storing rooms and galleries; had replied to Glorfindel's distracted sketching of glasshouses with emendations, and praise, and his own eagerness. 

Turgon knew well the value of his gardeners. This Glorfindel never doubted. And he had known it for certain, when first the King called the people of Gondolin to gather, marveling, in the long rooms that were the orangeries - when winter changed the cold air of the mountains for a dangerous frost, many trees and bushes had to be brought in. Then the empty chambers were made busy, with their high, rounded arches made of use as a shelter in the colder seasons.

Bright, silvery songbirds sang and nestled in the high boughs, hidden from sight and seen only in darting instants, their cries echoing beautifully. Until spring came, and the thaw made clear it was time to open the high doors again, and let out the sweet smells that had simmered in the terracotta walls for months.

A good labour it was, the raising of the House. Turgon turned to it with pleasure, as a rare joy; and often they sat over plans, wielding charcoal sticks, marrying the ambitions of the gardeners with the ambitions of the masons. And well after the houses were raised, the work was never finished, nor their visits diminished. There were rooms of paned crystal to be raised, made to hoard the sunlight in every season – and always a new addition, a new proposal for vegetable breeding to be turned to an excuse for invention.

But most often, he was to be found in the gardens; and the King came to him, then. Many afternoons Glorfindel had risen with his hands damp and dark with soil to the elbows to find Turgon sitting with his papers on the wicker bench besides the discarded pots and the waiting shovels, a figure both familiar and shockingly opaque inside the house of glass.

It was not a place suited to him, nor one that suited him well, the far-riding lord of the Grinding Ice. All things that grew in Gondolin loved him, but it was a stately and high adoration; Turgon was more of stone than of leaf. For the tending of things green and irregular he had his Lord of the Golden Flower, who loved him as the city loved him, and like an elf besides. 

To have him near was to feel the breath of a cold wind cool the steam on the panes, rustle the flat, thick leaves of the orange trees. 

The close, saturated air of the glasshouses made the sharp line of his cheeks and nose and the rising curls of his hair into marvels Glorfindel might touch, perhaps, if he were a little mad. If his king looked less often as if he sought to be very like the statues in his courts, veined marble in the neatest lines, severe, with nothing supple to it. 

He had made certain to keep his hands busy with the saplings, then. But they had spoken at length, and held long and welcomed silences beside

Glorfindel thought, at times, that Elrond knew. Ages and Ages, death like a stream cutting two shores in lonesome halves, and Glorfindel had to keep his eyes on his work, when he seeded the herb gardens of Imladris, not to turn around and look for his king's shadow.

Glorfindel had followed Turgon with all his heart. He did it still. So much of him remained still under the water and the corals, among the ruins of the city his good king had built. 

Elenwë had wed him, but Glorfindel had loved him no less, quite as long. Oh, he was not fool enough to speak of it, Laurefindil of the Gardens of Indis: he was not so cruel as to say a word to diminish the joy of his lord and his lady, whose birth was far higher than his, whose love had been so well-suited in temper, so full of laughter. 

It had been - an understanding, an understood thing, in Gondolin. Grief, and loneliness, and long friendship bound them; but besides the devotion, the courtesy, the masks of power, Turgon had made him glad. He always had, he with the solemn line of his mouth, the heady conviction behind his acts, the deep-running well of his love. Cold, and fierce, and stern he had been – hard as Ice; but wry when he smiled, and steadfast all the way through.

What was there to be said of it? Turgon's eyes on him as he lead the morning prayers to rising Arien had been as certain and sure and warming a thing as the invention of the sun. If tenderness ever spread its tendrils in Glorfindel, intrusive and conquering, if ever he longed for a cool hand against his - that was an old longing, and no less distant now than it had been when the light shone in silver slants from the peaks encircling fair Ondolindë.

“Nay,” said Glorfindel, when the hungry-eyed scholars came to him with their long lists, their pens damp with an ink made in recipes still strange to his eyes. “I never did wed, not in Beleriand nor in Amanyar; but King Turgon held my service and my love, as henceforth shall his lineage own the same.”

 ‘Till the world was made anew, all partings righted in the Second Song. Or until Gondolin’s master-of-works comes down from the Halls of Námo, shaking off death to recall him to his side; all the same to Glorfindel. He had been given his task. 

Meanwhile spring returned and returned, and the summers lingered long. The gardens of Imladris grew plentiful, the fruit fat in their boughs; and if ever a cold breath frosted the panes of the glasshouses Glorfindel was one who was most glad to be so haunted.

[nancypullen]

Nine Days Later...

Good grief, I posted about the powder room makeover and then disappeared.  We’ve been busy around here.  I’ve been doing lots of yard work and that makes me happy.  I have high hopes.  I’ve been cleaning up the tree line, raking fertilizer and soil into flowers beds, scattering zinnia seeds and sunflower seeds (cross your fingers) and generally getting ready for the blooming season.  It’s weird not having a plant nursery nearby.  There are a couple of small greenhouses, but right now they have mostly veggies, hanging baskets, and ferns.  I’m on the hunt for a flat of red vinca and maybe some speedwell.   Last week we drove into Dover to visit Home Depot.  It’s nearly an hour trip and it looks mostly like this.

Loads of farms and everything is looking green. Hello, spring! There’s a Lowe’s closer to us, but there’s no sales tax in Delaware.  Does it make sense to use extra gas to avoid sales tax?  I guess it depends on how large of a purchase you’re making.  For us, it’s fencing.  I just want a strip of pretty fence in the back yard between us and the woodsy area. If we can get it done soon I can create a pretty flower bed in front of it. I’ve done my part.  The mister bought me this little beauty and I spent two days taking out small trees and all manner of scrubby, weedy, bushes.

I have a fabulous chainsaw (it’s PINK!) but this was perfect for the job at hand.  It came with two batteries, so no gas or power cords are involved.  It’s lightweight but packs a punch.  It zipped through everything I needed to zip through and in no time at all I had piles of trunks and branches for the town to pick up.  It was a hot mess back there, and now it looks much tidier. I look like I fought off a mountain lion, but it’s done!  I’ll share pics when the fence is up.  Well, maybe sooner - as soon as the piles of tree remains get picked up.    One individual who is enjoying that tree line is Stanley.  He lounges under the birdfeeder and plays in the birdbath. He also drinks from the bird bath, but he spends a lot of time making ripples and chasing leaves around in the water.

That was pre-cleanup.  I snapped it through the kitchen window.  I don’t know Stanley’s real name, I just know that I worried about him all winter and then a couple of weeks ago he showed up wearing a collar bearing a last name and an address just two houses down.  I may be responsible for his pot belly.  I was just trying to get him through the cold months.  Oops. But back to the yard - my little Jane Magnolia bloomed like crazy, even though she’s barely a yard high.  I planted a lilac bush and a beauty berry bush (for the birdies). I put some Morning Glory seeds in the ground near the corner of the porch, hoping that it twines along the porch railings and offers pretty blue blooms.  Mickey hung a birdhouse in the Crape Myrtle tree for me, that’s also at the corner of the porch.  The front porch is in an L shape and I’ve claimed that short side as my own.  That’s where the tree is, that’s where I’ll hang a hummingbird feeder, that’s where the lilac is planted and where I hope the Morning Glory vines will bloom.  Mickey put a little wicker loveseat there for me and I can sit in the shade and listen to bird song and smell the gardens.  I’m finding my way home again.  It takes a lot of hard work to carve out a patch of paradise, but we’re getting there.  It’ll be years before most of what I’m planting matures, but by then I’ll be grateful.  Heck, I’m grateful now. I’m also very grateful for my sister.  She drove over last week and brought a car load of dolls and doll paraphernalia.  Her daughter was into all of the American Girl stuff and she no longer wanted any of it.  Two lovely dolls, beds, clothes, all manner of sports equipment (even a pup tent) , a salon chair for getting their hair done.  There are even books! I took some time to empty the closet in the grandgirl’s room to make way for all of this wonderful treasure.  While I was organizing the bounty a certain kitty claimed the bunk beds. 

She fell into a deep sleep, so I saved the beds for last. I should have poked her, gotten in her face, sat on her chest, and cried.  That’s what she does to me in the morning.  Anyway, I’m grateful for my very generous sister.  Our little miss will have a ball with all of this.

Did I mention how much fun the grandgirl had with the Egg-mazing?

You just pop a hard boiled egg into that egg-shaped spot and turn on the motor.  It spins the egg while you apply color.  These eggs were created by a 5 year old!

Prettiest eggs in town!  Easter already feels like a month ago. We’ve got a lot to look forward to - blooming season, grilling season, beach season, and more!  MY two sweet sons have planned a trip for July and will be flying off to Berlin and then to Prague.  I know they’ll have a blast.  They’ll probably visit plenty of spy museums and WWII sites.  I want them to go to the Lennon Wall in Prague and write, “My mom said to be nice.” Sorry for the boring post but I’ve been spending my days cutting down trees and digging in the dirt.  If it kills me I’m going to make every corner of this place beautiful.  Then I’ll sit on my little loveseat  on the porch, under the shade of a tree full of singing birds, and enjoy the heck out of it. Come sit with me! I’ll make lemonade and finger sandwiches and we’ll talk about nothing and everything. Doesn’t that sound nice? Alright, I’m calling it a night. I’ve got some crafty stuff in the works and I’ll share that with you tomorrow.  For now I’m off to a bubble bath and then I’m getting under the covers with a cat and a book. Livin’ on the edge. I hope that spring is filling your world with delight right now, wherever you are.  I know some areas are getting winter’s last blast, but I’ll bet that daffodils are right behind it.  Keep the faith! Stay safe, stay well, take good care.

XOXO, Nancy

[insipid-drivel]

Other tricks I used to battle my nyctophobia:

-Started a bird seed garden outside my window that has also become attractive to a small family of raccoons and a couple of deer (I'll just scatter seed on the ground in some spots for birds that strictly eat on the ground, like quails, and deer and raccoons just happened to enjoy snacking on the same stuff). Now, I'm more a participant in the outside world, and nocturnal visitors from deer and other animals are familiar and something I can get excited to see.

-Got an off-brand Happy Light, or Vitamin D Light. I live in a latitude where the sun actually can't produce adequate vitamin D generation in people, so mental health issues are very common. Between a vitamin D supplement and my Happy Light (a light designed to simulate vitamin D production you'd ordinarily get from the sun). Whenever I'd get anxious at night, I'd turn it on and close my eyes and visualize daylight. It's okay to need to sleep with a light on at night if that's what makes you feel secure enough to rest, especially if you're still in the process of addressing the problem.

-ASMR videos of familiar daytime-sounds like birdsong, cars passing by, etc. I also find that, if I leave on a familiar television show or something in the background all night at a low volume, I'll sleep better and longer than if it were silent or I were using something like an ambience generator that becomes too repetitive.

-Started gardening in my house. Grow-lights with built-in timers are pretty inexpensive, and so I can set my plants to "wake up" around the same time I usually did with my anxiety at night, and there are a lot of very bulletproof plants that you can grow at home with minimal upkeep (I started with apple seeds I harvested from apples I'd gotten as snacks from the store). If I was fidgety, I could fuss over them and feel like I was doing a good thing with my anxious energy rather than sitting there and letting it nail me. (Also, studies have shown that the smells of potting soil, dirt, and plant life is calming to humans, and is one of the reasons they garden on board the ISS in space; it literally keeps astronauts sane)

-Adopted my cat, Nimue, and dog, Tama. Nimue's usually awake when I am, and so I can focus on her if I want to and she'll enjoy my company. Tama's just turning 5 months old and starting to sleep through the night, so I can snuggle her and focus on her breathing and snuffling in her sleep to further prove to my limbic system that everything's alright. Nimue's a 2-year-old Maine Coon calico mix that I rescued from out-of-state, while Tama is a 5-month-old Pomsky my mom surprised me with from a reputable health-and-behavior-focused breeder and obedience trainer.

-Found video games I enjoy that I'll reserve for when I'm Awake At Night And Nervous. I won't play them during the day, so when I have that panicky, anxious energy at night, I can get a hard hit of dopamine late at night rather than a hit of adrenaline.

-Talked to someone. I live with my family in a house with some property, because we care for each other and because it just makes the most financial sense and provides the best living experience for us. I started opening up to my mom and brother about being panicked at night and usually waking up freaked out. My mom spent an entire month sleeping in the same bed with me to help crush the cycle of panics down to just some insomnia (I also deal with chronic pain). My brother hugged me and told me I could knock on his door anytime, even though he sleeps like a drunken carcass, but the sentiment was heartfelt and really made me feel more accepted and that I was seen.

-Tried Metta Meditation, or Loving Kindness Meditation. It's different from the conventional "clear your mind and breathe" kind of meditation, which I can't do because of a rare mental condition called DDNOS-1B (my brain is Loud). There are lots of guided Loving Kindness meditation videos free on youtube, and the process focuses on self-acceptance, focusing feelings of love, healing, and peace toward yourself, and then outward to help replace adrenaline with endorphins, and can help get you to sleep or at least calm down a little. My favorite video even instructs, "Allow yourself to accept yourself as perfect as you are," and tickles my System in a way that gets them snuggly and helping me with pleasant thoughts and feelings of self-love and acceptance.

-Talk to a professional. It may be that a low-dose medication will help with addressing panic and sleep disorders, but it can take time and trial and error to find out what works best for you. Some nighttime anxiety and panic issues can go into remission with a course of medication to break the cycle of stressors and triggers and help you un-learn some panic-minded spiral patterns. Sometimes, a sleep or anxiety disorder can secretly be a mild pain disorder you usually just ignore that just requires a nighttime dose of tylenol. Not all sleep medications are psych meds, and a good provider will give you a wide array of options to choose from after they've listened to your unique symptoms and needs.

[vivacissimx]

Daenerys & moments of escapism

[dany month day 2: book moments]

One of my favorite GRRM writing quirks is how ordinary moments morph into memories morph into dreams. For Dany specifically, whose childhood was traumatic and unstable, these moments are often tinged with fear and (reminders of) abuse. Yet her inner world remains expansive, transforming her circumstances into dreams and hopes. It's a survival mechanism, a way she can safely explore the world around her.

This is by far one of the most special parts of Daenerys: her resilience. Even in her private moments, it shines through.

That thought gave Dany the shivers. "I don't want to talk about that now," she said. "It's so beautiful here, I don't want to think about everything dying."

-

The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany's sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. She had a sudden urge to feel the ground beneath her, to curl her toes in that thick black soil. Swinging down from her saddle, she let the silver graze while she pulled off her high boots.

Viserys came upon her as sudden as a summer storm, his horse rearing beneath him as he reined up too hard.

-

Dany liked the strangeness of the Eastern Market too, with all its queer sights and sounds and smells. She often spent her mornings there, nibbling tree eggs, locust pie, and green noodles, listening to the high ululating voices of the spellsingers, gaping at manticores in silver cages and immense grey elephants and the striped black-and-white horses of the Jogos Nhai. She enjoyed watching all the people too: dark solemn Asshai'i and tall pale Qartheen, the bright-eyed men of Yi Ti in monkey-tail hats, warrior maids from Bayasabhad, Shamyriana, and Kayakayanaya with iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks, even the dour and frightening Shadow Men, who covered their arms and legs and chests with tattoos and hid their faces behind masks. The Eastern Market was a place of wonder and magic for Dany.

+

[Daenerys] sniffed, and recognized the sharp odors of garlic and pepper, scents that reminded Dany of days long gone in the alleys of Tyrosh and Myr and brought a fond smile to her face. [...]

"When I was a little girl, I loved to play in the bazaar," Dany told Ser Jorah as they wandered down the shady aisle between the stalls. "It was so alive there, all the people shouting and laughing, so many wonderful things to look at… though we seldom had enough coin to buy anything… well, except for a sausage now and again, or honeyfingers… do they have honeyfingers in the Seven Kingdoms, the kind they bake in Tyrosh?

-

When Irri and Jhiqui returned with pots of white sand, Dany stripped and let them scrub her clean. "Your hair is coming back, Khaleesi," Jhiqui said as she scraped sand off her back. Dany ran a hand over the top of her head, feeling the new growth.

-

"I've brought you a peach," Ser Jorah said, kneeling. It was so small she could almost hide it in her palm, and overripe too, but when she took the first bite, the flesh was so sweet she almost cried. She ate it slowly, savoring every mouthful, while Ser Jorah told her of the tree it had been plucked from, in a garden near the western wall.

+

Day followed night followed day. Women harvested fruit from the gardens of the dead. Men groomed their mounts and mended saddles, stirrups, and shoes. Children wandered the twisty alleys and found old bronze coins and bits of purple glass and stone flagons with handles carved like snakes. One woman was stung by a red scorpion, but hers was the only death. The horses began to put on some flesh.

[not a "dream" in the traditional sense but see how dany's peach moment leads to her staying in vaes tolorro despite objections otherwise. she doesn't remain forever, but she does linger long enough to heal and rest, and chart out the world around her.]

-

Dany padded out to where the marble pool sat in the shade of a portico. The water was deliciously cool, and the pool was stocked with tiny golden fish that nibbled curiously at her skin and made her giggle. It felt good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked. She wondered whether Aegon's Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint.

-

[S]he loved the sea. She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small, but free as well. She liked the dolphins that sometimes swam along beside Balerion, slicing through the waves like silvery spears, and the flying fish they glimpsed now and again. She even liked the sailors, with all their songs and stories. Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she'd watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor.

-

At first Groleo had wanted the dragons caged and Dany had consented to put his fears at ease, but their misery was so palpable that she soon changed her mind and insisted they be freed.

Even Captain Groleo was glad of that, now. There had been one small fire, easily extinguished; against that, Balerion suddenly seemed to have far fewer rats than she'd had before, when she sailed under the name Saduleon. And her crew, once as fearful as they were curious, had begun to take a queer fierce pride in "their" dragons. Every man of them, from captain to cook's boy, loved to watch the three fly . . . though none so much as Dany.

-

Once, so tormented she could not sleep, Dany slid a hand down between her legs, and gasped when she felt how wet she was. Scarce daring to breathe, she moved her fingers back and forth between her lower lips, slowly so as not to wake Irri beside her, until she found one sweet spot and lingered there, touching herself lightly, timidly at first and then faster.

-

The fat leather-bound volume was full of songs and stories from the Seven Kingdoms. Children's stories, if truth be told; too simple and fanciful to be true history. All the heroes were tall and handsome, and you could tell the traitors by their shifty eyes. Yet she loved them all the same.

+

"Why do you laugh?"

"They call him frog," she said, "and we have just learned why. In the Seven Kingdoms there are children's tales of frogs who turn into enchanted princes when kissed by their true love." Smiling at the Dornish knights, she switched back to the Common Tongue. "Tell me, Prince Quentyn, are you enchanted?"

"No, Your Grace."

[dany loving fairytales, even knowing them for what they are. quentyn's quick rejection of himself as a fairytale prince. hm something about how you have to believe to achieve]

-

She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself.

Jhiqui brought a soft towel to pat her dry.

+

A pike of unprecedented size had been caught in the Skahazadhan, and the fisherman wished to give it to the queen. She admired the fish extravagantly, rewarded the fisherman with a purse of silver, and sent the pike to her kitchens. A coppersmith had fashioned her a suit of burnished rings to wear to war. She accepted it with fulsome thanks; it was lovely to behold, and all that burnished copper would flash prettily in the sun, though if actual battle threatened, she would sooner be clad in steel.

-

One of her young hostages brought her morning meal, a plump shy girl named Mezzara, whose father ruled the pyramid of Merreq, and Dany gave her a happy hug and thanked her with a kiss.

[where's that tweet about how dany took all these hostages and then immediately started kissing and hugging them, showing them a tenderness she never had? timeless]

-

Missandei sat down beside her. "What shall we talk of?"

"Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world."

[darkshrimpemotions]

Dean is the one who goes a little overboard with the anniversaries. Once a year giving Cas gifts and spoiling him just isn't enough for Dean.

He celebrates one month by making Cas breakfast in bed. French toast and bacon and coffee and a little flower he picked from god knows where because they don't have a garden at the bunker and the only thing growing for miles is corn and grass.

He celebrates two months by waking Cas up with kisses, coaxing him out of bed early in the morning for a day trip to the botanical gardens in Kansas City.

Three months is a potted geranium named Herbert and a dinner of all Cas's favorite foods.

Four months is whatever Cas wants to do the whole day, no holds barred. This turns out to be a day at the farmer's market, spending as long as Cas wants at every stall, trying whatever food Cas wants him to try and coming home with four different types of honey stowed in the trunk of the car. To be fair, they go every Saturday, but Dean is normally ready to go after about two hours. This day lasts well into the evening, and they end it sitting on the hood of the Impala, leaning on each other and watching the stars come out. Dean asks if Cas had a good day, and Cas answers by kissing him breathless under the night sky.

Five months is another day trip, this time to an apiary. Cas is enchanted by the bees, and they seem enchanted by him as well. Dean watches from a safe distance with the sappiest smile on his face as the bees buzz happily around Cas. He may not be able to talk with them anymore, but Cas listens to them as intently as if he hears and understands every word. The bemused beekeeper asks if he's ever thought of keeping a hive of his own, and Cas looks so contemplative that Dean files that away for future anniversaries.

On their six month anniversary, Cas wakes up to an empty bed and a sign on the door. He gets up, curiosity overwhelming his sleepiness, and follows the sign's directions. He pads through the bunker on bare feet, down a rarely-used hallway and up a set of stairs that creak loudly with every step. At the top he pushes open a door and stands, blinking in sunlight, staring in amazement at what he sees.

It's one of the smaller rooms in the part of the bunker that's aboveground, the part that looks like an abandoned power station. Except that every single surface has been covered in pots and trays and boxes, all of them filled with warm, rich soil and overflowing with life. Serenatis, gerbera daisies, pansies, hyacinth, geraniums...riots of color spill out from all directions, and up above there are pots containing delicious-smelling clusters of herbs and lovely green ferns.

And in the midst of it all stands Dean, sleeves rolled up and hands in his pockets, a smudge of dirt on his cheek and a nervous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"It's not exactly the botanical gardens," he says softly. "But I know you've been wanting a garden, and...I asked around the stalls at the farmer's market for some ideas and tried to cover all your favorites. If you don't like the plants I picked, I can find these new homes and you can pick whatever you w--"

Cas closes the distance between them and cuts Dean's rambling off with a kiss, hands coming up to cup Dean's face as gently as if he were one of these lovely flowers.

"It's perfect," he says a moment later, lips still brushing Dean's with every word. "I love it. Dean, I love you."

"Love you, Cas," Dean breathes it back, eyes shining and smile now wide and devoid of nervousness.

They spend the rest of the day in Cas's new garden, looking at the plants and making plans for how Cas will make it his own. When they're done with that they sit together on the cement floor, Dean's arm wrapped around Cas's shoulders as they just talk and enjoy being surrounded by all that green.

"Happy six months, Cas," Dean says softly, turning and pressing a kiss into Cas's hair.

"Happy six months, Dean," Cas replies, inwardly marveling at the fact that he gets to have this, days like this spent with Dean, an untold number of them stretching out in front of them both, the most priceless gift.

[normallyxstranger]

Fictober22 Day 6 —  "Adaptable, I like that."

featuring Vinnie Foster — a character from The New Ashton Chronicles, written & role-played by F.R. Southerland (@normallyxstranger | @frsoutherlandauthor | www.frsoutherland.com) © October 2022

original fiction

general warnings: n/a

     Vinnie was in love with the idea of asurthaniums. 

     These plants didn’t exist on Earth and it was a shame, because they were beautiful with their purple and red blooms and bright green leaves. They smelled a lot like strawberries when those blooms opened every morning. 

     At least, that’s what her sister had said when she brought her the potted plant. Andy’s demon boyfriend—or whatever she called the soultaker she was so attached to—had brought it from one of those dimensions he visited. Despite how it got to this world or who was responsible for its presence, Vinnie seized on the unique plant gladly.

     This was a fantastic opportunity for her. Oh, she’d longed to study rare plants and flowers, never thinking she’d actually get her hands on something that should not exist here. Now that she had it, she must take care of it. 

     But would it thrive like other plants on Earth? Did it need sunlight and water and fertilizer? What could she do to make sure it survived in a new environment.

     For a time, she kept it in her apartment in the pot it arrived in, with the soil of its home nestled about its roots. She watered it, cared for it as she did all her plants, but its supposedly beautiful blooms never unfurled. Frustrated, she considered touching it with some earth magic, a bit of green energy to coax it. Immediately, Vinnie thought better of it. She wanted to see it grow on its own. It was… more satisfying that way. Her magical influences—whether it be a spell or her mystical kept-in-a-pocket-dimension greenhouse—must be a last resort.

     Tucking her long red hair behind her ears, Vinnie knelt by the empty plot she’d cleared out the day before in the vast backyard garden of the Kindheart Coven’s American house. Hopefully, the flowers would be happier in their new home, in fresh good Earth soil, surrounded by nasturtiums and violets. 

     Despite wanting to hold off on magic, she couldn’t help giving her usual blessing for the soil as she dug.

          "Branches, buds, fruit, and seeds,

          Soil, blossoms, vines, and leaves.

          Bless this plant and help it grow,

          On this garden strength bestow."

     Gently, she removed the asurthanium from the pot and placed it down. Slowly, almost reverently, she pushed soil around it, patting it. “You should like this, I hope,” she said softly, smiling a bit. “It’s nice here. I visit often, so I’ll be able to give you whatever you need. Once I figure all that out. You have to help me with that, okay? We’ll work together. We’ll grow together.”

     Vinnie sat back on her thighs, admiring her work. The dirt felt good on her hands so she didn’t yet wipe it away, enjoying the sensation as it dried on her fingers. Brow furrowing, she leaned forward to straighten a stem, move a leaf, push more soil at its base. 

     That’s when she smelled strawberries.

     Holding her breath, the witch sat back, eyes widening as slowly, the small buds of asurthanium began to open. Each one welcomed the light, petals unfurling to reveal a vivid red cascading into a deep purple. She’d never seen anything like it.

     “Oh,” she whispered, hardly breathing. “You’re so beautiful! I knew you could do it!” She gave a breathless laugh. “Adaptable, I like that. Oh, I more than like it.  I love you. I love you! Thank you!”  

     And the strong scent of strawberries filled the air.

[mishasminion360]

A Rose By Any Other Name

Marcus Moreno x fem!reader

Warnings: None! It’s fluff, pure and simple.

Summary: Marcus asks Missy to help him with a special task.

A/N: Thank you @lovelypastel2532 for another adorable ask 😁 I’m always astounded by the way your mind works. I’ll be forever in awe of the stories you think up.

“I will never understand why grown ups like playing in the dirt so much,” Missy huffs, dragging the heavy bag of mulch across the lawn.

“Because it’s fun,” Marcus insists, loosening the dirt with his trowel.

“Getting all dirty and smelly and gross is fun to you?”

“When did my daughter turn in to such a girl?” Marcus snorts.

He can practically hear Missy roll her eyes behind him.

“So, what do we do first?”

“First,” Marcus huffs, climbing to his feet and dusting off his hands, “we’re going to transplant the rose bushes.”

Missy hands him one of the plastic pots housing a spindly plant. The sorry looking thing only has one rose on it and it’s barely hanging on. The other plants look no better.

“They don’t really look like bushes, dad.”

“Not now, maybe,” he says, carefully extracting the plant, roots and all, from the store bought dirt. “But once it’s in the ground and gets a little TLC from the two of us I think it’ll surprise you.”

She follows her father’s lead, removing the soon-to-be bushes from their plastic casings—minding the thorns—and depositing them into the rich, fertile soil of the back yard, filling in the hole and tamping down the dirt.

Marcus gives the newly planted roses a generous watering with the hose before showing Missy how to spread the mulch.

“So, why red roses specifically?” she asks. “Why not white or pink?”

“Because red means ‘love’,” Marcus answers, wiping the sweat from his brow and leaving a streak of dirt behind. “That’s what I want: for this back yard to be filled with love.”

“You think she’ll be surprised?”

“I certainly hope so.”

***

When you step through the front door your family is nowhere to be seen, but you can certainly hear them just fine.

“Aaaahh! Dad, stop it!!”

You follow the sound of Missy’s shrieks to the back yard where you find Marcus spritzing his daughter evilly with the garden hose, a wicked grin on his face.

“What in the world is going on out here?”

They immediately cease their clowning at the sound of your voice.

“Um….surprise?”

You look past Missy and notice for the first time that the perimeter of the back yard has been lined with budding plants.

“Are those….?”

“Red roses,” Missy confirms. “For love.”

Marcus’s cheeks are as red as the small blooms speckling the freshly planted bushes.

“You were pretty adamant about having a simple outdoor wedding, so I wanted to make sure that the outdoors were beautiful for our big day. They’ll be full and blossoming by the day of the ceremony.”

“It’s perfect,” you breathe. “Absolutely perfect.”

You open your arms and gesture for them to bring it in, but they each take a hesitant step back.

“I’m filthy,” Marcus explains.

“Yeah, and I’m soaked,” Missy says, socking her dad on the arm as payback for his shenanigans.

Like you care.

You pull them into your waiting arms, dirt, sweat and all. They both smell so sweet. Just like roses.

@grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @mamacitapascal @insomniamama1 @pedrosbisch @emmaispunk @mandolydian @lv7867 @reonlouw @hawaiianmelodies @pascalsky @pascalpanic @heythere-mel @healingstardust @pastel-0-princess @pedropascal207-deactivated20211 @delorena @pedropasxal @caesaryoulater @kiizhikehn-cedar @hellovanessax @fangirling-alert @pedrocentric @fromthedeskoftheraven @feralhotmess @axshadows @mandapascal @dragon-scales88 @spacepastel-blog @anaaaispunk @spideysimpossiblegirl @pbeatriz-blog @hauntedmama @mswarriorbabe80 @horton-hears-a-honk @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @a-trial-run-on-paper @oonajaeadira @foli-vora @dhadiirah @felicisimor @practicalghost @luz-introvertida @amneris21 @hb8301 @tanzthompson @bison-writes @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen

[imalwaystiredzzz]

C3: Sisyphus happy. Yan Zhongli x Reader

Warning: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationships.

< Sisyphus happy. chapters >

“You are still the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told.” ― Nikita Gill, (Persephone to Hades) Great Goddesses: Life Lessons from Myths and Monsters ══════════════════════════════════

Step by step by step. Any more and you would collapse, exhausted to the very core of your soul. You’d give anything to stop, to sleep, to rest on a shade of a tree.  In this realm, there is no god. There is only the boulder upon your back and prisoner set to carry it and the nightmare of this is that you can’t.

The dreams flow like the sands of time, holding for a moment and gone the next, blown by the wind, unforgiving to anything. Not even you.

“You should rest a bit more,” Zhongli would say, picking a dress that you would be wearing from an extensive wardrobe that he got you after moving to your new house while you sit on the dresser feeling as if this has happened before.

The white silk easy and comfortable on the skin in this summer heat is welcomed with open arms and you smile at him as thanks. While it is as simple, fitting for someone in your standing, the traditional embroidery, intricate symbols of the land decorated by the long body of a dragon, made it fashionable and familiar yet never having worn it before. A perfect fit on your small frame Zhongli would admire without looking, busy brushing your (h/c) hair. “I would dare say that it would even be better if you simply relaxed indoors with this heat.”

“Isn’t that like asking you to skip the day and stay with me.” You would slyly comment after he is finished, holding his hand and giving you the shubi(comb) to be kept in the drawer. Yet another gift that he has given, your lovely husband never failed to spoil as even a simple comb is adorned by jewels and a symbol of the geo. 

“Trust me dear, I’d rather see your face than have another conversation with Barbatos.” He brushes a strand and kisses your forehead before going to the kitchen so you may prepare his tea. You chuckle, thinking back to the nights that he would complain, long and trouble about his flighty acquaintance from the city. The drunkard from Mondstandt, who shirks his duties and plays around. ‘A disgrace to the arts,’ he would even grumble. 

Even in summer when the sun is high with its sweltering long days and short nights, the mornings have never changed. You slowly and carefully put the leaves on the pot, as Zhongli talks about a child that he has recently taken in. “I do not know how to handle a child, and he seems to be suffering from chronic pain…” His voice, drawled in the background like static in your head; everything slowing and blurring like an oncoming headache as you notice something in the bottom of the pot. 

The city who was protected by the god of geo, had loved and adored him, to the point that they would engrave it on their crafts it seems, you think staring at it wondering when exactly did Zhongli get this yixing teapot. It seems as if a long time has passed, so long that even you have begun to forget. 

“Zhongli, when did we get married again?” 

He stops and as if time had known a master so did the world. Neither the creak of the wood as he stood, nor the pads of his familiar footsteps and the shift of his clothes make a sound.

The walls have ears and the earth keeps your soul, the wind whispers as you begin to suffocate in his presence, the whole house feeling familiar yet foreign, like the back of your husband as he walks away.

Your heart is filled with regret, the sound of a closing door has resumed the ticking of a clock, while you are left in the kitchen, thoroughly alone with an empty cup and unfinished tea, left to pick up pieces of your routine with a question left unanswered. You stare at the catalyst of this disaster, only to find a plain pot and a headache from trying to remember what you were looking for. 

It's always in summer, when uncomfortable heat makes your joints hurt and head light, that an unusual day occurs, it is as if you were dreaming, and any moment you would soon wake to begin the day all over again. Yet you don’t and you hate this season even more.

It ends with you retreating to the garden, welcoming and always familiar with it’s peaceful quiet where you find yourself in solace. “This is solely yours,” Zhongli once said, the first and last time that he has stepped in the garden that he had made especially for you. 

Here you are safe. Here the plants sprout from the ground and nurtured to life with your own two hands are a pillar to your reality. Here, you are (y/n)(l/n), a simple herbalist and the ache from being under this heat on your skin that turns red, the pain in your bones as it creaks from crouching to be near the ground, the soil and leaves in your hands is familiar.

It is with plants harvested and crushed to medicine, intricately and methodologically, where you find yourself. 

You are (Y/n) (l/n). You are a herbalist as was your father and mother whom  you clung and learned from their hip since you understood how to speak, and you try to remember what permeated the air as they came home in the dusk. 

Did your mother’s warm hands perhaps carry the scent of flowers from all the Qingxin petals or had your father smelled of miasma from the dying?

The mountain with its afternoon air, for the first time, never felt so lonely that you had wished for the sun to come down for any company. 

“Maybe we should visit my parents.” You say while eating Jewelry soup, an offering of sorts for whatever happened earlier. He is quiet again, sighing when you spoke before he replies, “I’m unsure if you can make the trip, you are aware how sickly you are, right? I would have loved even to show you an opera.”

“What if they visit us, instead?”

“(y/n), you know how they’ve grown old, I’m worried for their fragile bones.” 

Lies. Lies. Lies. Something whispers in the back of your head as you stare at him, gouging for any hints that it is indeed a lie, yet his impassive face and sharp amber eyes brimming with sympathy tells otherwise; then there it was again a deja vu moment as if you’d had this conversation before and you are drowning in your own head. 

“Maybe one day when you are feeling better.” He kisses your hand, tender and long, holding it tightly as if it was painful to let go, as a silent apology. It pulls you out and grounds you, immensely thankful for his presence thinking where you would be without your husband?

“I’m sorry. “ Guilt overwhelms your heart and you do not tell him that you barely remember your parent’s face, rather you opt to look at the hands that clasp yours, like a prayer as he sighs almost like a hiccup to his impassive facade, and you think that he is simply exhausted from work and the long journey it takes everyday, simply because you needed to be here lest you compromise your health. Everything, everything he does is always for you, yet here you are pestering and giving him another headache when home is supposed to be where one rests their weariness. 

Tonight, it is you who blows the candles and let the house dissolve into the pitch black, until you are blind and all you can do is feel and hold his weary body against yours. Your husband who is always unmoving, adamant and akin to a pillar rather than a person who knows how to hide his emotions in little cracks, feels like a stranger in your arms as he silently falls apart, yet still speaks no words and hides his face in the dark.

And then you sleep, closing your eyes as another season passes, like a dream blurring in and out of focus. Forgetting the tiniest details, but Zhongli. 

Your dear husband who is the only constant. Your dear, beloved husband is always there smiling and telling you stories about memories long passed and if you looked in the corner of your eyes, he looks at you like you were too. 

You are (Y/n) (l/n).You are a gardener. You don’t know nor understand why those words repeat in your thoughts like a broken prayer of a sinner who has long been abandoned by his god. It is whispered like a plea, filled with sorrow and regret. The weight of these emotions bore on your fragile shoulders as if you were carrying a boulder on an uphill road and yet you cannot stop your steps. 

[sadlysoulx]

HAIKYUU CHARACTERS GOING TO IKEA

Part 2 (w/ Hinata, Kageyama, Sakusa, Oikawa, Ushijima and Tendou)

I really really like the idea of haikyuu boys going to Ikea, the part 1 is on my account so pls feel free to read it. As u can see. . . Double post😏😏😏 I want to spoil y'all coz ur my bbs😌✨ please enjoy ❤️ THANK YOU FOR 49 FOLLOWERS 😭💓✨

Hinata

Please this ball of sunshine's never been excited to go to a furniture shop

He likes it because he loves picking up mysterious tools.

GURLLL, THE MOMMENT YOU STEPPED IN IKEA HE GOT LOST😭

You got so nervous coz you can't find your boyfriend in the sea of people.

That is until the speakers blared out, saying:

"L/N Y/N, please come to the office, your child has been found,"

And you were like: wait I have a child???👀👄👀

But then you figured it's probably Hinata

So you went in the office to see Hinata pretending to crying his eyes out

And then when he looked up, he said to the staff:

"yeah. . . That's my mom,"

You:👁️👄👁️

Employees:👁️ᴗ👁️

Hinata: 👁️〰️👁️

After that, you made sure Hinata doesn't leave your sight.

He sat in that cart where your supposed to hang the yellow ikea bag.

Hinata likes to point to things you don't need and tries to convince you to buy them.

"Y/N. . . Please! Look it's so cool, you just have to spin this and then your pencil would be sharpened!"

"Ooooooh! Y/N we need to get that folding table!"

"WOW! Y/N, Y/N, babe! Look at that sofa that can turn into a bed, let's have one!"

But ofcourse you didn't buy them🙅

After buying things you need, you went to the Ikea food court to have lunch.

This baby likes the kiddie meal where you are given a colored plate filled with nuggets and french fries.

Please, Kuroo and Bokuto had a huge influence on him since they also like kiddie meals.💀

He also likes the Ikea meatballs<3

But then after that, he convinced you to let him go to the Ikea Kid playground.

Since he's a small baby, the Ikea staff let him in😭😭😭

(pretend there's no height limit)

Your watched through the window outside as he played.

He settled in the pool of plastic balls playing with other kids.

And then he went up climbing the big dust pan with those ropes and surrounded by plastic balls😖

He watched cartoons with other kids❤️

But then he immediately went out because he made a kid cry by accidentally cursing at them💀

Hinata may be a fluff ball but sometimes Tsukishima is a bad influence for him 🤦🏻‍♀️

Kageyama

ಠ_ಠ expression always on

When you wanted to show him something and ask if it's nice, he would nod and just be like: ಠ_ಠ

Seriously, when you show him a kitchen knife, he would nod and say:

"It's nice you should buy it,"💀

When you show him a useless kitchen tool, he would nod and say to buy it.

Help this boi✋🏻😭

He doesn't know how to shop😭

Buuuuut when it comes or the bedroom area, he would sit on it and lay down.

Kageyama would drag you on the bed and make you lay down beside him, not caring if people gave you weird looks❤️

He keeps on insisting to get a new matress because the one he's laying on is soft.

And then he mentioned how you need to buy a new bedframe because the both of you broke the ones in the house.😃

BECAUSE YOU WERE JUMPING ON THE BED SEEING WHO CAN JUMP THE HIGHEST.

He was bored whenever you stop by to check something out

So he stands behind you like🕴️

And one time he accidentally made a kid cry😭

He just tried to make the baby laugh with "funny faces"

But then he ended up making them cry¯\_( ˘_˘)_/¯

You know that part of Ikea where there are really tall shelves with full of boxes?? Yeah that one

It's so adorable how he looks up at them with his chin up in the air like how a child would look up on an airplane 😖❤️

Oh yeah and he insists on buying those cute tent playhouse 🎪. 😃

He even begs on his knees for you to accept to buy it.

When you stopped to eat, he wants to push the food cart for you, he find it exciting to out on the trays of the cart😣

he always go back to the line to get another carton of milk

He came back 3 times, back and forth just to buy another milk🤦🏻‍♀️

Kageyama likes the yogurt that Ikea sells, he likes the strawberries and berries decorated on top of it.

He doesn't have his own plate of food, he wants to share with you✌️

Sakusa

He doesn't want to go

But reader-senpai is so stubborn so you insist

He didn't want to go so you finally gave up, leaving him in your shared apartment.

But then at the last minute, he said he wanna come.

Yoomi-bby doesn't want people to touch you or even ask for your number.

What's his is only his so no SHARING 😤

He always scolds you on stop picking up things on everything you see.

So every time you drop the item, he sprays your hands with alcohol

Coz he doesn't want his baby to be sick😪

But when the both of you reached the bathroom/toilet models, he literally switched.

He finds them interesting😃

Like how the bathroom models are beautifully designed.

He finds it funny when the inside of the toilet is covered with plastic, so no one would really poop or pee in it

He laughs so cute 😖❤️

He laughs for straight 2 minutes and you don't really care, he's just adorable.

Please he collects Ikea pencils 😭

He takes more when he saw another Ikea pencil and ruler stall.

And then take some random paper and draws on it out of boredom.

He drew you😞

It wasn't the best but it's cute how he tries hard.

Kiyoomi also find the chair sections interesting.

He likes the rocking chairs and said that he would get one

How could you say no?❤️

He payed for it easily and it would be delivered in the apartment this night.

💸RICH BOI 💸

When you are in the rugs and mats section, he likes touching the furry ones

"Look Y/N! it's really soft. . . Touch it,"

But then he told you to leave the area immediately because it smells weird👁️👄👁️

It came from those leather and those cow skin looking matts💀

When lunch rolls by, he likes to watch kids playing in the playground 😣

He eats fancy so don't be surprised if you see him use knife and fork so expertly and eat steak with some sauce.

He gets so excited when going home because he can finally set up the rocking chair 💀

Oikawa

He loves shopping!

I can sense it, he radiates the vibes, you can't change my mind.

He picks up everything he sees and put in the cart.

And you have to get those things from the cart and put it back because you don't need them💀

He whines about how he needs all of them

And you have to remind him that they would just stay in the storage room like how the other things ended up he brought last time.

But nuh-uh

🎶He sees it, he likes it, he want it, he got it🎶

🎶I want it, I got it, I want it, I got it🎶

"Y/N-chan, I'll buy it with my own money! You don't have to worry about it!"

You know what are the things he buys?

A whole chandelier, an emergency lamp that charges by spinning the ledge, a WHOLE cabinet, some kitchen utensils–he doesn't cook💀 and some more things. . .😐

He actually bought the whole Ikea 😭

But then he came up to you and ask if you can buy him those dog stuff toys.

He pouted for it.

You gave in and bought two stuff toys for you and him❤️

And then you remembered why he asked you to buy it for him when he had no problem to pay the expensive things he wanted.🙄

"So that it would be special, Y/N, look it came from you!"

He likes the candle section.

He specifically likes the scented ones.🕯️

Oikawa keeps picking them up and smelling them😭

He ended up adding to cart once again🤦

He made a delivery truck deliver all the things he bought to your house.

Ofcourse he would, he 💸rich💸

After that you both ate

And he just had to insist on you feeding him because he wanted to make the lonely teen across him jealous 😭😭😭 slskskjfgh

He likes the bread bowls

No he doesn't put soup in them

He just likes the bread.

You don't have to go back to Ikea for a whole year because you remembered Oikawa bought the whole store.

Ushijima

He just follows you everywhere, stoic and not saying anything 😐

When you stop to check on something he'll be like🕴️behind you

He also picks up some things that interests him😖

And if her finds something weird, he'll pick it up also and try to find out how to use it

But he ends up breaking it, so he quickly put it back and walk back to you😭

He holds your hand and look around as if he's a lost puppy ❤️

Waka-waka takes those paper rulers and roll them into a tight roll💀 please I do that everytime

He also collects those Ikea brochures and still takes another one even though you have a lot at home 😃

You know those yellow banners that hung from the ceiling with the prizes labeled on it??

Like kenma from part 1, he jumps and hits it with his fingertips aww

He's a huge baby🤭

Until he breaks it and made it fall on the floor💀

The both of you quickly run away before a staff scolds you both

Everytime other time, out of the blue, he would hug you, telling how much you mean to him😢

You know those fake windows in house models where it's actually just wallpapers lightened up from underneath??

He thrash talked about who taught about it because it didn't look too realistic 💀

He likes the kitchen section because the kitchen tools amazes him nd he cooks in the house,sooo¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Ushijima points at the things he find interesting and talk about them to you

"hey. . .Y/N. . . That thing is so cool, it can turn into a bed from a sofa. . ."

ANDDDD

He also likes the outdoor/garden section.❤️

He has his mini garden and he plants succulents😩

So he puts soils and other plant materials he needed for planting like pots and shovels.

He buys you plastic flowers too💀

It's not real but hey! At least it came from someone you really really love😏

He buys you unnecessarily a lot of those too😃

buys you things you needed, anything you want, he'll buy for you. . .

He'll just take out his credit card💳

When lunch comes, he always take the fruit salad because he likes it.

He would also feed you his own food•//////•

Ushjima always likes the fish with that kind of sauce

He shares food

So take it or leave it 😤

Tendou

Baki Baki ni oreeeee~

I love this boi, I don't get why people see him as a monster😤

Oki oki, he is sooooo excited to go around ikea

He takes a lot of the Ikea magazines

"it's free! So why not take many?"

He literally skips around beside you and gets excited over small things

"Ooooooh, Y/N! A rechargable light bulb!"

"Y/N! Y/N! Come here! Look, it's a chandelier that opens and closes!!"

He is very curious about things so make sure you stir him away from the kitchen section because that's where most of the weirdest things are.

Somehow you'd still end up in the kitchen section

He saw this weird looking scissors and he doesn't know what are the other features for.

You told him to drop it because he might hurt himself.

But no, he just had to figure out what is is for💀

He ended up hurting himself from toying around a scissors that separates each leg so that it can become a knife.

Of course he did hurt himself🤦

He run up to you, whimpering

And you just have to scold him😐

One time he got so curious about what that heavy door was for and he opened it

The alarm started going off🚨💀

IT WAS AN EMERGENCY DOOR

You made sure you don't let Tendou out of your sight again

When you stopped for lunch, you let him control the food cart.

But he accidentally pushed an old lady infront of the line with it.

Don't worry Gran is fine👵

What's with Haikyuu characters always liking kiddie meals?!😭

Yeah yeah he likes them❤️

But then when you two settled down to finally eat

He screamed why is his plate color is green, he wants red😭

You told him to finish his food quickly or else you'll leave him there

So both of you finished quickly and Satori wants to go home as fast as possible because he said he has a concert in his shower💀💀💀

My hands hurts😐

Anyways thank you for staying till the end❤️

Every like, reblogs and follow is appreciated 😏

This is my work so please don't steal in any way, not even turning it into a tiktok😐

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[nomazee]

Homegrown

ushijima wakatoshi x reader

word count: 1700+

content: friends-to-lovers, fluff (particularly birthday fluff because it was his birthday a few days ago and i wanna celebrate that somehow!!!), gardener ushijima, pining 

(this is basically a late b-day gift for best boy ushijima!! this is something i just wrote really quickly but regardless, i hope you all like it!! 

happy reading <3) 

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

On your birthday, Ushijima gives you a basil plant. 

You blink down at the plastic pot in your hands, fingers feeling the cool slickness of the roots hanging out from the bottom. Ushijima waits expectantly in the doorway of your home, eyes scrutinizing every flinch of your expression to try and judge your reaction. 

“It’s basil.” He repeats the words he stated moments ago, being the only words he’s given you to work with in the six-- no, seven minutes he’s been outside your house. 

“I can see that.” You respond, staring down at the small, shiny leaves peering up at you from where they were cozily nestled between soft, lightly damp soil. “It smells nice.” 

“Yes,” he agrees, “I like the smell of basil.” No more words are exchanged between the two of you, and you’re instead left staring down at the plant with Ushijima’s watchful eyes continuing to analyze you. 

“It’s your birthday gift,” he tells you, with a cock of his head and a slight furrow in his brow. “Did you forget about your birthday?” 

“Uh, no. I… I didn’t!” Yes, you did. You absolutely did. The delivery of a gift in the middle of a Saturday made a bit more sense. The gift itself, however, did not. But you supposed Ushijima was a bit inexperienced in the art of giving friends gifts so you didn’t really mind it too much in the moment. 

Ushijima lets out a huff--almost inaudible, but you caught it just in time to view the sight of him averting his eyes with a tint of red at his ears. “Yes, you did. I thought you would remember. Last week you mentioned that you wanted to spend time together.” 

Oh. You did. You stand, mouth parted slightly in the sudden realization of your past promise. You’re dressed in baggy pajamas--plaid pants that reach past the soles of your feet and an XX-L t-shirt that you’re sure belongs to either your dad or Ushijima. 

“I’ll get dressed,” you blush at your chaotic state of dress and back away from the door to let Ushijima inside, “and then we can head out.” You pause, and then, “I’m really sorry for forgetting, Ushi. I was just tired from this week and it slipped my mind. You can pick wherever we go, to make up for it.” 

Despite your words, the furrow in Ushijima’s brows doesn’t dissipate. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t upset me. I was just worried that you were going to spend your birthday alone.” 

Oh. You freeze, then smile. Always the considerate friend, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it. You approach where he sits on the couch, run a hand through his hair, and press a kiss to his forehead that sends a blush down his neck that you don’t quite catch. “You’re so cute, Ushi. I’ll be down in five minutes.” 

---

Three days later, Ushijima gives you a basket of tomatoes. 

You think it’s a bit funny. First basil, now tomatoes. His unorthodox gifts bring a smile to your face, and you find him mirroring a similar expression in the cold of the night outside your house. 

“These look great,” you tell him, digging around in the crate and examining each plump tomato individually. The skin was shiny and taut, a healthy bright red reflecting the light in a glossy highlight. “You’re really great with plants, Ushi.” 

He hums in acknowledgement of your compliment, eyes drifting to the concrete of your front door steps. 

You snap out of your distant haze, looking back up to the boy in your doorway. You set the crate down on the coffee table of your living room, calling out to Ushijima as you move frantically around the room. 

“You should get going, Ushijima. You’re drenched in sweat and it’s cold and I don’t want you to get sick. Here,” you extend a hand to him, one of his sweaters in its grasp--Ushi had given it to you the day of your birthday when you were both walking home in the cold. 

He blinks down at the article of clothing and you wait curiously. “Keep it.” Your brows furrow, and he elaborates. “I’ll be fine. I don’t get sick easily. And I want you to keep that in case you ever get cold.” 

Oh, Ushijima. You joke to yourself that you’ll fall for him at this rate, then silence your mind at the realization that that’s the reality you’re living in at this point. 

You wrap a hand around the nape of his neck and pull him down, lips firmly pressing against the middle of his forehead. You notice the flush of pink on his skin this time, and find the color pretty on his flesh.

“Thank you, Ushi. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives you a smile, one of his subtle ones that are just a slight upturn of the corners of his lips.

---

Over the next few weeks, you accumulate a healthy gathering of fresh fruits and vegetables in your fridge. Your parents are overwhelmed at the fresh produce and start half-jokingly questioning if you have a sugar daddy who only pays in homegrown plants. You say no, obviously, but the fiddling of your fingers make them exchange a knowing look and teasing smile. 

Ushijima brought you a lot of things--parsley, lemons, beets that you’re not sure what to do with. Your most recent favorite was a bunch of zucchini that you ended up spiralizing and serving with sauce (which is, of course, made from the tomatoes he consistently keeps giving you). You were proud enough of that dish to send a picture to him, to which he responded with a simple :). You found it funny how a simple emoticon was enough to make you swoon. 

Sitting at the kitchen counter, you eyed the tupperware container that held Ushijima’s most recent gift--a generous amount of plump, ripe strawberries. They were certainly smaller than the ones you’d normally buy at the grocery store, but he brought such a large amount it made you worry and ask if he was giving you his entire garden’s worth of plants every time he gave you something. 

(“I don’t want your mom getting mad if you’re wasting everything in your garden on me.” You chastised him as you looked into the basket of the day, which contained a few tomatoes, a healthy pile of mint, and a small watermelon that you were sure took months to grow and therefore should not be gifted to you so casually.

Ushijima’s lips were downturned when you looked up at him. He shuffled one of his feet along the ground as he avoided your chastising gaze. 

“It’s not wasting,” he muttered. “I want to give these to you. If you don't want them anymore, then just tell me.” 

You couldn’t help the melting of your expression into one of adoration and softness. You reached a hand up habitually, running your fingers through his hair and averting his gaze back to you. 

“I do, Ushi. I just want to make sure I’m not stealing everything in your garden, you know?”

He smiles. You hear distant harps playing in the background. “I know. But I have plenty leftover. And even if I didn’t, I’m giving them to you. So I’m happy either way.” 

There he goes again, crawling right into your heart so casually. Ah, you loved this boy.)

The strawberries. Right. Ushijima’s birthday was coming up. You had too many boxes of puff pastry in your freezer. Time to get to work. 

---

At Ushijima’s request, you visit his house the day of his birthday. It’s a Sunday, and you make the walk to his house with a cute cardboard box in hand, pink ribbon securing it tightly and strawberry danishes packed inside. 

He opens the door for you, leads you inside, and you both end up on his bed, the box of pastries open and in front of you as you take turns ripping apart each danish to share between the both of you. 

Ushijima hums as he chews, teeth biting into and pulling apart the layers of puff pastry and tongue catching the jam that threatens to spill over the edge of the dough. You watch the movement of his lips and tongue intently, with a vehemence that you should not be watching the movement of his lips and tongue with. He catches your stare but for some reason you can’t be bothered to look away in embarrassment. 

“It’s good,” he comments. “Very good.” 

You hum back, adjusting your position against the headboard of his bed. “I’d hope so. I didn’t work on these all morning for nothing.” 

For some reason, that particularly catches Ushijima’s attention. He furrows his brow at you, an expression you see a lot lately. “You worked on these all morning?” 

You’re confused by the question. “...yeah? I wanted to make sure they were good. So I took my time with it.” 

He exhales deeply through his nose, finishing another bite and swallowing before he elaborates. 

“You didn’t have to do so much, just for my birthday. Just coming over would be enough for me.” 

Once again, your stomach is sent into a flurry of emotions but you ignore that momentarily to scoff at his first sentence. 

“Ushi, you gave me a whole basil plant for my birthday-- and you keep giving me all your herbs and vegetables and stuff. I barely did anything for your birthday compared to your birthday, don’t give me that.” 

A frown is evident in your features and you can’t help but replicate the expression. You don’t understand why he’s so insistent on this concept--you genuinely didn’t do much compared to all the random plants he’s gifted you over the last month. 

“I don’t think you’re… understanding.” You almost huff at that, but are cut off by his next words. “You being here is enough for me. Enough of a gift.” 

You pause. There’s something hidden in his words and you have a feeling you know what he means but you’re too nervous to do so yourself. Thankfully, he turns to you, eyes boring into yours despite the softness that comes with them. 

There’s a smear of strawberry jam on his lip that you didn’t catch before. “Can I kiss you?” The words should’ve sent you in a flustered frenzy but you sit calmly and nod with a soft, “yes, please.” 

He leans in. Your lips meet his. He tastes like the strawberries from his garden.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapters 2-3

Thank you to everyone who has sent such lovely messages about this story! Happy to hear some of you are re-reading it while others are discovering it for the first time. Now for the next two chapters, which really should have been one...

[December 24th, 1990]

Their home is a modest one—a studio clinging to edges of the city, not far from where they first met. It’s an older building, mid-19th century, with pipes that freeze in the winter, burst like Scottish primrose in the summer. There is a single window on its western side, which welcomes the December-white sun at each day’s end. And it is here, lined along this sill, that Claire’s plants reach hungry towards the sky, try to trap this silver sliver of heat inside their veins.

Save for the flowers, theirs is an ascetic sort of décor. Sparse like a monk’s quarters—though Jamie and Claire hardly mind. They decorate the empty corners with their future, hatched in whispers during the night.

One day, Jamie promises, they’ll have Persian rugs and a four-poster bed. One day, they’ll own a leather sofa, its cushions like butter against Claire’s bare thighs. “And a vase!” she adds. “All fancy people have vases.”

But for now, they sleep on a musty twin cot, their belongings stored in the trunk at its foot. Jamie’s manuscripts are stacked inside, their pages marked in ballpoint scribbles and soil-dusted fingerprints. (“I canna read what this says anymore!” Jamie yells. “S’okay,” Claire says. “That paragraph was rubbish anyways.”) He’s an editorial assistant, the paltry salary worth the power of the red pen, which reshapes the written world to his liking. It buys food and rent, and covers what med school tuition Claire’s scholarship does not.

It’s a quiet life, but a happy life.

Claire yawns. “Did you know that every Christmas Eve my uncle told me a story? Made it up himself, right on the spot.”

“Are ye trying to tell me ye want a story?”

“I may be hinting at that, yes.”

“Ach,” Jamie says. Her favorite sound, every inch of him encapsulated in this strange, Scottish scoff. “Your subtly always turns me on.”

“Oh, hush. C’mon.”

He runs a hand through his hair, auburn and cinnabar limned in moonbeam.

“A good story on the spot? That’s no small amount of pressure, Sassenach.”

“How about a request then?” she offers, and Jamie raises a brow. “How about my favorite?”

“Yer favorite?”

“Don’t play coy. You know. The one you always start incorrectly? She is wearing a holiday sweater, a confection of silver bells and sequined penguins…”

“Weel, it’s a much better beginning than the ‘curl of my lips’…”

“Debatable,” Claire replies, tongue tracing the valley of his cupid’s bow.

But Jamie nods, chooses a different beginning this time: “It was immediate…”

He twists one of Claire’s curls around his finger and inhales. She still smells like the springtime, earthy and ripe, and perhaps there’s a hint of his own musk now, too. He likes it this way, enjoys finding proof of his existence somewhere beneath her skin. Permanent.

“Immediate!” Claire echoes, a one-woman Greek chorus. She is pressed into him, feeling his chest curve around her spine. It always surprises her how their bodies fit so perfectly, their limbs folding and molding to fill all their negative spaces. (And she has so many, our Claire, between her toes and between her ribs. Vacant rooms where her mother, her father, and her uncle once lived.)

“Aye, from the minute I saw ye, I ken you belonged wi’ me.”

“Mmm,” she hums, not saying, “Of course I felt the same thing,” or “Of course I loved you from the very first.” Because, of course, Jamie knows this already. (Strange, they both think, how the heart can move faster than the speed of light.)

“Speaking of which…” she says.

“Ye don’t want to hear the rest?”

“In a sec,” she replies. “But your friends seem to think we should get married. Dougal especially.”

“They do,” Jamie says softly. “And Dougal does—to him, maybe.” He brings Claire’s hand to his lips, smiles into the Christmas present he’s wrapped around her finger. A ring: one mounted pearl, taken from his mother’s necklace. (“No’ an engagement ring, mind,” though they both knew it meant forever.)

“Do you, though? Think we should get married?”

“I’ll do anything that means I can call ye mine.”

“You already can.”

“Aye, but I dinna think the law agrees wi’ you.”

“Devil take the law.”

Jamie laughs. “I reckon the Devil doesna want the law either, Sassenach. He hates the law.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Which is?”

Claire turns towards him, remembers this past year together: their first date (Italian restaurant, 9PM showing of Pretty Woman), their first fight (broken coffee mugs, a noise complaint). She remembers the first time they made love in this small, crooked flat: middle of the floor, surrounded by packing boxes and crumpled newspaper. The bubble wrap had crackled beneath them—pop-pop-pop!—as if they were dancing on fireworks. (“I never want to leave this place,” she’d told him. He thought she’d meant the flat, but she’d meant his arms.)

“Which is…Well. Do you want to marry me, James Fraser?”

He squints. “Is that a proposal?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t ye on your knees?”

“You bloody—”

Claire’s elbow swings towards his face, but Jamie catches it, stretches her arm back so that her palm lies flat against the wall. He rolls on top of her, leans down and lets her heart beat against his lips. Wills it into him until his blood thrums with it. The sound of their story.

“Yes,” Jamie says. “I want to marry you, Claire Beauchamp.”

“You mean Claire Fraser?”

He laughs; she smiles (they are both winners on this day).

“Aye. Beauchamp, Sassenach, Fraser.” His voice drops, a whisper: “My wife.”

[December 24th, 1991]

While Jamie and Claire’s studio remains the same, the flowers change with the turn of seasons: baby-skinned petals become felted cloth, neon-bright as they hang from a child’s mobile. The pots along the sill are gone, their soil-dust trails swiped away and their roots transplanted to a community garden. In their place, sits a collection of shiny, new tools for a shiny, new crib, which stands half-assembled beside the cot. The flower mobile blooms above it, suspended in silent wait for spring. For Faith.

Come April, Jamie and Claire will bring the sunshine into their home, no longer needing the single window and its lancing, evening light. Come April, they will have marigold walls, yellow linens, and bright rubber duckies floating in the sink. All of this for the baby that will sleep inside the shiny, new crib beneath the flowers that will never die.

Faith. This is the name they have given their future, no longer an unfurnished corner in their studio, but a growing presence inside Claire’s belly.

“Ugh!”

“That bad is it?”

“Worse than bad. I look like a whale who’s just fucked a Christmas tree.”

Jamie opens his eyes, his wife framed by his fingers, and he moves his hands to stifle a laugh.

“And a few wee penguins at that…”

“You’re not helping,” Claire whines, examining her reflection in the mirror. Rounded cheeks, rounder stomach; sharp lines blurred by months of pregnancy. All afternoon, she has scolded and cajoled, bribed and threatened, her cottons and nylons.  But the fabrics have been stubborn, loath to surrender their bodily claims to the child pushing against them.

“Jamie, I can’t go out wearing this.”

“I dinna see how you’ve much choice in the matter, Sassenach. We should've gone to Waverly yesterday,” Jamie replies. The sweater—the same one she’d worn the evening they met—hugs her stomach. Tight but still discreet, the purest flash of flesh above her waistline. “Party’s at 8. We’ve no time to go shopping for a proper outfit. It’s either that or what God gave ye.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be a treat? A naked, pregnant woman sipping virgin egg nog in front of the buffet. Happy bloody Christmas!”

“Angus wouldna mind.”

“Well, so long as the host is happy.”

“I wouldna mind.”

Claire snorts and twirls, as if to say, “Are you sure of that?” (He is, absolutely, and to the marrow of his bones.)

Jamie sighs. “D’ye want me to wear mine too?”

“You mean your lager-stained pullover? With the Santa looks that looks like he’s got vomit in his beard?

“Aye, that’s the one.”

“Yes,” she replies, grinning. She remembers where it lies amongst the rest of their clothes, just as she remembers its wooly scratch against her breasts two years before. Jaime’s hands (so much larger than hers, even then) lifting it up and over, laying her bare beneath the fluorescent lights of his dorm room. “Yes, I want you to wear your Belligerent Santa jumper.”

Jamie nods.

“And no beer for you, either. Just store-bought non-alcoholic egg nog. My misery needs company.”

“Fair is fair.”

“And—”

“There’s more?”

“Much more.”

“Ach, weel. Anything for the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Oh, Rupert will be so grateful you think so, Jamie.”

“What are friends for?” He draws closer, vibrating. “But what about you, Sassenach?”

“Me? You’ll look more ridiculous than I will. I’ll be peachy and taking shots of fake egg-nog!”

Claire finds the sweater and throws it to Jamie, watches him catch the frayed and wrinkled ball of it. The hem is still an unraveled spool, which she winds and winds around her finger. Once, twice, three times until it marks her skin in a pale, white ring. She pulls it taut, feels the slow draining of her finger as the blood retreats, towards her husband. Electricity between them (the pipes groan, the winter thaw come at last).

“Now,” Claire purrs, “put that on so I can take it off you.”

“D’ye think we have time?”

“Of course we do,” she says. "We always have time." (Not always, not forever.)

“Well then,” Jamie says, bowing. “Your servant, madam.”

At this point, I still had no idea where I was going with this story, and I think that’s abundantly clear here. Regardless, I was very much taken with the “romanticism” of being poor, in love, and bohemian in New York City—so these two chapters are basically my written daydreams about being a young Patti Smith. Luckily, that never happened! Although I did wind up living in a tiny long-term Airbnb with an opera singer, a grand piano that took up the. entire. living. room., and a very uncomfortable futon that I slept on for my first 6 months in Brooklyn.

These are really the last ~~happy~~ chapters for a while, which is totally a reflection of the fact that I had moved to Brooklyn and was scared, lonely, and just generally very angsty, lol. So my apologies for what lies ahead.

One closing thought: Why did I choose Pretty Woman as Jamie and Claire’s first date movie, lol? Had I just watched it? Did I just associate the ‘90s with Julia Roberts romantic comedies? Did I not bother researching other movies that came out in 1990? Your guess is as good as mine!!!

[honeymoonjin]

10k for 10k drabble

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 1k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 fluff, sfw, g-rated

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 determined to find new scents for his candles, namjoon takes you to a plant nursery to scout flowers.

PART OF THE 10K FOR 10K MILESTONE CELEBRATION and sponsored by  a donation to the Black Lives Matter movement.

Please read the original first if you haven���t already.

–

“What do you think? Too tangy, right?”

“Tangy?” you question in disbelief. Yet, when Namjoon holds the potted plant up to your nose and you inhale deeply, there’s no better way of describing it. The green freshness of the leaves and the slightly citrusy notes of the petals mix together in a scent just bitter enough to make you wrinkle your nose. “Yeah, I don’t like that one.”

Namjoon hums in thought, placing it back on the rack. Amongst all the rows of vegetation, the air was ripe with life, that thick smell of healthy dirt and lush growth. In the flower section, the two of you had gone painstakingly down one potted plant at a time; each one was worthy of inspection, and the plant nursery was a far enough drive away that you needed to make the most of the trip.

With a chunky sweater the color of rich coffee, Namjoon looks at home here, glasses tucked in his collar so he can appreciate each scent. Even as the expert of his olfactory senses, your partner never forgets to ask your opinion too, no matter how vague or uncertain your answer is.

“This one?” Namjoon considers a pot practically spilling with life. Tall stems flop over the sides with the weight of their petals, which are bell-shaped and a deeper purple on the inside than they are on the outside. He sniffs slowly, eyes blinking but unseeing. “Mm, this one is nice, actually. Warm but very light. Don’t you think, love?”

Heavy with soil, you carefully take the terracotta pot out of Namjoon’s hands, immediately catching a whiff of the petals once they’re under your nostrils. As always, Namjoon’s explanation is perfectly fitting, and you find your eyes slipping shut to savour the delicate sweetness. “Reminds me of ylang ylang,” you say, “but not as strong.” You huff again, once of the silken petals stroking the underside of your nose. “But like a tiny bit, um, clean-smelling. Like if cotton was a flower.”

“Cotton is a flower,” Namjoon remarks with a fond quirk of his lips. “But I understand what you mean. Add to cart? I reckon that would be an excellent top note to give a bit of depth to a Fresh Linen candle.”

Your eyes slip down to the metal trolley beneath you. On the grated bed rests a calendula, several variations of roses, a wide trough filled with potting mix that would soon bear strawberries, some forget-me-nots, and a budding black dahlia, a find that Namjoon couldn’t stop buzzing about. The price was quickly racking up, but you knew how he’d obsess over whatever he didn’t buy until you’d have the chance to go back again. Besides; it would make a really nice addition to the Fresh Linen candle. “Add to cart,” you chirp, choosing the easy way out.  

Namjoon lights up, inspecting it one more time before he nestles it safely on the bed of the trolley. “That’s good,” he surmises happily, eyes crinkling cutely as he looks over his hoard. “Let’s keep looking.”

When it comes to things he loves, Namjoon has an infinite patience and quiet dedication that never fails to endear you, and so even as the sun hangs fat and low in the sky, and the air begins to thin with the evening drawing close, you still remain happily by his side, a second trolley added to the first as you finished off the flowers, moved back through the fruit trees, and finished up kneeling in the gravel of the herb garden, considering every plastic pottle.

You end up walking out with so many new acquisitions that they fill up the boot and the backseat of your car, and Namjoon can’t stop beaming all the way home, twisting around in the passenger seat to look back at them like an excited child bringing home a puppy.

Planting them in the greenhouse or the flower beds is a job for another day, and the two of you instead spend the last few remnants of the day snuggled together in bed.

Namjoon rushes to get into his pajamas – an old grey shirt with a tiny Ryan on the breast, and some plain plaid boxer shorts – so that he doesn’t miss his favorite quiz show, and you can’t help but beam at his satisfaction at calling out the right answers before the contestants answer them.

It didn’t surprise you that Namjoon was so smart, but as the two of you got closer and began spending the nights together, his habit of watching game shows every night to wind down wasn’t something you’d expected. Nevertheless, you curl up beside him now, playing along with him.

“Cameroon!” he yells as you settle down, hissing out a triumphant yes as the contestant, who also chose Cameroon, is proved right. Namjoon turns to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead between questions. “All good?”

You smile up at him. “Fantastic,” you answer honestly, “though I do hope you know that I’ll be stealing some of those lemons from the new tree once they ripen.”

“Is that so?” Namjoon asks with a grin, eyes darting to the TV screen as the host reads out the next question. He gasps. “Ooh, uh, what was it? 1840, I think…” He glances back at you again while the contestant gapes like a fish, stumped. “What do you want the lemons for, love?”

“I wanna do some baking,” you murmur, “I feel like I need to do something with my hands, you know?”

Namjoon must sense something in your eyes, because the TV blares away unwatched as he keeps his focus on you. “Is it the case?”

He always could read you like a book. You shrug. “The son said he hadn’t seen anything suspicious that day, but-” You bite your tongue, trying not to let the frustration of the day get to you. “The details aren’t adding up, I just need to get out of my own head to make sense of it.”

Namjoon nods understandingly. “I’m always here to help. But you’ll get there, I know you will.”

And when your partner turns off the television so that he can take the worries off your mind some more, you believe it too.

[bandblogging]

Lemon trees & poppy seeds - (Ashton Irwin imagine)

Pairing:Ashton Irwin x reader

Words: 1k

Summary: Ashton's new hobby is gardening and for that you need a garden right? - Lemon tree boy essentially

_____

Whenever Ashton picked up a new interest he dove in head first. Sure his drumming worked out incredibly well but some things didn't last as long. The expensive coffee machine he had bought to learn the craft of coffee-making was only used by you at this point. You knew the basics and Ashton had decided that his favourite coffee shop might have a bit more experience than him.

This time however it was gardening. His first lemon tree was growing quite well and after spending so much time at home during this break this was his new interest. He had dragged you along to buy all the essentials a day prior and now it was time to plant. Gardening equipment was strewn across the backyard in a random fashion. The big planter boxes you had bought were the only things neatly organized in a row. Ashton crouched in front of one, filling it with potting soil from a bag that was carelessly ripped open. Even though it was only half ten in the morning it was already surprisingly warm. The plants would be more shaded in the even hotter afternoon but they would be exposed to the sun during the early hours. Ashton's cargo pants were already covered in dirt, a few dirty handprints on the tank top he was sporting. You stopped in your tracks, watching your boyfriend work for a moment. He had pulled one of his old bandanas out of the closet to keep his hair out of his eyes. A look you had kinda missed, not that you would let that slip to him though. He was whistling a melody that was unfamiliar to you, but in rhythm to his steady shoveling of soil. "Iced coffee babe?", you finally asked him and broke your silence. Ashton jerked up a little, breaking his rhythm before turning towards you. "That be great" He grinned at you widely. You smiled back and sauntered back into the house.

With you limited knowledge of the coffee machine and some things out of the freezer you managed to prepare some iced coffee that was at least comparable to the bought-kind. There were still two lemon and poppy seed muffins left over from the day before. You quickly grabbed them and placed them on the tray, ready to join Ashton outside again.

When you placed the tray on the grass next to Ashton only the last two tubs were still empty. "Getting along well?" You asked him. He nodded in response, grabbing one of the coffees and taking a big sip. "In a year we can make our own" - you gave one of the muffins to your boyfriend - "the poppies should bloom by next year, right?".

Your breakfast break was kept rather short as Ashton wanted to get as much done as possible before it got even hotter. You had changed your clothes and were now in similar cargo shorts, ready to help him out. Ashton had shed the tank top and was now working topless, a sight you could never get tired of. A smirk formed on your lips as you watched the muscles in his back and shoulders move. He was once again whistling a melody to himself while sorting out all the seeds and plants he wanted to sow. The second lemon tree sapling you had bought had already found it's place in a new pot right next the older one. "These ones are for vegetables, those for fruit or herbs and that one for flowers". Ashton pointed to the different planter boxes in front of him. You nodded and picked up the first packed of seeds. Leafy Salad, something you should be able to harvest quite soon.

As a team you managed to also plant sweet potatoes, peas and peppers, strawberries and herbs for the kitchen. Your fingers smell like mint and basil when you finished planting the produce, reminding you of the dishes you'd like to cook with them. Ashton brushed off his gloves on his pants, soil flying everywhere. "That looks good" He glanced over the work you had just done, approving of the new garden. "Just the flowers missing" He picked up the last packages and read through the instructions once again.

The various seeds were scattered across the soil and lightly covered, ready to start growing either this or next year. You pulled the water hose behind you across the grass, twisting the nozzle open once you were close enough to the boxes. The fresh soil absorbed most of the water quickly and your new plants were ready to grow.

Ashton joined your side, swiftly grabbing the hose and targeting you with the cold water stream. You let out a loud shriek, turning away to shield your face. Your top was soaked and the cold water pickled on your skin. "You asshole" You shouted out and ran towards him. You had to play tug of war for a moment before grabbing hold of the hose again and spraying Ashton. He yelped at first as the cold water hit him, laughing after slightly adjusting to the temperature.

You played like children for a while, spraying each other down with the water until you were shivering from the wet clothes that clung to your body. "Alright, you win." You announce loudly, letting Ashton cheer for himself.

"You know, I love how this place is coming along." - you muttered, watching the last drops of water fall from the planter boxes - "it's really getting cozy and homey now" "That's good, seeing as it's our home" Ashton placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. "Our home, huh?" Even though you had been living at his place for a while now, he had never officially asked you to move in and you usually still referred to it as his place. "Yes, our place, our home. Wouldn't be that without you here", he pushed a strand of hair out of your face before pressing a kiss on your cheek.

[alvacchi]

Imagine if Hanako was Literally a Flower Spirit

@rapidfur Surprise, surprise! XD hehe

What happens:

Once upon a time in Kamome Academy

Yashiro was busy in the school's practice garden

Since she's a member of the gardening club, she helped out with tending to the plants and vegetables

One day as she was walking through a field of red camellias

She spotted a blue rose that stood out yet was nearly hidden by the others

'So pretty!' Yashiro immediately thought.

'What's a blue rose doing in the middle of the field of red camellias?'

She was also thinking how romantic it would be if someone gave her one

She's never seen a blue rose before nor even knew if they existed.

The rose was drooping a little from lack of nutrients and Yashiro quickly tended to it

Giving it plenty of water

And putting the blue rose in its own flower pot

She decided to keep the rose for herself in the garden

Perhaps it would bring her good fortune

Yashiro wanted to name the blue rose

Naming it "Aoi" for its color would be confusing since she had a best friend with that name already

So she decided on Hanako

Hanako would be a nice female name for a flower

Yashiro left the blue rose in the garden as she went home for the day

The next day

She came back to the garden to see how the blue rose was doing

To find a strange boy sitting around near the plant

The boy saw her come by and he floated towards her all excited

"Ah! You're finally here!"

Yashiro blinked in confusion

Was she dreaming right now? Did he just float?

"Who are you?" Yashiro asked.

"Who me? I'm Hanako! That's the name you gave me! I'm the blue rose you saved yesterday!"

Yashiro: "Huh?! Wait, you're a boy?!"

That really shouldn't be the first thing she asks. There were far bigger questions.

Hanako: "Yes! I am and I'm a flower spirit! It's nice to meet you!"

So, that's how it all began.

In the beginning of their relationship, Yashiro had freaked out and went to go show Aoi the blue rose

Aoi looked at her in confusion though

Aoi: "Nene-chan, are you daydreaming again? That's a very nice flower pot you have but there's no rose there."

And that's how Yashiro came to realize only she could see the blue rose spirit Hanako

And she got used to him over time

During Yashiro's gardening activities, Hanako would come bother her.

Hanako: "Pay attention to me, Yashiro! I need water!"

He would roll around the dirt and whine

And often clung onto her as she removed the weeds from the garden with everyone else

He loved to greet her with a "Flower you today, Yashiro?"

And teased her to "smell the roses"

Yashiro reacted by saying that while she understood the phrase, she would not do that to him literally

Yashiro would rant to him about her latest attempts to confess to her crushes and asked Hanako to bring her good luck

Hanako: "What am I? Your good luck charm?"

Yashiro: "Yes!"

There was a time when Yashiro wanted to play a trick on Hanako

She brought in some fake plants and watered them for a couple of days

And then she told him, "Ha! You've been watching me water these fake plants for a few days now!"

Hanako's response surprised her

Hanako: "I thought it was really nice that you cared a lot for them despite them not being alive."

He had a solemn look on his face for a bit before he went on to tease her about how she thought he fell for it

He claimed he was able to feel the spirits of the flowers so he could tell right away if they were fake

Yashiro became flustered and playfully hit him

To think that her trick backfired on her

The other gardening members noticed Yashiro was being more talkative than usual

But it wasn't weird to them

Talking to plants actually helps them grow faster (more so to a female's voice than a male's)

They thought Yashiro planted a seed in her flower pot and wanted to help it grow faster

Aoi later commented on Yashiro's recent behavior to her best friend

Aoi: "Nene-chan, you seem more happier than before. Did something good happen?"

Yashiro: "Huh? What do you mean?"

Aoi: "Well back then, you didn't actually talk that much to plants and you weren't crazy about the club. It was as if you were only gardening to impress someone. But now, you seem like you're having fun! It's so nice to see you being genuinely happy to take care of your new plant."

Yashiro was astonished but as expected of her best friend to notice.

She really did have a good time with Hanako.

...If only she saw what was coming

It was almost a week already and Yashiro stopped by to see Hanako again in the garden

To see him kneeling strangely on the floor and breathing funny

Yashiro started to panic at the sight as she ran towards him

Yashiro: "Hanako-kun?! Hanako-kun, what's wrong?!'

Hanako: "Ah, Yashiro...."

Yashiro: "Did you not get enough sunlight? Should I have moved you to a different location? Did I give you enough water? Wh-"

Hanako: "Yashiro! Calm down, Yashiro..."

Yashiro was crying now

Her tears were falling onto the ground and dampening the soil

Yashiro: "What did I do wrong...?"

Hanako: "Yashiro, it's not your fault. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Yashiro: "Huh?"

Hanako: "Roses only last up to about a week."

Yashiro: "No...."

She completely forgot

Hanako: "You've made me really happy, Yashiro. You could say you were my sunshine..."

They both tried to laugh but failed horribly.

Yashiro continued to sob

She never cried so hard for a flower before

Yashiro: "I don't want you to go, Hanako-kun..."

Hanako: "I'm afraid I can't grant that wish. Besides, I wasn't even supposed to exist. I don't exist."

Yashiro: "Huh?"

Hanako: "Blue roses are a myth. A fantasy of longing and desire. Did you know, Yashiro?"

Hanako intertwined his fingers with hers.

Hanako: "They could mean an unattainable love."

Yashiro: "Is that why I have such terrible luck with confessing?"

Hanako: "Eh-? Well you don't have to interpret it that way!"

Already, Hanako was slowly fading away

Hanako: "Yashiro...thank you"

When he completely faded, all that was left was the flower pot. No wilted flower. Nothing but soil in the flower pot.

Yashiro hugged the pot to herself as she cried her heart out.

She later buried the soil that nourished Hanako back in the field of red camellias as they represented his ashes.

Yashiro started speaking aloud

"Did you know, Hanako-kun? Red camellias mean love, passion, and deep desire."

[marixx]

Title: have a bouquet made from my love

Words: 1177

Fluff!! Flower shop/Book shop Au + Modern Au

Warning: swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's so fucking noisy out there, that construction has been going on for almost a week. Can't a guy just get some peace and quiet?"Ranpo whined, roughly placing down the arrangement of flowers and leaning on the counter, his emerald eyes glaring at the construction just across the street. His friend/coworker sighed at him, rolling her eyes.

Yosano places down the small vase on the display window. "Language, Ranpo,"She scolded. Fixing the curtains of his flower shop. Then leaving towards the back storage/hangout room.

The flower shop he owned—or well technically his fathers but he inherited the business about two years ago, was called Bouquet Agency, the shop itself was fairly small but not too much. It had a very homey vibe to it. The shop was like a small cottage, with nicely trimmed bushes on the side of the windows accompanied with arranged bouquet of flowers, some pots on the shelves that had small trees and cactuses on them, hanging flower pots filled with a wide variety of sinewy plants, a gentle scent always somehow filled the air, and soft Lofi music playing in the background. The color scheme of a few exposed brick and white accompanied with dark brown always made Ranpo feel so much at home, it made the shop have a small vintage look to it. Once in a while, the original owner, was named Fukuzawa Yukichi, would visit from time to time. Just to stay for maybe about twenty minutes or more to greet everyone, ask them about their day, and how the shop was doing then he would leave with a small smile on his face.

The workers there were, Yosano who was the one the customers would seek help to, Atsushi took charge in taking care of the plants, Kunikida was the one who kept the delivery's and their schedules in line, Ranpo on the counter, kenji would carry the heavy load to the back (once in awhile he would take the counter), and Dazai who....didn't really do much, but he helped out from time to time. Their frequent customers were the Tanizaki siblings, who owned a bakery just a few blocks down, they had heard about the flower shop from Atsushi (Ranpo made sure to have given him chazuke that day) and returned once or twice a week.

Dazai who always lounged on the small couch in the corner, putted away his favorite 'guide to suicide' book on the in table next to it. "Hey, did ya hear that construction site out there was gonna be a new shop?"Dazai grinned.

Ranpo looked at him appalled. "Where'd you hear that information?"He asked. Dazai simply shrugged, replying with 'chuuya' in a small voice. Of course. Chuuya, who was a worker at the tattoo shop next door (and was also the brunette's boyfriend) had always been one for gossip. Ranpo hummed, through the years he had been here, he hadn't seen a new shop open since the place they were in wasn't that crowded.

"A new shop, huh?"Ranpo grinned.

"Apparently it's gonna be a book store,"

"Hey look, it seems that their opening,"Dazai pointed out. Staring at the building from across the street.

The black haired male's grin only widened. "Hopefully they don't steal our customers,"he laughed. Suddenly, Yosano Imerged, pushing away the curtains that hung on the arched doorway. "Shouldn't you two be working instead of gossiping like two high-schoolers?"She glared.

The two males flinched. Muttering an apology, turning back to the flowers he was working on. He thought of an idea, his eyes trailed back outside, eyes squinting at the new shop from across the street. Seeing two people talking to each other.

"Ranpo, put these geranium and meadowsweets on that bouquet will you?"Yosano called out.

"Ah, figured it was missing something important,"Ranpo smiled. Taking the flowers from Yosano, and carefully started placing them in. "What's the bouquets for anyways?"Dazai asked. Sitting up from the couch, and leaning forward.

"Some girl wanted to send a bouquet to her best friend and ex,"Ranpo shrugged. "Don't geraniums mean stupidity, and don't meadowsweets mean uselessness?"Dazai tilted his head.

"The best friend hooked up with her ex,"

"Ah,"

Humming, Ranpo gazed at the two. "Hey, how about we give a welcome to the newly opened shopped across the street?"He suggested. Carefully placing down the bouquet of flowers.

Yosano scrunched up her nose, hands placed her hips. "Ranpo, if you want to give the newcomers a warm welcome. You should go over there and do it,"She shrugged, the black haired male gasped. "Moi? Why should I do it?"he huffed.

"You're the one who suggested it, Ranpo,"

"But I have to man the cashier,—,"He babbled. "Don't worry, we'll handle the rest!"Dazai smirked, a proud look on his face. "You hired us for a reason, Ranpo-san,"Yosano laughed.

Rolling his eyes. Ranpo went and got a pair of gardening scissors to make another bouquet. Roaming around the store, trying to find a good set of flowers, his emerald eyes fell on the forsythia in the corner, beaming he immediately strolled his way over there. Grabbing the flowers and cutting them one by one.

Yosano gave him an unpleasant look, "fine! I'll do it,"He groaned. Snatching papers and ribbons from a box, and stomping over to the counter. "Perfect, you can give that bouquet your working at for them!"She beamed. Clapping her hands together.

Despite the fact that Ranpo was the one who owned the flower shop, Yosano did most of the work, she was practically considered as the owner of Bouquet Agency as well. Which was the reason why she got away with bossing everyone around (and because she scared everyone). Snipping away the stems, Atsushi suddenly made an appearance from the front door, holding what seems to be the newly ordered soil.

"Atsushi, perfect timing, were just about to open—"Ranpo said but cut himself off mid-sentence. "Shouldn't kenji be the one doing the heavy load?"He questioned, his eyes trailing up and down the younger boy. "Ah, kenji's apparently sick! So I offered to take up his job for the day....I-If that doesn't bother you, Ranpo-san,"He relied, sheepishly.

Waving his hand. "Nah, it's fine. Just don't overwork yourself, kid,"He said. Adding daffodils to the bouquet in his hand, "there we go! All done!"He exclaimed, quite proud of his work.

Dazai came in, with a piece of paper. Placing it inside, it said 'we warmly welcome you to this small part of Yokohama! We hope you enjoy your time here, Bouquet Agency.'

"Now go, our dear Ranpo-san!"the brunette grinned, yanking the older male out and pushing him towards the front door.

Sulking, Ranpo begrudgingly walking towards the new shop. As he got closer, it seems that the bookstore was just as big as his flower store was, the outside color was black, and was accompanied a big window that gave off a good view of the inside. Opening the door and hearing the small bell jingle, he took a good look at it.

From the inside, the bookstore was a little larger than it looked outside. It didn't have many lamps but there were some (the big window gave the store a lot more natural light), the walls were decorated with shelves that had labels on them and small amounts of books. In the middle were more shelvings but unlike the ones on the walls, they were empty, in the left corner were some couches and a small coffee table. To his right had a little display section of notebooks with pens, then at the front was a counter and a back door. A coffee like aroma filled up his nostrils, the smell was very calming. Everything about the store was calming either way, it reminded him of his own store, but with a more cozy vibe to it.

"Um, excuse me....we, uh, were not open for business yet..."

A soft voice called out to him, suddenly a tall man came into his view.

And holy shit.

Ranpo felt like he descended to heaven. The taller male was adorable, handsome even. Though his hair was indeed a mess, and it did cover half of his face, though one eye was visible. Ranpo could stare at them for the rest of his life. They were a shade of dark violet, amethyst eyes glowing so brightly. eye-bags were underneath them, and they had such a soft look in them. It made him feel so warm inside, they had a sense of kindness in them. The guy's physical physique was tall and lanky, in his arms was a small box, and he wondered if he could perfectly fit in them if he were to just straight up run into him. Gosh how much he wanted to test that theory out. He was wearing a large gray sweater that went up his knees, black pants, and brown shoes.

"O-Oh! Sorry, I.....uh, I own the flower shop across the street. Me and my coworkers wanted to welcome you guys,"Ranpo stuttered. Still staring at the other man's eyes. "Uh...here! Take these,"He exclaimed, offering the bouquet in his hands.

"Oh thank you!"The other said, smiling brightly. Taking the flowers in his hands.

Holy fuck!! Ranpo screamed mentally. He was so adorable, and so pretty! He felt as if his heart had ran a marathon from how hard it was thumping.

"U-Uh, would you look at the time, it's almost nine already! I have to get back to my shop,"Ranpo stammered. Looking at his watch.

"Oh I see....."The other said, clearly disappointed. "But uh....if you don't mind,"He then said quickly.

"Yes....?"

"W-Would you like to go out f-for coffee sometime, maybe? As a thank you for the f-flowers?"The taller male mumbled, playing with his fingers. Suddenly, Ranpo's face turned red

"That sounds wonderful!"He said, happily. "By the way, my names Edogawa Ranpo,"He introduced himself. "Ah, my names Edgar Allan Poe.....y-you can just call me Poe,"Poe said. Sheepishly.

"Well then Poe, I'll pick you up this weekend, if your free?"

"Uh, sure! I'm free then,"Poe blushed. Giving a small smile.

"I'm looking forward to it then,"Ranpo smiled at him. Poe wasn't expecting to see such a beautiful smile. He was glad he had worked up the courage to ask him out. He absolutely could not wait for this weekend.