#also why are cornflowers like that

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

IVE DONE IT.

this took me like a week to make and its FINALLY DONE.

watch bad b oy halo have a good time. click.

(its a bit slow to start dw it gets going)

[daeluin]

you let me know you say you'd be no one without me / and you let me fucking know i would be no one without you

cornflower blue but it feels too dark / so cold

like what is actually wrong with him. why would he write all that. like what's his actual problem

[sleep-nurse]

Cornflower

[kyber-crystal]

through the seasons || f.w.

summary: he would love you till the end of time. everyone can see it, and they can only hope that you’ll come to your senses and realize that too.

words: ~6.4k (i went overboard LMFAO)

warnings: light angst, some mentions of death / violence (but dw it's a happy ending)

a/n: first ever hp fic in like, ever LOL so apologies if this seems off in any way. the timeline for this is a lil weird?? but basically the fic starts during the spring of GOF: you’re a year below fred & a year above the golden trio : ) ALSO i highly recommend listening to 'moonlight serenade' by frank sinatra ESP during the parts it's mentioned in. you'll see why :))))

spring

Given that springtime was nearly over, it was rather cold outside. 

The sky gleamed a bright, cornflower blue, with the May morning breeze hitting your skin. You, Hermione, and Ginny found yourselves huddling together in the stands and tightly clutching each other to keep warm. 

Anticipation nipped at your insides like tiny needles. You had spent the past half-hour at breakfast listening to a nervous Ron ramble on about how he hardly knew what he was doing, and seeing an unusually quiet Fred pick at his food. You knew it wasn’t like him to spend almost an entire meal without saying more than a few words. 

“You ok?” you mouthed, glancing over at the redhead in concern.  “As long as you’re looking at me,” Fred replied, attempting a small smile. He pressed something warm and fuzzy into your hands under the table. “You’re my good luck charm today. Keep this for me during the match.” You nodded, and felt your heart warm as you looked down to see that it was the fuzzy scarf he always wore during Hogsmeade trips or around the castle when it got particularly chilly. His initials had been hand-stitched into one end—undoubtedly Mrs. Weasley’s handiwork. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” “That’s my girl.”

“Look!” Ginny whisper-shouted, ending your momentary flashback. “I think that’s them!”

The Gryffindor team filed out into the stadium to be instantly met with a cacophony of loud cheers and applause. Your throat was already starting to hurt from screaming alongside the seas of blazing red and gold, though the match had yet to begin. 

Without even realizing it, you found your eyes scanning the area for a particular ginger-haired Beater, and the tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulders loosened as soon as you saw him. 

“You’re not even playing, yet I’d say you’re as big of a mess as poor Ronald,” Hermione chuckled lightly. “Concerned for someone?”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, tightening Fred’s scarf around your neck just a bit more. “It’s the last match of the year—I’m just as nervous as everyone else. I need to see someone beat Malfoy’s egotistical arse to a pulp.”

Both her and Ginny snorted at this. 

“You’re right…but that’s not who I was referring to,” your best friend reminded you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Don’t you think you care a little too much? More than a friend should?”

“No,” you stated flatly. But Hermione knew this was a lie—after all, she had known you for five years now and could tell when you were lying. She watched as you fiddled with the ends of the colorful scarf around your neck—a flash of something caught her eye, and she squinted to see F.W. embroidered in delicate gold. 

Of course you were being serious, she chuckled to herself. She decided to not say anything about why you had Fred’s scarf on, and instead joked, “Do you think he or Ron’ll make it without getting a concussion?” 

“Now that’s hard to say…” you began, knowing how the two boys were sometimes often quite clumsy. “Fingers are crossed that my Fred will be just fine.”

“Your Fred? What about Ron?” she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you care about both of them?”

“—Both of them will be just fine,” you quickly corrected yourself. “They’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” she said, unconvinced that your reply wasn’t just a slip of the tongue. 

Turning your attention back to the game, you heard Lee Jordan’s classic, enthusiastic voice echo across the grounds. “Welcome to the last Quidditch match of the YEAR! We have quite the game in store today, Gryffindor versus Slytherin…” 

Eventually, after the captains shook hands and everyone mounted their brooms, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the balls into the air. Loud cheers filled the stadium once again, and all fourteen players shot up into the sky. You were only really focusing on one thing—or person, really. It seemed that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

“—aaand that’s a Bludger to the head from Fred Weasley, ouch, that’s gotta hurt…There goes Katie Bell, making a swift pass over to Johnson…there’s Johnson with the Quaffle! And then, ,there he goes…Fred Weasley does it AGAIN! Malfoy gets a hard Bludger to the back—”

Right then, Fred caught your eye and winked. You sent back a shy wave in response. 

Everyone tries their best to ignore the Slytherin section’s jeering taunts and chants of Weasley Is Our King. You didn’t need to look over to know Ron was hardly taking it. 

From there on out it was a blur of motion, noise, and loud sounds, and before you knew it, the match was over and done. 

“—GRYFFINDOR WINS! WITH WEASLEY’S GAME-WINNING BLOCK AND POTTER’S SHEER SPEED, THEY WIN!” The excitement is clear in Lee’s voice. “GRYFFINDOR WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

The crowd went wild again as Fred made his downward descent. As soon as the tips of his shoes touched the grass he jumped off and immediately rushed over to you as fast as his feet would take him.

Your head was spinning and you could barely tell what was going on amidst the ground-shaking noise and overall chaos. But there he was in front of you now, sweaty and tired but grinning wildly nonetheless as he brought you into a tight embrace. He started spinning you around and you couldn’t help but join in on his contagious laughter. 

“There’s my good luck charm,” he whispered into your ear as he set you down, breath fanning against the skin behind your ear. 

Having no words left except pure joy, you shook your head and smiled as you leaned into him, squeezing him back even tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Both of you were too busy to notice that your friends around you had stopped congratulating the other players and chattering with one another, their eyes now on you two. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione exchanged a look, and Ron, amidst his nerves and exhaustion, cracked a grin as he watched his older brother and best friend savoring a moment with each other. 

Hopefully, they’ll realize it for themselves…he thought. Amidst the chaos of the past year, he knew that all of them—especially the two of you—deserved a bit of peace more than anything. 

summer

“Last one there is a rotten egg and has to take the soddy backup broom!” Ginny shouted. You all immediately broke into a sprint at this, scrambling to go outside for yet another round of backyard Quidditch. Harry damn near tripped over his own feet as he and Ron tried pushing over each other to squeeze out the back door. Fred and George were doing the same thing, and you and Hermione used this chance to sneak past them. You silently high-fived each other at this.

“Boys will be boys…” she laughed quietly, linking your arm through hers as you continued walking across the meadow, the grass brushing against the fabric of your trousers. “There’s no catching a break around here.”

Lo and behold, poor Ron was forced to take the backup broom, grumbling the entire time as everyone put their gear on. “I hate you guys. Haven’t I been through enough already?”

Everyone took turns being the score-keeper, and this time it was Hermione (she had also been score-keeper the last two rounds as she was a bit tired, and didn’t really mind). She sat down under the giant apple tree as she chose the teams. 

“Harry, George, and Fred!” she called out. “Versus the rest of you.” 

“That’s so not fair!” Ron complained. “You have two Beaters and the—”

“—youngest Seeker in a century on one team,” Harry finished his sentence with a cheeky grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “At least I’m with you, Y/N…I guess…”

“Thanks for the compliment, Ronald,” you said with a slight hint of sarcasm. 

It was only a few minutes in the match when Fred found himself distracted. He was supposed to be on guard, but his eyes kept wandering over to you, zipping around on your broom with ease, gliding through the air like a bird. He wondered when he stopped seeing you as just his ‘best friend’ and started seeing you as someone who made his heart beat faster; someone who he desperately wanted to see smile because that’s all he needed to make his entire day. 

“Awe, come on, Freddie, get your head back in the game!” you called out to him in a teasing voice as he just barely blocked a flying Bludger hurtling towards his face. “Don’t wanna be slammed into, now do you?”

He shook his head and quickly snapped out of it. “Of course not.”

“Blimey, Fred! You nearly gave yourself another concussion there from ogling at her!” George exclaimed. 

“I can’t help but be charming,” you joked, sending Fred a wink. “Enjoy the view while you can!”

It was only mid-morning/barely afternoon by the time you finished the last match, but if anything, your sore muscles told you that it felt like days had passed. Adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins as everyone headed in, laughing at the thrill of flying through the skies without a care in the world. 

“Remember that losers have to make lunch!” Harry reminded.

Ginny groaned. “Come on. Way to ruin the vibe.”

You, her, and Ron all let out long sighs before heading straight to the kitchen to whip something up for the six of you. Food bets needed to stop…

After a quick meal of sandwiches, everyone headed back outside to play more rounds of backyard Quidditch. You opted to stay in this time around; the dull ache in your shoulders and lower back telling you you’d had enough for the day. One cold shower and some quiet work helping Mr. Weasley organize his home office later, you slumped onto the sofa.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening went by slowly but peacefully. Eventually, you found yourselves sitting around on the living room floor, playing board games well into the night while the crickets chirped outside. The days were long, and cracking jokes and long talks came much easier than they normally did. Of course, Fred sat next to you the entire time, finding a way to be touching you in one way or another no matter what. Shoulders pressed together closely, fingers tracing patterns into your palms, a hand rubbing your back. 

Harry gulps down his mug of butterbeer before launching into a dramatic retelling of when Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret, earning roars of laughter and “That git deserved it” from all around. Fred follows up with the first time him and George tested prototypes of their Puking Pastilles, which ended with a delirious Lee Jordan and Ron’s face turning greener than mandrake leaves (much to Mrs. Weasley’s horror—she sent both twins death glares at this). 

You were too busy losing it to notice an arm—Fred’s—snaking around your waist, pulling you into his side. But when you did realize it was him, you didn’t say anything, and just simply relaxed against him. It was second nature to you both; you’ve learned to anticipate him sliding up next to you. And, it was comforting to know that he would always be nearby.

Despite being the last one to go to bed, Fred was the first one awake before dawn had even broken over the horizon. The skies were clear but grey, and the roosters had yet to make a sound. 

“Wake up,” you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Whaddayawant,” you groaned, voice groggy. “Listen Ron, it’s too early to play Quidditch, tell Wood that you want to go for a round instead…”

“Hey, it’s only me,” Fred replied. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you got up, being careful not to step on Hermione or Ginny’s hands or arms on the way out the door. He kept a hand pressed against the small of your back the entire way down the creaky staircase. 

“Ta-da…” he whispered, the classic Weasley grin spreading across his face. “Take a look at this beauty.”

“A…record player?” your brows furrowed in confusion. “This is what you woke me up at 4 a.m. for?” 

“Dad got it at this old Muggle store in central London years ago, he said it was a ‘thrift shop,’” Fred explained as your eyes glanced over the cracked, but beautiful record player on the kitchen table. “D’you reckon it still works, though?” 

“We’ll have to see for ourselves,” you shrugged. 

He placed the vinyl CD into the player and adjusted the needle, and within seconds a slow Muggle tune began to play. 

“Oh, I know this one…Hermione has told me about it before. Frank Sinatra is quite famous in the Muggle musical world.”

“Well, then…may I have this dance?” Fred extended a hand out to you. You shake your head and roll your eyes, but take his hand and allow him to pull you close. His arms wrap around your torso as your hands rest on his shoulders, and you allow yourselves to get carried away by the slow, melodic ballad.

My love, do you know That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you, and I sing you  A moonlight serenade

Fred gently twirls you around the kitchen before bringing you back in and smoothly catching you by the waist, and you’re surprised at how easy it is for him. You often forgot that he had a knack for dancing—it wasn’t often that you got to see him do so. 

“And you were about to be upset at me for waking you up,” he leans in to say. 

“You’re forgiven,” you exhale, resting your head against his chest. “But you know I could never be upset with you.” 

Long after the song had ended, you still found yourself wrapped in his embrace.  

Mrs. Weasley was heading downstairs to start preparing breakfast, but suddenly stopped midway. Her heart warmed as she took in the sight of you and Fred standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as he hummed a foreign tune, slow dancing without a care in the world. 

Deciding not to interrupt, she stands there for a moment, smiling as she watched her boy fall in love with the young woman that she hoped to call her daughter one day. 

fall

“—Godric’s sake, I’m so tired of losing,” Ron groaned as you quickly smacked the top of the deck with your wand, dust flying into his face. “I’m never playing this with you again.” 

You rolled your eyes as he coughed and dusted himself off. “Okay, no Exploding Snap, then no more sweets from Honeydukes ever again.” 

“Fine, I’m playing, I’m playing,” he sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead as the colorful deck of cards reshuffled themselves. “You’re almost as horrible as my brother.”

“Almost as horrible as who—hey, Y/N, is that my jumper?” Fred paused as he approached you and Ron sitting at the coffee table, as Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny watched on. 

“Dunno, is it?” you shrugged innocently, tapping your chin. “Hey, Nev, you want a go? I have to finish reading my book for McGonagall’s class.”

Neville nodded, and Ron raised a fist in triumph. “FINALLY! Bring it on, Longbottom.”

You shifted onto the couch so Neville could take your spot, and without another word, Fred sat down right next to you. The deep burgundy color of his Gryffindor sweater only further brought out the color of your eyes, he noticed, which sparkled brightly under the dim lighting. 

Fred then shifted to lay his head down in your lap, and you didn’t even do so much as flinch. With your book in one hand, you used the other to start brushing your fingers through his hair. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you heard him let out a quiet sigh of contentment. 

“Did I ever tell you that you’re absolutely brilliant?” he glanced up at you from where he lay, watching carefully and intently. “Sometimes I’m surprised that you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” you laughed softly as you turned the page. 

Right as you were about to turn the page again, he stopped you by lightly tugging your wrist. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

He carefully turned your hand to look at the scratches etched into the back of it. They were beginning to fade, but the occasional shifts in movement would cause them to sting and sometimes crack open. 

“When did Umbridge do this to you?” Something unfamiliar flashed in Fred’s eyes, and he seemed angry for the briefest of moments. But the darkened look was quickly replaced with one of concern. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not at all,” you lied as you set down your book, but he didn’t miss the way you winced slightly as he adjusted your hand to look at it again. 

The rest of your friends had scattered elsewhere at this point, the typical noise now having faded into a soft chatter of sorts. Hermione came back with a bowl of yellow liquid, eyeing you worriedly. “Strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles…these should help…”

“Oh…thank you…” You placed your hand into the bowl and immediately exhaled with relief. 

“I think I’m going to sleep a little early tonight…I’ll see you two at breakfast? Take it easy, Y/N,” Hermione gave your shoulder a squeeze. You nodded as she gave you one last smile and walked away. 

Once the pain had faded into a dull ache, you set the bowl of murtlap on the table and leaned back against the sofa. Fred was now laser-focused on something he was holding, fiddling with it using what looked like a small pair of tweezers. Assuming that it had to do with the joke shop he and George were working on, you paid it no mind, and picked up your copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration again. 

You were far too absorbed into your book to notice when Fred had slipped whatever that thing was onto your finger. It was cold to the touch but fit snugly. 

“D’you like it?”

“What is…” You put your book away and glanced down, about to say something half-sarcastic, but immediately stopped. 

It had to have been the most beautiful ring you had seen. Although it was slightly on the thinner side, it glittered brighter than any star you had ever seen. You twisted your hand this way and that as you watched the material catch the light. 

“...You know my ring size,” your voice trailed off as you took notice of the hopeful look in Fred’s eyes. “But what is this for? You know we’re—”

“For when the time comes,” he explained simply, raising your scarred right hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. His gaze on you remained steady and comforting in the same way that his presence made you feel. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes, and you nodded, feeling a sudden lump form in your throat. You were filled with a warmth that you knew had nothing to do with the blazing fire in front of you. “You know there’s no one else.”

How your best friend could make your chest ache in this way, you had no clue…For some odd reason, you thought, it wasn’t all that difficult to picture a future with him in it. 

Not when he was your future. You loved him, no doubt, but when it came to describing your exact relationship all words fell short. You were close friends, but was it in the same way that you and Hermione were friends? Or you and Ginny? 

But he’s my best friend, you told yourself. He’s been my best friend for over six years. 

But ‘best friends’ don’t make you feel the way that Fred does. 

Best friends went beyond just saving you a seat at the Great Hall if you woke up late for breakfast or slept through lunch because of a long nap. They didn’t pull you away on Hogsmeade trips and insist on hanging out with you one-on-one when you could very well just hang out together as one big group with all your friends. 

They definitely didn’t fashion you a ring by hand in the middle of one quiet fall night, but he did. 

“Earth to Y/N?”

“Hm…what?”

“You okay? You seemed a little spaced out there, love,” Fred raised a brow at you as he sat up, taking your hand in his. 

“Just…thinking,” you hummed, letting your head lean against his shoulder. He pulled you into his side at this, tenderly brushing his lips against your forehead. 

“About how I’m your favorite person on the planet and that I’m loads funnier than Georgie?”

“As if you’d ever be the only thing on my mind.”

Fred pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“I’m kidding,” you glanced up at him, pouting slightly. “You’ll never leave my mind. I’m holding you hostage.”

“And that’s a sentence I’d want to extend for as long as I could,” he responded. 

Voldemort's return and the premise of another war loomed overhead. But he found that when your warm hand slipped into his, body leaning in close, and your laughter ringing through the air like shooting stars, it was easy for him to forget. To fall into you and feel as if you're the only thing that mattered in this world because frankly, you were.

winter

There was one big thing to look forward to today: another Hogsmeade outing. The final weekend trip before Christmas was always a little bittersweet, but filled with the most pure joy. 

The Great Hall was decked out from ceiling to floor as it always was during the holiday season. Bits of snow delicately floated down from the crystalline ceiling as the classic giant Christmas tree stood tall behind the staff table. You stopped every few seconds to admire the decorations despite having been here for nearly seven years now and seeing (and even having helped one time) the grandiose setup.

Excited chatter filled every table as you went over to the Gryffindor table to sit with your friends. Ron was already piling his plate with food, grinning excitedly as he did so. 

“Where’s Fred?” you asked as you sat down next to George. 

“Already missing your lover boy?” the younger twin teased. “He’ll be down in a sec. The lazy arse overslept so Lee went to drag him down here.” 

“Oh, okay…” You paused for a moment. “Wait, he’s not my—”

You felt someone squeeze your shoulder behind you before pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, stopping you from finishing your sentence. 

“Morning, my love,” Fred greeted casually as he slid into the spot next to you, seemingly oblivious to the stares he got from his gesture. “You sleep okay?”

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, when are ‘ou going ‘o admid it?” Ron groaned, in the middle of chewing his third drumstick. 

“Yeah, when?” Ginny echoed. “I’m going to hex you if you don’t.”

“Tell me what?” you tilted your head to the side as you glanced between them. 

“Oh, uh, nothing!” she said quickly. 

“Nothing!” Fred grinned sheepishly. Ginny sharply jabbed an elbow into his side. “OW!” 

You rolled your eyes, deciding not to question the odd exchange. 

Fred placed a soft hand on your thigh, using his other to swipe a croissant from your plate. 

“Hey!” 

“You know you love me,” he teased. 

“Shut up,” you muttered, feeling your face burn, a smile crept up on your face nonetheless. You continued eating, his hand remaining in place, and pretended like you didn’t mind what he was doing. 

You exited Hogwarts to flurries of snow blowing around, adjusting your hat and (Fred’s) scarf accordingly to protect your face from the biting winds. Hogsmeade was relatively quiet today, so you took every second you had to relish in the peace. 

“Godric, you’re freezing,” Fred’s bright smile turned into a slight frown when he noticed you were shivering, rubbing your gloved hands together. “Here.”

He shook off his coat and handed it to you, helping you put it on by holding the sleeves out. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief once the warmth enveloped your body.

“T-thanks, but aren’t you gonna get c—”

“Trust me, I’ll be alright,” he assured you, squeezing your hands. “Don’t want to get sick before Christmas, right?” 

You managed a nod, and he casually slung an arm across your shoulders. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he grinned. “Now come on, I think we have some drinks waiting for us.” 

As always, he had pulled you away from your friend group to “spend extra special time with the coolest and funniest girl in the world” and though you rolled your eyes at this, you allowed him to take the lead. (You weren’t complaining.)

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was the added heat from Fred’s jacket, or maybe it was something else, but you were in an unusually good mood today. Fred noticed how you smiled more than usual, eagerly tugging his hand as you pulled him from shop to shop. 

“Y/N…you’ll drain my pockets,” he groaned as you stopped in front of Honeyduke’s, positively beaming. “And you’ll rot my teeth.”

“Please…?” you begged. “I’ll die if I don’t get a bag.”

“Y/N, love, come on…” But seeing the blissful and innocent twinkle in your eyes made it damn near impossible for him to say no. “Alright, fine. Pick out what you want, it’s on me.”

“You’re the best!” you squeezed his arm before heading into the shop together, hand in hand. “This is why I love you.”

“Ow? Placing my worth based on how many sweet treats I am willing to bestow upon you?” Fred feigned offense at your statement. “But it’s okay. I love you too.” 

Half an hour later, you were walking out of the sweet shop with a bag filled to the brim, and Fred was magically several Galleons lighter.

The two of you were only a three-minute walk from the castle grounds when the wind started to pick up. What was once a light snowy drizzle had suddenly turn into a full-blown blizzard, obscuring your vision for meters. 

“I can’t even—I can’t see a thing!” you yelled over the whipping winds, trying to shield your face. “Fred, where are you?” 

“Right behind you,” he murmured, circling an arm around your middle. “Don’t worry.” 

But then, you felt something cold and icy slip down your jumper. 

“Fred Weasley!” you yelled as he ran away, laughing with another clump of snow in hand. “You get back here right this instant before I kick your arse—” 

You lunged forward and went sprinting after him, well, as fast as you could through the thick blankets of snow. Fred’s laugh echoed through the frigid air as you rolled up a giant snowball and chucked it at him. It hit him square in the back and he nearly fell from the impact. 

The blizzard added an extra layer of difficulty, but you were determined to win by sheer talent and not take the easy way out with magic. 

Your arms began to ache from forming and throwing snowball after snowball, and you were sure that you’d be getting bruises all over your body (especially from one particularly hard hit between your shoulder blades when you’d been distracted). But seeing Fred so blissfully happy made it worth it—for a split second, you could pretend you were both thirteen again, no worries in the world except for beating each other in Quidditch. 

“Okay, this is so over!” you shouted as you chased him over a small hill and finally jumped on his back to tackle him, causing him to fall face first into the snow. 

“You absolute—” he began, voice muffled. “Ow.”

He fell silent for a few seconds and stopped moving, causing you to worry. “Freddie, you alright? Fred!”

After you panicked for a few more seconds, Fred finally flipped over, clutching his stomach as he laughed at you. “You actually thought I was hurt?” 

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. Your face flushed as you realized you practically sitting on him and awkwardly shifted off, opting to kneel by his side as he sat up. “What if you actually were? I’d like to be the one that heals you, not hurts you, thank you very much!”

He smirked. “Aw, so you were worried about me. You care, don’t you?”

“Shut it, I do not,” you scoffed. 

His eyes trailed down your ring, which still shone so brightly, as you absentmindedly fiddled with it. 

“...I think you’re missing a little something, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s me that is,” he said so quietly that you almost missed what he’d said. “A diamond, perhaps….”

“A diamond?” your voice came out in the tiniest of whispers as well. “I think you’d look alright in a little silver…”

Fred then cupped your face in his hands, which forced you to look back up at him. He gently grazed his thumbs over your cheekbones and there was now what seemed like a look of longing in his bright hazel eyes. He’d always gazed at you admiringly but that was because he was your best friend, you told yourself (a lie that, time and time again, you’d try and fail over the years to convince yourself of). Best friends loved and cared for each other, that’s what they’re supposed to do. 

But here he was, making you feel things that a friend normally didn’t. And you didn’t even try to push him away because you didn’t want him to leave; you never wanted him to. 

He finally closed the ever-decreasing gap between you two and kissed you, capturing your lips in his. You buried a hand in his messy hair and pulled him closer; as close as you possibly could, desperate for the way he made you feel so alive because he was the one thing keeping you anchored to the ground. 

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, he says over and over. You swore you’d explode, feeling him smile against your lips, tugging you even closer. 

the in-between

The chasm of grief, so cold and uninviting, seemed to open up and swallow you whole. 

You hated war. You hated watching the blood of innocent people being shed by the ruthless works of evil. You hated that you had survived while so many you had grown to know and love didn’t. They’re just kids. They’re too young. They didn’t deserve to die the way they did. They’re just kids. They’re just kids. 

You weren’t sure how you even survived. 

As soon as you locked eyes with each other, you, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati collapsed into one giant hug on the floor, tightly clutching one another. You had all been incredibly lucky to have made it through together.

Fred’s eyes carefully scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. When he saw you there in the corner, eyes squeezed shut and clinging to your best friends, he wanted nothing more than to approach and comfort you. But he knew you all needed this time together—you had lost many loved ones, and they were some of the only family you had left. So he let you be, leaning against the wall and watching from afar. 

Over the next hour or so, people slowly started trickling out of the Great Hall—parents coming to pick up their kids, families reuniting—until it was just you, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Fleur, and the Weasleys. There was an unspoken feeling of gratitude lingering in the air and you could sense the relief all-around. 

Your heart clenched as you watched Harry embrace his godfather. Your mother had died when you were young and your father had suffered a similar fate as the Longbottoms, so watching families reunite always sent a spear through your chest. 

“Hey,” you heard, feeling someone intertwine their fingers with yours. You didn’t need to look over to know it was Fred. “Sickle for your thoughts? Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Leaning into him, you closed your eyes, attempting to will the tears away. “I don’t…I don’t know.  I just hate war. While I’m glad this is over, I can’t help but think how unfair it all is. People losing each other, being torn apart…Voldemort’s gone, I know, but it just feels like he took a part of me to the grave with him.”

“I hope it’s not the part that made you fall in love with me,” Fred joked, and the corners of your lips quirked up in a grin.

“Of course not…” you murmured, “you’d have to pry your heart out of my cold, dead hands to try and take it from me. I’m here now, whether you like it or not.”

“For good?” 

“For good,” you stated, reaching up to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

“And you know I love you more.”

epilogue (it’s a new spring with you)  

With the Dark Lord gone, there were many loose ends to tie up and much-deserved resting to do. You had stayed behind to help start with cleaning up the castle grounds, before deciding to take the Hogwarts Express back home all togehter—for old time’s sake. 

“What about the shop?” you asked George as you sat down between him and Fred. “Don’t you two need to be there?” 

“We reckon it’ll be just fine—it’s not just us there anymore, remember?” he said, “but, Freddie thought you were more important. That’s why we’re here.”

Resting your head against his chest, you gazed up at Fred and smiled. “You left for me?” 

“You know all that I do is for you,” he explained as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Ew my teeth, they’re going to rot from the cheesy sweetness,” Ron groaned. “You’d think that the war would wipe all that out.” 

“Oh shut it, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let them live.” 

You drifted off and slept through the entire ride home, feeling a tad bit more refreshed when pulling in to King’s Cross station. It was a blur from there: taking the Floo network, carrying bags, washing up, and whatnot. You felt as if you were on autopilot with a barely functioning Muggle battery. All you wanted was to collapse on the floor and sleep forever, but you wanted to sit around the living room floor with your friends and catch up like you always did during the summer. 

Lupin and Tonks had gone home to take care of Teddy while the rest of you were settling in. Chatter filled the Burrow as you spent time unpacking, and you found that you’d missed all the noise more than you initially thought. Dinner was an equally chaotic but also peaceful affair, filled with plenty of toasts, extra servings, and laughter, of course. 

While Sirius was busy telling the table about the Mauraders’ antics, Fred squeezed your hand, jerking his head behind him to indicate that he wanted to go out back. 

Now? What is it? you mouthed. 

Fred nodded. Yes, now, so come on. 

He took your hand and led you out the back door to the orchards, crescent moon shining overhead. A faint smile graced your face as you thought back to the days you spent together under the giant apple tree, reading stories from Hermione’s books to one another, skipping stones by the lake, and tending to the chickens. 

A familiar tune started drifting through the air, and Fred extended a hand towards you.

“May I have this dance?”

You were immediately hit with a wave of déjà vu at his question, and allowed him to sweep you up into his arms. He placed his hands on your waist and you felt sparks shoot up your spine at his touch. Your arms wound their way around his neck as you swayed to the melody, losing yourselves in a dreamy lullaby. Though you had done this with him before on several occasions, it still felt like you were falling in love all over again. 

You swallowed hard as you thought about how you had both been forced to grow up so fast. Moments like these—of pure bliss and childlike innocence—were far and few between, so they were to be greatly cherished. It was easy when he was twirling you around like this; effortlessly guiding your motions, to forget that anything and anyone else existed. 

Closing your eyes, you focused on the feeling of his warm hands through your sweater and the soothing sound of his soft hums, allowing them to carry you away. 

At one point, he briefly stops before spinning you outwards—but this time, he doesn’t pull you back in to catch you. You’re about to be confused but then, you turn around to see him down on one knee, a glittering diamond ring in hand. You froze in place, completely shocked. 

“A diamond, perhaps…” you echoed, recalling that one winter night when you had kissed him for the first time, feeling like your heart was going to explode out of your chest. 

“It’s always been you,” said Fred in a simple, soft tone of voice. “Always has been and always will be.”

Your eyes began to water. “You’re bloody kidding me…”

“Y/N, I know I joke around a lot—hell, I opened a whole shop with Georgie…but one thing I’ve never joked about is the way I feel about you.”

“Fred…”

“...Will you marry me?”

You opened and closed your mouth but no words seemed to come out. All you could manage was a small nod before tears fully blurred your vision and you stepped forward, hand shaking as he slid the diamond ring on. 

When his lips brushed against yours, time seemed to splutter to a stop, and you felt your weary heart slowly but steadily stitch itself back together. 

Except, he was the one holding the needle and telling you that there was no need to be anxious or scared because he’d be by your side for the rest of your life. 

So don't let me wait Come to me tenderly in the June night I stand at your gate And I sing you a song in the moonlight A love song, my darling A moonlight serenade

tags: @htchnr @arkofblake @xhanthexzoria @antriimx @pinkdaiisies @lovely-whale-is-lovely

[guiltyasdave]

epiphany

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

word count: ~2.8k

tags/warnings: angst, descriptions of injuries, fluff, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n

summary: after a helicopter crash, frankie wakes up in a strange place.

a/n: once again i apologize for the pain i'm about to inflict on you. this was written for @almostfoxglove's angst challenge which i'm so so soooo late for (i'm sorry freya!) and this was originally @sizzlingcloudmentality's prompt/moodboard, but we were both going through the worst writer's block of our lives and thought switching might help (it did not), so the first thousand beautiful words are hers! <3 also thank you for beta reading and for all the yap sessions about this one in particular my love!

for an extra sad experience, listen to epiphany by taylor swift while reading :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

It is all noise, deafening noise, roaring rotors, beeping instruments, flickering lights, blinking warnings, screaming metal, screaming people, his own voice, so loud it made his ears ring. Then he saw it. Again. His mom, cradling him, his dad, telling him he was a good boy, Juan, his first cat, curled up in his lap. Friends, his brothers, most of them dead now, rotting in graves, the women he loved. His baby momma. His child, smiling up at him, tiny, fat hands grabbing into the air. Fuck, his life was flashing before his eyes. Again. How often would he have to see this, all his good moments and why were there bad moments, too?

A massive jolt goes through the helicopter as he hits the ground and now the smell of copper, fuel and earth fills his nostrils. Wet, dark, quiet earth. The smell of a grave. The beeping and whimpering blurs into one soundscape, a wave of sounds on which Frankie slips away as his eyes close shut. Dark, quiet earth. Like a grave.

A sheep. Or more than one? They bleat. They coax him out of his unconsciousness, every sound a beacon for his mind to find his way back into consciousness. Out of the dark peacefulness, back into the light. Frankie groans, everything hurts, not only his body, his whole existence hurts, feels broken and ripped. The sunlight cuts through between his eyelids, blinding him, but that is what he wants, the light. He needs the light.

He shields his eyes and finds himself in a meadow. Poppies, cornflowers, grass. Wet, rich earth under his palm as he tries to push himself up. The buzzing of insects. And the bleating sheep. He finds himself in a dream of cottage life. Then he turns his head and sees the helicopter, the carcass of the metal beast he tried to fly too close to the sun. Like Icarus he came crashing down.

He doesn’t have to check, he knows “a fatal crash with zero survivors” when he sees one. Frankie got lucky, again. Somehow death spared him, he always does. Maybe the old fella took a liking in watching Frankie fuck up his life over and over again. 

Military training kicks in, he checks himself for injuries and finds no major ones. Maybe a broken rib or two, a concussion for sure. He grunts and pushes himself onto his knees, crying out in pain that he doesn’t even know where it’s coming from. 

A furry head appears out of the tall grass, white curls, pink nose, floppy ears, black and vigilant eyes. The snout opens and a bleat comes out. Like a complaint for this human being. To better not disturb the peace in this meadow any further with his mediocrity of surviving yet another accident that should have killed him.

“Sorry,” Frankie mutters and finds the energy to rise to his feet. Shaky, wobbly, the scent of earth and grass clinging to his damp clothes and skin. “You know somewhere for me to find help?”

Another bleat, then the sheep turns and starts wading through the tall grass with all the time in the world. Frankie watches the little bum disappear between green blades dotted with red poppies. He might as well follow the animal. Perhaps he will find a shepherd this way. Or a good shepherd may find him. God knows Frankie is in desperate need of some guidance. Or at least medical attention.

So he starts walking, more limping than anything else, his boots cutting a swath through the grass and flowers, every step causing mayhem for bees and bugs. The sheep, a few steps ahead of Frankie, sways through the meadow like a ship through green waves. It doesn’t turn around once, doesn’t turn towards its herd, the animal simply follows an invisible path that Frankie can’t see. Maybe he is losing it now, following an animal after having a fatal crash like it was his guide. But he had done weirder things in his life. Maybe he had hit his head really hard on the ground when he got thrown out of the helicopter. 

His head hurts, his legs hurt, breathing hurts as well, but the scent of summer and peace fills his hurting lungs and every breath soothes the stinging and rippling in his chest.

It takes some time, but finally, after hobbling behind the sheep, the meadow opens into a clearing, a gravel pathway starting to show and leading to a cottage. A small house with walls made out of stones, big and small, various shades and colors, a crooked roof, ducking under some trees as if it was hiding from the eyes of anyone who was not welcome. The birdsong sounds different now, too. 

Another bleat and the sheep starts trotting towards the house, the front door open wide. Silence. There is no sound to be heard, no voices, no music playing, no banging of pots and pans. Just birds, humming insects, the sheep drinking water from a bowl. Peace, comes to Frankie’s mind as if someone had seeded the word into his brain.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there, on a creaky bench in front of the house, basking in the last warm rays of the sun before it hides behind the trees. Ten minutes maybe, or an hour. His thoughts were flowing molasse thick behind his forehead. Thoughts about the crash, thoughts about the lives he has on his list, thoughts about who might miss him if he disappeared for good this time. 

His eyes flutter shut. The sunlight is warm on his skin, painting the darkness behind his eyelids orange. It’s like he’s floating away, on his way to the sun once more.

“Francisco?” 

Your voice is soft, almost as if the wind had whispered his name. He opens his eyes, turns his back on the painless bliss of unconsciousness once more.

Rays of the setting sun frame you where you’re standing in front of him, giving you a warm glow, illuminating the flowing fabric of the dress that you’re wearing. He doesn’t question how you know his name, how you feel familiar even though he’s certain that he’s never seen you before. He must have hit his head really hard.

“I— I crashed,” he croaks, his voice hoarse and the words scraping his throat on their way out. 

His hand vaguely gestures in the direction he came from, but he can’t see the helicopter anymore, no sign of the crash either, only seemingly endless fields of grass and wildflowers, with trees in the distance. How far did he walk? 

You nod, seemingly unsurprised. The sheep that led him there nudges your hand with its snout and you scratch through the wool around its ears, muttering what sounds like thank you. It bleats at him once more, before finally trotting back to its herd, blending into the white dots among the green. 

You pick up the wooden basket you had been carrying and tip your head towards the open door. Your eyes had been trained on his face, but when he stands up on unsteady legs, they trail down his frame, lingering on his side where blood has been seeping through his shirt and the stained fabric is clinging to his skin uncomfortably. He barely registered the pain while he was sitting there, but now, it grows to full intensity. Maybe it’s more than a concussion and a cracked rib after all. 

He follows you over the threshold, taking in his surroundings. The stony walls, littered with mismatched wooden shelves, filled with books and flowerpots. Small windows through which the evening light is filtering in. Worn down furniture, cushions that he would love to sink his tired body into right now. An earthy, heavy scent, cleansing his mind and his lungs. 

For the first time in years, there’s no underlying need for the artificial high that has kept his head over water and simultaneously pulled him under. 

“We need to clean you up,” you say, eyeing his bloody shirt again. 

You lead him up a wooden staircase, creaks accompanying his every step, and into a small bathroom. The light from a round window reflects off forest green tiles, mesmerizing him. You fill up a bathtub, adding oils from little glass bottles, until a herbal scent is wafting around him. 

Carefully, you help him strip off his clothes down to his underwear. Lifting his arms hurts like hell and he sucks in a harsh breath when his shirt unsticks from the open wound on his left. Some of the pain eases as soon as he sinks down into the warm water, a grateful sigh falling from his lips. You smile at that, a small, timid thing, and he wants to keep looking at you, wants to make you smile again, but you settle on the stone floor at his back, pushing down on his shoulders until most of his body is submerged. 

With a cloth, you start on his face, cleaning off mud and dried blood, so gently that it barely stings when you touch scratches on his skin. You move on to his hair, letting him lean back, your fingers massaging over his scalp, easing the tension, the worry that he’s carrying around with him. Finally, you probe at his rips under the water’s surface, fingertips dancing over the open wound there. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it feels less heavy, less biting somehow. 

Your hands trace over the scars littering his torso in gentle touches, soothing phantom pains that have long passed. “I’m sorry about these,” he thinks he hears you say, so quietly that he’s not sure if the words were meant for him to understand. 

“‘s not your fault,” he murmurs, his eyelids drooping shut once more as he sinks deeper into the warm water. 

He awakens surrounded by soft white bedding, a wooden ceiling with exposed beams over his head and the light of early sunrise falling into the room, painting it golden. He stretches without thinking, only a sting at his ribcage reminding him of the day before. 

It all feels like he’s walking through a dream, one too beautiful to disturb. So, he doesn’t wonder how he came here, who you are, why you seem to know him, how you seemingly healed most of his injuries simply by giving him a bath. If this is what an actual dream feels like, not the nightmares he usually has, he doesn’t want to wake up. 

Everything feels easy, here, with you. There don’t seem to be any clocks in the cottage, so he has no idea what time it is, but it must be early morning. Still, he finds you in a small garden behind the house, tending to vegetables that you’re growing there. 

He feels your gaze flying over him, like you’re checking what state he’s in. Then, with a smile, you start explaining what you’re doing. Which plants to water, which vegetables are ready to be harvested. He works alongside you, naturally, like he’s always done this. It feels good, using his hands and body like this. Growing something, helping someone, doing good. 

He follows you to the small kitchen, watches you prepare things, storing them in a pantry. You explain which herbs you are growing in small pots on a windowsill, handing them to him one by one to let him smell them. 

The sun is rising higher, warming the air floating in through the open backdoor. You take his hand and pull him outside again, walking down an invisible path through the green fields surrounding the cottage. Bees are buzzing in the wildflowers around you and the sheep are bleating occasionally, watching the two of you with curious eyes, but not coming closer to investigate. 

You’re wearing a dress again, the skirt flowing around your ankles in the light breeze and the sunlight illuminating your figure as you skip a few steps ahead of him. Frankie can’t help himself, picking a few of the flowers and handing them to you. His heart almost cracks at your wide smile when he gives them to you, your fingertips grazing his. 

Back at the cottage, you put them into a vase on the kitchen counter, the flowery scent mixing with the house’s earthy notes in no time. It’s a small thing, but in a way, it's a trace of his presence here. It’s almost scary how much Frankie likes that thought.

It becomes a routine, as easy as breathing. The two of you taking care of the garden first thing in the morning, then a walk through the fields. The sheep start coming closer, even though they don’t let him pet them the way they do with you. He barely hurts anymore, the wound at his side almost completely healed. 

In the evenings, you make tea from the herbs that you’re growing. Frankie has never liked tea, always proud to be a black coffee guy, but this one is different. It calms him, slows his thoughts down and fills him with a peace he didn’t know life had to offer. And it’s something that you made. For him, to care for him. 

One night, you’re both sitting in front of the fireplace, watching the flames and listening to them crackling. He starts telling you about his past, about all the regrets that haunt him. About the men that he’s killed, about all the pain and sadness that he’s responsible for. About the woman and child that he abandoned, all to chase a high that he knew was unreachable. 

He feels lighter, afterwards, like a shadow has lifted from his heart. You take his hand and rest it on your thigh. Your fingertip dances over his open palm, drawing delicate shapes over the calloused lines of his skin. 

“All the violence it took you to become this gentle,” you sigh. 

Your smile is sad, and he wants to kiss it off your lips. He’s never felt gentle one day in his life, has always been made of brute force and rough edges, but here, with you, he thinks you might be right.

With every passing day, the peace seeps deeper into his bones. Maybe it’s not a dream. Maybe everything that happened before was the dream, a nightmare, and he finally woke up.

That evening, you’re singing while preparing dinner. He puts down his knife and the potatoes he’s been chopping and takes your hand instead. You grin at him, still singing as he sways the both of you around to the melody. His heart aches at the sound of your laugh. 

He pulls you closer, leaning in, eyes darting to your lips. For a second, he could swear that you’re moving towards him too. Then you sigh, one hand coming up to rest on his chest, stopping him. He freezes. 

“Frankie, you— We can’t. You can’t stay here” 

Suddenly, his whole body feels cold.

“Why not? I want to be here. With you.” 

Under other circumstances, he’d be ashamed of the whine in his voice. 

“Your time hasn’t come yet.”

“What do you mean, my time hasn’t—” 

Tears well up in your eyes. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip. 

“I’ve already kept you longer than I should have. I’m sorry, Frankie. You have more life to live. I’ll protect you, just like I have before.”

Before he can say another word, before he can even attempt to understand, your arms wrap around him. Your lips sink down onto his, just as soft as he imagined, just as sweet. 

Then, everything dissolves. The stone walls around him, the setting sun through the window, the scent of herbs and fresh flowers. It leaves only the feel of your warm body, your lips on his. Until that disappears, too.

His eyes fly open, seeing nothing at first. Sound erupts around him like an explosion. Blurry shapes move in his periphery. The air is thick with smoke, his ears are ringing. His mouth tastes of blood. Hands are frantically pulling at him, moving him, shouting at him, around him, in words that he can’t make out. 

It’s like he’s watching, barely present in his body as someone feels his wrist for a pulse, shines a light into his eyes, checks his body for injuries. He doesn’t understand. He was good, he was healing. He was at peace. 

His body is limp as he gets strapped onto a stretcher. They may be talking to him, he thinks.

“He must’ve had a guardian angel,” someone next to him says. 

Frankie isn’t listening. He’s scanning the treeline, the landscape around him. It was all right here, the sheep, the meadow. 

It’s like you’re still right there, the phantom of your presence next to him, but he can’t see you anymore. Just like it was before, he could swear he hears you whisper.

thank you so much for reading <3 as always, comments and reblogs are love, i'm so excited to hear what you think!

and check out this gorgeous art piece by @millersblud 🫶🏻

[the-laughing-lunatic]

All 9 mercs w/ a reader who got them flowers! (PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC)

(I recently got to 20 followers on this blog! :D I wanted to do a little something to celebrate that, so I grinded and wrote headcanons for all nine of the mercs. It, uh, took a while so I hope you enjoy!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

☆Scout - Daisies☆

Legitimately starts tearing up

Tries to blame it on the flowers

“I ain’t cryin’ I- I’m just allergic to flowers.”

“Oh, sorry, I could just return them then—”

“What? You’d hafta take ‘em out of my dead hands, I’m keepin’ em.”

Isn’t a huge flower guy but the fact you went out of your way to get them for him makes him feel all warm inside

Reminds him of when his mom would pick flowers to give to him after his Little League games

☆Soldier - Poppies☆

Would aggressively compliment you

“THESE ARE DAMN BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS MAGGOT!! I FEEL IMMENSELY LOVED AND APPRECIATED!!!”

Seriously though, he does

Since he was never allowed in the military he always felt jealous of the soldiers who got special flowers

But he wasn’t now, because you respected him

And if you did, that was enough

☆Pyro - Sunflowers☆

ABSOLUTELY LOVES THEM

Well, you can’t hear what they’re saying but the flappy hands and excited noises give you a decent idea

Will just spend hours holding them in their hands and looking at the flowers like they’re the most beautiful thing in the world

Draws sunflowers in all their drawings now

If they accidentally burned them they would get so sad and give you flowers back as a form of apology

Make flower crowns with them. Do it. 

☆Demoman - Bluebells☆

Like most of the mercs, he’s never gotten flowers before 

And he has no clue how to take care of them

“Thank ye, but, would ye consider showin’ me how to take care of them?”

Help this man out

Please

He would probably put them just on a table with no vase or water without you

Y’all would put the flowers in an empty bottle of scrumpy <3

☆Heavy - Violas☆

“Little merc has present for Heavy?” 

Surprised, but not so much as Sniper

Honestly the most chill about it out of all the mercs

He has sisters so he knows how to take care of flowers but he’s never been the one to receive them

Would press the flowers once the start to wilt and make bookmarks so he can keep them forever (sap)

And if he’s more protective of you during matches, who's to say the reason why?

☆Engineer - Bluebonnets☆

He sticks to the practical side of things, so when you give him a bouquet of flowers he’s utterly perplexed

He’s flattered of course, and thanks you greatly for the gift because he’s a Texas boy raised with manners

But he’s not used to pretty things and…doesn’t quite know what to do with them

He puts them in a vase with water but he finds himself stopping his work to look at them

They didn’t solve a problem, they didn’t hold a purpose yet people–including him now–seemed to love them

Eventually gives up trying to find a reason for it and just accepts it as they’re just pretty

Even though solving questions like “what is beauty” was never his forte, he’d somehow found an answer for it

And it was…well, you.

(He’d also 100% make you a flower out of scrap metal for you bc he’s a gentleman)

☆Medic - Cornflowers/Drosera Spatulata Sundew☆

There’s two flowers that he’d like

Cornflowers are one of his favorites, specifically the white ones (they remind him of Archimedes)

Not just because they are national flowers of Germany, but he also appreciates their medicinal properties

But if you somehow got your hands on a Drosera Spatulata Sundew he’d be pocketing you for months afterwards

Is absolutely fascinated with carnivorous plants and you get him carnivorous flowers???

The most romantic (or just super cool if platonic) thing in the world to him

Isn’t a botanist but he’ll be in the medbay all the time now just observing it and its reactions

He’s not sleeping for a while

He’d try to create a serum for whatever flowers you got him so they’d stay as beautiful as they are forever :)

☆Sniper - Wildflowers☆

No one has ever gotten him flowers before so when you show up at his camper van with hand picked flowers wrapped in twine he’s surprised, to say the least

Finds it interesting how he walked past those same flowers everyday and never cared

But when you gave them to him they felt…special.

Awkwardly mumbles a ‘thanks mate’ to you

Keeps them in an (UNUSED I REPEAT UNUSED) jar in his van

Smiles everytime he sees them

☆Spy - Roses☆

We all know this man is an old-fashioned lover boy so ofc he loves roses

But he’s never on the receiving end of them

So none are ever good enough for his high standards

“Eugh, where did you buy these, the gas station?”

Similar to Scout that if you say you could return them he’d absolutely refuse

Secretly thinks it’s really sweet 

Doesn’t act any differently towards you afterwards when he’s with you

But you find multiple bouquets of roses in your room and a note that says “if you ever consider buying me flowers again, buy roses from these boutiques instead of the trash you had before.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

(Putting in all the tags is another reason why I don't normally do all nine of them holy shit)

[calmcoldevening]

Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

[apple-os]

i just really hate dandelions I'm gonna be real

they're everywhere and they're Bright Yellow and and just. no

this may or may not be to figure out which to sacrifice to a different texture (cherry leaves pile) bc i cant figure out how to change short grass (lazy) (if you know pls say)

if i forgot one shhh no i didnt lmao

[loverangels]

can i request a Percy x reader, where readers likes making flowers crowns and makes one for Percy (with blue flowers of course) and basically crowns him with it since he's the son of the king of the water?

(You know what it would make it fun if reader was a child of the big three (zeus or hades) or hera, that their also like a 'princess')

Thank you in advance!!!! And i hope this isn't weird

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

a/n: this was such a cute idea and was so fun to write thank you sm nonnie!!

The meadow was warm and quiet, sunlight filtering through the trees and spilling golden light across the grass. You sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, surrounded by a pile of blue flowers—bluebells, hydrangeas, and cornflowers. Your fingers worked quickly, weaving the delicate stems together.

A few feet away, Percy was sprawled on his back, one arm slung behind his head while the other tossed a small rock up and down. His sea-green eyes kept flicking to you, a lazy grin playing on his lips.

“You’ve been awfully quiet over there,” Percy finally said, his voice teasing. “That’s either a good thing or a very bad thing.”

You didn’t bother looking up from the flower crown you were making. “Why? You scared?”

“Should I be?” He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand, his grin widening. “You’re not, like, braiding me a noose or something, right?”

You snorted. “Relax, Jackson. You’re not that annoying."

“Wow. Thanks,” he said, feigning offense. “And here I thought I was your favorite.”

“Favorite pain in the ass? Definitely.”

“Hey,” he protested, crawling closer so he was within arm’s reach. “Admit it—you’re obsessed with me.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Obsessed? Yeah, sure. That’s why I’m sitting here minding my own business while you keep interrupting me.”

“Interrupting?” Percy said innocently, leaning closer and poking your knee. “I’m just keeping you company. You’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, seaweed brain.”

Percy’s grin widened at the nickname. “You’re so mean to me,” he said, dramatically leaning forward and resting his chin on your shoulder. His warmth was immediate, his breath tickling your neck.

“Am I supposed to feel bad?” you teased, finishing the last twist of the flower crown.

“You should,” he said, his voice low and playful as he nuzzled closer, his nose brushing your temple. “Especially when I’m this nice to you.”

“Nice?” you repeated, scoffing. “Since when are you nice?”

“Right now.” He nudged you gently, pulling back enough to catch your eyes. “I’m letting you ignore me and you get to look at my amazing face for free. That’s peak generosity.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning back slightly to hold up the flower crown you’d just finished. “Well, then, I guess I’m being generous too. Here.”

Percy blinked, sitting up straight as he looked at the crown in your hands. The blue flowers were vibrant and soft, perfectly woven together.

“A flower crown?” he said, his eyebrows raising. “For me?”

“Who else would it be for?” you asked, scooting closer and holding it up. “You’re the son of Poseidon. King of the waves, right? You need a crown to go with the title.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you leaned forward before he could, gently setting the crown on his head. Percy froze for a second as your fingers brushed through his messy black hair, adjusting the flowers so they sat just right.

“There,” you said, sitting back to admire your work. “Perfect.”

Percy blinked at you, then at the crown, then back at you. “You… just crowned me.”

“Yep.”

“With flowers."

“Uh-huh.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a grin, but then he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you toward him. “You realize this means I’m your king now right?”

“Oh, please,” you said, laughing as he tugged you closer, his hands warm and steady on your sides.

“Hey, you made me the crown,” Percy said, his voice full of mock seriousness as he leaned in. “That’s basically a love confession in flower language.”

You swatted at his chest, laughing. “It is not!”

“Sure it is,” he teased, his nose brushing against yours. “And now you’re sitting here, gazing at me all starry-eyed, just totally falling for me.”

“I’m not” you protested, though your cheeks were definitely warm.

“Oh you totally are” Percy said smugly. He nuzzled against your cheek, his breath warm as he added, “but don’t worry, I’m falling for you too, so it’s fine.”

You groaned, trying to shove him away, but Percy just laughed, catching your wrist and pressing a quick kiss to your palm before letting it go. “admit it,” he said, his grin softening as he gazed at you. “I look amazing in this crown.”

You sighed dramatically, pretending to inspect him. “You look… okay.”

“Okay?” Percy gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just mortally offended him. “this is royalty you’re talking to! You made me a crown!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t make it out of poison ivy,” you shot back, but you were smiling now, unable to stay annoyed when he looked so stupidly cute.

Percy chuckled, leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours. “Nah, you love me too much for that.”

Before you could respond, he pressed a quick, warm kiss to your nose, grinning as he pulled back. “See? I’m irresistible.”

“You’re insufferable,” you corrected, shoving his shoulder lightly.

“And yet, you keep making me flower crowns,” Percy said, tilting his head with a smirk. “face it—you’re whipped.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and Percy grinned, tugging you closer again. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low and warm as he kissed your temple. “I’m totally whipped for you too.”

[acesw]

Knowing our Arcanists 6: Bkornblume

Welcome to entry six of my series: "Knowing our Arcanists"! This is a series in which I introduce and tell the stories of our fellow characters in Reverse: 1999. Today's character is: Bkornblume!

Bkorn's got a funny nickname, since its just a mash-up of blue and kornblume. (cornflower) However, she's got quite the short yet nice story, so I'll at the very least make it worth. Lets get started.

Bkornblume is a German arcanist born in the 1980's, born on February 9th. While I have no direct understanding of her arcane skill, I can at distinct that her skill involves sound, and is able to hear smaller sounds (like whispers) that are usually left unheard in the bigger melody.

She's a spy who works under the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, known in English as the Minister of Security, or more commonly known as the "Stasi." They were the state security and secret police of East Germany, who placed eyes everywhere in the former state.

East Germany has been known for its oppressive rule and its insistence for uniformity. The Stasi were meant to maintain state authority at the time but it was notoriously known as being one of the most oppressive police states, overlooking the lives of the state's civilians with intense surveillance, torture, and intimidation.

Most will conform, some will not. Of course, Bkornblume was not one of the people who wanted to immerse in her part of the role in this era. She's merely a listener who does her job as one.

Bkornblume grew up in Berlin, becoming part of the Stasi and is well-known for her arcane skill. She doesn't enjoy this job very much, but she also does to some degree as she's a good listener. She'll leave a bit of unheard commentary about everything she'll hear.

Her daily life tends to be just her listening and transcribing, but it can be said that she enjoys distracting herself and tends to delay her travels to work to take in the scenery. She's also spied on too. But she feels that she would be more uncomfortable if there weren't any eyes on her.

At one point, she had purchased her scarf (and the elk brooch that came with it) in a shop that was closing down. While not remembering the price, it costed a month's salary "and a funny joke which was rarely heard in East Berlin."

Bkornblume is a conformed and optimistic individual. However, she holds a quiet rebellion in her heart, dreaming of a world where everyone can practice freedom of speech. But with a colourful dream far away because of the dull walls around her, she'll only ever do the little things that she could do in her job. Calling for help, making that commentary, but especially endlessly writing. Even then, she's aware that she can't change everything in one go, so she'll try step by step as she speaks out for others.

It can't be denied that Bkornblume spent most of her time "alone," but she enjoys having those eyes on her. She would have wondered if she were dead if not. Like I said earlier, she's greatly optimistic in everything she does, and even believes that she's some sort of "undiscovered radio host." She wishes to become one in the future to comfort others in late nights. Bkornblume hopes that she's at the very least observed and acknowledged.

She's also a greatly mundane and relaxed person, enjoying the simplicity of life and even interacting with simple "contraband" that never really seems to be harmful, like flowers.

Bkornblume finds admiration in the pieces of wildlife that bloomed from old cracks, identifying them time to time such as cornflowers and chrysanthemums. She'll always find some in the most niche places and will share where to find them.

The cornflowers—kornblume in German—are why she took up her current nickname, as she had wanted to distinguish herself from the "countless other unfeeling names" like SCH KA/#.

She empathizes with others greatly and wishes to help them directly, but she can never cross the monitor to take action now can she? She'll shift around the stories of other people in her reports, and no beneficiary ever thinks twice about it as her reports are detailed and easily convincing. Her kindness reaches quite far despite her ways of wanting to express it being a little unethical.

She'll hear anything and everything meant to be hidden away, but hopes for a free world and will choose to grant peace and freedom to the innocent and defiant against such oppressive control.

[aphpuffinchild]

since it's out i can finally post my piece for @hws-anthology as well as the timelapse for it. as is arguably all my hetalia work, it's a love letter to my friend @pyrrhocorax 's fic Sendlingur og Sandlóa - i'll ramble a bit about how much it means to me, as well as the symbolism i wormed into this piece below the read more :)

i originally had two pages planned for this piece, potentially more - the fic is a good 74k words long and certainly not light on scenes i could and wanted to pull from, but various things led into other various things and one page was all i could manage, so i tried to cram in what i could, so here's that (in a rough, somewhat arbitrary order of focal points)

the opening chapter! the car is a framing device for the piece as much as it is for the journey the characters will take following that first chapter, so i wanted to use the car window/shapes as a literal framing device in my drawing

joi, shaky at best in his sense of self, sees no reflection in the window, instead there's a silhouetted raven to signify the search he must go on to find it

while not perfectly transcribed by virtue of wonky (plus an extra) line(s), the notes coming from joi's headphones are the opening to the song sendlingur og sandlóa, the fic's namesake, which a loved one kindly transposed by ear for me for the purpose of this piece

in a similar vein, the stickers on joi's suitcase are of a purple sandpiper and a ringed plover, the birds after which the song is named - here they are as transparents and in their original colours

i wanted to create a sliiight impression that joi is the one knocking over the chessboard, representing his repeated rejections of it (both physically, and the things it represents)

the chess pieces were also chosen specifically! originally i was going to use a black rook and a white pawn to match chapter 41, but for the sake of having alternating colours and the rest of my metaphors working (iirc) i swapped those colours around. that, and i wanted to match chapter 13's white king and black pawn - the black pawn stuck, the white king was colour swapped for colour cohesion reasons like the other's. (visual contrast was important to me, but the white queen blending slightly into the sky was okay for symbolism reasons) (there was also black king, white rook from chapter 3, so it all worked out anyway - there's a lot of chess in this story and i only had space for so many pieces and colours, basically)

speaking of which, the black pawn is for joi (chapter 13), the white queen is for halle (someone who, from joi's perspective, can go anywhere, vs joi's pawn, someone to be used -> see chapter 35 and perspective).

the king piece is falling (but hasn't quite fallen) between halle and henrik (chapter 3, 7, 13, though i most clearly thought of 19)

the person in the top right corner is eduard! i desperately wanted to include him because i think he's deserved it, and i considered a lot of ways of working him in, but i think an ambiguous silhouette that isn't Quite part of the main picture works better narratively

note also that he's separated from the other's through a red curtain, to represent the iron curtain (naturally) i wanted it to match ber + tino's part in some way, to sorta emphasise their similar foundations despite being split apart across places

the flowers at eduard's window are placed and chosen purposefully as well! orange/red zinnia's outside (for familial ties, steadfastness, friendship and remembrance) for what eduard puts out in to the world, then lily-of-the-valley for tino and cornflower for him inside to show what he wants to hold close :)

halle and joi are the only characters with their eyes open - halle looks towards the viewer/author/reader/joi, while joi looks away all together. if you've read the fic (which i assume you have because i can't imagine this is interested to read otherwise) you probably don't need me to explain why that reflects their roles in the story

similarly, every character apart from the brothers is turned towards another in some way (eduard does not count when his flowers do, and his role in the story is based around that disconnect partially anyway) tino towards ber and eduard (and hana, i guess), ber towards tino, henrik to halle, halle to henrik (though he looks away - his values are elsewhere even when they are together). joi, at best, looks at his own reflection in the window

the colour scheme, while arbitrarily picked from gradient maps based on what i felt "fit" has been approved by the author as being very "SoS core"

finally, the poem on the note, chapter 46

all that being said, i can and will now talk about my personal relationship with SoS, so unless that interests you i imagine the post is done now! thank you for reading :)

the first comment i posted on SoS is dated 2nd November 2016 - logging into my old account i can see i bookmarked it on the 31st August that same year, so i can safely assume i first read or at least found it then. a month after my first comment, i posted another on a different account, pouring a few bits of my heart out and the author responded! we went back and forth a bit and eventually talked (i think) via tumblr for a little, but the majority of our conversations were via skype for whatever reason (we didn't call, just texted). it was a lot of me looking for writing advice, insight to their work/process/skill, talking about The Brothers and talking about psychology/the brain on a general and personal level. i think if i read our conversations back now i'd cringe, given that i was an awkward, fumbling 16 year old, but i dont think anything else wouldve been fitting given the subject matter. eventually our conversations fizzled out and we stopped talking for years, but i'd go back to SoS routinely and cry.

in may of 2021, i posted another comment during what in hindsight was definitely another relatively minor mental health episode - i think it was half trying to emphasise how important the work was to me on the off chance pyrr saw it, and half a bid for connection since i had no idea if they even remembered us talking. i assumed nothing would come of it, and for about a year that was true - until pyrr responded after all in february of 2022 - i'm happy to say we've been talking consistently on discord since then. i feel a little weird speaking too intimately about our friendship as it is now since it's not just my story to tell (though pyrr, if you're reading this) (i'm sure you are at some point) (you're welcome to talk about it however, i just didn't want to without consulting you) but i can say with some certainty that it's at least a little bit my fault that we have a sequel now - cementing my place as official number #1 fan and validating the me from almost 8 years ago in a way i don't think either of us processes well.

it's here that i feel the need to talk about my other dear friend, @hws-lceland , who i'm grateful to have met through the zine's discord server. i'm sure they're reading this too, and a lot of what our relationship means to me is stuff that's probably a bit too vulnerable for either of us to speak publicly, but i *can* say that i love them very much, and i'm really grateful to have someone else to understand, and that he read SoS for me. i thought he needed it, and i hope i was right

sendlingur is...endlessly important to me. i'm aiming to not write an essay here (a goal i think i've already sorta shot in the foot) but i think it's important for me to talk about some of this a little loudly, all the same. my writing has changed because of the series - remeeting with pyrr and showing them some of my more recent work was interesting since it was apparent even to them the influences i'd taken (to be fair, in one section i explicitly asked and did borrow a format of theirs, but this goes beyond that). when i was 16 i asked my mum to read the fic in a desperate bid to be understood. i've cried reading the fic many, many times. i've signed off letters and poems with my switched around version of i'm sorry / thank you / i love you (i swap the first two around) many, many, many times, including in a close friend's wedding gift. SoS has very sincerely changed my definition of love. the name halle is a part of my abstract mindscape. id already considered changing my name to johannes anyway and this fic certainly didnt help. i've gained a friendship of 7 and a half years through it. i've gained another newer one now, too. i am not well. i wasn't well then, reading it, and it hasn't fixed me (i am worse, now, arguably), but it healed something, or at least made me feel understood. i could go on, and maybe sometime i will (there were so many things i wanted to include in my piece and pay homage to!), but for now i will thank anyone who took the time to read all this (again), and say that i look forward to experiencing the sequel

as always, i'm sorry, thank you, i love you

[grapehyasynth]

Wilmon + 'he'd been receiving anonymous flowers for a week now.'🌸🌷

When I re-read this today I immediately thought of this full-fledged idea @piebingo posted yesterday. With her permission I am drawing inspiration from that idea. I also drew on this post about flower meanings.

He'd been receiving anonymous flowers for a week now, a befuddling situation he vents about to Felice when she stops by the shop that Saturday.

"...And not to sound paranoid, but I almost feel like I should interpret it as a threat, actually, because who sends a florist flowers from his competitor?!"

Felice's eyes widen over the bouquet of apple blossom, red camellia, and spearmint she's been smelling, so he's guessing he's missed the mark on downplaying the conspiracy theorist vibes. "How do you know they're from a competitor?"

"I didn't put any of these together." He gestures to the six vases on the counter between them.

"No, but--" Felice drums her lacquered nails on either side of a vase. "Do you remember the woman who came in here on Sunday and placed a big order for a birthday party?"

"Yes," Simon says, drawing the word out, not sure why Felice knows that information.

"That was Eva. Alex's sister." At Simon's nonplussed shrug, she adds, "There was no birthday party."

Simon is usually better at mental math than this. "...Is Alex my secret admirer?"

Felice throws her hands up in exasperation, nearly knocking down a smaller vase of cornflower and honeysuckle. "Oh my god, Simon! Eva bought all those flowers as a favor to me."

"I don't--"

"I bought the flowers as a favor to Wille."

"W-"

"Who has been sending them to you all week."

Simon takes a step back, looks at all six bouquets again, feels something catch in his chest. "Wille ... Wille arranged these?" he asks tremulously. He might have to hire his friend; he really had thought these had been arranged by his competition. Okay, not the point. "Why would he - why would he send me - and anonymously - and - red carnations?" he finishes weakly.

Red carnations: my heart aches for you.

"Counterpoint: why would you plant mean little flower messages in Wille's date bouquets?" Felice challenges.

"I-"

"It's the same reason. You've both been--" Felice consults the big laminated The Language of Flowers poster hanging behind the register. "You've both been very... red columbine about yellow carnation, but it's all just geranium."

"That's not how that works," he murmurs numbly. He lifts his gaze from the bouquets to find Felice smiling gently at him. "It's really - he's really--"

The bell over the door jingles. From his vantage behind the counter, Simon can't see who's just come in, but Felice smiles, leans forward, plucks a cluster of sweet pea blossoms from one of the bouquets, and slips it behind Simon's ear. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

[z0mbiew00d]

Life series hybrid headcanons I really like that aren’t the main headcanon for each charachter

Cleo:

Mainly a zombie, but I really adore mouse Cleo. It’s kinda random and obscure but I was just throwing things at the wall with random hybrids ages ago for those hybrid swap posts and came up with mouse Cleo and now she’s one of my fave hcs ever.

Scar:

Mainly a vex, but I see him as a moobloom. The flowers are related to each season, Third Life being lilacs, Last Life being poppies, Double Life is cornflowers, limited life I’m not sure on, Secret Life is sunflowers, real life he’s a mooshroom, and Wild Life it’s bamboo.

Pearl:

This one’s hard because the main one is definitely moth, but wolf is too popular to put as my “uncommon headcanon” so imma go with cat. Cat pearl is really funny to me, especially in the context of Double Life. Kitty in charge of a pack of wolves, peak humour.

Martyn:

Another tricky one but this time because there’s no real commonly agreed on headcanon for him from what I’ve seen. Everyone really makes him a human or some random hybrid. Personally I usually see him as a phantom hybrid (I could ramble about phantom Martyn for ages <3 I love him <33) but also cat Martyn is super fun, especially in Secret Life. He also just has wet cat vibes.

Etho:

I see arctic fox Etho or eldritch being Etho the most, but personally I see him as a snow lynx. I just think it fits him and it looks good with his white hair. Also snow lynx in a white castle in Third Life then the snow fort in Last Life? It fits so good imo.

Jimmy:

Canary Jimmy is obvious the most common one, and I totally understand why, but with the canary curse being gone it’s opened my eyes to breeze Jimmy. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I thought about hybrids for him, and I think it’s such a cool concept. It also matches with Tango in Double Life, blaze and breeze, I love it. Begging y’all to see my vision here.

Lizzie:

Fairy Lizzie is the common one, and tbh it’s mine too, but my uncommon hc for her is cat! (Wow there’s a lot of cats on this list it’s almost like they’re my fave animal-). She’s skittish, cute, awkward at times, but can be incredibly deadly when she feels like it and locks in. Also empires season 2 reference ;3

BigB:

This is same as Martyn, there’s no popularly agreed headcanon for him, but I guess I’ll use creaking since it got super popular from Wild Life, but I’ve not seen it much outside of Wild Life. My rare headcanon for him is curly haired mouse! I don’t have a lot of reasoning for this one I just think it’s cute.

Tango:

Everyone’s seen blaze Tango, it’s the universal headcanon by everyone, but holy shit bee Tango is so fun. That one post about it has blown my mind, he’s so cool. Angry lil bee. I love him.

Scott:

Scotts a tricky one (again) cause like the others there’s no super common one, but I see him with pointed ears a LOT so I guess elf is the main one. My rare hc for him is unicorn, which is so insane to me that that’s rare. It’s so obvious?? It’s so perfect???? Why do people not see the vision…

Mumbo:

Vampire Mumbo is obviously the most popular one and again it’s my normal hc for him but bat Mumbo is my guilty pleasure. Not vampire bat, just bat. He’s got lil bat wings and lil fangs, he has those claw hook things on his inner wrists. He’s just a lil guy. I love him <3

Skizz:

I don’t watch Skizz much but from fanart I’ve seen him as an angel the most. I really like angel Skizz and it’s probs my main hc for him, but butterfly Skizz <3 he’s so silly. Huge buff scarred man screaming LETS DANCE at you and then he’s got huge butterfly wings. What a guy!

Bdubs:

Obviously moss/glare is the common one, and mine too, but holy shit sniffer Bdubs. Please. Looks super similar in design but I think him impulsively finding flowers and plants for Impulse and Etho and Cleo and such is super funny.

These nexts ones were REALLY hard, I struggled to think of something for these ones cause I see them so strongly as the popular ones.

Joel:

He doesn’t necessarily have an agree upon one other than bug but I can’t use ogre as the rare one cause I feel like that’s also super popular. I don’t really like tiger Joel all that much personally so that can’t be my rare one so idk 😭. Fairy I guess, matching with fairy Lizzie. Also it’s funny that he’s this scary evil guy, and then he’s sparkly and has fairy wings.

Gem:

Deer and fox are the popular ones and honestly it’s perfect I wouldn’t change a thing. There’s nothing here that can be improved upon, it’s perfect.

Grian:

Grian is so avian I can’t think of anything else, he’s just a fuckass bird. What do you want from me /lh! Also Watcher obv.

Ren:

Okay what do you want from me here. He’s a dog, he’s a wolf, he’s renDOG. What am I supposed to do here. Anything else doesn’t fit 😭😭!! I couldn’t come up with something for him. He’s just a dog.

Impulse:

Same as Ren, he’s IMPulse what do ya want me to do LMAO. I did see cow Impulse once and I think that’s really cool so I guess that’s my rare one for him ;3

[peachsayshi]

CORNFLOWER

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ toji fushiguro x female reader ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

wc: 1,269

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: you can probably expect to see me write for toji more often & honestly I am happy staying on the fluffy train when it comes to my faves ^.^  this is a piece that crossed my mind -  I titled it Cornflower because it was inspired by a song, and I also found out that the flowers represents tenderness, fidelity and reliability 🥺👉👈 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: fluff; alludes to smut; intimate touching; sleepy toji; implied size difference, age gap. 

Toji’s soft breath fluttered against your neck at a steady pace. The ticklish sensation caused you to nuzzle your chin into the fluff of his hair while you cradled the back of his head in your hands. With one leg thrown over him, you pressed your heel deep into his back to tug him even closer into your smaller frame. 

A low, deep hum escaped your lover. He removed his arm from underneath the pillow and slipped it beneath your torso instead while circling the other around your waist. 

You blinked your eyes open, feeling his strength wrap around you in a warm embrace.

“You fell asleep,” he whispered into your skin, the husky tone of his voice sending a tingle up your spine. 

“Can’t help it,” you murmured back with a yawn as you lightly scratched his scalp, “you’re cozy.” 

Toji chuckled, leaving a small kiss just over your collar bone. “Is that why you’re clinging onto me like a koala bear?” 

“Maybe...” you sheepishly replied then tucked your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from grinning foolishly. “You’re also keeping me warm...ah-” 

A quiet gasp escaped you when you felt him nip at the base of your neck and you curled your fingers around the strands of his dark hair in response. 

“I had you feeling a lot warmer not too long ago,” he cheekily pointed out. 

Your thighs instinctively clenched around him when he slowly began to unravel from your limbs. The slight distance was enough for you to feel a sudden chill, and your stomach twisted with discomfort as Toji readjusted himself. 

Two hands returned to meet your hips and with ease he dragged you down the mattress so you were seeing him eye to eye, taking in how his green irises twinkled against the warm light creeping through the blinds. You hooked your index finger around a lock of his hair and twirled it mindlessly while contemplating if it was first thing in the morning or late in the afternoon. 

You’ve been cooped up in his small apartment over the last forty eight hours, nesting together in isolation. Weekends like this have been happening more frequently, and you both preferred stealing the other’s precious time while pretending that the outside world ceased to exist. 

This level of intimacy is a nice change of pace in the dynamics of your blooming relationship, because moments like this didn’t even seem possible with Toji at one point. 

From the moment you met the man, who was older with an entirely different set of experiences than your own, you felt more excitement from his gaze alone than you did with anything your past lovers have ever given to you.

For Toji, you were a pretty glimmer shining through the darkness of his own reality, and you tempted him enough to pursue you so that he can bask in your alluring light.

He was rough around the edges when you first met, and maintained that front until you managed to seep through the hidden cracks. Underneath this hard shell of a man was a gooey center of a sweet human. When his heart melted between your fingers, you gathered it up and swallowed it down your throat like it was made of honey. 

“C’mere”, he mumbled, searching for your waist once more and the simple contact prompted you to sigh as he interrupted the silence. 

You were flush against his chest, your arms circling to find his neck as you bumped the tip of your nose onto his. You could feel his hands playing with hem of your cropped tank then lightly tracking down your lower back as he reached for the curve of your naked rear. 

“Want to get up yet?” he questioned, not shying away from an opportunity to grope you beneath the sheets. 

You immediately shook your head no, refusing to make any space from the blanket of affection surrounding you. You moved to cup his angular jaw in your palms, then leaned forward to press your mouth against his. He smiled into the kiss, allowing the first one to be chaste before parting his lips and granting you access to slide your tongue along his own. A few moments passed with you intertwined just like this, the only sounds you can hear were your smacking lips echoing in his quiet bedroom. 

He placed a feather light kiss on your cupid’s bow. “I need...” he exhaled when trying to catch his breath, “to get a bigger bed.”

You traced your thumb down the line of his scar noticing the way your pulse tripped over itself. These passing statements were simply more declarations of his love for you. He kept gifting them to you in doses, each one more potent than the last and making your head spin around in circles.

"There’s an extra toothbrush set for you in the bathroom,” he nonchalantly stated one evening, “I figured you might need one since you’ve been spending  most nights with me anyway...” 

When you both were in the shower washing off another night of making love, you randomly asked about the vibrant pink body wash that oddly stood out next to his own. Toji simply replied: “I thought you might be getting tired of smelling like me all the time...” 

One afternoon you mindlessly mentioned that you were craving your favorite snack, and Toji immediately pointed out that “you can find them in the pantry” because he “bought them in bulk.” 

This man who ensured to always keep you away at an arm’s length was now carving out his life to make room for you. 

You swallowed the tight lump that formed in your throat. 

“You don’t like me snuggled up on you like this?” you teased with a pout, trying your best not to allow the weight of his sentence to overwhelm you. 

In one swift motion he had you pinned underneath, the bed springs squeaking loudly from the shift of his heavy weight. “Don’t twist my words around, doll...” he sweetly scolded between a kiss while allowing his body to press you deeper into the mattress. “You know I prefer being closer than even this...” 

You giggled then lightly traced your knuckles along his cheek, “what kind of bed were you thinking of?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, “something big enough for two. We can go take a look next week...” 

“We?”

“Wouldn’t mind hearing your opinion is all...” 

You unknowingly held in your breath, the seconds passing by as your pulse grew even louder when your heart thumped wildly in your chest. 

“So, if you’re thinking of getting a bigger bed, then you’re probably going to need another mattress...” 

“Yep.”

“And maybe...new bed sheets, that might take us a while to shop around for....”

“I guess we'll have to make a weekend of it then,” Toji acknowledged. 

You can’t deny that you had your doubts in the early days of your relationship, but right now it was hard to even justify why the two of you constantly found excuses to fight off your feelings towards each other. Despite your efforts, you both always had a reason to come back to one another.  

You combed back his hair, keeping it away from his face to reveal his handsome features. You angled yourself high enough to kiss his forehead in agreement, and pulled your mind back from considering the future and settling yourself into the present moment. 

You realized that loving Toji is not as difficult as you initially perceived.

As a matter a fact, it all felt quite natural like it was always meant to be. 

[ranhaitanisgf]

Hello. Can I have headcanons with Angry with “flower shop” and “watching the sunset”. One day he accompanied someone to a flower shop and met y/n there. And she gave him a blue flower, the colour of his hair. So everytime they see each other, she gives him blue flowers. And then he surprises her by asking her out on a date and giving her a large bouquet of flowers and at the end of the date they watched the sunset together. I hope I made sense. Thank you 😊.

— souya [angry] kawata // flower shop // watching the sunset

☆ ˎˊ˗ last 2k event req !!!! cant believe i actually got through all of them, even after taking 2 years off !!!! i hope you all enjoy xoxo

☆ ˎˊ˗ gn!reader

☆ ˎˊ˗ wc ; 1.3k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

❥ a blue flower. 

❥ souya is blinking at you, his gaze shifting to look at the flower, then you, then back to the flower. are you giving this to him? why? he wasn’t the one who was buying flowers here, right?

“here, take it! it matches the color of your hair!”  “oh…okay.” 

❥ after he leaves the shop with smiley, he still isn’t sure what to make of the interaction, though he’s kicking himself a bit at the fact that all he’d responded with was just the two plain words. he didn’t even say thank you! that was considered impolite, right? why was he so shaken by something random like that? 

❥ his thoughts were distracting him so much to the point that he was able to ignore smiley’s incessant teasing and comments about the interactions, (actually, he is thankful for that). even when they had been home for hours, he still was eyes the flower in his hand, gently twirling the stem as he stared into the pastel blue color of the petals. 

❥ souya doesn’t know anything about flowers, so it takes him a while to find the name of the flower. at first, he tried asking smiley, but he had obviously responded with…

“hah? i dunno anything about flowers.”

❥ he doesn’t know why he thought smiley would know. 

❥ and so, souya walked over to the local library, feeling a little bit nervous about being there, (he thinks everyone somehow knows he’s never been there in his life and that he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all). it takes him a while, but he eventually finds a flower reference book, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized that, wow, this book is so huge…

❥ he’s not one to give up from a challenge though, so he grabbed the book, taking it and laying it on the table next to him as he takes a seat. he begins to page through the heavy tome, the blue flower next to him as he compared it to the pictures in the book. it’s a bit of a tedious task, but strangely enough he finds himself enjoying it. 

❥ he eventually finds the name; a cornflower. it took him longer than expected to find it, but it was because the color in the book made the color of the flower seem more purple, (he thinks there’s a chance he still got it wrong, but he’s pretty sure). he’s not sure what to do with this information now, but he’s satisfied with it. 

❥ the next time he sees you is at school, surprisingly. he had never really taken much of an interest in the people in his classes, only following smiley around school on the days that they would attend. so, when he sees you walking with your friends in the hallway, it’s out of the blue for him to be staring at you. smiley had already known something was up, but now that he had the full story, he was absolutely itching to get his little brother to make a move. 

“oi, (l/n)!”

❥ smiley only laughed at his brother’s stupefied expression, waving at you when you looked back, (of course smiley knows you, why else would he have gone into your family’s flower store?). you also noticed souya, remembering something as you began to dig in your bag. 

❥ you jogged over to the brothers, pulling out…another blue flower? 

“here!”

❥ with your friends calling out to you to hurry up, you took the flower and carefully placed the stem of it in his hand, curling his fingers around it before you rejoined your friends, your laugh reverberating beautifully around the hallway as you left, (at least it did to souya). 

❥ the first time, he blamed it on the the surprise of the situation, but souya doesn’t have an excuse this time. his second encounter with you had ended with him not saying even one word, just staring and nodding at you dumbly as you walked away, holding another blue flower in his hand. 

❥ however, different from last time, his thoughts were were more chaotic, scurrying around his mins trying to come up with explanations and solutions. why were you giving him flowers? why can’t he speak with you? why are you so cute- wait, what?!

❥ nonetheless, the day ended with him visiting the library once again, pulling out the same flower reference book as before, flipping through the colored pages and comparing them with the new flower he had received. 

❥ it took longer this time, but his diligence got him to the answer; blue hydrangea. satisfied, he went home, smiley endlessly teasing him about the small interaction with you today, (despite the teasing, it only made him smile because he was thinking of you). 

❥ after his second failure, he decides enough is enough! on a very spur of the moment decision, he makes an order for a small bouquet of flowers, (he wants to get larger, but he is also very broke) and decides that today he will ask you out!

❥ not that he knows how he’s going to go about that. 

❥ he doesn’t even bother asking smiley for any help; actually, scratch that, he doesn’t go to anyone for help. he is completely on his own, going based off of things he’s seen in mangas and tv shows, (is this actually going to help him? he has no idea). 

❥ souya doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s decided not to think about it too much as he goes to pick up the flowers, carrying them carefully while he walks to your family’s flower shop. 

❥ he finds that it’s hard not to think too much when your smiling face is right in front of him, asking if you can help him, are you alright? is something wrong?

“i…can i take you…out…?” “haha, i was wondering when you would ask!” 

❥ he’s not sure how, but it worked, (how did it work?!). he hadn’t planned or even thought this far ahead, so he was a bit flustered and unsure how to proceed when you immediately clocked out, telling him that the two of you could go out right now, (right now?! what does he do?!). 

❥ the only thing that comes to mind is taking you somewhere to watch the sunset, (it should be around that time soon, right?) so that’s what he decides on, stumbling over his words as you make conversation with him. 

❥ it doesn’t take long for the two of you to end up near the river side, providing a perfect view of the already setting sun. in all honesty, souya has been bumbling and stuttering over his words, not having any sort of clear and coherent thought about what to say to you. it’s why he has mostly kept with listening to you talk; he’s been enjoying hearing about the random things that have happened in your day and how they sold out of my favorite bread, again!! i swear i’ll get it tomorrow, even if i have to fight everyone in the lunch line!

❥ he is now hesitantly sitting down next to you, silence hanging between the two of you as the colors of orange and pink bloomed in the sky, purple settling in the distance. you suddenly brga to shuffle around in your bag for something, the rustling noise fitting into the rustling of the grass.

“here!”

❥ another blue flower. 

“blue hydrangea…”  “oh? wow! how did you know that?” “...i looked it up in the library.” “haha, you could’ve just asked me if you were curious! that’s so cute though~” 

❥ souya went back home that night smiling and talking to him, (smiley insists that you broke him).

[meo-on-prairie]

Pulmonaria

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Prompt: “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love // The slowest way is never loving them enough”

Words count: 2844

Tags: ANGST, SO MUCH ANGST, fluff if you take out the James Webbs Space telescope, pain train all the way, not a happy ending, mention of blood and death, idiot to lovers a little too late, it’s not happy, highschool au, hanahaki au

Rambling: if you see this fic as “Pulmo flower” this is the revamp of that lmao, I posted it years ago and deactivated my entire account cuz i was insecure about my creativity, but i’m working on that. By re-releasing what I think is my proudest work. Please listen to “High Infidelity - Taylor Swift” and “Heather - Conan Gray” for this fic. 

/////

XX03 Daisy: innocence 

He gave me a Daisy when we first met— a wildflower he picked at the entrance of the playground, shoving it in my face as I sat on the swing. Grinning from ear to ear when he asks, “will you be my friend?”. And every birthday from then on, without fail, Daisies would be shoved to my face. Those damn Daisies occupied my lungs, took my breath away. 

XX09 Sunflower: unconditional love 

We’re inseparable, attached by the hip. It’s easier to count the times where we’re not together. I don’t know when it started, but he became my air, although sometimes it was hard to breathe, it’s hardest to breathe when he isn't near. The pressure in my chest became so great that it often forced out violent coughing fits. They are often violent and painful, sometimes unbearable, they feel like my lungs are trying to force something out that is incapable beyond reach. Until one day, those violent coughs forced me into unconsciousness. 

White. The first color that I saw when I opened my eyes. Cold and harsh white of the hospital room. the color white, it’s in everything I hate. White is the color of the hospital room glaring at me mockingly, laughing at the fact that I have a weak body. White is the color of snow signaling the arrival of winter and the freezing uncomfortable cold. White is also the color of his stupid hair, a painful reminder of someone I can never have. I hate the painful white color. 

But maybe the color white isn’t so bad if it allows yellow to shine so brightly. The Sunflowers on the table caught my attention from the corner of my eyes, the flowers warmed up the whole room instantly, funny how a speck of yellow can warm up the cold white room. The small note of the familiar handwriting attached to one of the flowers makes the flowers shine even brighter. "Get well soon! :( love and miss you a lot ~ Satoru". Slowly, painfully, I can feel the sunflowers blooming, occupying another space in my lungs, making it harder to breathe, especially without him. 

XX11 Cornflower: young love

Legend has it that Cornflowers were worn by young men in love; if his love was returned they would remain bright and fresh, if not they would wither away quickly. He gave me Cornflowers during freshmen orientation. Everything about cornflowers was annoying, the color was too bright and it hurt my eyes. It's a weak flower and dies easily, withering in two days. It reminded me of how similar I am to it, weak and annoying; both wither away when our love is not returned. But at the same time, it gave me hope… 

“Why Cornflowers?”

“They just look bright and pretty, something vibrant for a new chapter in our life right?”

“Right… of course.” 

Of course, there wouldn’t be any deep meaning to them. Hope is for fools.

XX14 Heather: admiration

November brings around the freezing cold of winter, I have always disliked the cold, it made breathing harder than it already was. When the bell for lunch rang, I quickly packed my bag to go meet up with Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko at the cafeteria.

To my surprise, Satoru wasn’t with them. The three of us went to get food anyway since all the good foods will be all gone if we’re late to the line. Satoru arrived at the cafeteria a few minutes later, with an unfamiliar girl trailing behind him. 

“Sorry I was late, I was trying to convince someone to join us” he explained quickly before turning his body sideways, “We got paired together for a project for Physics, she just moved here so be nice to her.”

“Hi, I’m Areum” she spoke softly, her shyness written all over her face. She was absolutely gorgeous, the soft curls of her long hair framed her face perfectly. She has a small figure, the clearly oversized sweater she’s wearing made her look adorable, a sight for sore eyes. Compared to her I’m not even half as pretty.

“Hello Areum, I’m Suguru, I see you’re wearing Satoru’s sweater,” he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the blush that quickly appeared on both Satoru’s and Areum’s faces. 

“S-She looked like she was about to freeze over in that room alright?!” Satoru defended hotly. 

“Sure thing buddy” Shoko joined Suguru on the teasing-Satoru-bandwagon before smiling at Areum, “My name is Shoko, by the way!”

I reached my arms out to flick Suguru and Shoko on their forehead, “stop teasing the poor girl!”

“Hi Areum, I’m Y/n, Satoru’s childhood friend, sorry you got stuck with that doofus for a Physics project of all thing” I joked, offering her a gentle smile while ignoring Satoru’s pouty complaints of something along the line of he’s not that bad at Physics.

Areum let out a shy giggle at my comment before sitting down to join our table. The four of us quickly settled into a comfortable atmosphere as we got to know Areum better, asking her the reason for her transfer so late into the school year, among other things. 

The entire time, Satoru’s eyes never strayed away from Areum’s face. His smile got wider every time she laughed. His gaze toward her made my stomach somersault and me feeling nauseous. They’re the same gazes I had toward him. It slowly gets harder to breathe as pressure builds up in my throat. I forced the cough that threatened to escape down, I was probably overthinking it anyway. 

But that feeling of nausea never went away. It only gets worse as the week comes and goes, especially when almost all of the conversations between me and Satoru had always led to her. I started to see him less and less since he always declined invitations to hang out with: “Sorry, I promised Areum that I would study Physics with her.”

Ever since Areum joined our little group, she got Satoru mesmerized. They’re practically attached by the hip, never one without the other. It was suffocating to see them together all the time. But how could I hate her? She was an absolute angel. Always speaking softly and gently, always kind to everyone around her. Hell, she noticed whenever I started to struggle for air when no one else did. I wish I could hate her even just a little bit, maybe then it wouldn’t be as painful.

XX15 Rose: romance  

February 14th, probably the most annoying day of the year. The school ground is littered with pink and red, people carrying flowers, balloons, chocolate, and stuffed animals in different sizes around, blocking up the already crowded hallway. 

Some couples walk around, others busy sucking each other face off in a corner, and god knows what some of those freaks are doing in the bathroom stalls. I wish this day would be over already, everything is suffocating. I make my way through the hoard of people professing their undying love to each other in the schoolyard. Finally, I reached my first-period class, reaching my hand out to tug open the door when I heard my name being called. I turned around to see Satoru with one hand waving in the air like a madman and the other carrying a single pink rose. 

“Y/n! Hi!” He greeted me after coming to a stop in front of me.

“Good morning to you too, Satoru,” I said with a smile.

He shoved the pink rose he’s holding to my face with the bunny smile gracing his lips, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

I guess some old habits die hard after all, “Thanks, Satoru” I chuckled lightly as I accepted the flower. 

We stood there for what felt like forever until he started, “Y/n, so I----” the bell ring cutting Satoru off.

“Shit, gotta go, my first class is on the opposite side of campus, I’ll see you after school okay? Bye Y/n” He said quickly before running off. 

What was he about to say? Curse that damn bell, I swear that thing has the worst timing. I look down at the pink flower. The pink petals look soft and fluffy, a small pink rose starts to bloom in my lungs along with budding of hope. “No Y/n, you idiot, didn't you say that hope is for fools? Stop it before you get hurt!”. But I know it's already too late, I can't seem to control the smile that's growing on my lips and the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach. 

Maybe... Just maybe... he feels the same way. Maybe I was wrong about his feelings toward Areum. After all, he gave me a rose, the one flower that shouted “love” louder than any other flowers. This could be my chance to tell him how much he means to me. Suddenly, Valentine’s day became the most exciting day of the year. Bringing the rose closer to my nose, I can't wait to see him after school...

When the last bell signaling the end of the day rang, I practically bolted out of the room to meet Satoru at our usual spot. Excitement filled my body, I felt lighter than ever, but also nervous at the same time.

I arrived at the schoolyard to see a huge group of people crowding around in a circle blocking the way to our usual spot. I rolled my eyes as I prepared mentally to push through the crowd. 

With great difficulty, I started to join the crowd and maneuvered myself through the hoard of people while repeating "excuse me" over and over again. Eventually, I reached the other side of the human barrier, I breathed deeply and prepared to do it once again before looking up. The sight that greeted me when I looked up filled me with dread. My stomach dropped and I felt nauseous. The flowers in my lungs are multiplying, making it harder to breathe. I can feel my heart tighten up in my chest. 

Standing in the middle of the circle of people is Satoru, holding a bouquet of red roses, looking as handsome as when I last saw him. Light pink coating his cheeks, there is nervousness in his eyes as he stands in front of Areum, who is having both hands covering up half of her face. Surprises grace her beautiful form. Standing behind them are Shoko and Suguru, they're both holding up a giant sign that reads "will you be my Valentine?" with a glittery cursive font. Both of their faces show excitement as they look at Satoru and Areum. 

I held my breath as I prayed for whatever deity above for her to say no. Unfortunately, they seem to hate me with a burning passion. I watch as she nods slowly before exclaiming "yes!". I watch as Satoru lets out a sigh and then smiles brightly. The same smile that can light up the whole room. The same smile that makes me fall hopelessly in love with him. I watch them walk toward each other as people around them cheer loudly. I watch as Satoru shyly gives Areum the rose and she accepting them just as shyly. I watch as they embrace each other with wide smiles gracing their lips and people hollering and wolf-whistling around them. 

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. The flowers are multiplying too quickly, filling up my lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. I need to get out of here. I turned around abruptly, forcing my way through the crowd of people. Once I'm out of the circle, I break into a sprint. I ran and ran and ran and ran. I don't know where, I just want to be as far away from that crowd as possible. My lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen, but I kept running until I could no longer hear the cheering of people and dropped down to the ground. 

I tried inhaling to no avail. It hurt so much. Every time I try to inhale or exhale it would feel like needles are being scraped against the walls of my lungs. It's painful, no, fuck that, it's torturous, everything hurt like hell, the pain is agonizing. It makes me want to rip out my heart and lung and throw them far away to ease the pain in my chest. 

Pressure slowly builds up in my throat and it gets itchier and itchier forcing me to let out a cough. That cough is followed by another one, and another one, and another one until I'm coughing uncontrollably. My body doubled over and shook violently as I wheezed for air. I covered my mouth with my hands as I coughed into them. I choked violently before I felt wetness on my hands. 

I pulled my hands away from my face and looked down on them, holding back another cough. In my hand, a pool of blood and flower petals. The warm yellow of sunflowers, the cold white of daisies, and the gentle pink of roses are being dyed by the red of blood. Tears blurring my vision as I throw myself into another coughing fit. More blood was forced out of my body along with more flower petals. 

Suddenly my lungs started to burn even more. I cough harshly as something bigger than the petals force its way out of my throat and onto the floor, joining the existing puddle of blood. A pink rose. Soon enough the more flowers and blood forced their way out of my body to join the puddle of blood under me where the rose and flower petals lie. It hurts like hell with each cough, but... It became easier and easier to breathe after each time. 

When the last daisy fell into the pool of blood, the coughing fit stopped. The burning stopped along with the pain in my chest. The numbness I felt was almost exhilarating. My body felt lighter than ever, it felt like I was floating on clouds. I take in a deep breath and slowly exhale as darkness takes over me. 

XX16 Tiger Lily: “Please love me”

A figure of a man holding a bouquet walks silently toward the cemetery. His lean frame is adorned with a thick jacket to protect him from the harsh cold of winter, his form feels lonely as if a part of him is missing, gone from this world completely. The sun is setting over the horizon, coloring the sky in bright orange and pink. But Satoru couldn't care less, his world has lost all of its colors a while ago. The beauty of this world only appears dull to him, nothing can be pretty in a world without her. 

He walks solemnly through the cemetery, passing by the countless headstones. Until he reached one in particular. The headstone looks relatively new compared to the ones surrounding it. The writing on it read: "Y/n, XX97 - XX15, 'Loving you silently'". 

Satoru kneels in front of Y/n's grave as tears slowly spill from his eyes, blurring his vision. He placed the bouquet of Tiger Lilies in front of her grave, joining the other flowers that were already there from visitors earlier that day. He sat there regretfully silent as tears spilled from his eyes. 

"Hey Y/n, How have you been?" he greets.

"I hope you’re doing well.” He lets out a forced chuckle, "Everyone has been missing you. Especially your mom, she cried everyday for months after you’re gone. She has been doing better now though, so you don't have to worry too much, I’ll take care of her in your stead."

Satoru let out a shaky breath as more tears spilled out from his eyes, “I miss you every damn day, I miss you so much that it’s hard to breathe. Fuck, I can’t look at daisy flowers without crying anymore!"

“I miss your smile that brightened up the whole room. I miss your eyes that held the universe. I miss your comforting voice” he said while choking up as tears fell harder from his glistening blue eyes, "But more than anything, I miss you who felt like home...”

“I’m sorry for being an idiot and realizing when it was already too late, you deserve so much better than my pathetic self” He sobs pitifully.

Satoru sat there with his back hunched over as tears fell endlessly from his eyes. At that moment, he looks small and fragile, as if we would break from a single touch. With each passing minute, it got harder and harder for him to breathe. His lungs begin to burn as the pressure slowly builds up in his throat, forcing him to violently cough up flower petals and blood. When the coughing fit died down, he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood off of his lips. Slowly, he stood back up before glazing at the headstone longingly. 

“I’ll see you soon, Y/n,” he whispered with a bitter smile as he began to walk away.