#Blue Hydrangea Dew
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━☆𓁺☆━ Magical messages for your Monday ━☆𓁺☆━ (⊹ timeless dw ⊹)
free channeled as i did my makeup weeeee
━☆pick the image you feel most drawn to sistaaas (gn term)~ or to become more clear for this channeled reading/future prediction, ask God/Spirit/your higher or future self for which pile would resonate best for your alignment~!!... And or just pick your favorite Powerpuff Girl ofc lollll━☆
━☆𓁺☆━ pile 1
━☆☆☆━
━☆ Pink, hearts, sparkles/sparkly (eyeshadow or sparkly dresses?- brooches?...), summer nights, fireworks, dreamy, grounded, Taurus/Virgo/Capri placements (Taurus midheaven, Capri rising/Moon degree, Virgo rising/Mars), divine feminine within masculine, house/collage party, business upgrade, phone calls, paid (family?$) vacation, past mommy issues ━☆
━☆I see a balcony, this could be the balcony of a new/different apartment that you are touring and settling on that is destined for you at this time in your life- for some this is an apartment at a party of some kind, hosted by a friend of a friend-... This is a balcony of a castle even- Disneyland? For my whole collective, this is a balcony that you are standing on at night, the sky is a fully darkened blue, and this is accruing in an environment where there are only a handful of stars or none at all... But there is something about the scene that is glittering- maybe dew drops on other balcony plants glistening from lit windows, stained glass,- for those at a party this could be what you choose to wear, eyeshadow, or some accessory,- for those in some place higher, or more royal I should say this is your dress or a clip on your suit-... For all in this collective, no matter the situation-... You feel like a princess. Or prince, or royalty, you feel high (maybe you are at this party💀- full or laughter and couches)- you feel on top of the world. Your world, that you are finally meeting- you are becoming aligned with your world... This might even be your first party, your first business trip/meeting, or your first apartment in a new town/place. You are looking from this balcony, up at the summer night sky, and down at the life below (windows, sidewalks, cicadas-)... You look ahead, past the balcony's edge- and you feel... At peace. Your eyes are sparkling, with tears for some of you, and for some, it's a feeling of satisfaction- you are here. In the weight of the past bundled up, and your whole future as open to you as the night sky, open to you and closer in reach- and you are here, right smack dab in the present, your present moment, your moment.
━☆"I feel nervous in a way that can't be named" - "-I dreamt last night of a sign that read 'The end of love'" - "we were reaching in the dark- that summer in New York" - "I've always been in love with you- could you tell it from the moment that I met you"━☆
━☆𓁺☆━ pile 2
━☆☆☆━
━☆ Green, connection to pile 1, 32, 222, 333(?), "finally here", garden, Paris, je t'aime(2006), fruit, park visit, "new job now colors", "you love her, don't you?" ━☆
━☆As I looked up from meditating on your energy, all I saw was green (the sunlight on my hydrangeas), you love nature and "organized plant life" (gardening I'm guessing) and you are finally in it! I keep getting phrases more so than just keywords so for some you may be a writer... And your work has finally become monetary "fruitful"! Or for some of you- you just have a "writer's heart" that I am heavily picking up on. -(Brontë sisters?? Wuthering Heights-?)- And I want to give you the message that you will have this same heart for years and years- and you do with it as you wish (keep it internal I mean), but this is just my message to you and what my own spirit guides are saying- tune into yourself and begin to express like my actual-writer group. I'm hearing that my writer group for this collective may even be your higher selves showing you what your future can be by stepping onto this path, and for those in my group already writing (and this could be anything, journaling, poetry, fan fiction, etc) you are now making steps towards this future-writer-self... I hope I'm making sense because I am not a writer lol (I am in my own way ofc I just don't describe myself as that... Yet!)- anyways, even if all that you are doing right now is just personal (for some of you, you already have a blog or page that you are posting on/beginning to, good for you!!), but if you continue to build your world, build your confidence/grow your confidence- this will in the future turn into a career I'm hearing, even if it feels slow going. I'm hearing it will result in journalism, a bigger blog, tons of kudos (~if you know you know), ko-fi, etc- I'm hearing you'll get those new pairs of shoes that you want (yes pairs, you'll have the income)- but back to nature~ you'll get that garden, it's already set in stone for you,- for some of you you'll also get that job involving nature/plant life/outdoors. I'm hearing it has something to do with the national parks/forest preserves, so you'll be getting that park ranger opportunity, fire watch (?), wildlife protection and observation- you got it-it's yours. For some of you, this is a position at a "big box store" in the gardening department, like Home Depot (US reader here- change the name for where you live)- you got it in the bag. I'm already seeing you pushing one of those big wooden carts around full of geraniums or something🌸. The point is, once you align yourself with where you want to be/go- you got it, it's yours. Arriving in even better a plan, and timing, than you were overthinking it would be.
━☆"silly boy- don't talk to me" - "I do better on my own- I don't mean to come off cold" - "shame I would've danced with you tonight"━☆
━☆𓁺☆━ pile 3
━☆☆☆━
━☆ -(*cw* 18+ near end)-(‼️**CW**‼️ vampiric energy ‼️ALERT‼️🗣)- Blue, clouds, sky, "sky high", birds, balloons, sunsets, the ocean, letters V, T, O, M, number 7, 777, 7171, sea turtles, tangerines, citrus, Pretty in Pink (1986) ━☆
━☆You're in the clouds- maybe you're high with a group of friends. I sense your crush, or someone you feel an attraction to when you get high- you're in a dreamy place, and the environment around you also feels a bit like a dream, you're at a fair- a fairground of some kind. It's dusk and by the beach, the air has turned crisper and you're in a jacket (bomber or jean), you're being led by the hand through the lit-up stalls, and the lanterns look like they have fairies made of light dancing in them- your head is spinning with the cold summer air as you are guided through the feet and shoes of others. This person guiding you sees you as theirs in this moment, whether they are one of your friends going solo with you, or the person who you have this scent of attraction towards- I'm not sure, I don't think you quite know either as they lead you with their back to you through the crowd. You two being connected by their hand reaching behind them to grip onto yours- the breeze flowing through the crowd dances through your loose hair whisps- your eyes are unfocused, and the air switches from clear and cold to warm and fried (because fairgrounds,- funnel cake)- your wrist stays pulled on, a clung-to-grip... This person, you do know them- and they want to take you somewhere while in this high, their own high makes them headstrong and determined I'm hearing, but again- I am unclear if this is someone in particular that you are attracted to, or a friend... Who most definitely has an attraction to you when you are both in the clouds... Together- you follow their grip on you, and what happens next-... I'll leave to your imagination ☁️💫
Ok I'm sobering from your energy- cuz your reading turned out too short for my taste and I want to try and "recall"/"remember" some of the details to better Identify this individual to you... You already know this person and they are within your friend group/you know them in a group setting (for only one or two of you- you are currently solo/on your own and this is describing your future friend group dynamic!),,, there is something dark about them physically or energetically- dark curly hair, dark/brown/hazel eyes, tan/dark tan skin I'm hearing. There's something noticeable to you about their jawline/chin/lips area- it's honestly giving Pretty in Pink energy- you have your eyes fully hazed over for this one particular person (also in your group- or this could even be a co-worker or someone you know from work) while this other person is energetically at your heels- it's giving you're gazing longingly at another while this person is staring hard at the back of your head. Ouch lol- but again the dark attributes I felt weren't just physical but also energetic... Yea, they're fun and have either a very charismatic personality or a more dry and witty charm to them (I'm hearing a bit of a drawl especially when they talk to youuu)- but their motives,,, their intentions boo-boo, I mean maybe you'd kinda like a bad little boy in the sheets- I'll leave it up to you, but I'll say just be totally freaking careful with your emotions and what you can actually gain from this person, cause,, I'm hearing the word "wipe/tissue"- this person is here for fun and then it's onto the next experience... They could get off on doing that actually 💀- but I mean you do you, just know what it is you're doing (it's giving vampire energy now... They want to take your precious energy under a cape before flying off out the window- OOF💀 babygirl-!)
*kept typing "?" when I wanted commas- this dude is confusing and not it tf- (I cannot go on any longer girllll😭)*
━☆"you would explain the current,Hoping I just stay the same and nothing will change and it'll be us, just for a while" "do we even exist? that's when I make the wish, to swim away with the fish"━☆
━☆
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━☆this was cool lol happy monday🎉☕️
#୨୧┈♡ vi post#୨୧┈♡ vi pac#୨୧┈♡ vi's art#pac#pac tarot#pick an image#pick a card#pick a card reading#pick a picture#pick a pile
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I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) PART 1
(Ominis/Sebastian/GN!Reader FLUFF)
Parts: 1 2 3
Summary:
After everything the three of you have been through together, there's only one grand journey left: marriage, and the sweet hereafter that comes with it.
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The finale of my series "Life is not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis"
Can be read as a stand alone fic!
Title from the E.E. Cummings poem "i carry your heart with me (i carry it in]"
The scent of sweet maple syrup and savory bacon stirred you from your slumber, bringing a smile to your face as you greeted the new day. You could feel the soft kiss of the morning sun flutter across your closed eyelids, and you stretched your limbs upwards like a flower blooming in spring. Throwing your arms downwards, your palms landing on each side of you with a soft ‘pap,’ you slid along the silk sheets as you searched for one or both of your partners— your Slytherin boys were both absent from the bed. A small, grumpy frown began to tweak at the corners of your mouth until you heard Ominis’ angelic giggles come from downstairs, a mischievous tint to his voice, followed by a boisterous, indignant shout from Sebastian. Even with the size of the house you’d inherited, you could still pinpoint their voices in any crowded room, no matter the volume or the magnitude of the space. You smiled again, your lips turning upwards and warding away any semblance of sadness that briefly crept into your heart as you sighed contently. The band on your left ring finger dazzled in the sunrise, sending tiny rainbows along the creamy yellow walls all around.
Other than having them beside you, arms crossed over your torso and faces pressed into your skin as they groggily entered the world of consciousness, there was no other way that you would want to wake up. They were your world— your little slice of heaven, your Versailles. You would know them in any timeline— in life, in death, in sleep, at the end of the world, and even in the sweet hereafter.
Padding towards the large windowsill in your master bedroom, the glass stretching from floor to ceiling with a grand arch decorating along the top, you stop to run your hands along the fine dress robes hung on the coat rack. Three sets of wedding clothes swayed in the fresh breeze, each regal and beautiful in their own way. What could only be described as pure, childlike giddiness filled your body as you realized what day it was. In just under ten hours, you’d be married to your two loves— your soulmates.
Drawing the shimmering chiffon curtains, you gazed out at the beautiful countryside that stretched through your estate. Fresh dew coated the soft grass, wetting the hooves of the speckled deer that grazed in the field just over the hill, snacking on wild hydrangeas and buttercups, and teaching their newborn fowls how to prance. From the trees came the gentle cry of morning doves, fluffing their feathers as they wake to the sunrise and singing their sweet birdsong for their friends. The sky painted everything a fiery rose, shades of pinks and purples, blues and oranges streaking across the horizon and glowing through the bewitching sanctuary you called home. It was like something directly out of one of the fairytales you had read as a child. Just under the window, their trouser legs rolled up to keep them dry and their messy bedheads cascading over their faces, your closest friends raised the tent you would be using for the ceremony. You couldn’t help but cast your eyes over the beauty before you, both of nature and of a familiar, domestic love— your eyes softening and absolute adoration swirling in your chest.
The house, or mansion really, was left for Ominis when he was of age by his dear aunt Noctua. His wretched family had hidden the details from him for the longest time, stowing it away in their family vault at Gringotts where they thought he would never find it. You remembered the day he left for the wizard bank, keen on clearing out every last knut he was owed before he cut them off forever. You had expected to see at least a few bags of galleons weighing down his hands and pockets as he apparated into your shared living room later that day, but what you didn’t expect was that and a rolled up scroll clenched in his fist, tears streaking down his cheeks as a shaky smile stretched his lips. He took you by the shoulders and dropped the bit of parchment into your waiting hands, letting himself be enveloped by his brunette partner as you read over the words on the page before dissolving into sobs yourself. The three of you had a home, a place outside of the never ending sounds of London, and a place where you all could grow old together in the comfort of each other’s arms. Maybe a few little ones could even be in your future, their tiny legs running up and down the long halls and twirling around in the private ballroom. Dreams flashed behind your eyelids like a moving picture; little boys and girls with ashy blond hair and coffee toned eyes, their curls unruly atop their heads and birthmarks scattered along their skin like tiny constellations. Maybe they’d have your nose, or your temperament, or maybe even your magic— only time would tell. A calming warmth filled your chest, contentedness enveloping your entire body and sending a pleasant hum through your mind, stretching from your ears to the tips of your fingers and singing with magic. Your wistful sigh filled the air around you as you smiled down at your friends again.
Maybe one day— that’s what the three of you decided long ago. One day soon, you hoped, but simply one day was as good as any. You had more than enough love in your heart for a few more souls.
A knock broke you from your thoughts of the future, the smell of breakfast stronger in your nose and the sound of your darling fiance’s whispers filling your ears. You smiled as the door opened, letting your body fall gently against the glass of the bay window as you took in the sight before you. Sebastian poked his head in first, his eyes jumping over to the bed looking for you before his eyebrows tweaked briefly in confusion. He craned his neck slightly, and the most glorious smile broke across his face when he saw you standing there in the morning sun. You looked divine — the orange rays caught your hair just right and made the strands look like pure heavenly fire. A look of what could only be described as instinctual, encompassing love poured into his eyes, and yours glowed in tandem.
The brunette jostled slightly, his face turning into a slight frown of annoyance at the impatience of his second partner.
A huff came from behind him. “Honestly Sebastian, can you move, please? This tray is heavy.” Ominis shouldered his way into the room, lightly shoving his freckled love out of the way as he carried in a small feast of delicious looking food. “I’m sure they look ravishing as always, but good lord, have some decorum.”
The taller boy stumbled into the room, catching himself against the door frame and sending a scathing look at the blond as he crossed the room and placed the meal on the coffee table across from the bed where there was a little seating area. You giggled lightly at their antics, smiling behind the hand covering your mouth. Sebastian turned his gaze back to yours and leveled you with an equally tiffed look, but even still his amber eyes held a softness at the sound of your laugh. Ominis unsheathed his wand from his pocket, quickly scanning the familiar room for your aura. He could feel how happy you truly were through his wand, hear the soft thrum of your heartbeat as you took in the two loves of your life. An equally lovestruck smile graced his face as he felt you by the window, basking in the warmth of a new day and the joy of what was to come in mere hours. He quickly crossed the room, taking you into his arms and twirling you away from the perfect view. More laughter spilled from your smiling lips, filling the room with a rapturous mirth and mingling with the song of his. You briefly caught sight of Sebastian still leaning against the door jam between turns around the room, the softest look you had ever seen from him coloring his features— like you both put the stars in his sky, like you turned his world and kept his heart beating. Your whole soul leaped with happiness.
Ominis pulled you against his chest, the backs of your knees brushing against your unmade marriage bed as he rested his forehead against yours, steadying you from the blinding dizziness that turned your world.
He murmured softly to you, his breath brushing against the apples of your cheeks. “Good morning, little dove.”
You lightly kissed him in return, taking him further into your arms and letting him envelop you in his contentedness. You closed your eyes and drank him in— everything about him called to you like a lighthouse in a torrential storm. He was everything. They both were your everything— your life and your death. They were the moon that ebbed your tides, the sun that warmed your skin, the stars that caught your wishes and dreams, the earth that held you steady and safe. You wouldn’t wish for anyone else to spend your life with.
You could hear Sebastian’s soft steps as he crept closer to the both of you, a smirk dancing at his mouth. “As lovely as this is, I got up very early this morning to cook for the both of you and I would like to go back to sleep.”
He stepped into your space, wrapping his arms around your forms and pressing delicate kisses to the tops of your heads. You moved to leave the tangle of their limbs, eager to eat the hypnotizingly good smelling breakfast that called to you on a primal level, but the brunette seemed to have other plans. He tightened his hug, laughing at your noises of shock as he hoisted you both into the air and unceremoniously dropped you atop the soft bed sheets. He all but shoved his way onto the bed, wiggling around like a worm in the dirt, squeezing you in the middle of him and Ominis and wrapping his arms around your waist like they belonged there.
You giggled against the blond’s shoulder, your breath warming his skin through the fabric of his nightshirt. “Sebastian—”
A hum broke off your train of thought, the brunette hugging you tighter to his chest and shoving his face into the crook of your neck; you could feel his toothy grin against your pulse. “Nope, you both are staying right here with me— no arguing on my wedding day.”
“Our wedding day,” Ominis drawled from your other side, but relenting nonetheless, crossing his arms with Sebastian’s and threading their fingers together on your hip bone. You couldn’t hold back the giggles that spilled from you.
“You both are ridiculous.”
Ominis smiled softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Oh most definitely, but you love us.”
You sighed contently, your heart nearly bursting from your chest with how much you loved them. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
There, tucked in their arms in your king size bed, a sweet birdsong flowing through the window and a cool breeze brushing against your skin, was exactly where you wanted to be for the rest of your life.
This— This was bliss.
Of course, peace could never last long with your friends around. You and your partners were startled from the sweet call of sleep by a loud bang— your bedroom door ostentatiously swung open and smacked against the wall just beyond. Anne Sallow strutted into the room, her eyes covered and a mischievous smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Everybody put your trousers back on, I’m here for the ones that aren't my brother!”
Sebastian groaned into your neck, lamenting on the small iota of tranquility he was able to snag before the hustle and bustle of the day reached him. Ominis did the same into your hair, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer. They both spoke at the same time, an equal amount of whining lacing their tones.
“Bugger off, Anne. I just laid down—”
“I thought you considered me a brother as well? Quite offensive if you ask me—”
The brunette girl rolled her eyes, peeking out through her fingers and taking in the sight before her. Deciding it was safe and everyone was in proper levels of dress, she dropped her hand and leaned heavily against the door frame, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at the three poor souls she called her family wiggle around helplessly on their bed. You could hear the eye roll in her voice.
“Yes, Ominis, you’re my brother too. I’m here to collect those that don’t share a face with me.”
The blond sighed heavily, giving up on his comfort and rolling away from your tangled crossing of arms and legs. Sebastian bemoaned a high pitch whine into the silken sheets when you did the same, letting all of his body weight flop dramatically atop the blankets and pillows.
Ominis embraced the standing Sallow twin, rocking her gently back and forth before placing a soft kiss on her temple. “Now that’s more like it, my dear.”
You greeted Anne similarly, hugging her with all of your strength and laughing lightly as she scolded you for dragging the boys back into bed with you. You shook your head at her, gesturing towards her sulking brother who had decided to sit up finally, a pout stretching the corners of his mouth and his shoulders slumped over his lap.
“Don’t blame me, you’re demon spawn of a brother all but tackled us when he got back to the room.”
Sebastian gawked at you, looking highly offended at your verbiage before turning his face back to the bedspread and muttering to himself. You distinctly caught the tail end of what he was saying, something along the lines of “—didn’t hear you complaining.”
Anne held you at arms length, shaking her head and rolling her eyes again at her stubborn mule of a sibling. She took one of your hands into hers, grabbing Ominis’ with the other and began to pull you out of the room with her, calling over her shoulder at the still very much pouting freckled man.
“I’m taking your spouses with me, Sebastian! Garreth and Imelda will be up momentarily to help you get ready.”
You could hear your future husband's complaints from down the hallway. “Why them!? It’ll be a miracle if my dress robes aren’t covered with assorted potion ingredients or torn to shreds by that feisty devil woman and her ginger puppy.”
You snorted, letting Anne drag you the rest of the way down the grand staircase and into the foyer where the rest of your friends were waiting. The Sallow girl spun Ominis towards the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw of your group, smiling at his laugh when Poppy and Amit caught him before he could fall, before shoving you into Natty’s arms.
She stood before you all, hands on hips and a grin on her face. The girl clapped her hands together resolutely, speaking to her audience like she was delivering a grand speech to the Minister of Magic himself.
“Alright, let's get you both ready to walk down the aisle, shall we?”
And with that, you both were whisked away in different directions and towards your future.
***
like what you read? here's more!
#tina speaks#hogwarts legacy#hl#ominis gaunt x mc#ominis gaunt x reader#ao3#ao3 fic#ao3 writer#ominis gaunt x you#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x you#sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x mc#ominis x sebastian#sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x reader#sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x you#fluff#masterlist
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For Him Ep 3 Stray Thoughts
Last week, we began to explore the boundaries of the new relationship between Nail and Him. Nail is having a good time and seems to like Him, but isn’t interested in having a romance at this time. Him seems to be dealing with a lot of other pressures from his homewrecker friend and his parents, and seems extremely determined to win Nail over; I’m enjoying Dew’s eye work in this a lot. There’s something happening with the hets around a misunderstanding. There’s also a new couple forming that had some interesting consent work in their encounter, but I admittedly cannot remember their names yet.
Oh right! Him was dating this guy named Blue that looks just like Nail.
A tale as old as time: rich gay boy fails boyfriend because of his family drama.
I don’t care for Te.
Okay, the other couple’s names are Chao and Phai. Thank you, opening credits.
Yes, these two talked about what they wanted and how to be. The athletic leg maneuver is new. Points for that, as well as good progression of intimate m/m acts.
Girl, he did not pour chocosauce on this man on his bed. Who is cleaning these sheets?!?
Not my man Phai afraid he’s gonna catch a case!!
Okay, not to be on Jay’s side, but does he know you like hydrangeas, babygirl?? He also called you immediately after them being handed to you. He was definitely a dick for cheating on you, but he ain’t wrong about you not telling him shit.
“I have to feed my dog at the condo.” 😂 This boy does seem clingy.
I love Phai being unfazed by these weak tactics from Chao.
This is awkward as hell! Everyone in the room knows Nail looks like Blue and has no idea what to do.
Okay, this Te dude sucks. You were jealous of Him’s relationship with Blue, so now you’re going to destroy all of his future relationships? You’re stalking his current flame?
Nail, please block this man.
Do not talk to this man! Tell him to bippity-bop-back-the fuck off and block him!
Him, I don’t know that the flowers are going to fix this! Sort your drama, or at least fill Nail in so he can understand what he’s waded into!
I’m really enjoying the way everyone is playing various kinds of heartbreak in this show.
Okay, I don’t think I’m going to be mad about Him hiding how much Nail looks like Blue, and I’ll wait to see how messy this past drama is. For now, I’ll be glad that he told Nail wtf was going on.
They are probably watching BL!
That final conversation on the bed was cute as hell. I like that Nail still gets to be cautious in this dynamic.
Okay! We learned a bit more about Him, Blue, and Te this week. Expecting this family shit to blow up when Nail lets down his guard at some point. I’m curious about the side couple since we have a five-year age gap to explore where one of them is working. I do not like Te, and I am not looking forward to that man causing problems for the next two months.
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Muse as a deity.
Rules: Think carefully about your character and their development through their journey (canon or OC) within their story. Fill out the chart and tag whoever you want! Multi-muses, feel free to pick any of your characters-just a few, or all of them. Please repost, so the dash isn't clogged with reblogs.
God of: Hope, youth, luck, joy, friendship, constellations, and rebirth
Associated with: Bears (duh), small towns, morning dew on grass, children playing, stars lighting up a dark night sky, freshly baked bread, fresh and moldable snow, full moons
Sacred plants: Roses, dandelions, white lilies, blue hydrangea
Sacred stones/gems: Amber, amethyst, lapis lazuli, larimar, pearl
Sacred animals: Bears (obvs), dogs, rabbits, and other pets/close companions
Colors: Blue, red, white, and yellow
Food: Ice cream, sweet fruits like strawberries, and home-y comfort foods associated with childhood like macaroni & cheese and chicken nuggets
Scents: Freshly baked bread, candy, clothes from the dryer, a warm home
Accepted offerings/ways to honor: It is said that he listens to all requests done under the stars on a clear night as long as the intentions are pure. Originally a day god, was later associated more with the night to bring hope and light within the darkness. Lost travelers sometimes pray to the god to help them return home.
Growing children leave offerings of sweets to the god in hopes that they, too, will be able to lead their own paths in the future. Charms containing this god's image are sometimes given to children on their birthday to bring good fortune for the coming year.
Tagged by: @ama-tcra-su
Tagging: Steal it from me and join the pantheon
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Hortensias
Here in the old garden, many years deep, the hydrangeas turn from pink to blue. The roses before them as white as ever, the cherry blossoms always pink. But hydrangea reaches deeper, reads the soil in ways the others won't, and turns to solemn colours. Suppose there's something in the earth here, something evil under the grass. They draw it out and make themselves pretty with it.
They're tall bushes, if you keep walking into them, they shush and swallow you. The flowerheads are as blue as the sky, you couldn’t notice them blotting it out, snaking up above you and weaving themselves about your passing. Already they are huge, a millionth of a flower folding outward. Suspended from woody vines twisting out the earth, up above your head they hang like church bells, drifting back and forth on the wind. The branches turn thick, their fraying bark like parchment, peeling off in flakes with the century. Your feet splash into crystal water, a shallow wake drawn from some place far off. The distant horizon only vines and brush. There is nothing but the hydrangeas, above and below you, miles tall, miles long. The lake doubles the hues, and how vibrant they are becoming, a painted fresco of the cosmos. Suppose they're found a better poison now, buried beneath your feet. Flowerheads mounting the sky, as tall as clouds themselves, blue and heavy and weightless on the wind. It carries them off, and behind them is only more, woven vines with larger petals looming. Winds pull and tug about them; a howling call, but unheard so far off, reaching here only in whispers. Dew shakes and spills about you, and there you are, inverted in a droplet. The whole world both within it and without. It doesn't matter, you suppose. If you fall in either world, you'll only hit more flowers, for they are up and down and distant. You wash out onto the mirror. Their roots chase your shadow, they must be, for all this blue.
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Your look like a flowing mountain spring, trickling warmly towards me, for an endless amount of time.
Back in time, ahead in it, too.
Need nothing else, but the breeze of your smile like the morning dew that sparges the dry and sorrow-filled cracks.
With you, the blooming hydrangeas show the tender blues under a mirror of its own hue that bears witness to ourselves.
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My perfume collection! Aside from those gifted to me, I have never bought a perfume full price (for a full size). My mom raised me to be a coupon/sale/clearance shopper. (Most of these were acquired from where I work with a special discount). Don't freak out about numbers, some of them are the same lady in different sizes. Or is that worse. Anyway.
Dossier: floral honeysuckle (this is a knockoff, dunno what of, but it smells heavenly)
Clean Reserve: water lotus (it smells like flowers at a sacred spring)
Clean Reserve: rain (it smells like sweet water)
Giorgio Armani: acqua di giorio (it smells like sweet trees)
Vera Wang: embrace (periwinkle and iris)
Vera Wang: embrace (marigold and gardenia)
Vera Wang: embrace (green tea and pear blossom)
Juliette has a gun: original (smells like deadly sophistication idk)
DKNY: be tempted red apple (smells like red delicious and burnt sugar)
Juliette has a gun: magnolia bliss (smells like magnolia bliss)
DKNY: be tempted green apple (smells like green apple and red grapes)
Marc Jacobs: Daisy eau so fresh (smells like how sweet floral idk)
Marc Jacobs: Daisy love (smells like sweeter floral idk)
Versace: bright crystal (smells like a classic perfume but not old)
Versace: bright crystal (but it's not tiny this time)
DKNY: be delicious green apple (smells like granny smith yeah)
DKNY: nectar love (smells like flowers at the home depot nursery)
DKNY: be delicious green apple (my mom bought me the big one)
DKNY: be tempted eau so blush (smells like overripe strawberries and crystallized honey)
DKNY: be delicious red apple (smells like a red delicious)
Inis: idk, it's an old perfume of my mom's that I never wear anymore because it smells like grocery store flowers)
Nest New York: blue wisteria (yep)
Nest New York: black tulip (yep?)
Nest New York: lychee and rose (yep)
Nest New York: indigo (dusky hydrangea vibes)
Nest New York: wild poppy (idk what poppies smell like but this smells like if scarlet had a scent and it was sweetly floral)
Juliette has a gun: magnolia bliss (I love this so I bought a bigger size)
Burberry: her blossom (smells like hyacinth and gardenia)
Philosophy: amazing grace eau de toilette (smells like her blossom but shallower?) (Accidentally skipped this one in the pic oops, just bump the numbers forward)
Armani: my way (smells like korean pear and honeysuckle)
Clean Reserve: skin (smells like caramel flavored tea and dew)
Clean Reserve: rain (yeah I love this one)
Lush: pearl solid perfume (smells like the dots on non pareils idk)
Nest New York: indigo (got these minis in a set)
Nest New York: golden nectar (smells like too sweet flowers, slightly dead)
Nest New York: wild poppy
Is the one not pictured, it's Lush: dirty solid perfume (smells like sage, slightly sweet) (I keep it in my purse)
I can't say I'm going to stop collecting them either. I wear perfume every day (boosts my mood) so it's not just sitting here. It's better than my journal collection. I use those less than I use my perfume.
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❛ your eyes have always reminded me of blue hydrangeas — surprisingly poisonous. ❜ , suguru
@drippingheart
The act of eye contact was a bizarre phenomenon, if one would ask Satoru about it he'd consider it a silent cannibalism -- what a ghoulish thing to think; professional man could be gone thanks to a mere fraction of it but flames would not extinguish under the gun of guilt. His vibrance is drafted, tangled in survivalists' dires and lukewarm daylight savings.
Elements bit with summer sweetness, decadent shimmer of purple and gold beclouded senses winded from pursuit of horror narratives. In background shrill as the pitch of bat's cry the dust has commingled with the rain where two fishes in a pond amalgamate presence with each sentiment, coalescing into shallow streams, matting into the soil the soul he so nurtured.
Hydrangeas - neither should be held too closely nor used for making tea. Blue buds swell with dew before growing into a flourished bouquet promising petal-rain of cyanide, symbolism made to represent quality ideas of branches and great deal of variety. There's more to the poison-- frigidity and arrogance cut from marble, but good to make amends with a loved one. Gritty thought, the last one that crossed his mind - like alloying tin with copper. Years he tried to understand Geto's vision, to see the Sorcerers strong once again living in their land of old, but he would not compromise integrity of other people for a dream that cannot be.
Frantically familiar solitary feelings, bare-essentials of what used to be once great companionship between two outside-of-mission obligations. There was hardly a day or season for him not to dwell on soot but drunk it dry then snap the stem in half. It was his chosen luxury of misery he has sown and laid to waste along slain foes in scapeless infinitude.
" Poisonous you say? '' subtle flinch of lip-brim exposed dental slates underlining elusive tonality of selectively well-measured mood and mimics.
Says the silver tongue of serpent who named something befitting his black heart - how funny. Virtue withers away if it has no opposition, and one stood in front of him just now to awaken echoes of the past.
Voice (the sort that goes for an eternity) interwoven of fine refinement vastly attempted design to keep other from dropping gaze. Tightening throat get one's laughing gear round. Eyes of bolts that gobble, and enthrall, that subdue and tranquillize devour without mercy. They multiple invisibly, from a pair, to four, from four to six ...
" Keep staring — , " in the absence of body squirms pensive ocean-strongs like hot fire tell tales of sky and bare further under fluttering of spiderly snows, " maybe you'll drown in them ... " - and bleed.
#drippingheart#Muse: Gojo#& Geto!#{ I SCREAMED softly at this?? Geto u just pulled a TOPIC that could be beautifully vile poetry! }#{ He's a cat basking in sunlight who's purry-meows are silent threat. }#action & reactionㅤ: Gojo.
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kaisei / orangestar [eng translation]
TITLE: 快晴 (Clear Weather)
VOCAL: IA
COMPOSITION: Orangestar
LYRICS: Orangestar
OFFICIAL MV: (from youtube)
ENG:
When will the rainy season finally let up? you grumbled
at the sight of morning dew still sparkling on the hydrangeas
We can already hear summer's footsteps around the corner, you said,
your hands already pushing my back, so let's go and greet it!
On your mark, we left the alleyways behind,
scrambled over the hills from back then, and even crossed rainbows
Nobody's left their footprints on this summer sky yet,
so let's take it for ourselves, just for the two of us!
...Or so you said with a smile
in that distant summer memory
Though we can't meet again,
nor can we ever return to that day,
that's what made it so beautiful:
The summer we had all to ourselves
Goodbye, I love you
With that, it seems like
this is the end of our story
Maybe we weren't meant to be after all
Some things won't change
like the sky, the stars, and that crying face of yours
But I hope that someday,
we can laugh together once again
A lot has happened since then,
and it's probably still happening
But I'll keep living with a smile on my face
because, as you'd say, "that's how life is", hm?
If I were so simple-minded like that,
then no matter how pleasant my days are,
there'd be no meaning to the days that pass
If that's the case, then tomorrow's 'me' wouldn't be 'me'
because that's not how it works, is it?
Though I might cry, the skies will surely clear
Though my tears blur your visage, you'll always be clear as day
Though we struggle, the sky will rain with falling stars, so...
Yeah, I guess I'll keep living
I know this sky loves you
Though everything might
someday change,
the sky will still be blue!
I won't ever forget that.
But so that I might someday meet you again,
I'll keep on living and living
so please smile, okay?
JPN:
梅雨が明けるまであとどれくらい？
まだ紫陽花の光る朝 君の愚痴
夏の足音はすぐそこまで
ねぇ迎えに行こって僕を急かす
君に言われるがまま路地を抜け
あの時の坂を越え 虹を越え
まだ誰もいない夏の空を
全部全部二人占めにするんだ
なんて君は笑ってたよな
遠い夏の記憶
もう逢えなくても
二度と帰れなくても
それは美しい
僕らだけの夏だったろう
さよならI love you
それで全て
終わってしまうような
僕らじゃないだろう
変わらないな
空も星も その泣き顔も
っていつか君と
また笑えますように
そりゃ色々あっただろう
今もあるだろう
でも笑いながら生きていく
「それが人世だ」って
そんな単細胞になれたなら
どれだけ良いかって
過ぎ去っていく日々に意味はない
なら明日の僕は僕じゃない
そんな筈はないだろう
泣いていたって空は晴れるよ
君が濡らしたって滲まないほど
あがいていたって空は星を降らすから
まぁ、生きていくよ
I know this sky loves you
いずれ全て
変わってしまったって
空は青いだろう！
忘れないさ
でもまた出逢えますように
って生きて征くよ
君は笑っていて
#song: kaisei#producer: orangestar#en lyrics tl#god i fucking love kaisei#i decided to do my own tl of it because i had a different interpretation of some lines to the one on the wiki#i've known this song for a while now but amatsuki dropped a cover two weeks ago and i was dragged back to this song against my will#but god i think everyone should listen to megatera zero's cover. like he goes INSANE on it#i also really like the prsk leoneed cover and there's a 3dmv for it so play that in the game if that's your thing!!!#anyway. stream kaisei
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#hydrangea #flowers #dew #morning #petals #violet #purple #blue #arielspaugh https://www.instagram.com/p/CAQ9jc8AHW6/?igshid=riyf3u7knqgl
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Motifs include sunlight reflecting through crystal and the rainbow patterns it leaves on the walls the hanged man tarot card lambs ocean water morning dew wool sweaters lockets blood from the mouth broken jewelry paper airplanes haunted antique furniture music boxes carousel horses heart shaped candles harps lovebirds white carnations blue hydrangeas unnamed gravestones the feeling of tachycardia the sound of old wheels turning and pomegranates. You know?
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Fresh Flowers
In a peaceful corner of Suna, there is a grave always adorned with fresh flowers. Gaara passes by it often.
—
The first time he noticed the flowers, Gaara was six.
They were baby blue hydrangeas, bundled together with long loops of twine. The bouquet rested peacefully against a small unmarked slab of white sandstone. Gaara tugged on Yashamaru’s sleeve and asked, “What is that?” Yashamaru said, “After someone dies, people who really loved them will leave nice things for them.” He didn’t say any more, and before Gaara could ask how he might do that for his mother, Yashamaru had herded him away from the pretty blue flowers.
—
The next time Gaara ventured to that corner of the village, he was seven and Yashamaru was dead. It was a breezy day, dry and irritating. Gaara looked at the yellow-orange roses on the dusty sandstone and felt hot and sharp. Almost reflexively, his sand snapped out and broke the stems. The beautiful fiery petals fell to the ground and Gaara looked at them uncomfortably.
After that, he tried to avoid the place.
—
Try as he might, Gaara still circled back, though he kept a distance. Blue irises, purple gladiolus, cherry blossom stems, every sort of cultivated flower imaginable had a turn on the gravestone. Despite Shukaku’s cackles for solitude, and his own convictions to never let down his barrier, Gaara looked and yearned.
—
A week after the failed Konoha Crush, Gaara passed by the grave once again. There were a few little bundles and braids of forget-me-nots. Gaara wondered if it was true. If his own self might not be forgotten in favor of his reputation of destruction. If maybe one day he would be allowed to watch Temari and Kankuro braid flower crowns. It was too much. His tears spilled over and he ran away before anyone could spot him.
—
Gaara celebrated Temari’s birthday for the first time he could remember. He had carefully gone and picked a few kunais and a durable and stylish fan cover for her, and he could tell Temari was pleased. Her look of surprise, delight, and some other emotion lingered in Gaara’s mind as he went about his evening walk. The flowers that day were little red five-petaled things, bright and lively.
—
He, Kankuro, and Temari went on a walk after he confided in them his goal of becoming Kazekage. Gaara could tell they were determined for him, the way Temari strode with purpose and Kankuro stopped slouching. They walked and talked about the plan, and as they passed the sandstone Temari remarked, “Wonder where they got those white bearded irises.” They stopped and admired the flowers, which had a scent of morning dew. Kankuro said, “They’re called Immortality. A travelling troupe showed it to me once. They bloom for just a day.”
The next day, there was a rare rain, and the flower remained in bloom.
—
Gaara was not immortal. A week after his death and revival, he still felt like a shell, haunted by nightmares and fatigue and random medical nin bursting in, till Temari and Kankuro told them to stop. The three siblings had their fair share of shocked crying, but it seemed none of them really had the words yet to speak of what they felt, of what happened. Gaara somehow evaded the medical nin and went outside. There were still white flower petals in the streets, a result of preemptive funeral preparations, then recalls, then a real funeral but not for the person everyone expected. Gaara didn’t know what to feel about it yet.
The sandstone was covered in the white petals, as if the arranger also had too much going on to put a proper arrangement. After he got back home, Gaara ordered a few pink tulips to be put on the grave.
—
Gaara continued leaving flowers there. It was oddly therapeutic. Sometimes Kankuro or Temari came too, and it became a ritual among them. Gaara’s favorites to place were cacti flowers.
—
Eventually, somehow, the council, then the other shinobi, then the villagers, caught on to the idea. More and more flowers appeared, much more than could fit on or in front of the little headstone. It became a lesser known pride of Suna, the display of love overflowing the unmarked grave, filled with forever fresh flowers.
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Primrose, part One
Rating: SFW
Length: 1929
Pairing: Male Reader x Male Orc (both cis)
Just a bit of fluff during these trying times.
xxx
I see him one bright summer morning in my grandmother's garden, near the edge of her property where the forest kisses the grass. I find him sleeping between the rosemary and the hydrangeas, curled up in the shade of a willow tree, barefoot and smelling of sweet wine. The morning sun has yet to reach him and so the dew still clings to him yet, making him almost seem to shimmer like a daydream in the dappled light.
He's big even for an orc, though I admit I haven't met many. His skin is the colour of cherry blossoms except where it seems to be lacking pigment, like a sliver which looks like a widow's peak that disappears into his vivid pink hair, and a splotch that spreads like a butterfly across his sharp cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His hair is a rich pink colour, long and thick and braided loosely, the ribbon almost lost to the clover and lemongrass he’s lying on. I take a moment to study him among the birdsong and the stirring of the cicadas in the forest, watching the rise and fall of his broad, hairy chest where it's exposed by buttons either undone or lost to the night's festivities.
He's the most handsome man I've ever seen, and I almost feel remorse when I upend a bucket of water over his head.
He snorts and gasps, splutters and coughs, looking about him wildly as he flails and struggles to right himself from his lazy sprawl. "What in the hell?" he exclaims, breathless and agog, and when he turns his baby blue eyes up to meet mine, they go wide as dinner plates.
"You're crushing the lemongrass," I tell him, keeping my face and tone neutral while I smother my amusement.
"Did you just soak me?" he asks, something like awe stealing across his face.
"You're crushing the lemongrass," I say again, propping my dripping bucket against my hip through the overalls I'm wearing. "My lemongrass. Get out of my garden, you drunk."
It seems he can contain himself no longer; he throws his head back and roars with laughter until tears gather in his eyes. "And here I heard no one but a canny old crone lived in this cottage!"
"My grandmother," I supply, feeling my lips curve up despite myself. "I'm just a canny young bastard."
"And what happened to the crone?" asks the orc, getting up and pulling his shirt over his head to wring it out over the hydrangeas.
I can't help but notice that his torso is thick and muscled, and that the dense curls on his chest go all the way down his soft belly. Here, they turn white along with his skin in a broad swathe, and I find myself wondering where else his skin changes colour beneath his clothes.
"See something you like?"
My eyes snap back up to the orc's face, and where I'm expecting a smug, lascivious smirk, there is instead a bemused, almost shy smile. I know that I don't blush when I'm embarrassed, but I'm surprised to see that he does, two spots of red blooming across his cheeks like roses.
"She fell and broke her hip three weeks ago," I tell him, and I make a point to look only at his face while he puts his shirt back on. "She left me in charge of the house. What's it to you?"
The orc holds up his hands, and I see that one palm is white as cream. "Only curious," he assures me, turning his gaze to the cottage behind me. "Nice place."
I give him a very flat look. "Try to rob me and you'll regret it."
Once again he laughs, gesturing with his hands as if to fend me off. "Easy, easy! Are you always so hostile?"
"Only to strangers who pass out drunk in my herb garden."
He smiles, then, and I curse him internally; of course he'd have dimples. "Well, what if we weren't strangers? I'm Primrose, but most just call me Prim. You are?"
I feel my eyes narrow as I weigh my options, absently drumming my fingers against the side of my bucket. I debate telling him my name, but his disarming smile pries it out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
Primrose’s eyes light up. “What a pretty name. It suits you. Not like mine.”
“Oh?” I call over my shoulder as I turn to head back to the house, pretending to be bored of the stranger who tromps through the herbs behind me in his haste to follow. “I’m sure I don’t care why.”
“Oh, come on,” the big orc snorts. “‘Primrose’? For a man? ‘Prim’ is my only saving grace!”
“Don’t you fancy hearing ‘Rosie’?” I ask knowing that I’m being prickly, putting aside the bucket and reaching for the garden hose.
Primrose stops short, mouth opening and closing soundlessly before he can grumble, “Only my mother calls me that.”
“It’s a good name,” I say, turning to face him with the hose head in my hand. “It suits you. Unlike mine.”
Primrose laughs awkwardly, eyeing the hose like a snake about to bite. “Is that for me?”
I lift a brow. “Do you want breakfast, or not?”
His belly answers before his mouth can, rumbling loudly between us and causing him to splutter and cover it with his hands as if to silence it. “I suppose I do,” he sheepishly replies.
“Then I’ll hose the mud off your feet and you’ll go straight to the bath. I’ll wash your clothes while you soak the booze out of your system, feed you, and then you can get the hell off of my property.”
“Bossy,” Primrose says with a laugh, startling only a little when I turn the cold water of the hose on his feet. “I don’t have the foggiest where I might have lost them.”
“Your marbles?” I drawl, and I thrill at the quick grin it earns me from the orc.
“My boots.”
“Hm. Come in, then. Mind the door.” I warn him just in time to save him a nasty knot on his forehead, leading him into my grandmother’s cottage to the big claw-foot tub that I begin to fill with steaming water. I add bath salts and rose oil for his muscles and for my own amusement, which he doesn’t seem to miss despite how straight-faced I keep.
“Very funny,” he rumbles, pulling the ribbon from his hair and shaking it out of its plait. It falls all the way down to his backside, and in that moment, I want nothing more than to put my fingers in it and play with it until I’ve figured out just how many shades of pink there are to find. I control my urges and rein in my impulses as I’ve always done, leaving briefly under the context of getting the washing machine ready and returning only once I’m sure he’s in the tub. It’s not hard to gauge when he enters; the cottage is quiet except for birdsong, and his groan is low and long.
I bustle in to gather his clothing and wrinkle my nose at the tattered hair ribbon; the silk was fine to begin with, but it’s been torn and tattered in small but noticeable ways along the ends, and the mud is in so deep that it may never come out. “You’ve ruined this ribbon,” I inform Primrose, pinning him with a scrutinising look that he wriggles under the weight of like an errant schoolboy.
“I don’t remember how or when,” he says. “Last night is… a blur, at best.”
“Hm,” I sniff, looking away from him to head for the door. “Maybe this will teach you not to drink so much in future. A ribbon can be replaced, but if you’d fallen asleep facedown in a ditch somewhere, the night’s rain would have drowned you. Is that how you want to go out? Drunk and drowning in a puddle somewhere?”
I almost feel sorry for the way I make him squirm, big as he is. He’s all muscle, barrel-chested and with hard, shapely legs that he draws up to his chest in the tub. “No,” he all but meeps, meek as a kitten. “My mother would bring me back just to kill me. I won’t drink so much again.”
“See that you don’t,” I reply, sweeping out of the room to get the laundry going. Halfway without thinking, I stash the ruined ribbon in my pocket and go upstairs to my room to fetch him another. I, too, have long hair that requires being tied back from time to time, so I grab one of my ribbons and place it on top of the pile when his clothing has been washed and dried. I set these just inside the bathroom door and inform him that breakfast will be ready within the hour, and so I hear him reluctantly begin the drawn-out process of unwillingly leaving a warm bath.
Breakfast is simple, but hearty. Eggs, potatoes, sausages—all locally sourced from the farmers in the countryside. I’m chewing on a mouthful of eggs when I remember I have a delivery to make to my grandmother’s egg supplier: a watermelon she had traded for that was a little overripe to eat, but perfect for the chickens as a treat. I inform Primrose of this and we both spend a moment looking at his feet, contemplating his predicament. In the end, I pick up the receiver in my grandmother’s kitchen and call a carriage for him, waving away his words of thanks.
“I mean it,” he insists. “If this house had been empty, I’d have had to walk all the way back to town barefoot.”
“It would have taught you a lesson, at least,” I say, and this time I can’t help the little smirk that steals across my face.
Primrose laughs, loud and joyful. “You’re a viper! Can nothing I say earn me any sweetness?”
“You want sweetness?” I ask, and I can feel myself smiling now. “Don’t pass out in my garden next time.”
Primrose leans in across the porch where we’re awaiting his carriage. “‘Next time’?”
“Oh, don’t read into it,” I huff, shaking my head and leaning against the railing. “You want sweetness, you need a better impression than what you’ve given. There’s Mr. Higgens now.” I gesture with my glass of lemonade, and Primrose’s expression falls.
“Ah.” We’re silent as the carriage pulls up the dirt road to the front door, and I wave to the driver and exchange pleasantries as Primrose reluctantly heads down the front porch steps. He looks back up at me when his feet hit the dirt, and I almost laugh at the way his big blue eyes look almost childishly hopeful. “Would you soak me if I visited again?”
“I might,” I say nonchalantly, tilting my head this way and that. “I might not.”
Primrose grins, and all at once all the wind is under his sails again. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, waving exuberantly from the carriage after he’s boarded it. I wave back, bemused by the morning’s events, and watch the carriage until it disappears around a woody bend and completely out of view. I go back inside and wash the breakfast crockery, shaking my head at myself and my foolishness when I find the ruined ribbon in my pocket when I’m wiping my hands on my jeans.
What was I doing? I had a watermelon to deliver.
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the roasted bean.
word count: 5,946
genre: fluff
member(s): just mark!
warning(s): none, but maybe some bad language and typos
author’s note: i swear 40% of the word count goes to hydrangea sweet dew tea… enjoy!
Day 441.
“What’s this?” you questioned, retrieving the gift that was wrapped in a cute comic strip wrapping paper. He grins in response, “Open it,” he urges. You start to pick at the tape that held the wrapping paper in place, careful as to not tear or damage the paper. He looks on excitedly, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
You pull out the rectangular object, revealing a notebook, engraved with his name and his birth date, in hand. You looked at him; he still had the same boyish, ridiculously cute smile plastered on his face. “Go on,” he urges once more, gesturing with his hand for you to open the notebook.
“Don’t tell me you got me a diary with your name engraved on it just to claim me as your possession,” you say, glaring at him, mind rid of any harmful intentions. He giggles, quickly getting up on his feet, “You open it, okay? I’ll go make us some drinks.”
He presses a soft peck on your forehead, running off to leave you to unravelling your gift.
You open the notebook, the pages already pre-filled with black ink.
Day 1.
“Should I?” you whined, tugging Wendy by the arm, hoping she could decide for you. The two of you were on your way to school, which meant that in another few blocks, you’d pass by one of your favourite cafés of all time – The Roasted Bean.
“A little caffeine wouldn’t hurt,” Wendy replies, flashing you a sweet smile. She already knew that you were definitely going to buy a cup of your favourite hydrangea sweet dew tea. You just needed to have someone to blame when you regret indulging in so much liquid before four blocks of lectures.
You smiled in response to her reply, throwing your arms around your best friend, giggling like the little girl you were at heart. With your arm linked with Wendy’s, the two of you continue your walk in the spring breeze, approaching The Roasted Bean within the next few minutes. You push the door open, the wind chimes sounding, notifying the café staff of the entrance of a new customer. Immediately, you were hit with the familiar scent of a mix of roasted coffee beans and fresh tea leaves, a scent in which you loved.
“Hey, the cashier’s kind of cute,” Wendy whispers, pointing in the direction of the said cashier. You looked over to be greeted by the pleasant sight of a male staff. He donned a boyish smile, hints of dimples on either side of his cheeks. His eyes, although hidden behind a round frame pair of glasses, were big and glistened in reflection of the light, his slightly curly hair jet black. Upon meeting eyes with you, he bows politely, smile widening. Out of pure manners, you acknowledged his greeting by returning the smile, quickly averting eye contact.
“Hi, welcome to The Roasted Bean. What can I get for you?” He says so naturally, question directed at you.
When you do not respond, Wendy nudges you in the side, “He’s talking to you,” she says through gritted teeth. Somehow, she managed to maintain her smile, but lets out an awkward laugh when the cashier boy flashes her a confused look.
“I’ll just get a hydrangea sweet dew tea to go, please,” you say, flashing a small smile at the cashier. He repeats your order, “Alright, one hydrangea sweet dew tea to go. Can I get you anything else?” as he punches in the order through the monitor. You stared at the screen which reflected your order summary, eyes travelling upwards, past his hand, up his arms, to his chest. Pinned to the leather apron he had on, positioned at his left chest, was his nametag. ‘Mark’, it read.
“No, thank you,” you reply. He gives a slight nod of the head, grabbing a marker and a cup. “Name, please?” he requests, eyes fixed on yours. “Um,” you hesitated, eyes looking around as you scanned through the menu boards which were placed above Mark’s head.
“Horchata,” you state confidently, flashing a big, bright smile. You notice the look of confusion that flashes across Mark’s face for barely a second, along with the extremely disgusted, weirded out, confused look Wendy has on hers. Nevertheless, Mark retains his customer-friendly smile, scribbling down ‘Horchata’ on the cup.
He swipes your debit card and hands it back to you together with your receipt, directing you to the collection counter on the right. You bow and thank him, dragging Wendy along as she nags, “What the heck was that? What’s wrong with telling him your own name?”
You chuckle, hugging your best friend’s arm tight, “Come on, it’s fun.”
She smacks you lightly on the head.
Day 9.
“Remember to bring your textbooks for next week’s lecture,” the professor announces, dismissing the cohort. You shut your laptop, cross your arms, and heaved a sigh of relief, tilting your head from side to side to relief the tension in your neck from the two-hour lecture. Due to the intensity of the course, your fingers had to move feverishly despite the crisp, cold air that blew directly at you, causing your entire body to almost freeze to death.
“I swear, why do we have to take Mr Kang’s class? Why can’t he be like other professors? They all upload the study notes online, but this guy just uses his mouth, and nothing else,” you complain, throwing your head down to rest it on the table. If you weren’t so tired out, you would’ve jerked back up in reflex to the cold surface that was biting at your cheek.
“Alright, alright. I’ll buy you a hydrangea sweet dew tea to turn that frown upside down, okay?” Wendy coos, ruffling your hair. You jump up in excitement, rushing to pack your things, “I really like the sound of that,” you say, eyes gleaming in excitement.
It had been about a week since you last visited The Roasted Bean. Whenever you were stressed, you always craved and needed a cup of hydrangea sweet dew tea to calm yourself. It was the best pick-me-up you could ask for.
Soon enough, you found yourself approaching the entrance of your favourite café.
“Gosh, just because you take your time to walk over, it doesn’t mean that your tea is going to grow legs and run away,” Wendy says as she gasps for air, running a hand through her hair. “I swear, that was supposed to be a ten-minute walk, but we literally got here in three minutes.”
You chuckled, reaching out as you settled the stray hairs atop your friend’s head. “Come on, you can’t blame me. I’m just excited for my beautiful, fragrant hydrangea sweet dew tea.” She swats your hand away, rolling her eyes, before bursting out into shared laughter with you. “If only you were this enthusiastic about class, maybe we’d actually be early,” she comments, pulling you along as she enters the café.
“Hi, welcome to The Roasted Bean. What can I get for you?” The familiar voice greets. You turned towards the boy behind the cashier; you were greeted with the same customer-friendly, boyish smile. Only today, you noticed he had his hair combed back, and he didn’t have his glasses on. Previously, he wore a simple, plain black t-shirt. Today, he has on a white dress shirt, his sleeves neatly cuffed. He looks smart, and admittedly, even better looking.
You smile in response, “Hi,” you greet. “One hydrangea sweet dew tea to go, please.”
Again, Mark keys in your order through the monitor. As he clicks, your order summary is reflected on the screen in front of you. “Can I get you anything else?” He questions, eyes focused on the monitor. You look towards Wendy, “I’ll have a cold brew,” she says. He finishes locking in the order, grabs a marker and a cup, “Name, please?” he requests.
You hold Wendy by the wrist before she is able to reply. “Affogato,” you say.
Wendy smacks your arm, to which you do not react. Mark, on the other hand, still managed to maintain a smile as he scribbles ‘Affogato’ on both your cups. Again, he completes the payment transaction, returns you your debit card and receipt, and directs you to the collection counter on the right.
“Really? Affogato?” Wendy hisses, “What’s next? Macchiato?” She smacks you once more on the arm.
You giggle, “Isn’t it fun?”
Wendy rolls her eyes at you. “Don’t you think it’s weird though?” she says, eyes fixed in the direction where Mark was. You looked over too, raising your brows questioningly. “What’s weird?” you asked, following Mark’s every move as he prepared the drinks without even having to give the ingredients or preparation process any second thoughts.
“I mean, I think I would remember if someone told me their name was Horchata,” she says, turning back to look at you.
“Oh,” you say, meeting eyes with Wendy. “He probably just forgot. I mean, so many people frequent this café. Maybe he just doesn’t recognise us.”
Wendy hums in response, “I guess you’re right.”
Your eyes linger on Mark for a moment, before turning away as you engage in conversation with Wendy while waiting for your drinks to be done.
Day 26.
The morning spring breeze hits your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “Gosh,” you murmur, looking up at the pale blue sky. You reached back, grabbing the hood of your hoodie, pulling it over your head. Shoving your hands into the kangaroo pocket of your hoodie, you continued trudging on towards The Roasted Bean.
On entering, you searched for the cosiest seat with the least chance of interruption from any possible crowds. Spotting your favourite corner seat, hidden beside the entrance of the storage room, the sides of your lips tugged upwards to form a small smile, your footsteps noticeably lighter as you walked over, plonking your black backpack on the bench. Reaching into the pouch of your backpack, you pulled out your debit card, turning to head towards the cashier.
“Hi, welcome to The Roasted Bean. What can I get for you?”
Your eyes immediately snap up, meeting eyes with the only cashier who had been serving you since your past two trips – Mark. Today, his hair looked like a fluffy mess, his round frame glasses framing his face. The bright, sweet smile he had on had some effect on brightening your mood ever so slightly, in which you managed to huff out a smile in return.
“One hydrangea sweet dew tea, please,” you say, voice groggy from the time of day. You fail to notice the small chuckle that Mark had let out, your eyes fixed on the display of breakfast foods the café has to offer. Taking this as an opportunity, Mark stares at you a tad bit longer, admiring how your features seemed to blend so well together.
“Anything else?” he asks, waiting patiently for you to make a decision.
Without Wendy by your side, nobody could help your indecisive self make decisions. Without a choice, and without looking up, you asked, “Should I get the ham and cheese croissant or the chicken and ham panwich?”
“I’d go for the ham and cheese croissant,” Mark replies, making a mental note on how you couldn’t make a choice between a croissant and a panwich. His smile widens.
“Okay, I’ll have that,” you say, handing him your card. He takes it, swipes it, and hands it back to you along with your receipt. Just as you were about to walk to the collection counter, he stops you, “Name, please?”
You looked at him, brows slightly raised. “You need to write my name on the mug?” you questioned, confused.
Mark’s smile doesn’t even budge as he says, “No. I need a name to address the collection to.”
You nod your head in response, simply replying with, “Kaffeost.”
Day 27.
“Another day of mugging,” you mumble to yourself, grabbing your hair and putting it up into a messy bun. Throwing on your cardigan, you grabbed your backpack and headed out of the door. As you exited your building, you see Wendy standing by the pavement, her body hunched over due to the cool air. A smile forms as you call out, “Wendy!”
She looks up in reaction to your voice, scurrying over. She grabs your arm and hugs it tight, “The cold will be the death of me,” she says, almost whining. You laugh, running a soothing hand up and down her arm, in an attempt to warm her up as the two of you headed for The Roasted Bean. Yesterday, Wendy had a full day of vocal practise with her acapella group, so she wasn’t able to accompany you on a study date.
“Did you manage to complete a lot yesterday?” she asks, body still snuggled close into yours, continuing your walk.
You hummed in thought, “I guess. I managed to complete the notes for the first six chapters,” you say.
You lead the way to the same, cosy spot that you had claimed on the previous day. Wendy pats your head endearingly, “Wow. This is a good spot.” She takes a seat, already warming up thanks to the heating system in the café.
“What would you like? I’ll order,” you say. Wendy takes a moment as she scans through the menu, deciding to indulge in the classic hot chocolate. You tell her to wait a moment, making your way to the cashier to place the order. Once again, you were greeted by Mark, whom you somehow, already feel personally acquainted to. “Hi, welcome to The Roasted Bean. What can I get for you?”
For a moment, you contemplated as to whether or not you should ask if he ever got bored of saying the same exact sentence to every customer, but you figured that the two of you weren’t on the level of casual conversation yet. So instead, you proceed to place your order, “One hydrangea sweet dew tea and one hot chocolate, please.”
Mark taps away at the monitor, “No breakfast for you today?” He asks.
You look towards the display of food, pursing your lips in contemplation.
“Can’t decide?” he says, already done with keying in your order. Mark notices how you scrunched your nose in thought, your attention still fixated on the display of food. “How about eggs benedict? It’s a big enough portion for you and your friend to share,” he suggests. Your eyes immediately lit up in excitement, and Mark notices. He couldn’t help but smile a toothy smile.
“That sounds amazing,” you say, handing Mark your card. He processes the payment, then returns your card together with the receipt.
“Name, please?” he says. Today, you were prepared with an answer.
“Breve.”
At that, you fail to see the slight look of disappointment in Mark’s expression.
“How much was it?” Wendy questions just as you arrived back at the table, her hand already reaching inside her bag for her wallet. “It’s on me,” you say, stuffing the receipt, which is the last possible shred of evidence of the cost of the food, deep into your pocket.
“Fine, but next round is on me,” Wendy says, shrugging. You nod in reply, getting out your laptop, textbook, notebook, and pencil case in preparation to study. Wendy does the same. Just as she was about to say something, Mark calls from the collection counter, “A hydrangea sweet dew tea, hot chocolate, and eggs benedict for Breve!”
“Tell me you are not Breve,” Wendy says, deadpanning. You giggle, sending a wink towards your friend. She furrows her eyebrows, but you don’t give her the opportunity to smack you. Swiftly, you slid off your seat, heading towards the collection counter.
Mark nods his head in acknowledgement, dropping you a, “Enjoy,” before resuming his duties.
“Seriously? Breve?” Wendy starts, “And this guy just accepts whatever the heck your name is, even though it’s literally different every day?”
“I’m still with the belief that he simply doesn’t remember me,” you say, placing the mug of hot chocolate in front of Wendy. She shakes her head disapprovingly, “I guess he’s not the only fool. You’re one too.”
You brush off Wendy’s comment, setting the plate of eggs benedict between the two of you.
Day 34.
After realising that all the seats at The Roasted Bean only had one power socket, Wendy and yourself have collectively made the decision to study at your apartment instead. In saying that, it has been a solid week since you’ve been able to indulge in your beloved hydrangea sweet dew tea, and you were affirmative that if you didn’t drink a cup of it now, you wouldn’t be able to survive another day of mugging for finals week.
Wendy had agreed to stay at the apartment to wait for your lunch delivery while you headed to The Roasted Bean for your tea fix.
“Hello, you’re back,” Mark greets, smiling brightly. “Haven’t seen you in a week.”
“No ‘Hi, welcome to The Roasted Bean. What can I get for you?’ today?” you ask, amused. He shrugs, running a hand through his fluffy, black hair, “Figured I could use a change.”
“Sadly, I can’t. One hydrangea sweet dew tea to go, please.”
Handing you back your card and receipt, Mark grabs a marker and a cup.
“Name, please?”
This time, you contemplated whether or not you should ask if he genuinely couldn’t remember your ‘name’, given that you’ve literally given him words from every category of The Roasted Bean menu, or if he was playing along with you, perhaps for personal amusement. However, you decide against it, concluding that it probably didn’t matter to him. He was, after all, just a barista doing his job. No part of his contract states that he had to remember customers’ names.
“Galão,” you state.
You turned away so fast that once again, you failed to notice the heavy breath Mark lets out. Yet, he still had on his signature customer-friendly smile as he proceeds to prepare your drink.
Day 44.
Finally. The first day of finals week, also known as, five days closer to the end of torture.
You decide to stop by The Roasted Bean on your way to university. You genuinely needed the energy and mind boost from the amazing tea, which Mark seemed to concoct so well. Instead, you were greeted by an unfamiliar face. Although he had on the same type of customer-friendly smile, his didn’t seem to be as charming as Mark’s is.
“Welcome to The Roasted Bean. What would you like?” he says.
“Um, just one hydrangea sweet dew tea to go, please,” you reply.
“How can I address you?” he says.
“Uh, just the letter M will do.”
The hydrangea sweet dew tea today wasn’t as sweet nor fragrant as what you were used to, and you couldn’t help but have the recurring thought as to why Mark wasn’t working today.
Day 45.
Yesterday’s hydrangea sweet dew tea failed to satisfy you. Maybe it was the stress from examinations, or maybe it was because of the person who prepared it, you weren’t exactly sure why it didn’t give you the energy and mind boost that you needed, but you knew you definitely needed another fix today.
Entering the café, you looked towards the cash register, only to be greeted by the same guy from yesterday. Was it… disappointment? Were you subconsciously hoping to see Mark?
“Hi again,” he greets. “What would you like today?”
“One hydrangea sweet dew tea to go, please,” you say, passing him your card. He finishes off the payment, “M, right?” he says, marker already in hand.
You nod your head in response, collected your card and receipt, before walking towards the collection counter. The guy had only seen you once, but he already remembered your face and your ‘name’. It made you miss the little fun you had giving Mark a different ‘name’ every visit.
You thanked the barista, grabbed your drink, and headed for university.
Today, the questions you had regarding Mark’s whereabouts are more prominent than before.
Day 47.
You had overslept the previous morning, which resulted in a groggy, unfocused, irritable state during the examination yesterday. It was more than obvious now that you needed a hydrangea sweet dew tea to kick start your day.
As you looked at the barista, or, as you’d like to term, ‘replacement-Mark’, you wondered if it would weird him out, should you ask about the reason behind Mark’s absence. “Hydrangea sweet dew tea to go?” he says, pulling you away from your own thoughts. You nod in response; you kind of missed Mark’s never-changing greeting, as well as his persistence in (probably) feigning oblivion to the fact that you only ever drink one specific drink from The Roasted Bean.
After collecting your drink, the thought as to whether your morning runs to The Roasted Bean, was genuinely just to curb your hydrangea sweet dew tea cravings, or if you had another hidden agenda. You swat the thoughts away, taking your notes out to recite as a form of last-minute revision.
Unfortunately, your curiosity with regards to Mark’s absence was beginning to overpower all available space left in your brain.
Day 50.
You had fought the urge to visit The Roasted Bean because a) you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to wake up any earlier than you had to, and b) you were too preoccupied with revising, you didn’t really have the time to crave hydrangea sweet dew tea.
But, now that finals were finally over, you had all the time in the world to drink as many hydrangea sweet dew teas as you deem fit. Meanwhile, Wendy had one more paper to study for, which is why she had no choice but to reject you when you asked her along. She didn’t forget to leave a text nagging at you to stop playing a fool with all of your fake names.
“It’s not like he’s going to be there to play along, anyway,” you murmur in response to Wendy’s text. Sliding your phone into your back pocket, you pushed the door open, the wind chimes whistling with the breeze.
Your expression immediately lights up.
“Hi, welcome to The Roasted Bean. What can I get for you?” he greets, the same, boyish smile plastered on his face. Only, you didn’t notice the extra gleam of excitement that sparkled in his eyes. You walk towards him, face reflecting his exact expression.
“You’re back,” you blurt out, too quickly for you to even think your words through. Luckily, Mark doesn’t allow you the chance to regret, for he replies, “I’m glad someone noticed.”
With his response, you thought it would be suitable for you to clarify your burning queries.
“Where have you been?” you question, hands resting on the counter, fingers picking at each other. It was one of your nervous tics, which you tend to do, subconsciously. But Mark notices this, and he makes a mental note of it – picks at fingers when nervous.
“Well, you’re not the only college student. I had finals too,” he says.
“How do you know I’m in college?”
“It’s kind of obvious when you study in a café without budging all day.”
You chuckle at that, only recalling now that you had spent two full days studying in the corner of this café, where Mark could see you, very clearly. You contemplated as to whether or not you should ask how he’s able to cope with studying for his finals if he were working every day that led up to finals week, but you don’t get the chance to.
“So, what can I get for you?” he says. Your smile widens at that – finally, a chance for you to recite your order.
“One hydrangea sweet dew tea to go, please,” you say, holding out your debit card. He takes it, swipes it, and passes it back to you, with your receipt. As usual, he reaches for a cup and a marker, “Name, please?”
Your smile grows even wider. Mark, still donning his beautiful, toothy smile, tilts his head questioningly. You hesitate for a moment.
“Viennois,” you decide on.
Once more, you fail to notice the slight disappointment that flashes across Mark’s face briefly. He mumbles a, “Next time,” under his breath, moving on to the preparation of your drink.
As you sip on the familiar fragrance and sweetness of the cup of hydrangea sweet dew tea that somehow, only Mark was able to create, you think about the possible reasons as to why Mark never asked for your actual name. Maybe Mark just couldn’t care less. Maybe this was all for the sake of customer service.
You didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t even decipher the feeling that overwhelmed your entire being when you saw Mark today.
Day 73.
“And just why in the world do I have to drive another thirty minutes for The Roasted Bean when you literally have one, a seven-minute walk away from your home?” Wendy whines, throwing her body onto the couch, refusing to even budge. “Come on, it’s the nineth time you’ve made me do this. Just why exactly can’t you go to The Roasted Bean around the corner?”
You shrug,
“I just think the hydrangea sweet dew tea is nicer at the other Roasted Bean.” Lie.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you only drink half the cup before dumping the remainder in the bin. And, if the tea were so nice, you’d have it once a week, not nine times in three weeks!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up into the air in exasperation. Truth.
“Well these days I’m just craving it more,” you retort. Lie.
“Then there’s no reason why we need to drive thirty minutes for it. Let’s just walk seven minutes for it instead,” Wendy says. You really didn’t want to.
“Fine, I guess I won’t have my hydrangea sweet dew tea fix for the day,” you say.
Immediately, Wendy squints, staring you up and down. “That’s fishy,” she says, getting up from the couch. She crosses her arms, walking in a circle around you, “What are you avoiding that you simply can’t go to The Roasted Bean that’s just around the corner?”
“Nothing.” Lie.
“Then let’s go,” Wendy says, grabbing her bag.
You sigh, getting up from your position. You knew you wouldn’t be able to outsmart Wendy, neither would you be able to convince her that you weren’t avoiding anything, because you clearly were. And what exactly were you avoiding? Simple. Mark, the barista.
Why were you avoiding him? Because you felt this unfamiliar, unwelcomed rush of emotions every time you thought of him. At this point, Mark liked to pop up in your thoughts once in a while, the memory of his boyish, charming smile pinned in your head. You honestly just didn’t want to face it. You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you were living the fictional lie of falling for the barista, because you knew it would never end in fruition. It just wasn’t possible.
With dreadful footsteps, you followed behind Wendy as she led the way into The Roasted Bean. Standing right behind the cash register, with his never-changing smile, was Mark.
“I’ll go sit, and you can go order,” Wendy informs, making her way to one of the available seats by the wall. You gulped, biting the inside of your lip as you made your way forward.
“Wow, it’s been three weeks,” Mark says. You noticed how his smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was. Today, there was a dash of solemn, coupled with a dash of relief. “Yeah, it has, hasn’t it?” You internally berated yourself for that lousy, lame reply.
“Where have you been?” he asks, the exact words you had used when you asked him the same question a few weeks ago.
“Um,” you hesitated, scavenging your brain for an answer of some sort. “I’ve just been hanging out with my friend.”
Mark nods his head, seemingly accepting of your answer.
“So, would you like your usual?” he asks. It was different this time. He was acknowledging that he knew and remembers your specific order. And for some unknown, probably absolutely ridiculous reason, you felt a feeling of warmth spread throughout your body. Why?
“Yes, please,” you manage out, holding out your card. Mark makes sure to look you in the eye, still, with his pretty smile, before taking the card. The tips of his fingers brush against yours, awakening the butterflies in your stomach. A touch so simple, that probably meant absolutely nothing to Mark, was making you feel all sorts of things. The fool you were, to actually be developing feelings for a barista.
As you retrieve your card and receipt from Mark, you turned, ready to head for the collection point, before he stops you, “Hey!”
You turned, humming in response. Mark holds out the marker and cup in each hand, “Name, please?”
“Oh, um,” you stammered. “Cortado,” you say, about to walk away.
“No,” Mark calls out, grabbing your attention once more. You looked at him questioningly, to which Mark continues, “Your real name.”
“Huh?”
“This time, you were gone for 23 days. Next time, who knows how long you’ll be gone for. Don’t you think I deserve to know, at the very least, your name?” Mark continues to gaze at you, smile unwavering. You couldn’t comprehend how he could be so calm as he says those words. Was it a mere occupational habit he had? Maybe it was already his nth time relaying such a message to a customer.
“Why do you want know my name?” you question back.
“You give me a different fake name every time you come. I just want to know your real name, because I think you’re pretty cute, but here I am, having to scrawl ‘Cortado’ on your cup,” Mark says almost too quickly, that you almost failed to catch the part where he said ‘you’re pretty cute’.
Again, the fluttering in your heart. You couldn’t help the smile that instantly forms on your lips, as you rephrase his words, “You think I’m cute?” Your smile widens even more. Your fingers picked at each other, your heartbeat picking pace. You couldn’t even bring yourself to meet eyes with the boy, and with your vision fixated on the wooden countertop, you fail to notice the light shade of pink that painted Mark’s cheeks.
“I thought I made it pretty obvious that I am interested in you,” he says. “I don’t do small talk.”
“I kind of just took it as your top tier customer service,” you say. Mark’s grin widens as he watches you bite your lower lip, body lightly swaying from side to side. Mark notices the light tapping of your foot – another mental note; you have a lot of subconscious tics.
“I’m Mark,” he says. He bends down slightly, poking his face out a little, over the countertop, in an attempt to look you in the eye. “And you are?” he asks, finally catching your eyes. His gaze, although not very much different from before, definitely sent a whole different message. At this point, your heart is thumping erratically. You also couldn’t bear to ruin the moment by telling him that you already knew his name, since the very first day, thanks to his nametag.
“I’m y/n,” you finally reveal.
“I love that name,” he says, scribbling it down onto your cup.
Man, you have a lot of explaining you need to do to Wendy.
Day 76.
Honestly, you’ve been counting down the hours to this day. You felt that returning immediately on the next day would’ve been too tacky, so you decided that a three-day interval would be the perfect gap. You couldn’t help but wonder if Mark was anticipating your arrival. He did say he was interested in you. Even now, you couldn’t suppress the heat that rushes to your face with just the simple thought of Mark’s words.
“Hi, welcome to The Roasted Bean. What can I get for you?”
“No alternative greeting today?”
Mark scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “Honestly, I can’t think of anything else.”
You giggle, “You’re lucky I’m a fan of the original greeting.”
“I needed something that would leave an impression,” he says, with what could have, or may not have been, a wink. It kind of just looked like he had something in his eye. You laughed, and his teeth peeked through his smile.
“You had this all planned from the start?” you asked, resting your hands on the countertop, your body leaning forward. Mark mirrors your actions, leaning forward, a little bit closer to you, still leaving a decent amount of distance between the two of you. “How about I answer that question over dinner?” This time, you definitely saw the pretty pink that fills his cheeks.
“Oh my gosh I can’t believe I just did that,” Mark exclaims, clenching his fists, kicking the air while landing gentle punches to the cabinets behind him. You laughed, amused by his goofy actions as he internally cringed at himself. “Were you always this dorky?”
Mark shrugs, “Yo, there’s a lot you still don’t know about me.”
“Yo?” you repeat, furrowing your brows in confusion, a small laugh leaving your lips.
“So, dinner?” Mark clasps his hands together, anticipating your reply. You smile, nodding your head, “Dinner.”
“Oi,” Mark cheers, pointing a finger downward, as though he were some swaggy rapper.
Day 441.
Closing the notebook, you gently run your fingers over the leather cover, the engraved “MARK LEE”, and the date “1999.08.02” engraved below it. You haven’t stopped smiling since you began reading, your heart warm and fuzzy with the knowledge that Mark had actually bothered to give you a spot in his diary entries. The fact that he also had a legend on a page with all of the fake names you’ve given him; it was kind of expected given the nature of the boy. There were even scribbles scrawled between pages that seemed to hint at his efforts in trying to figure out what pattern you were using when deciding what fake name to give. Since it was purely random, he probably wasn’t able to come up with anything.
Getting up, you hugged the diary close to your chest, walking towards the living room, where Mark had already prepared an entire table setup. It was nothing fancy. Just some broken yolks, baked beans, slightly burnt toast, and strawberry macarons. It’s the effort that counts, right?
“You made all this?” you gasped.
Mark nods, taking you by the hand as he leads you to one of the counter stools.
“I really struggled. Wasn’t sure what I could do that would be special. I hope this isn’t too underwhelming,” he says so nervously, biting on his lower lip. Even so, he still had on his charming, adorable smile, and in this moment, he was more loveable than anything else. With your arms pressed against the countertop, you lifted yourself up, grazing your lips against Mark’s cheek. He couldn’t help but giggle.
“And to top it all off,” he turns to grab two mugs from the kitchen counter, before placing one of them in front of you. The all too familiar fragrance hits you, and without even looking or asking, you knew exactly what it is. You looked up at Mark with the most loving gaze, as he says, “Your favourite hydrangea sweet dew tea. Happy anniversary, baby.”
Mark presses a chaste kiss to your lips.
“I love you.”
#nct scenarios#nct fluff#mark fluff#mark scenarios#mark imagines#nct imagines#mark#nct#nct 127#nct u#nct dream#nct mark#fic#fic: the roasted bean
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I swear I've seen a flower that had a colouring that looked kinda like that dress in the misty morning dew... At any rate Very Pretty on you Captain!
"Is that so? ... Hm... I'm not that good when it comes to flowers... Hydrangeas maybe? I think they can come in blue and pink.... but thank you!"
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