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killianford · 7 months ago

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No longer under the watchful gaze of Persephone, who had busied herself with bagging up Killian's order and absently chatting with the next customer in line, Killian felt the tension leave his body slightly. Of course, it had nothing to do with the way Amira's hand was fisted in the fabric of his - her?- his jumper, bringing to mind thoughts of... well, Killian lacked the experience to even imagine a scenario where Amira might do such a thing. It appeared she didn't, even in his wildest and most improper dreams.

A sigh escaped from him as her other hand slid under his jumper, meeting the worn cloth of his shirt underneath. The warmth of her hand was so entirely welcome that for a second Killian forgot all the reasons he was supposed to be upset. That, and he was too busy praying to whatever God would listen that she didn't feel the jackhammering of his heart beneath his chest.

"I have you." he insisted, the statement delivered far too earnestly and with too much intensity to be taken lightly. Killian had often been told he was... as Matthew had put it... quite full on. He didn't mean to be, Killian just often struggled to filter the thoughts in his head before they came out. He was either too reserved, too severe, or far too forward. Erring on the side of caution, Killian tried to be the former. Better to be careful with his words and actions than do something he might regret, but Amira was good at pulling the latter out of him.

As Amira turned to leave the bakery, Killian swiped the bag off the counter, throwing Persephone a glare that substituted for a smile in their fucked up little method of communication. Swinging the cheesecake in one hand, his fingers itched uncomfortably until he could slide his palm against Amira's again, doing so with a quiet nod.

He let Amira guide the conversation as they walked the short distance back to their apartment, a rickety looking building on the shit side of an even shittier neighbourhood that seemed incredible to Killian because he got to share it with Amira. She mostly fielded suggestions for what movie they should watch on their return, as Killian nodded along and vehemently vetoed anything starring Katherine Heigl.

Killian, still slightly sore at the prospect of having forgotten Valentine's Day, skulked up the stairs in sullen silence. His long legs allowed him to take the steps two at a time, but Amira was faster and kept up easily enough, their hands swinging between them.

Rounding the corner, a quiet, "Oh." escaped Killian at the sight of their front doorstep.

Laying somewhat haphazardly in the space where their doormat should be, lay a bouquet of delicate purple flowers. Geraniums, to be exact. Truthfully, embarrassingly, Killian remembered everything about Amira. Every word that fell from her lips he took as gospel, whether that be her favorite flower or a neighbour she had taken a liking to, Killian inadvertently committed it to memory. So when the two of them had passed a neighbour's garden, he remembered when Amira had pointed at the flowerbox in her window, stating with a wistful smile how much her Mum had loved geraniums.

A few days later, he'd stepped into a nearby florist on a whim and put in an order for a bouquet to be delivered to their address. He hadn't even thought of taking them home there and then, even though he knew the attention lavished on him from Amira at the sight of her broody roommate holding flowers would be well worth it. Instead, he'd asked for delivery, hardly able to contain himself imagining the suprise on her face when she opened the door to an array of flowers.

The man behind the counter, handsome, with curly hair to his shoulders and an extremely thick French accent, had been elated, much to Killian's embarrassment. He was now realising his mistake, or... more of a happy accident. So close to Valentine's Day, the florist must have assumed that was to be the day they were delivered.

Tentatively letting go of Amira's hand, Killian stepped forward to scoop the bundle of flowers from their doorstep. They seemed largely unscathed, and as Killian straightened up, he noticed the card shoved through their letterbox that signalled a successful delivery. That is, if being abandoned on a doorstep could be considered sucessful.

His fingertips gently straightened a few wry petals as he turned to face Amira, already feeling his cheeks go hot with embarrassment.

"I-" Killian started, unsure how to explain himself. It would do to let Amira think the whole day had been planned - the morning out, the flowers - but he knew Amira probably knew better than to assume Killian had planned such a romantic gesture that far in advance.

"These are for you." he settled on, making no move to relinquish his hold on the flowers.

It felt cruel to think it, much less admit it, but there was something endearing to Amira about seeing Killian so... flustered. While there might be many areas in Killian’s life where others might not consider to be ‘composed’ - not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway – she knew better than that. Stoic to the end, Killian always managed to maintain a tightly set jaw accompanied by his signature scowl, never quivering under the gaze of those around him. His armour, figurative as it was, was sturdy, able to withstand even Saskia’s most bitter gripes. Yet, despite years of building walls and shutting himself off from the rest of the world, Amira had managed to do exactly what she does best; On tender footing, she’d slipped past arguably the best security system she’d ever encountered, chipped away cracks in shield, and gotten firmly under his skin.

So, there stood Killian Jordan Ford, debatably the most threatening person to have ever stepped foot in Whisk & Wonder, ducking his head, lips jutted out into a petulant pout, as he told Amira just how upset he was at having forgotten about Valentine’s Day. Naturally, Amira didn’t care what day in the year it was, so long as she got to spend it with him, but his current disposition was stroking her ego in ways she didn’t realise she’d been craving for so long. She beamed up at him as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, relishing in those rare, gentle touches that Killian was so generous in bestowing upon her, feeling as doe-eyed and smitten as all the other loved-up couples currently residing in the bakery – however far from traditional hers and Killian’s “relationship” might stray.

“Thanks, Seph,” Amira called out, absently sparing a glance for Persephone. She didn’t want the girl’s efforts to go unnoticed – as much as the two of them seemed to bicker back and forth, the blonde always went to great extremes to help Killian out, even if her unwavering friendship simply presented itself in the form of free baked goods every once in a while.

Amira’s focus was soon lost as she felt the warmth of Killian’s hand against her waist, tugging her in, carefully guiding her through the shop. The action seemed so natural to him suddenly, his gaze distant as his free hand fumbled around for spare cash. A wave of guilt washed over Amira as she watched him pay Persephone for the items, her stomach jolting at the mere thought of the predicament she was putting him in. While it was only a couple of slices of cake – and on Persephone’s discount, at that – she knew he was struggling to make ends meet for the two of them. She'd left him stranded in more ways than one when she’d left – both emotionally and financially – and she knew she needed to find a way to make it up to him sooner, rather than later.

“Hey, don’t,” Amira breathed, matching his lower volume, but aiming to keep her tone firm, all the same. Grasping at the front of his jumper, she fisted the fabric up into her palm, tugging him closer as she did. Her other hand slid up the front of his shirt, her palm resting against his chest, not quite daring to edge any higher – as close as the two had grown, she still hated to surprise him with unwanted skin-to-skin contact, not without any prior warning, at least. “What possible reason could you have for Valentine’s Day to even be on your radar?”

She was hoping for her words to sound reassuring – a misguided attempt to cheer him up, ensure him that he had nothing to worry about. What she hadn’t accounted for was just how self-deprecating her words sounded. It wasn’t as though she was oblivious to her feelings for Killian – nor was she completely blind to the way he felt for her, either – but Amira didn’t want him to believe he was under any obligation to give her something he couldn’t. They weren’t in a relationship. By no means did they resemble a couple, nor had they ever put a label on their relationship past friendship, and she would hate for him to think he had to conform to society’s stupid, unspoken rule just for happening to be a man living with a woman.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she told him, releasing her hold on his sweater and slowly turning on her heel to exit the shop.

Shooting one last glance over her shoulder at him, she shot him a playful wink, before nodding her head towards the street, bumping her shoulder against the door as she made her way outside.

“How about we go watch some shitty movie and spend our evening fighting off Wraith as she tries to steal our cheesecake?”

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years ago

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I love you (not) - Chapter 10

I love writing about these dumbasses (affectionate) so much... Today's shenanigans involve flower language and bouquets that woudn't work irl (hello "flower shop" prompt from @marichatmay), Chat Noir and Marinette each being offered the opportunity to break up with the other on a silver platter, yet not using it, and finally starting to get used to the idea that there are feelings hidden inside of them... Hope you enjoy!

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

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Chapter 10: In which the opportunity was right there for both of them, and yet...

Marinette power walked up the Boulevard Saint-Germain, very aware of how late she was running for patrol. Her parents had sent her on a last minute errand in the neighbourhood, which at least had the advantage of having a lot of small, empty streets she could easily sneak into to transform. If she could just find the shop she was looking for first...

She checked the address, scribbled on a post-it by her mother before she'd left, again, and realised she was on the wrong side of the street. She grunted, and stepped closer to the road. Given how busy the traffic was, she decided to play it safe and stood at a pedestrian crosswalk, clutching her purse and nervously tapping her foot on the pavement as she waited for the light to turn green. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, looking for her destination. Library, ice-cream shop, flower shop… aha! hardware shop, which apparently was the only one in the whole of Paris to hold the small piece of equipment that had given up on her parents.

She relaxed a little. It would be straight forward; go in, get the order, transform, patrol.

The steady flow of cars finally stopped and she crossed, taking in the books stalls, the flowers… And a dark figure in the midst of them, which she knew very well.

She knew she ought to continue her path and stick to her plan. She'd be seeing him soon enough. Her feet had an agenda of their own, though.

“Hi Chat Noir!” She beamed as she approached him. She winced internally at how excited she must have seemed.

“Marinette!” He stuttered, his cheeks taking the shade of the roses next to him. “What are you doing here?”

“I, er… Wanted to check out flowers for my fashion project next month, and I thought it was a great excuse to explore a new part of Paris.” Why am I lying? she wondered as she heard herself speak. This is ridiculous . “What about you?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’m actually picking up flowers for Ladybug.” He smiled at her a little sheepishly.

“Really?” Marinette perked up. She hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to him about their relationship since the night he’d come over, but maybe this was the perfect opportunity to let him know that he didn’t have to pretend anymore, that he could continue pursuing Ladybug (she ignored the thought that she wouldn’t be so happy about him pursuing anyone else) and that there would be no hard feelings. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing major, really. I just like to remind her that she’s amazing and that I love…” He paused, eyeing her reaction. Marinette had lowered her head to conceal her slight fluster at the compliment. He decided to change the course of his sentence. “That I love being her partner. I just think it’s important.”

“You’re right, it is.” Marinette smiled at him, feeling the tip of her ears burn. “Do you need any help?”

“I was actually thinking…” He dug a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Honeysuckles, white lilies and goldenrods.”

“Devoted affection, pure love, and encouragement.” Marinette nodded. This was good. This was very, very good. She tried not to let relief flood her features. “Excellent choices.”

“You know flower language.” Chat tensed next to her.

“I’ve dabbled in it a bit.” To keep up with your declarations, you silly cat, she smiled affectionately.

Chat was about to apologise for being so much more demonstrative with Ladybug than with her, when they were supposedly dating, and maybe finally bite the bullet by telling Marinette that his feelings for his Lady hadn’t faded, when he finally noticed that Marinette didn’t seem very bothered by his choice of flowers. She even seemed almost pleased by it.

“Say, Marinette… If you were to make a bouquet for me… What flowers would you pick?” He asked, gathering the flowers he’d named previously from the buckets at his feet.

This is your chance, Marinette , she thought, feeling her heartbeat pick up. “I think I’d go with something like…” She paused, looking at the choices and trying to remember her readings. “Geraniums, Oxalis, and Agrimony.” She picked the flowers up as she enumerated them.

“Very pretty, I have to say," Chat said cautiously, feeling his pulse quicken, "but I’m not sure I’m getting the meaning right - true friendship, regret and gratitude… Is this… a break up bouquet?”

Please say yes , part of him screamed. He tried to quash the other part, but it managed to flash its pain through his eyes.

Marinette picked up on it, and froze.

“Wait, you meant if me , Marinette, made a bouquet for you?” She chuckled nervously. Chat nodded guardedly. “Oh, that changes everything!” She quickly put the flowers back. “I thought you were asking me what I thought Ladybug would give you as flowers as an answer to your bouquet. Not that I’d know for sure, of course, but just assuming from the Ladyblog… Anyway, mine would go… Forget-me-nots, white carnation and fern, I think.”

Her choices all held double meanings - true love memories and don’t forget me for the blue flowers, innocence and pure love, but also a woman’s good luck gift for the carnations, and sincerity or magic and bonds of love for the fern. She thought it was a good overview of their relationship, and doubted her partner could be slighted by her message.

“That’s pretty nice, I like it.” Chat nodded. “Thank you, Marinette.”

He realised as he spoke that the part of him which was relieved that she wasn’t breaking up with him was a lot louder than the one which had been excited about seeing a way out.

Marinette paid for her bouquet and noted that Chat seemed quite pleased with it. For once, she didn’t try to suppress the delight she felt at the thought that maybe he would put the flowers in a vase in his room, and think about her when his eyes landed on them.

Later, looking at the bouquet he’d ended up giving Ladybug, she actually acknowledged the fact that she quite liked the idea. It was pure selfishness, of course - she'd still have to find a way break up with him, and soon, things were really getting out of hand. But it was nice to know that somebody, somewhere, was thinking of her.

(Especially if that somebody was Chat Noir, although she wouldn't say it aloud.)

#i think my favourite thing about this fic is that they're fully ready to accept that they're in a relationship with each other #when they've been dating for about a month at this point and don't technically have a label yet or kissed or anything #marichatmay2021 #marichat may #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marichat #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #elle writes #love you (not)

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peaches-writes · 4 years ago

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according to flora

description: growing up with jeongin according to the different shrubs and flowers around you member: jeongin / i.n. genre: fluff, childhood best friends to lovers au, neighbor au, slice of life, cottagecore elements (this is debatable) word count: 5.7k warning: mention of animal death (im so sorry) notes: some of these plants probably don’t grow in korea but whatever i need them for the plot + ending happens a year before ‘before one a.m.’ + i’m not confident w this pls go easy on me

makahiya ~ shy plant

When Yang Jeongin first moved into the neighbourhood when you were five, he and his brother let out a surprised gasp after stepping on their lawn. You were making flower crowns and trying to do ‘magic’ next door with your cat, immediately looking up at them from their loud reactions to the grass, the gears in your head concluding that they must have stepped on the shy plants that grew everywhere.

“Do you think it’ll open again?” You overheard Jeongin’s brother ask curiously that day, squatting down on the grass.

Jeongin naturally followed, poking on the folded and now red leaves of the unusual plant. “It doesn’t seem to want to.” He muses sadly.

You took that as your cue to approach them, walking the small distance around the fence and poking Jeongin’s shoulder. He looks up at you with a small jump and wide eyes, almost falling on his butt and toppling over his brother next to him.

“Hello! You must be our neighbor!” His younger brother greeted instead for the two of them, waving politely at you with a small tree branch he found nearby. You waved back politely before extending the same hand to introduce yourself properly.

“The shy plant won’t open if you keep touching it.” You pointed out after the younger brother’s introduction, answering their query. “Just wait a little bit.”

“Shy plant?” Jeongin repeated, looking back down on the plant. At that, the leaves slowly began opening up again, returning to its vibrant green color as it stretches. “Wow!” He exclaims, touching it again and causing it to wrinkle back into a shy close but this time much clearer in front of him and his brother. “Cool!”

You smile in equal amazement, taking a step back and motioning over to your dividing fence and the tree across the Yang house’s lawn. “There’s more of them around your lawn, just look for the sharp leaves and maybe the pink flower that goes along with some of them since a lot of weeds and grass growing around here look like them too.”

His younger brother only nodded, muttering a quick thank you for tipping them off before running across the lawn, while Jeongin awkwardly stood up and extended his hand out for you to shake after realizing that he hasn’t introduced himself, “I’m Jeongin, by the way—we’re moving in today.”

“Y/N,” You shook his hand shyly, the unfamiliar feeling of holding someone else’s hand sending tingles down your spine. “I live next door.”

“Will you...” He trailed off, awkwardly placing his hand back to his side and darting his eyes everywhere but you. “Will you help us look for them?”

You nodded after a beat or silence, shrugging as nonchalantly as possible. “Sure.”

When Mr. Yang expressed interest to maintain the grass on their lawn and backyard some time later, Jeongin made sure that his father didn’t cut any of the shy plants.

dwarf santan ~ jungle geranium

Since that day, Jeongin has naturally stuck by your side, helping you 'make potions’ on your front porch by picking out the flowers for you when unfamiliar bugs and pests guard them and climbing up the trees in your lawns and backyards for when you need leaves. No one from the nearest four blocks are around your age and Jeongin never really thought of himself as the type of kid to walk all the way to the other side of the neighbourhood just to maintain a friendship with a friend.

Besides, he’s always thought that your company was enjoyable and enough.

“What are you doing?” He asked you one morning as he approached you, seated in the middle of your backyard garden. It’s the day before his seventh birthday and he’s spent the entire week pretending to not notice how you’ve been crushing and mixing flower petals less in favor of studying the stems of your garden flowers. “What flower’s that?”

You quickly hid the pink jungle geraniums in your back, scrambling to stand up when Jeongin stops right in front of you. “N-Nothing!” You stammered out a reply as you tried to stop yourself from gripping the small flowers too tightly and accidentally crushing them in nervousness. “It’s just...”

When you trailed off, trying to come up with another excuse for the 7th day in the row, Jeongin only sighed, scratching the nape of his neck. “You’ve been acting weird this whole week.” He pointed out to you bluntly, a small pout on his lips. “I don’t want to assume that it’s for my birthday but if it is, you can just show it to me now—it’s tomorrow anyway.”

A beat of silence passes. When you didn’t speak, he quietly added, “I don’t like it when you act weird...”

And with that, you slowly took out the crown of jungle geraniums from behind your back, “I’ve been trying to make you this but I’m really bad at connecting the flowers.” You then held it in front of him, delicately placing them in his hands when he reached out for them.

He held it up to his eye-level, as if inspecting it, before looking back at you, “Can you put it on for me?” He then took a tentative step towards you, placing the crown back in your hands with a slight shake in his hand.

And equally as shaky with your hands, you tiptoed and placed it on top of his head, catching his smile when your heels reach the grass beneath your feet once again. “How do I look?” He asks, tilting his head from side to side that almost caused the crown to fall of his head.

“Pretty.” You answered matter-of-factly, turning his close-lipped smile into a full grin when you fixed the crown again with more confidence and a chuckle. “Happy birthday.”

“T-thank you!” He blushes, his cheeks matching the pink of the flowers. “Can you...can you teach me how to make this?”

He especially left out the part that he wants to make one for you, too shy at the time to say it out loud.

“Yeah—yeah, just help me pick out the ones you like.” You replied before leading him by the hand to the very back of your garden where the shrubs are.

You then spent the rest of the afternoon teaching him how to make crowns and bracelets as well as convincing him that drinking the sap on the geraniums is okay.

“It’s very sweet,” You told him as you suck on one while you work. “Some are bitter but it’s almost always sweet.”

Jeongin went home with a whole stem of geraniums after, showing it and his flower crown proudly to his brothers.

On your birthday that followed after this, you found a bracelet of jungle geraniums conveniently left on the pillar of your front porch. You still have this bracelet, pressed between the pages of your favorite book in a circle.

rose

You and Mrs. Yang encouraged Jeongin to join his first school singing competition in the 3rd grade because if there’s something you and your best friend’s mom have in common, it’s your endless admiration for his singing skills. Mrs. Yang always encouraged her son to sing and perform during parties while you grew up to your best friend singing to you and the plants that you grew.

So, for an entire month leading up to the talent show, you spent all your weekends in Jeongin’s room, clumsily playing the piano with him as he practiced trot songs.

And, on the day before the competition, Jeongin’s mom sneaked you out of your practice sessions so you can help her buy his son a congratulatory bouquet at the supermarket.

“So, Y/N, roses or tulips?” Mrs. Yang asked you as you stood in front of the shelves of plastic bouquet wrappings and vibrant flower arrangements.

“Oh, um...” You examined the flowers closely, tiptoeing around the sides. You’ve always known that tulips and roses are traditionally given to say congratulations after competitions but something about the baby’s breath caught your eye. In a way, it seemed more fitting for your best friend. “Mrs. Yang, can we get the bouquet full of baby’s breaths?”

But Mrs. Yang chuckled in response, albeit without any malice, “Sweetheart, we need to get our Jeongin a big bouquet, especially if he wins.” She then took a big bouquet of roses and another of tulips in the same size, both decorated with baby’s breaths, and held them in front of you. “but, we can buy a bouquet with baby’s breath on it, just not as the main flower in the arrangement.”

You ended up nodding along, picking the bouquet of roses.

Jeongin later won the singing competition. Mrs. Yang allowed you to hold the bouquet through the entire program and eventually give it to him when the awards have been given and the pictures have been taken.

“Congratulations!” You practically ran halfway across the auditorium to him on the side of the stage, almost shaking the petals off the flowers.

“Thank you!” Jeongin grinned shyly at you, holding the big bouquet in one of his small hands as he pulled you into a hug with the other. “These are so pretty!”

“Your mom and and I picked them out at the supermarket.” You recalled as you slowly pulled away from his hug after a moment, hands unconsciously coming up once again to fix the baby’s breath and roses that have wrinkled slightly from all the running and hugging.

Jeongin mimicked your actions almost instantly, his free hand going to the baby’s breath instead of the roses to admire them. “I like the baby’s breath the best, they’re so cute,” He commented nonchalantly. “but the roses are beautiful, too.”

You hum through your heart doing a small unfamiliar flip in your chest. “I like them the best too.”

kalachuchi ~ plumeria

Hana, your family’s Persian cat of thirteen years, died some time in the summer before your 7th grade from old age. You don’t remember much from that period of time in your life but endless crying in your bedroom and a small funeral you held in your backyard with Jeongin, his two brothers, and a few friends from school.

“We’re sorry about Hana again.” One of your friends, Chaeryeong, hugged you before leaving. Since the weather seemed appropriately gloomy on that Sunday morning, everyone had to leave right after before it rained harshly as predicted on the weather forecast.

“Thank you.” Hugging her back tightly, you then bid her a second goodbye as her parents’ car arrived.

With that, only you and Jeongin were left standing in your front lawn, waiting for the rain to come. With a sigh, you quietly turned around with the intention of trudging back inside your house, only to be stopped by Jeongin wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a hug.

The gesture immediately encouraged the reemergence of tears on your face.

“I’m so sorry about Hana,” He mumbled against the nook of your neck, hugging you tighter when he heard you choke back sobs. He pats your back comfortingly, swaying you from side to side and humming gently to ease you.

You stood there for what seemed to be a long time, until it started drizzling in light rain and your mom appeared on your front porch and gestured for Jeongin to bring you inside the house. Hesitantly, you let your best friend take you inside, his arm never leaving your shoulder until the two of you sat down on the sofa in your living room.

“Can I hug you again, please?” You asked next to him when he brought his arm back to his side, the absence of his arms feeling uncomfortable in the moment somehow.

Hearing your small voice broke his heart instantly. He nodded with a small hum, letting you snake your arms around his waist this time as he brings his arm back on your shoulder. The downpour outside became harsh almost instantly, the different flowers and shrubs growing right below your windows crashing against the glass panes that suddenly gave him an idea.

Over a month later towards the end of that summer, when you and Jeongin came home from the animal shelter and adopted an orange tabby named Mimi, the two of you ended up chasing the energetic kitten to Hana’s grave in the hidden corner of your backyard—only to find a plumeria tree growing on top of its small mound.

“Oh? What’s that, Mimi?” You crouched down in front of the tree as Mimi sniffed the small white flowers, your eyes beginning to sting. Jeongin, a few steps behind you, immediately slowed down running at seeing where you ended up. “That’s a plumeria.”

You turned to Jeongin after, mustering up a small smile for him. “Did you do this?”

He nods as if unsure, crossing the remaining distance to you and sitting down crisscross on the grass. “When the rain stopped, I found grown cuttings in our backyard and,” He shrugged, momentarily being distracted by your new kitten as she finished sniffing the flowers and proceeded to climb up his lap. “you did tell me one time that plumerias mean new beginnings.”

Overwhelmed with the gesture, you let yourself fall back on the grass, leaning over to Jeongin to press your forehead to his shoulder blade gratefully. “You remember these kinds of things I tell you?”

You hear him hum next to you, his shoulders moving slightly as he plays with your new cat. “I remember everything you tell me.” He clarified as nonchalantly as he could muster. “...and I know flowers make you the happiest.”

“You make me the happiest.” You muttered under your breath in response, not knowing that he heard it clearly. “Thank you so much...this—this means a lot to me.”

bougainvillea

You went on your first overnight field trip three years later in your 12th grade, right after your college entrance exams. The destination wasn’t far from school but the retreat house’s ambiance was somehow entirely different from the city outside its gate because of the area’s unusual amount of pine trees encircling it. Compared to the towering skyscrapers and bland-colored suburban neighbourhoods you’ve gotten used to, the retreat house felt like an entirely different world and the entire trip felt like a healing from school stress.

“Look at all these pine trees, Innie!” You exclaimed on the second morning, when you woke up an hour early and found Jeongin wandering around the retreat house’s extensive mini forest. Looking up as you walked alongside him on the trail heading to the mess hall, you couldn’t help but marvel at the trees and their calming presence. “They look like they could reach the sky!”

Next to you, you missed the way Jeongin briefly casted his eyes away from the pine trees to have a good look at you, grinning at your familiar bright eyes and agape lips that only comes out whenever you looked at plants.

He considers himself lucky you never seemed to notice the way he always looks for this particular expression of yours. You didn’t know it at the time but he‘s always thought you’re the prettiest admiring the flora around you.

“They are,” He verbally agreed after a while once he’s successfully made himself look away from you to watch the morning sunlight filter in through the trees. Looking around, an archway of unfamiliar vibrant pink and greenish white immediately caught his eyes, pointing it to you. “Hey, look at that.”

You followed his gaze, seeing bougainvilleas for the first time. “Bougainvilleas!“ You smartly named the plant, remembering it from one of the books you used to read to Jeongin. “We should check it out.”

Hurriedly, the two of you then approached the archway leading to a hidden garden. The ground dipped a little to form a slope underneath your slippers as you entered, catching Jeongin off-guard until you expertly steadied him by his arms.

“Careful!” You hissed playfully, gently pushing a stray branch of the pink bougainvilleas above his head when he’s regained composure and stood up straighter.

“Right, sorry!” He laughed before walking a little slower behind you to admire the flowers.

You then busied yourself after by whipping out your phone and taking photos of the flowers, snapping a couple of candid shots for Jeongin as well. You wandered around the archway in relative silence, noticing a couple more different flowers as you walk closer to the other side.

“Ow,” You suddenly heard Jeongin wince behind you after a while, immediately making you turn to him in worry. Catching your gaze, he shows you the hand he pricked on one of the thorns, luckily intact. “Thorns.”

You sighed at his clumsiness, taking a step toward him and taking his hand in yours to inspect it further. “I told you to be more careful,” You scolded him under your breath, heaving another sigh afterwards but this time in relief while massaging the pad of his index finger. “Their thorns might give you rashes.”

“Sorry...” He sheepishly apologizes, curling up his fingers above your hand as if to retract them back to his side.

But you keep his hand in place, bringing your linked hands down between the two of you. “We should get ointment for this, though,” You conclude, walking him now back to the trail. “Just to be sure.”

“O...kay...” He trails off in a daze, clumsily keeping up with your brisk walking to the mess hall.

Your Homeroom adviser would check up on Jeongin after, almost mistaking his blushing cheeks for signs of illness.

baby’s breath

In the summer that followed, when you’ve received your acceptance letters and graduated high school, you scheduled a packing day for university three days before you went to Seoul with Jeongin and his older brother. Video calling on your laptops and occasionally waving at each other through your nearly adjacent bedroom windows, you spent the entire day going through your things and arranging them in bags and boxes.

This is when you stumbled upon your books of pressed flowers.

Jeongin didn’t notice it at first, how your screen suddenly became silent, too engrossed for a while with running his hands through his keyboard which he hasn’t touched in a year to focus on studying. He played familiar melodies, mostly trot songs, for a while—looking up to you on the screen only after the fifth song and realizing that you’ve been standing in one distant spot the entire time, going through one of your hardbound books.

He walked over to his laptop perched amidst the mess on his bed at this, sitting down in front of it before calling your attention, “What’s that?”

The sudden voice made you close your book with a loud thud and you turned to Jeongin in surprise, “You startled me!”

He laughed through a quick apology before repeating his question, “What were you reading?”

“Oh,” Your hands unconsciously ran through the hardbound covers, opening it again to the page you were on previously. Walking to your laptop screen as well, you carefully tilted your book in front of the screen and showed him the the dried baby’s breath tucked in between the pages. “Remember when someone gave me a branch of baby’s breath on Valentine’s Day in the 10th grade? I forgot that I pressed it in a book and—I didn’t expect it to come out this pretty!”

Jeongin remembered. Of course he did, he almost died of anxiousness sneaking it around you at the time in an effort to be anonymous.

Braving through the butterflies that suddenly erupted in his chest, he coughed awkwardly once then replied, “Yeah, I remember. Didn’t it have a—a note?”

“Oh, right!” You exclaimed, retracting the book back to you and flipping through the pages until you found the card. “Here it is!” You then showed the perfectly preserved pink card he made, the words he printed on the paper barely visible on the screen but he knew each and every one in there until this point enough to get flustered. “This was really sweet, pity the sender never revealed themself.”

Though all the gears in Jeongin’s head urged him to reveal himself to you at that moment, he clumsily blurted out a small and almost dismissive ‘yeah,’ at your comment, letting the opportunity go as you then switched the topic to finding the jungle geranium bracelet he made for you, tucked in another book.

This would continue to bother Jeongin until the two of you were seated in the back of his older brother’s car, en route to Seoul, when he noticed the books in one of your bags, pointing to it and asking why you brought them.

“I collected all my pressed flowers into this one book—in case I miss home,” You answered after taking out the book from your bag. Flipping randomly, you ended up on the dried baby’s breath again—now reunited with its accompanying card. “Look, it’s the baby’s breath again.”

You then handed the card for him to read when he asked, noticing the way his hand slightly trembled in front of you.

“You complete all the empty spaces of my heart, like baby’s breath on sophisticated bouquets. Thank you for bringing more color and detail into my life. Without you, roses will only be intimidating and tulips insincere. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He read, nudging you on the shoulder after. “You like these kinds of things?”

“You don’t?” You shot back, taking the card from him once again and carefully placing it back on your book. “It’s a little cheesy but I think it’s nice.”

“Really?” He asked in disbelief, feeling light-heated all of a sudden.

“Yeah...” You shrugged back in response, fingers tapping on the book’s cover. “Like I said, it’s sweet.”

You especially left out the part that you’ve always hoped it was him who sent it.

Next to you, Jeongin felt like he could explode right there and then. He’s keep this in mind ever since.

cherry blossom

Your Freshman Orientation was everything but calm and laid back. From playing an intense game of modified musical chairs to dividing the entire auditorium in smaller groups to compete in a treasure hunt around the building; you, Jeongin, and your newfound friends, Seungmin, Felix, Hyunjin, and Jisung, were completely exhausted at the end of the day.

Luckily, your facilitator, a music major named Chan, prepared a relatively calmer final activity before parting ways with your group at the end of the day. The instruction was to write short messages to each other on origami cherry blossoms and exchange them with each other. Provided with endless bundles of pink and red colored papers, you spent the last twenty minutes of your school hours on that day coming up to people, making small talk, then writing compliments or Twitter handles on your cherry blossoms.

Naturally, since you knew each other very well already, you and Jeongin made it a point to exchange origamis last. You didn’t have to, Seungmin pointed out, but you and Jeongin mutually insisted.

“It’s like a fresh start,” You explained to Seungmin before the group dispersed.

Jeongin nodded along in agreement, “But with the same people.”

Hyunjin dramatically gushed how he thought that the gesture is so sweet. Felix and Jisung, meanwhile, simply nodded along and agreed that it is cute, while Seungmin was quick to catch onto Jeongin (as he had the entire day) that there might be something going on between the two of you.

So, you approached Jeongin after he’s met up with everyone in your group, handing him the prettiest origami cherry blossom you made.

“I wrote it inside the paper.” You told him shyly when his expression turned into that of confusion at seeing the petals empty. “Can you read it when you get back to the dorms?”

“Why?” He asks bluntly with a small frown, fingers hovering over the petals as if tempted to unfold them. “Did you write anything weird? Are you actually transferring schools?”

Your eyes widen and you wave your hand dismissively, “No, no! Just...read it later!”

"Okay.” And true to his word, Jeongin waited until he and Jisung returned to their shared dorm before opening your letter.

“‘Did you know that cherry blossoms symbolize life changes? Like new beginnings.’” You wrote in your neatest handwriting despite the lack of tables and flat surfaces back at the auditorium. “‘But you’re still here and I’m glad. Thank you for growing up by my side. I hope we continue to until even after this point in our lives. Y/N.’”

Jisung, who was peering over Jeongin’s shoulders annoyingly the entire time, shook his shoulders violently until it was time to cook dinner time. “You two are so adorable! Are you dating? You better be dating!” He exclaimed, attacking the younger boy exaggeratedly.

The last question only made Jeongin frown, pushing his roommate away immediately. “We’re not dating or anything.” He sighed. “Y/N’s just—someone I’ve spent all my life with.”

“Didn’t you say you met when you were five? That’s not your entire life.” Jisung pointed out before a smirk overtook his features. “So if you’re not dating, you like them, then?”

Jeongin looked over silently at Jisung next to him after, catching the older boy’s anticipating expression as he himself contemplated on the question. Though his brothers caught on quickly early on, Jeongin himself as never verbally voiced out his feelings for you before.

But it’s Jisung and even when he’s caused so much trouble throughout orientation, Jeongin decided he could trust him. “Yeah...” He trails off, much to Jisung’s satisfaction. Saying it out loud felt weird but also familiar somehow that Jeongin can’t help but blush. “But don’t tell anyone!”

Jisung surprisingly kept his mouth shut about it for a grand total of three months, when he ended up accidentally telling Seungmin in front of Jeongin during one break time they happened to share together.

“So? What am I going to do with this information?” Seungmin asked unfazed during this particular lunch.

Though he’s said this, however, he was already raking his brain for what he deemed as his most evil scheme yet.

“Don’t tell Y/N, duh.” Jeongin answered with a pointed look at Jisung sitting next to Seungmin. Jisung only returns this look with a bashful grin and a peace sign help up in the air. “I swear, Jisung, if you’re not months older than me—”

“I pay half the dorm rent too.” Jisung adds unhelpfully, making Jeongin place his hand on his face and groan.

Luckily, the two have only gossiped to Hyunjin and Felix, occasionally almost letting it slip right in front of you but holding back every time.

pink carnations

A week before Valentine’s Day, Jeongin found himself walking an entire two feet away from Seungmin along the empty crafts store aisles, begrudgingly dragging a small wheeled cart behind him. Seungmin has given up scolding him for trailing behind so slowly a long time ago and has decided on just carrying as many items as he can in his arms before walking back to the younger boy. Somewhere, you were also wandering around, albeit in a different aisle with Felix, as you try to find the other half of your buying list.

At this point, Jeongin really just wanted to strangle whoever came up with the idea of having a dorm party and a Secret Valentine exchange gift (Kim Seungmin).

“Stop frowning, you look ugly.” Seungmin suddenly snapped him out of his daydreams after a while, carefully dumping packs of colored paper and bottles of glitter on the cart.

Jeongin narrowed his eyes in response, crossing his arms, “You come up with an exchange gift for Hyunjin.”

At this response, Seungmin only scoffed, taking the cart on one hand and dragging Jeongin along with him with the other. “We both know that’s not why you’re frowning.” He stated matter-of-factly as the two transfered to another aisle. “If you’re thinking about buying Y/N something or, you know, confessing, I’m telling you, just do it. It’s Valentine’s, anyway.”

Jeongin rolled his eyes. “It’s not that easy! And it’s really not the right time to confess.”

“When is the right time?” Seungmin prodded on, stopping right in front a display of party cups. This crafts store has everything for some reason. “You’re in your first year of uni, you just finished your second semester midterms, and your wingman friends have time until finals to help you out. When else is the right time?”

The younger boy rolled his eyes, helping Seungmin examine different party cup designs now. “That’s exactly why it’s the worst time ever: it’s Valentine’s, we’re still adjusting to university, and we have four mutual friends trying to wingman terribly.”

“If you don’t plan on confessing then at least give Y/N something, they’re your best friend and they deserve it on a holiday like this.” Seungmin sighed exasperatedly, picking a design after a while. “Plus, it’s not like you haven’t given Y/N gifts in other holidays or anything of the sort before. Just think of it casually like you would do with Christmases or birthdays.”

As if on dramatic cue, the two boys see you and Felix pass by after, laughing at something on the latter’s phone while dragging along a cart of buntings and cartolinas. Seungmin had to physically snap his fingers in front of Jeongin again to get his attention.

“I...” Jeongin trailed off, sighing towards the end when you disappear. “I’ve only given them something on Valentine’s once and it was—well, it was anonymous.”

"What?” Seungmin blinked twice in disbelief. “You have a best friend who’s into flowers, literally the most common Valentine’s Day gift, yet you’ve never officially given them anything on such day before?”

“Valentine’s is just too obvious, even if they don’t know how I feel—” Jeongin sighed helplessly before frowning at his own words. “It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Seungmin nodded fervently, lightly smacking Jeongin in the head with his party cups. “Took you long enough to realize. Like I said, you don’t have to have romantic intentions if you can’t confess right now.”

“Ugh, what do I do?” Jeongin scratched his head in frustration, realizing at that moment that it does sound a bit stupid not giving you anything on Valentine’s before.

The older boy sighed, though he seriously contemplated on it for a moment. “The market’s on the other entrance of the crafts store,” He finally said after a while, shaking Jeongin’s hand off his arm. “Pick out something simple, not too big and extravagant because it’d be a waste seeing them wilt after a while, as long as it can be meaningful for the two of you.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened at this. “Really?”

And Seungmin only nods, shooing him with his hands, “Yeah, yeah, go, but make it back here before we go to checkout.”

“I owe you one.” Jeongin grinned happily, sprinting out of the bookstore.

Now left alone, Seungmin joined you and Felix on another aisle, showing you his and Jeongin’s cart.

“But where’s Jeongin?” You asked curiously, looking around for any sign of your best friend.

“Oh, he went to the bathroom.” Seungmin lied smoothly with a reassuring grin. “Now, what else do we need?”

Later on at the Valentine’s day dorm party, once the exchange gifts have been done, Jeongin approaches you at the end of the night as you prepare to head back up to your dorm with the last gift he’s been carefully carrying around with him.

“Oh? Innie, hi.” You smile up at him when he jogs up to you by the staircase, immediately noticing the wrapped gift in his hands. “What’s that? Do you want me to give that to my roommate?”

The boy only shakes his head in front of you before thrusting the gift in your hands. “No, no, it’s for you.” He clarifies, letting go of the wrapped package only when it’s safely in both of your hands as you adjust to its surprising weight. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“But I didn’t make you anything.” You frown, one hand fiddling with the ribbon tying the newspaper packaging together.

You and Jeongin have never exchanged gifts on Valentine’s Day or even White Day before (or at least from what you know). You once told him that you get enough flowers and other little gifts from him on other days and he’s always told you that he enjoys just spending time casually with you on this particular day.

And you’ve always thought that, even with your crush on him, you don’t think he owes you something on these kinds of days.

“It’s fine.” You hear Jeongin reassure you after a while. “Just open it when you get back to your room.”

The familiar words make you giggle. “Why? Did you make something weird?”

He catches on after a slight delay, laughing along with you. “No!” He waves his hand dismissively. “Just open it later.”

“Okay.” You then transfer the gift to one hand in order to hug Jeongin properly. “I’m giving you a hug because I don’t have anything to exchange with you right now but expect something on White Day, okay?”

“You don’t have to give me anything on White Day.” He pats your back with a laugh, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears now.

“We’ll see.” You conclude before parting ways with him, bidding him a second goodnight and going up to your dorms first.

When you arrive back in your dorm, the first thing you do is to take the gift back in your room and unwrap it, finding a small jar turned into a terrarium of dried pink carnations and baby’s breaths inside.

The note attached to it reads, “’Y/N! I was surprised you kept the baby’s breath. I didn’t think of drying flowers until you showed them to me so here’s my own attempt, that maybe these flowers can last for as long as we’ve been together. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

It didn’t take you long to connect the dots together, a sigh of relief passing your lips as your chest now feels lighter with your worries vanishing.

You can finally and clearly tell that Jeongin likes you too.

Picking up the terrarium from the newspaper wrappings before throwing the latter away, you examine the smaller details inside, your heart melting at the visible effort Jeongin spent making you such an intricate gift.

Touched by this gesture, you then spend the rest of the night coming up with Jeongin’s White Day gift.

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larinah · 3 years ago

Link

August 20th, 19—. I HAVE HAD what I believe to be the most remarkable day in my life, and while the events are still fresh in my mind, I wish to put them down on paper as clearly as possible. Let me say at the outset that my name is James Clarence Withencroft. I am forty years old, in perfect health, never having known a day’s illness. By profession I am an artist, not a very successful one, but I earn enough money by my black-and-white work to satisfy my necessary wants. My only near relative, a sister, died five years ago, so that I am independent. I breakfasted this morning at nine, and after glancing through the morning paper I lighted my pipe and proceeded to let my mind wander in the hope that I might chance upon some subject for my pencil. The room, though door and windows were open, was oppressively hot, and I had just made up my mind that the coolest and most comfortable place in the neighbourhood would be the deep end of the public swimming bath, when the idea came. I began to draw. So intent was I on my work that I left my lunch untouched, only stopping work when the clock of St. Jude’s struck four. The final result, for a hurried sketch, was, I felt sure, the best thing I had done.

It showed a criminal in the dock immediately after the judge had pronounced sentence. The man was fat—enormously fat. The flesh hung in rolls about his chin; it creased his huge, stumpy neck. He was clean shaven (perhaps I should say a few days before he must have been clean shaven) and almost bald. He stood in the dock, his short, clumsy fingers clasping the rail, looking straight in front of him. The feeling that his expression conveyed was not so much one of horror as of utter, absolute collapse.

There seemed nothing in the man strong enough to sustain that mountain of flesh.

I rolled up the sketch, and without quite knowing why, placed it in my pocket. Then with the rare sense of happiness which the knowledge of a good thing well done gives, I left the house.

I believe that I set out with the idea of calling upon Trenton, for I remember walking along Lytton Street and turning to the right along Gilchrist Road at the bottom of the hill where the men were at work on the new tram lines.

From there onwards I have only the vaguest recollection of where I went. The one thing of which I was fully conscious was the awful heat, that came up from the dusty asphalt pavement as an almost palpable wave. I longed for the thunder promised by the great banks of copper-coloured cloud that hung low over the western sky.

I must have walked five or six miles, when a small boy roused me from my reverie by asking the time.

It was twenty minutes to seven.

When he left me I began to take stock of my bearings. I found myself standing before a gate that led into a yard bordered by a strip of thirsty earth, where there were flowers, purple stock and scarlet geranium. Above the entrance was a board with the inscription—

CHAS. ATKINSON MONUMENTAL MASON WORKER IN ENGLISH AND ITALIAN MARBLES

From the yard itself came a cheery whistle, the noise of hammer blows, and the cold sound of steel meeting stone. A sudden impulse made me enter. A man was sitting with his back towards me, busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. He turned round as he heard my steps and I stopped short. It was the man I had been drawing, whose portrait lay in my pocket. He sat there, huge and elephantine, the sweat pouring from his scalp, which he wiped with a red silk handkerchief. But though the face was the same, the expression was absolutely different. He greeted me smiling, as if we were old friends, and shook my hand. I apologised for my intrusion. “Everything is hot and glary outside,” I said. “This seems an oasis in the wilderness.” “I don’t know about the oasis,” he replied, “but it certainly’s hot, as hot as hell. Take a seat, sir!” He pointed to the end of the gravestone on which he was at work, and I sat down. “That’s a beautiful piece of stone you’ve got hold of,” I said. He shook his head. “In a way it is,” he answered; “the surface here is as fine as anything you could wish, but there’s a big flaw at the back, though I don’t expect you’d ever notice it. I could never make really a good job of a bit of marble like that. It would be all right in the summer like this; it wouldn’t mind the blasted heat. But wait till the winter comes. There’s nothing quite like frost to find out the weak points in stone.” “Then what’s it for?” I asked. The man burst out laughing. “You’d hardly believe me if I was to tell you it’s for an exhibition, but it’s the truth. Artists have exhibitions: so do grocers and butchers; we have them too. All the latest little things in headstones, you know.” He went on to talk of marbles, which sort best withstood wind and rain, and which were easiest to work; then of his garden and a new sort of carnation he had bought. At the end of every other minute he would drop his tools, wipe his shining head, and curse the heat. I said little, for I felt uneasy. There was something unnatural, uncanny, in meeting this man. I tried at first to persuade myself that I had seen him before, that his face, unknown to me, had found a place in some out-of-the-way corner of my memory, but I knew that I was practising little more than a plausible piece of self-deception. Mr. Atkinson finished his work, spat on the ground, and got up with a sigh of relief. “There! what do you think of that?” he said, with an air of evident pride. The inscription which I read for the first time was this—

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES CLARENCE WITHENCROFT BORN JAN. 18TH, 1860 HE PASSED AWAY VERY SUDDENLY ON AUGUST 20TH, 19— “In the midst of life we are in death.”

FOR SOME TIME I sat in silence. Then a cold shudder ran down my spine. I asked him where he had seen the name. “Oh, I didn’t see it anywhere,” replied Mr. Atkinson. “I wanted some name, and I put down the first that came into my head. Why do you want to know?” “It’s a strange coincidence, but it happens to be mine.” He gave a long, low whistle. “And the dates?” “I can only answer for one of them, and that’s correct.” “It’s a rum go!” he said. But he knew less than I did. I told him of my morning’s work. I took the sketch from my pocket and showed it to him. As he looked, the expression of his face altered until it became more and more like that of the man I had drawn. “And it was only the day before yesterday,” he said, “that I told Maria there were no such things as ghosts!” Neither of us had seen a ghost, but I knew what he meant. “You probably heard my name,” I said. “And you must have seen me somewhere and have forgotten it! Were you at Clacton-on-Sea last July?” I had never been to Clacton in my life. We were silent for some time. We were both looking at the same thing, the two dates on the gravestone, and one was right. “Come inside and have some supper,” said Mr. Atkinson. His wife is a cheerful little woman, with the flaky red cheeks of the country-bred. Her husband introduced me as a friend of his who was an artist. The result was unfortunate, for after the sardines and watercress had been removed, she brought out a Doré Bible, and I had to sit and express my admiration for nearly half an hour. I went outside, and found Atkinson sitting on the gravestone smoking. We resumed the conversation at the point we had left off. “You must excuse my asking,” I said, “but do you know of anything you’ve done for which you could be put on trial?” He shook his head. “I’m not a bankrupt, the business is prosperous enough. Three years ago I gave turkeys to some of the guardians at Christmas, but that’s all I can think of. And they were small ones, too,” he added as an afterthought. He got up, fetched a can from the porch, and began to water the flowers. “Twice a day regular in the hot weather,” he said, “and then the heat sometimes gets the better of the delicate ones. And ferns, good Lord! they could never stand it. Where do you live?” I told him my address. It would take an hour’s quick walk to get back home. “It’s like this,” he said. “We’ll look at the matter straight. If you go back home tonight, you take your chance of accidents. A cart may run over you, and there’s always banana skins and orange peel, to say nothing of fallen ladders.” He spoke of the improbable with an intense seriousness that would have been laughable six hours before. But I did not laugh. “The best thing we can do,” he continued, “is for you to stay here till twelve o’clock. We’ll go upstairs and smoke; it may be cooler inside.” To my surprise I agreed.

WE ARE SITTING now in a long, low room beneath the eaves. Atkinson has sent his wife to bed. He himself is busy sharpening some tools at a little oilstone, smoking one of my cigars the while. The air seems charged with thunder. I am writing this at a shaky table before the open window. The leg is cracked, and Atkinson, who seems a handy man with his tools, is going to mend it as soon as he has finished putting an edge on his chisel. It is after eleven now. I shall be gone in less than an hour. But the heat is stifling. It is enough to send a man mad.

#william fryer harvey #august heat #august 20 #well i don't know why...it's just that i'm sitting here sweating again in mid august in portland

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architectnews · 4 years ago

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Green wall grows five storeys up San Francisco apartment block

Architecture office Woods Bagot has covered an apartment block in San Francisco's Dogpatch neighbourhood with a green wall that climbs up five floors.

Called 2177 Third Street, the residential building includes 114 condos with amenities including a private courtyard, beach access and a spa – or "spaw" – for dogs.

2177 Third Street is in San Francisco's Dogpatch neighbourhood

Once a hub for the shipbuilding industry, the dockside neighbourhood of Dogpatch is now home to trendy bars and cafes.

Woods Bagot designed the apartment block to take advantage of California's balmy climate, with an outdoor courtyard and individual balconies. Open pedestrian bridges link different parts of the building and allow the breeze to pass through.

The green wall is five storeys high

The living wall that covers a large part of the exterior was created by local living wall specialists Habitat Horticulture, and contains 13 species of plants such as geraniums and agapanthus arranged in a swirling pattern.

"Many of these were chosen to attract local pollinators and on any given day you can find honeybees, moths and bumblebees all at once," said Habitat Horticulture founder David Brenner.

"Our approach thoroughly examines the micro-climates, potential growth rates, and lighting conditions of the installation space to ensure that an appropriate species is specified for each spot on the wall," he told Dezeen.

Teal glazed bricks are from a local supplier

The green wall at 2177 Third Street is 48 feet (14.6 metres) high and 25 feet (7.6 metres) wide.

Habitat Horticulture carries out maintenance work on the bottom portion of the wall on a monthly basis. Twice a year, a swing stage is used to tend to the top portions and replace any plants as needed.

The green wall is visible from inside the building

The wall is visible through floor to ceiling glazing that lines the corridors on every level of the building. The greenery compliments the building's bronze-coloured facade, which features boxy balconies that project from between walls of windows.

"A simple window wall system for the facade integrates custom bronze anodised aluminium extrusions which frame the 15-foot (4.5 metres) facade modules," Woods Bagot told Dezeen.

"A mixture of framed balconies and metallic fritted glass adds dynamism to the building's exterior."

Pedestrian bridges overlook the internal courtyard

At ground level, the shopfront windows are framed by glazed teal-coloured bricks sourced locally from the Dogpatch neighbourhood.

Bronze accents feature inside the lobby, picking out the lift doors and reception desk.

A rooftop lounge has fire pits for residents to gather around, and the condos at 2177 Third Street also come with access to a co-working space, a bike workshop and a resident's lounge with a "chef's kitchen".

2177 Third Street is topped by a roof terrace with fire pits

Woods Bagot is a global architecture firm founded in Australia in 1896. Recent US projects by the firm include a restaurant in Manhattan and the practice's own New York offices.

Photography is courtesy of Woods Bagot.

Project credits:

Client: Align Real Estate Woods Bagot architecture team: Guion Childress and Hannah Cao Woods Bagot interiors team: Katy Mercer and Hannah Cao Landscape architecture: Marina Design Group and Surface Structural engineering: Nishkian Menninger Civil engineer: BKF Engineers Mechanical and electrical engineer: Meyers + Engineers Plumbing engineering: SJ Engineers Living wall: Habitat Horticulture Facade: AGA design build Sustainability consultant: Urban Fabrick

The post Green wall grows five storeys up San Francisco apartment block appeared first on Dezeen.

#Architecture – Dezeen

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hq-crew · 4 years ago

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Senpai Squared

A gift for the @hqrarepairexchange for @jeeejae

Enjoy - posted just in time for everyone’s favourite horned owl’s birthday (20/9)

~ Mod Kenma

For all of Nishinoya’s exuberance, no one would say he wasn’t an observant guy. In fact, quite the opposite. It was as if his golden eyes were always watching, sizing up everything and everyone he encountered. His gaze haunted that which it passed over, lingering like the echoes of distant thunder long after the storm moves on. Being caught by it directly felt a lot like staring straight into oncoming headlights.

It was dangerous.

It was powerful.

It almost made up for the fact he was barely five feet tall.

And Bokuto Koutarou remembers with vivid clarity the first time that gaze was levelled squarely on him.

He’d moved out to the quiet neighbourhood, approximately a three-hour train ride from his childhood home in the city, to help out his ageing grandfather. The stubborn old man refused the idea of going into a care facility and no amounts of assurances that Bokuto or his sisters would visit regularly, or that there’d be lots of nice nurses and other old people to bitch with – “Your favourite hobby Gramps!” – would change the man’s mind.

Bokuto, whose physiotherapy qualifications gave him the most chance of being employed in a rural setting out of the family (whilst also lacking stable employment or accommodation in the city), was deigned ‘Gramps Carer #1’ and dutifully packed his stuff for a move out to his grandfather’s home town. The move didn’t bother him nearly as much as it bothered the people around him – his grandfather had always been an interesting dude, and his friends were always bitching about some new problem with city life so now he could invite them out to experience suburbia. In Bokuto’s eyes, it was a win-win.

There was also, of course, the fact that the entire population of the town over the age of thirty seemed to love the idea of having a new Physio (fifty perfect because Thank God I’ve Had Back Problems Since the Winter of ’43, and fifty percent because A New Eligible Bachelor This Is The Most Exciting Thing That’s Happened to This Town Since the Yotsuha Scandal). It was kind of fun for Bokuto, being the centre of attention – it almost felt like being famous. Akaashi – his closest friend – warned him not to let it get to his head. Akaashi’s husband and Bokuto’s long time friend Kenma had helpfully offered “I can bring Mario Kart with us when we visit to bring him down a peg or two”.

We’re a little bit off course here – where were we going? Ah yes, Nishinoya!

Right, so Bokuto had moved into town - hunky, compassionate, stable job, and most importantly single - and every mother within striking distance has simultaneously taken on the shot-put world record with how quickly they've flung their offspring in his general direction. Bokuto, for his part, thought it was really nice that the ladies around town were worried he didn't have enough friends his own age when he moved here and were introducing him to their kids. When he told his grandfather this, the old man laughed so hard he nearly hacked up a lung.

Two such mothers were Mitsuri and Akane Nishinoya, who had cottoned on to the one thing many of the other mother were either wilfully ignoring or straight up didn’t see – how Very Much Into Men Bokuto was. Or, to quote Kuroo – Bokuto’s other long-time friend – “No straight man on Earth radiates that much He-Man energy, least of all He-Man himself”. This piece of information worked well for the two women, as it gave their son (their pride, joy, and absolute menace) a fighting chance. Now, they had to orchestrate a means to put said son in front of said Hunky Physio without alerting said son to the fact they were rather Unceremoniously Meddling in his love life, again.

If they’d known what was coming, they’d probably have gone to far less effort.

With that in mind, it might do us some good to actually sit with said son for a moment before the Inevitable Collision. If you’d asked Nishinoya Yuu what he’d thought of the new guy in town, he probably wouldn’t have known what you were talking about. Hey – I said he was observant when it was in front of him, never said he was in any way attuned to local knowledge. When the new arrival had become the talk of the neighbourhood women’s association, he’d been able to dismiss it as idle chatter. After all, the younger Tanaka’s wedding (my boy Ryu) was just long enough ago that they needed something new to fuel the gossip chain.

When it reached his aunt, who was delighted to blather on about how handsome and lovely this new physio was when she’d gone in for some dodgy knee pain, sure, he’d been a little bit annoyed – he relished being the Most Important Man in his spinster aunt’s life – but he could brush it off relatively easily. His aunt wasn’t always to be trusted regarding men, she thought the convenience store guy was “charming”, so Nishinoya told himself her opinions weren’t exactly what one would call ‘in Vogue’ (that is, if he knew what a Vogue was).

But when his own mothers warmly told him about how “helpful” this guy had been when he’d stopped by the store to pick up some plants and wound up being roped into moving some of the heavier pots for the displays, oh, now Nishinoya was Fuming™. Who did this mystery guy think he was? Why was everyone so utterly rapt with him? Was he out here to steal Nishinoya’s title as the town’s Third Hottest Eligible Bachelor? Was he – dread the thought – going for No. 1?

And that sunk it – Nishinoya didn’t know this dude, but he Did Not Like Him.

Now that we know where Nishinoya was at before the Inevitable Collision, it’s time to return to Bokuto and the moment the two finally managed to get a good look at one another. Mind you, by this stage they’d both managed to ‘see’ one another no less than four times either side and had even had an Awkward Urinal Conversation (which we will not dwell long for a few reasons, least of which is the author – lacking the need to use a urinal – shudders to think of what is discussed over them). But the first time the pair actually managed to sustain eye contact – and or have an Actual Not Urinal Conversation – was a warm, spring day. Bokuto stopped in to the Nishinoya Garden and Flower Emporium to see if he could pick up some new seedlings for his grandpa to give him something new to brag about to his neighbours.

Nishinoya (Yuu) was attempting to fill a very small pot using a very large bag of potting mix which – all variables being equal – was almost always a recipe for disaster. That said, I don’t know if you’ve ever worked in a quiet retail store before, but sometimes making an absolute mess can be a blessing in disguise if it’s particularly slow in the store because at least then you have something to do while you clean up your own mess. Nishinoya shared this sentiment so much that he’d already grabbed the broom, dustpan, brush and bin so that when either of his mothers eventually attempted to chide him for making a mess, he could say “But Ma, look, I’m already cleaning it up – I prepped and everything! I am the Plant Guardian, protector of the pots, nothing’ll happen while I’m here!” and they’d all laugh and leave him be.

Bokuto knew a grand total of None of This, so when he saw the cute flower shop dude (with the sick dye job – he totally had to ask later about it, maybe that would be his ‘In’, Kuroo always said you needed an ‘In’ to talk to hot people) struggling to heave a bag almost the same size as his tiny body while emptying its contents into a pot, naturally Bokuto jogged right over to help.

I’d love to tell you it was a beautiful wisp of a moment, where as Bokuto’s hands brushed Nishinoya’s the two boys finally made eye contact and it was as dramatic and beautiful as I said in the opening. The fact I’ve had to put that version of events here (not to mention that I’ve been calling it the Inevitable Collision) should probably give you a better hint of what actually went down – namely Bokuto himself, as he tripped on a small overturned pot on the way over.

Now if that were the end of it, if he’d just gone down like the sack of flour Akaashi always joked that he was whenever he tried to ask for piggyback rides, it may not have been so terrible. Awkward, sure, but not terrible.

But this is Bokuto Koutarou, the only person on Earth who must apply 110 percent to everything, even falling over. This manifested in a sequence of events as follows: Bokuto slammed his hand on the closest table to try and steady himself, but his hunky bodyweight and the strange angle of the attempted grapple meant that all he did was cause two of the table’s legs to give out from underneath it and, with it, pots of newly planted geraniums flew straight up (Yuu swears, to this day, that he heard the Ave Maria as these poor flowers sailed through the air) and shattered onto the floor. The seedling pots that were closer to the now-broken legs rapidly slid down the table towards aforementioned beautiful disaster Koutarou, dumping their contents onto his defeated horned-owl hair.

A beat of absolute, ungodly silence followed.

For those wondering, no, the two were not alone in the store. There was a couple being served by Akane Nishinoya which made Four Witnesses for the Worst Moment of Koutarou’s Life (So Far). I should clarify that he wasn’t actually injured by the fall, except from the fatal blow to his ego and his perceived chances with the cute plant-store employee.

Currently in the throes of what his best friend Akaashi would call a “low mood” and what Kuroo would call “AGONY” complete with dramatic shirt-ripping, Bokuto Koutarou looked up from the floor, covered in dirt and broken pottery pieces and the shame of a thousand suns and for the first time he met the dangerous golden gaze of one very baffled Nishinoya Yuu.

If you asked Bokuto Koutarou, he’d tell you – without flinching – that he knew in that moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his life keeping that gaze centred on him.

Because as Nishinoya’s eyes moved along his body, sunlight moved through Bokuto’s whole being – warm pinpricks that left him burning until they arrived back at Bokuto’s owl-like gaze. As their eyes met again, the gold in Nishinoya’s eyes melted into unbridled mirth.

A chuckle.

Then another.

And another.

And like the building of rain from droplets to a storm, suddenly Nishinoya Yuu was cackling so hard he dropped the large bag of potting mix and had to lean on the counter for support.

Bokuto Koutarou was in love. Nishinoya Yuu was having a hysterical workday.

“You should have seen it Shouyou! The pots went everywhere, this dude flipped a table and-and–”

“OOOOHHH! What did your moth-hey-wait-WHAT ABOUT NATSU’S SPECIAL POT!!”

“Don’t worry! Ma moved the ‘most prized artwork’ earlier this week to the orchid shelf! But Shouyou-this guy-I swear-”

Hinata Shouyou breathed out his relief – his sister would have been devastated had she discovered the art project pot she’d made and given to the Favourite Senpai Ever was a casualty of this bizarre new arrival into the store. Nishinoya was a good friend (one of the few people on Earth shorter than him, to his eternal delight) and an even better senpai – he’d made it his personal mission to keep an eye on both Shouyou and Natsu growing up.

As they sat in the bar that Hinata had been meaning to come back to just to stick out his tongue at the bouncer because well now he was old enough (hah!), Nishinoya had regaled his old school friends and anyone close enough to listen with the Tale of his Workday. A lot of Nishinoya’s old friends liked to joke that only Nishinoya possessed the storytelling skill to make a ten second encounter into a fable in four acts, which was best delivered to a rapt audience of underclassmen – it was almost a shame that Kageyama was overseas and Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had major assessments due. That left only Hinata who, don’t tell anyone, was Nishinoya’s favourite audience member because he had the best reactions. Nishinoya’s hiccupping guffaws chorused with Hinata’s excited crow noises and for a moment you’d really believe someone had let a murder of crows into a bar.

Hinata sat next to his senpai and undertook in perhaps one of his rarest past-times – he thought. Now that he was older and wiser (supposedly) he felt like he should help his senpai out. After all, he’d provided glowing references (didn’t matter for what – Nishinoya, it turns out, could hype Hinata to anyone for any reason at all) and helped him out with his homework (with support, not with content), so now they had managed to progress to being friends without the insurmountable Senpai Wall between them.

Nishinoya was still cackling, dissolving into fits of giggles with each mental replay of the scene, each detail that remained stuck in his mind’s eye. He gripped Hinata’s shirt, struggling to make coherent noises come out of his mouth between the choking gasps of truly chaotic amusement. The back of Nishinoya’s mind registered that wow Hinata had gotten really buff since his holiday in Argentina but was so stuck on this fUCKINGH LUNATIC oH My GoD that the preceding thought sunk back down into the recesses of his consciousness. Even Hinata couldn’t stop giggling at the sight of Nishinoya absolutely losing it and the two remained in a cycle of giggles.

“I almost wanna talk to the guy, y’know? Like what a dude.”

Oooh. The smallest seed of an idea planted itself in Hinata’s brain.

“I mean, I gotta give him a hard time for the table-pfft-and-the-” more giggles, followed by a deep shaking breath as Nishinoya attempted (he really attempted) to compose himself. “-but-anyway-I mean… Maybe he’ll be a bro, y’know, because man, I’m so proud of Ryu, but like, I miss him – am I allowed to miss him while he’s on honeymoon? ‘Cause I fuckinbg miss my bro-”

The seed germinated into a tiny sprout.

“-and if nothing else I need someone to help me find this New Guy – have I told you ‘bout the New Guy – don’t get me started Sho, this guy I don’t even get it who is he where did he come from-”

Now that was like Plant Steroid to Hinata’s growing idea. Unfortunately for Hinata he has the world’s worst poker face, so as the idea bloomed rapidly, the entire bar heard the excited crow screech.

“oooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! Noya-noya-I’ll help you find the plant-guy!!! I’ll do it!!! I know who he is!!!”

“You DO!?! Why didn’t you say so Sho! C’mon! The night is young, let’s find this plant-killer!”

The two tumbled out of the bar with determination, but upon realising Nishinoya had an opening shift (where he was probably going to have to repair the damage done by the Plant-Killer) and Shouyou had training, they resolved to make a plan during the more reasonable daylight hours to find the mystery New Guy and befriend the walking disaster.

As the two parted ways, only one of them knew those were the same person. And so, Hinata’s Great Idea took root.

Hinata’s Great Idea could be broken down into four steps –

1. Bring Nishinoya and Bokuto together

2. Nishinoya and Bokuto bond!

3. Two Awesome Senpais!!!!!!

4. ???????????????? …kiss?

Point Four was…contentious. He decided to sort that out another day.

For now, he was focused on Point 1 – bringing them together. He already had Nishinoya on board, which meant he only needed the other half of the Brainless Beefcake Bundle (author’s words, not Hinata’s). Luckily for him, he sort-of-kind-of-had-definitely-spoken-to-maybe-once Bokuto which in Hinata’s books meant they were at least good enough friends to invite him to go for a run. The fizzy-drink bubbling sensation in Hinata’s chest when Bokuto agreed could be chalked up to the excitement of a new running buddy and not to whatever emotions lingered behind the question marks in Point Four.

Dawn’s soft light filtered through the trees, illuminating the last wisps of a misty morning. As the world was painted in purples, pinks and yellows, Bokuto could only focus on orange.

Bokuto was thrilled, confused, but thrilled, to be out running with the tiny orange blur. He’d encountered the blur in passing so it was nice to actually attempt to get a look at the face. He wasn’t making much headway though, because whenever he got close the orange blur made a frankly adorable little screeching noise and powered off. It was fun, though, the thrill of chasing after someone full tilt. Akaashi and Kuroo were both too busy to race him, and Kenma would honestly rather die than run. This sprinting, this chasing, was freeing. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed this.

The blur was getting farther and farther away as Bokuto remained deep in thought. The blur made a confused wail, bobbing in the distance. Right! They were racing! Well if he wanted a race, let’s give him a race! Bokuto threw all his strength into chasing the blur, screaming all the way as he did. The cold air burned into his lungs as his steps pounded into the ground, one after another. He closed the distance between them, grinning ear to ear as he did. The blob wasn’t giving up without a fight and charged onwards, elated. The pair’s joyful screams echoed along the mountains and well into the sunny morning.

If you asked Bokuto what he remembered most from that moment about the blur he’d come to know as Hinata Shouyou, he would have said the instant he raced past him and spotted those wide, hungry brown eyes that watched him like they craved everything he had to give.

When Hinata had told Noya to just “leave it to me” regarding the Table-Flipping Menace, the expectation had been that the second meeting would occur somewhere neutral like a park or bar or even that boba tea store that Tsukishima had worked at over the summer and they’d all relentlessly teased him for.

Suffice to say Hinata’s apartment was not the expected middle ground. Not that Noya minded – Hinata’s apartment was bright, clean but well-lived in, and had lots of fun mementos from Hinata’s travels abroad. Noya felt a lot of fondness for the place, most recently because he’d been asked to house-sit for a three-month stint so it still registered in the back of his mind as ‘home’. It was all the little details that made it so undeniably Shouyou – posters from their school events together, one of Natsu’s artworks (framed, and signed by the artist herself), a chipped planter that Noya had picked out as a housewarming gift and had somehow managed to survive living here, dozens of foreign knick-knacks on a shelf that seemed to grow more and more strained with each sojourn around the world, and of course the photos. They covered a whole wall (right up to the ceiling too, and you could see which ones Kageyama had helped with and which ones Hinata had done with a ladder and gusto based on how crooked they were). Noya was proud to say he featured in a large portion of them, though the catalogue of his bad hair decisions was a little embarrassing.

When Noya turned up, snacks and drinks in hand, the only thing that looked decidedly out of place in Hinata’s apartment was one very confused Table Flipping Menace. The TFM hovered awkwardly, as if not sure where to sit or what he was allowed to touch – though the way his eyes darted as they tried to soak in the sheer magnitude of personality in Shouyou’s apartment screamed excitement. Noya knew it was the TFM because he’d never forget a haircut that cool – a mental reminder to talk to Sakeo about upping his ante – and because when the TFM’s eyes finally landed on him Noya had to fight the urge to giggle. The Ave Maria played on repeat in his head.

“Oh! Oh! Nishinoya-senpai! You’re here!!” Hinata bounded over, making sure to put Noya’s offerings down before throwing all his weight at him in a hug that was more collision than anything else. Noya crushed him close in return, squeezing Shouyou’s not-actually-scrawny-any-more body and something akin to a memory attempted to wriggle its way to the surface of Noya’s mind. Unfortunately, it took too long to dig itself up, because just after their hug finished, he heard “Bokuto-senpai!”

Nishinoya felt the recoil of that emotional slap to the face for about a week after this moment.

“Bokuto-senpai, this is Nishinoya-senpai! Nishinoya-senpai’s the coolest – he works at the plant store with his mums, you met them, they’re super nice, and he went to school with me and one time he an-”

“Hey hey, let’s not spoil all my good stories at once!” A quick ruffle to Hinata’s hair (despite the mock offense with which the gesture was received) and Noya finally got a good look at the monster of a TFM who was standing there.

Noya was used to tall people – no surprises there – but this guy exuded a completely different presence. Everything about him seemed to be screaming ‘look at me – I’m worth watching’, from the way that he moved (even awkwardly) to the way he spoke. He radiated an energy you couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t that ethereal, passive beauty that drew people in either – like Blessed and Holy Kiyoko-no, Tanaka-san, or God’s Gift to Humanity Sugawara Koushi – but it was something different. Something strange. Something Noya decided he’d add to the list of things he was going to work out (like ‘why they teach useless maths in school’ and ‘how on Earth did Daichi manage to outdrink them at every opportunity’).

Well, no time like the present, he figured. “Nice to finally get a name for our plant-killer! I’m Nishinoya Yuu, guardian of the plants, friend to this little loser,” a quick noogie to Hinata’s head, for good measure, “and best senpai ever! So ‘Bokuto’?” The TFM’s – Bokuto? – eyes went wide. “Tell me ‘bout yourself!”

The TFM – who had been eyeing him with one of those expressions Noya could never tell was romantic interest or constipation – jolted to life suddenly. Introductions quickly gave way to apologies, “Please tell your family I’m super sorry again about the table I don’t even know what happened,” then to stories of adventures and misdemeanours as the little group found their own awkward rhythm of chaos and laughter. Hinata’s neighbours did tell them to keep it down at one point when the screaming (from all three parties) got a little intense, but all that did was reduce three grown adults to little children stifling giggles.

By the time night fell, Noya was no closer to working out what it was about Bro-kuto (as he was now saved in his phone) that intrigued him, but honestly, he didn’t really mind.

“Bro-ku-to!!! Get your ass up this second! Let’s go let’s go!”

Bokuto mumbled a hazy ‘Datekou?’ between snores. Answering Kuroo’s panicked three-am call about which tie he should wear to his big client meeting – whilst not a regret because he loved his friend and wanted to see him do well – was evidently not a smart decision for his sleep schedule.

Bokuto rolled over and snuggled back into his pillow, floating into dreamland. He was receiving a medal, and as they hung it over his neck, he could hear the crowd cheering him on, chanting his name – Bokuto! Bokuto!

“Bokuto! Bokuto!!! Wake up!!!” Noya shook the puddle that called itself Bokuto Koutarou as vigorously as he could to no avail. You may be wondering how it was Nishinoya Yuu managed to make it inside Bokuto senior’s house to start shaking him. The open window provides some clues but raises more questions, especially given that it’s two floors up. The answer was simple: Nishinoya Yuu had performed a stunning homage to Da Bois Night (Summer Edition – The Remix), not that Noya was familiar with the word ‘homage’. If he was able to climb the outside of their concrete school in the rain, then getting into an open window on a sunny morning on a brick house was easy.

Bokuto was still sleeping like the dead, mouth hanging open and all, and Noya needed a new plan. Noya however was not a ‘plan-man’. He took a couple of steps back, drew all his breath in, and then… “Rrrrrooling THUNDER!!!!”

Flinging himself with all the force he could muster, he attempted to tackle Bokuto off his bed. His shoulder slammed into the small of Bokuto’s back, which succeeded not only in making Bokuto yelp but also moving enough of his body that the mass of limbs and blankets rolled off the bed with a loud thump.

The blanket mass that now contained two useless disasters simultaneously started groaning and laughing from the floor. Bokuto untangled himself from the sheets to find Noya laughing in what had since become characteristic of their friendship, and he couldn’t stop himself from giggling along. Soon both were cackling, and each time one tried to stop the other would make eye contact, or say something, or in one notable case snort ungracefully, and the two would simply start all over again.

Their laughter echoed down the halls. His grandfather, thankfully, had hearing aids which he took out at night. The man couldn’t hear a thing without them.

Once they’d managed to calm down (and put most of Bokuto’s sheet’s back on his bed, which Noya had then jumped on and flopped into like some kind of demanding cat), Bokuto decided to at least try and do his normal morning routine. This attempt at normalcy was somewhat thwarted by Noya’s commentary and fashion advice. “Grab the pink shirt!” “Sick I love this– wait, shit, I’ve got work later.” “What about flamingos hula-hooping is unprofessional? They’re hardworking animals!”

“Can you grab me the gel?” “You use the pine one? God, no wonder you always smell like air freshener.” “Hey! I’ll have you know my friends say I smell ‘rugged’ and ‘not overbearing’.” “Dude.”

“Is that how you get it to stick up?!” “Duh, makes more sense like this!” “Bokuto, my man, I may have seriously underestimated you. You may actually be one of the coolest people I know. And I know plenty of cool people.” “Yeah, your aunt is awesome.” “Not who I meant, but damn straight.”

As Bokuto flipped back down from the bar in the doorway where he’d been hanging upside down, Noya absently checked his phone. Normally, Bokuto would have found the scrunch of Nishinoya’s nose rather cute, but there was something in the furrow of his brows that filled Bokuto with confusion. He flopped down next to (or more accurately, around) Noya, attempting to peek at his phone. Noya chuckled lightly, swatting him away with a bat of his hand. No luck. Bokuto leaned closer and watched those eyes as they skimmed over messages, gold tarnished with worry the further down the conversation they got. Noya’s dyed tuft (now a bright green thanks to a bet with Shouyou) had started to fall in front of his eyes but he was ignoring it.

What Nishinoya Yuu could not ignore was when a hand that was not his own moved the hair for him.

Their eyes met, and among other flitting thoughts that struck Nishinoya in that moment, one was how Bokuto’s hand was easily bigger than his face. Another was how nice his hair looked down, even though it was still pretty sick gelled up. Another was how much fun this loud dude was. How much he made him laugh, made him stronger, challenged him, excited him. How lucky he was that he’d flipped a goddamn table in his little plant shop.

The last was how sharp and wild and fucking terrified Bokuto’s owl-like eyes were.

He leaned his head softly into the hand that was so close, that was bigger than his face, and turned his eyes once more to Bokuto, who looked every bit as hopeful as he looked amazed.

Nishinoya was an observant guy.

He didn’t see the kiss coming at all.

Epilogue – Shouyou

When the two of them told Hinata the good news, Hinata was elated! The Great Idea had come to fruition! It worked! Two awesome senpais!

He was so elated, in fact, that the first thing he did was grab Nishinoya and kiss him, before barrelling into Bokuto and jumping into his arms.

Wait. Shit.

Well, that explains Point Four.

You could hear the echoes of their laughing, of their joy – a flock of loud, excited birds – all the way up the mountainside.

#bokuto koutarou #nishinoya yuu #hinata shouyou #rare pair #poly ship #mod kenma rises from the grave #hq rarepair #rare pair exchange #mod kenma writes #i have another story sitting in the drafts if y'all want it #hqrarepairexchange2020

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karltomb · 3 years ago

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Geranium new home development has extensive expertise in community planning and approaches each project with a new viewpoint.

https://www.geranium.com/

#geranium neighbourhood #geranium ontario home builder #master planned community

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pehheach · 5 months ago

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#no id #purple geranium #nature #neighbourhood #white #purple #june #summer #2024 #flowers

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anne-lister-adventures · 4 years ago

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Sunday, 17 May 1840

3 40/’’

12 35/’’

Off at 5 10/’’ – Alighted in 5 minutes and walked along the plain – A-[Ann] joined me by and by – Rise gentle began at 6 25/’’ A-[Ann] walked 1 1/2 hour till 7 5/’’ when she got in at the foot of the mountain a German waggon and 4 horses were stopping here to bait and rest a little – And here and now 7 5/’’ begins the steep rise –

At top at 7 50/’’? in 5 or 6 minutes turn rather right, and descend a little and lose sight of plain of New Shamacha – Green, fertile, patched with good corn, and strewed with lines of black, oblong, ealing topped huts looking like heaps of manure laid up to rot, and in lines of 4 or 5 or 10 or 12 huts – I once counted 30+ huts in one long line –

Wind to the right all along – Beautiful green, pointed undulating hill mountains – Fine sheep walk – Much cattle and fat tailed sheep, of both more black or dark coloured than any other colour – The plain and hills covered with pheasant’s eye (Paeonia) and wild Chamomile, and Thistles, and Spurges, and Fennel, and much broad leafed Dock and large leafed Pencil-Geranium, and the pretty small leafed small pink flower Geranium so common at home – And the hills where shrubby covered with a bright dark green Myrtle leafed thorny bush (Caper?) and a very small leafed Elm, or is it Hazel? and Ash-Bushes cropped down low – And White Thorn, and Dog Rose, and Bramble and Sloe, and Salley, § and Hornbeam? and Rock Cistus? and a woolly Mountain Ash like leafed shrub, Sumach? occasional peeps at the plain –

The German waggon and 4 horses had passed me at 8 – Now at 8 1/4 on looking back (had stood writing – Till A-[Ann] and the Kibitka had got within about 150 or 200 yards of me) saw all at a stand – Our oxen lying down, selon leur ordinaire, in a muddy spot where a little spring crosses the road too tempting for them to pass – A-[Ann] came up to me at 8 25/’’ – Delayed 20 minutes –

At 8 3/4 see village in the other (left) prong of the fork head of our valley and in 2 minutes peep down into valley on the other side our Col – Many ups and downs since first thinking myself at the top – Then turn left round the head of our valley and at 9 5/’’ right over the village seen to the left at 8 3/4, and at the top? gather white aromatic herb Samphorin? that we used to have about Montpellier –

At 9 1/4 at the top I think – A minute or 2 ago, fine peep of the plain of Novo Shemacha – A road all along our narrow valley on the opposite side to us, beginning at the foot of the valley opposite where the steep ascent began at 7 5/’’ – In the distance I had thought it was the road we had to go – In fact, it would have been to us a nearer tho’ a rather steeper? road – The plain of N.[Novo] S.[Shemacha] seems covered with tanks?

At 9 20/’’ at the spot where the 2 roads along the valley meet, and fine peep at the plain – At 9 50/’’ at the top – No! Wind right, and at 10 on Col looking down on to the plain (hazy now over it) – ([written on] Saturday 23 May) And to the left up a dell and 2 ranges, one above the other of hill, and large village of Sâcles, as before, on the ridge of the lower range – Still another hill-side to skirt along ascending – Cool air here – Even a wind from my right (the South?) –

At 10 20/’’ apparently at the summit and about to begin the descent – Look into a bit of the valley I have left behind (I always turning right) and look down into valley thus sweeping before and behind me (1/4 mile before the carriage) and smaller valleys above and branching into it –

Fine green valley view, but not a tree to be seen – Good soil even at the very top of the Col – The hills rich pasture, and patched with dark green corn –

At 10 20/’’ at top and 2 or 3 minutes farther little stone bridge over mountain misseau that crosses the road and just above a stone well or fountain supplied by a small spring and A-[Ann] came up on one of the Cossacks horses the man himself walking by and leading the animal, and our own Cossack Sous Officier following on horseback – A-[Ann] tired of the oxen, and had taken my hint, and mounted one of the horses – Picturesque village of Sâcles on hill just above (right) and gardens and vines at 10 35/’’ – We all went on together till 11 7/’’ another such fountain in a hollow and sheep and people and dogs and the German waggon and 4 were stopping to bait and steepish ascent again – And here A-[Ann] left me she riding up hill faster than I now felt inclined to walk –

I was heated and began to feel that I should not be sorry to reach Old Shemacha – It occurred to me to mount the other horse – Then I thought I would walk it out from one Shemacha to the other – Toiled up the hill vainly hoping to see the Town from the top – But no! There was a large village of Sâcles on the hill of the opposite side the valley but S-[Semacha] was still out of sight – At the top of this hill at 11 35/’’ – Sheep and felt huts and shepherds and dogs – Wrote my notes leaning on a large sandstone with Persian inscription and did a little job and killed flea in my drawers A-[Ann] and the 2 Cossacks far on before –

Fine cool air – Breeze – Thirsty for the last 20 minutes – Walked on a little farther and then sat down for 5 minutes on the green bank (right) at the side of the road – Then walked forwards again to the top of another hill and here at 12 I found A-‘s[Ann’s] Cossack waiting for me – He had left her at the Station and come to shew me the way –

From here the descent began – The Town not seen for some minutes – In the hollow below – Left it to the left, and made straight along the rich flowery pastures for the Station House 1/2 mile or more from the Town – Nice walk – Gathered flowers – Abundance of a beautiful jonquil-like dark blue flower and of pretty single tulips – Pheasant’s eye – Pretty little red poppies as everywhere, and wild chamomile, and pretty vetches and forget-me-nots &c. &c. –

Nice enough Station House – Fountain of excellent water close by – Found A-Ann loitering about – Heated – Lay down for a few minutes – Tea – A-[Ann] heated up our boiled rice – Not inclined to eat – But drank much Tea and ate some raisins – and did out of doors a large solid job – ([written on] Thursday 28 May )Tea over now at 2 50/’’ – Don’t feel much tired now after quenching my thirst with 1/2 dozen cups of warm Tea and a glass of cold water and frequent rinsings of the mouth with cold water – Sent General Kotzebue’s letter and our cards to the Commandant Colonel Ascheberg –

Very hot – Not a dry thread on me on returning – Washed face and hands at the fountain of 1830 – Sandstone – 4 wells, and a beautiful inch-bore-pipe stream of soft clear water perpetually running – What a blessing to the Post Station-House, and Cossacks, and travellers and all the neighbourhood people! –

The Town of Shemacha on the opposite hill side, a verst from our Station House – Must see the Town as we return – Our podorojna must be signed by the Commandant qui dormait – At 4 ordered the horses to be harnessed – Tiresome waiting – We have been out a little till now 4 35/’’ Off at 5 1/4 without podorojna – Had sent after – It in vain – On dormait toujours – Determined to wait at the door or in the Town till somebody was awake enough to get it signed –

Alighted for a few minutes and walked up the hill to the mausolea – 4 – Went into each – Domed – Pretty little buildings – 3 tombs each within handsome carved and coloured with Persian inscriptions – In the last mausoleum the 3 tombs + the little tomb of an infant and in this last mausoleum measured the door (with A-‘s[Ann’s] 2 ft.feet rule) of beech wood? 3 ft.[feet] 5 1/2 in.[inches] within the styles – Styles 2 1/2 in.[inches] –

The Yeddi Gumbaz Mausoleum about 1.5 km from Shamakhi. Of the 4 mausolea Anne saw, only 3 survive. The roof of the fourth has apparently collapsed. (Image Source)

The tombs inside one of these small buildings. Note the colorful inscriptions. (Image source)

‘Tis now 5 25/’’ – Soon down the hill (the carriage had gone forward) at the good bridge over the broadish bedded shallow river where the carriage waited for us – Waited in the Town sauntering under the arcades among the shops while our Cossack got the podorojna – The shops well stocked with the commodities fruits &c. common hereabouts –

At the little river just out of the Town at 6 10/’’ – Over in 5 minutes – 2 little streams and afterwards a mere wide small-bouldery dry bed – At 6 1/2 short barley in car – They say, says George, this stage is 40 v.[versts] instead of 25, and the 33 v.[versts] tomorrow = 50 – Did not arrive at our Station tonight till 8 55/’’ –

Very fine day and evening – Don’t feel much tired now, nor have I felt much tired – The great thirst allayed, I was quite right again – Tea at 10 and 1 thing or other till 11 1/2 – Undressing (to put on clean linen tomorrow) and catching fleas &c. till 12 1/2 Reaumur 14 1/3º at 11 1/2 p.m.

§ yellow Jasmin – a plant something like a wild parsley – Blue Symphitum (asperinum?) butter cups – Rose trees –

versts

a.m. 5 10/’’ to 1 New to Old Shemacha 24 5/7

p.m. 5 1/4 to 8 55/’’ Old S-[Shemacha] to Maraza 25

49 5/7

[symbols in the margin of the page:] L✓

[in the margin of the page:] manure-like huts

[in the margin of the page:] shrubs and flowers

[in the margin of the page:] 1st fountain

[in the margin of the page:] 2nd fountain

Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0106 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0107

#anne lister code breaker #anne lister #ann walker #moscow to baku 1840

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cultivatxr · 4 years ago

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He stares intensely for a few moments. "Petal. Lily. Gardener. Florist. Geranium. Ribbon. Chrysanthemum. Braids. Jacket. Bee. BuzzBuzz. Mage. Dark Magician Girl." Finally, he lets up. "Anythin' stickin'?"

Give my muse a nickname. They will tell yours whether they’ll let you call them that or not.

Laughter lines the corner of her mouths at the recitation of such an elaborate list; amusement muffled behind delicate fingers as she stifles the warm flow of mirth that threatens to overflow her lips. It’s better than expected; endearing too once you get past the fact it’s essentially just a list of nouns rather than adjectives. None of them are hideous; not like the ones she’d earned so far from the neighbourhood children and even a certain icy Shinra.

“I think you need to up your game, Elmo. They’re good, but they could still be better.”

(No they couldn’t.) She was going to cling to her new nom-de-guerres until she died a happy floral inspired death.

#You know I'm trash for these #And they're so cute!#xoxo.#turkoftheslums

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soracities · 5 years ago

Text

summer, fragments--soft, cool nights, rain and warm laughter, lingering scent of lemon leaves crushed between palms, thyme blossoms, rag-time music on a patio, neighbourhood cats sunning themselves under pink geraniums, the scent of wisteria mixed with the sea, a silver pendant on sun-dark skin. sea-light, sea-light, sea-light.

#p #mood notes #shut up mim #x

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padfootagain · 6 years ago

Text

Welcome To Hell (II)

Part 2 : Demon In Black

Here comes a second part for this Logan fic! I hope you all like it :)

Demon! Logan is brilliant… I'm having so much fun with him!

Gif not mine

Word Count : 2231

"What the hell is happening around here?"

"Y/N, I can explain…"

"Oh, can you now?"

"Y/N, don't be angry."

"I can't believe you didn't warn me about this."

You put down the flowers in their basket, reorganizing the gerberas before passing to the lilies. Pink flowers next to orange ones.

You heaved a tired sigh. Of course, your best friend (and associate) would not tell you if your ex fiancé dropped by. Of course…

"You should have told me he was here!" you protested again.

"What would have been the use to that?" Ahlem replied with a shrug while she readjusted the red roses.

"To warn me? To just… tell me! He's my ex!"

"The man was a jerk, don't act like he wasn't."

"He wasn't just a jerk."

She heaved a sigh, shaking her head.

"This is ridiculous. He treated you so badly when the two of you broke up…"

"I did break his heart," you replied.

"This wedding would have been a catastrophe and you were right to put an end to it."

Ahlem check the time and headed back inside to officially open the flower shop for the day. She readjusted her hijab before helping you moving a rather large palm tree. Your palm tree. It wasn't for sail, you just adored the plant. You had planted it with you ex actually, and now that the memory came back to you, you looked at the tree with a perplex expression.

"Anyway, he's gone now, I sent him away. And that's for the best."

"What did he even want? Did he tell you?"

You noticed immediately the nervous way she tugged at her apron, although Ahlem shook her head in denial.

"Ahlem…"

"What? He didn't say."

"You're lying!"

"I'm not lying!"

"Yes, you are!"

"I am not…"

"Pinocchio, your nose is showing!"

She rolled her eyes, but didn't dare to deny the truth again. Instead, she remained silent. You heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because there's no need to make you sad," she earnestly answered, and you couldn't manage to be mad at her anymore.

So instead of insisting, you patted her shoulder.

"Next time, do tell me he was here, okay?"

She nodded, and you exchanged a smiled. After all, she just wanted to protect you. The same way you would have protected her. But the news of your ex being back in town was not exactly what you would have defined as a good way to start the day.

The young morning was bathing San Francisco in light that still contained traces of the golden glimmer of dawn. The streets were already filled with people hurrying to work, cars honking and children shouting as they walked to school. Before you walked back into your shop, you took a couple of steps in the street, watching the sun shining on the bay. You were lucky to live in one of these streets from which you could see the water glimmering in the distance. These endless streets that looked like they would never stop climbing had at least this advantage of having a nice view. And the long road of Pierce Street was one of them. Across the street, Mrs. Princeton was giving water to her impressive collection of geraniums, that she had placed on the edges of her windows, decorating her large white house. You waved at the old lady as she appeared at a new window, and you could see the giggle on her lips as she waved back at you. You turned back towards the red brick walls of your shop, but were stopped by the sound of very loud laughs coming from your left, and you had to turn towards the source of such a noise.

Behind you, the Alta Plaza Park stretched its grass still shimmering from the morning dew. You recognized the two boys who were laughing as they ran down the few steps that separated the inside of the park and Jackson Street.

"Lorenzo! David! Be careful!" you admonished as they pushed each other playfully, still running down the stairs and jumping above the last step.

"Yes, Y/N!" they chanted, but didn't slow down.

"One day one of you will fall and I won't be the one to take you to the hospital for a broken arm!" you warned them, but they merely laughed at you.

They crossed the street to reach you and give you a hug. Every morning and every afternoon they passed before your shop on their way to school, their parents living on Clay Street, on the other side of the park. The two twelve-year-old boys were adorable. They often came to your shop after school and helped you out a little, or merely stole all the biscuits and chocolate that you kept in the drawer of your desk. After all, you were friends with their parents, and the four of them knew very well that if they wanted to find their boys, they merely had to cross the park and come to your shop.

"Be good today!" you went on in that same motherly tone.

"We're always good!" Lorenzo protested, and you playfully messed up his dark hair in response.

"Of course you're not! Little devils!"

"But that's why you love us," David replied with a cocky smile, and you couldn't refrain a bright laugh.

"That's quite true…" you admitted. "Now, off you go, or you'll be late to school."

"Have you received these new flowers you were expecting?" Lorenzo asked, ignoring your order.

"I have," you nodded with an excited smile. "This very morning. I'll show you this afternoon after school. Deal?"

"Cool!" the two children excitedly answered, before giving you a high five and running down the street.

"And be careful!" you admonished from afar, but they ignored you again.

Ahlem walked out of the shop, chuckling.

"Well… you know that you're not their mother, right?" she teased you, and you merely ordered her to shut up in response.

And she doubled with laughter.

You heaved a dramatic sigh, walking back in your shop filled with love and flowers.

This shop… you had dreamt about it since you were a child. And for six years it had been filling your life with happiness. It was your dream coming true.

A smile formed on your lips at the thought.

After all, your life was quite good indeed.

At least… for now…

---------------------------------------------------------------

"And then my grandson was looking for the spoons, and he was opening all the drawers in hurry like he was fulfilling an important mission… and all the while the cat was looking at the birthday cake and I was certain that the cake would not survive that bloody cat! But after finally finding a spoon, Paul turned back towards the cake, and he noticed the cat sitting on the edge of the table and staring at the food, and he looked at me with his big black eyes, you know… and with a very serious face he pointed at the cat and asked 'bad cat?'"

You and Mrs. Princeton laughed hard, and you heard Ahlem chuckling as well as she brought some tea for the three of you.

"In the end, I pushed the cat away, but for the rest of the evening, Paul kept on repeating 'bad cat' everytime he was coming near the table."

The old woman let out a loud wave of laughter and you soon joined her.

"He's adorable," you nodded before drinking a gulp of hot tea.

"He is, he is," she nodded with so much love eyes in her dark eyes.

The afternoon was stretching into a lazy sunny day. Around 3 pm there weren't so many customers for your shop, as usual. It would become busier as people would come home from work. You weren't complaining though. The calm allowed you to take a cup of tea with your neighbour every day. Her long, black fingers wrapped around the cup with a little shakiness in them that came with old age, but she was such a witty and kind woman, she didn't act like her age, that was for certain. And on many subjects, she had a benevolence and an open mind that some younger adults lacked these days. You felt so lucky to count her as your friend…

You were interrupted as the little bell above the front door of the flower shop rang, and you stood up in a hurry.

"Do you want me to deal with that client?" Ahlem kindly proposed, but you shook your head.

"Enjoy your tea, I'll be back in a sec."

You walked through the back room and to the main shop to attend to this new customer of yours. You discovered there, lost in the hibiscus section, a tall woman, blond, blue eyes, and extremely beautiful. You could only acknowledge that. A shame that she wore such a condescending expression on her attractive features.

"Hello," you welcomed her with a bright smile. "How can I help you?"

"Are you the owner of the shop? Y/N Y/L/N?"

You nodded in affirmation.

"Well, I was looking for you actually," she gave you a pinched smile. "I am going to get married in a couple of weeks, and I would need someone to take care of the flowers. You came as highly recommended."

"Congratulations!" you grinned. "Of course, I would be happy to help! Would you like to set an appointment so we can talk in detail about what you would like and what I can do for you? Or do you have the time now?"

"Oh, no, not now… I'm expected somewhere. But perhaps I could come back tomorrow? 2 pm?"

"Perfect, yes. I'm sure we can find something that will make you happy. Will your fiancé be attending too?"

"I will see with him if he is available."

"Well, I'll see you again tomorrow then… but if I may ask… who recommended my shop to you?"

"My fiancé, actually! He is… well acquainted with your business."

"Oh, really? You… you live in the neighbourhood?"

"He used to. And he was adamant at having you taking care of the floral arrangements."

"For how long have you two been together?"

"Two months… I know, it's not so much time, but… when you know, you know."

"It's beautiful, actually! You must really love each other a lot."

"We do."

She checked her very expensive watch and gave you another one of her blank smiles.

"I have to go, but I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yes, have a great day."

The blond woman walked out of the shop and into the street. The bright California sun was so hot on her skin. She put on her Ray Ban sunglasses, and walked with an energetic pace towards the tiny park on her right. She climbed up the few steps to enter the space filled with grass and trees. She ignored the children laughing and the couples kissing. Instead, she headed straight for a bench where a man all dressed in black was sitting.

Logan welcomed his colleague with a smile.

"So?" he asked with a toothy smile.

"Tomorrow, 2 pm," Natasha answered with a content smile as she sat down by Logan's side.

"Brilliant."

"You were right about her… she is… disgustingly kind."

"Isn't she?"

"That's a challenge to make her turn."

"I love challenges. And my plan is brilliant, it'll work."

Of course, it would work. After a month spent studying you and your habits, he knew exactly how to destroy your world in such a way that you would sign anything to get it all back. After a month watching you, he had developed his plan. He had needed two more months to allow Natasha to seduce the pawn that would be used for his first move against you. And now, after three months of hard work, everything was finally ready. And he couldn't wait to win this battle.

"She asked me who had recommended her shop," Natasha chuckled with a cruel tone in her voice.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" Logan frowned.

"Of course not. I mean, I merely told her that my fiancé knew her shop. I can't wait to be tomorrow to see the look on her face when her ex passes through that door with me."

"I'm glad to see that you enjoy your role in this game of mine."

"Simon is a beautiful man, how could I not enjoy it? Breaking the hearts of attractive men… there's no more delightful activity after all."

"Poor thing…"

They both laughed.

"After tomorrow, she'll be broken-hearted," Logan smiled. "And she will need a knight in shining armour."

"Or well, in your case… a demon in black," Natasha chuckled.

"Indeed. And once I'm in… it'll all be done quickly."

"I hope so. If you fail this mission, your neck might be in danger."

"I've never failed."

"I would miss you if Joshua was forced to break your skull."

"Me? Really?" Logan raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Well, when I say you, I mean sex with you, obviously."

"Now, that sounds more like the Natasha that I know: ruthless, heartless and always ready to have a great time."

"I can't wait to see her little bubble of happiness explode. So much good makes me sick."

Logan let a smile form on his lips as he leaned against the back of the bench, turning his face towards the warm sun, and closing his eyes behind his dark sunglasses.

"Oh, don't worry. The bubble will explode indeed…"

*********************************

Tag list : ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @presstocontinue @ilmiopiccolounivers0 @madamrogers @drinix @sad-orange-thoughts @mxrihollxd @geeksareunique @giggleberts @sad-orange-thoughts @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @madamrogers @drinix @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @rockintensse @newtstarmander @whovianayesha @raquelbc2003 @millionsleeplessnights

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