Did you know?
The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree ( Submit your own)
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Brigit Langley for Fletcher Langley.
The Matchmaking Menace
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa
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Post 3+ times in three or more class threads during the course of a school year. Must all be done with the same character, be they a professor, student, or school portrait or ghost!

Daddy Issues
April 8th, 1889 — Honeyduke's

Reuben had nothing particular to do in the sweet shop on that day; he was just killing time on High Street until a meeting he had later on with a potential vendor. He needed to arrive exactly two minutes late, he'd decided, in order to make the best possible impression, and if he walked there now he'd be six minutes early, so he had just enough time for some browsing. He wouldn't be opposed to buying something for his sister if anything caught his eye, he thought — but Honeyduke's was so crowded that it was difficult to even see the wares. There must have been some kind of sale going on that he didn't know about, or a promotion of some sort. There was no way this was normal traffic for a candy shop on a Monday afternoon.

He found himself moving towards an aisle on the edge of the store just to have a little breathing room, which brought him directly to a familiar face. The problem was, familiar was all it was, and it was really just her face — Ben had the distinct feeling that he ought to know who this woman was, but was coming up blank. She had definitely seen him, though — they'd come right up to each other and made eye contact — so he supposed he'd better bluff. He was definitely supposed to know her name — he had that sort of feeling, anyway, and he didn't want to offend her by letting on that he didn't. Maybe if he was lucky, how they knew each other would come up in conversation.

"Hi there!" he said with a chipper smile. Hopefully her response would give him some kind of a clue.
Dionisia had been lucky enough to have smoother pregnancy than she'd expected. (Although as a mediwitch, most of the pregnant women she'd come in contact with were hurting or in distress. A low bar had been set.) The most unexpected changes were ones that were the least harmful — namely, her appetite. Being a mediwitch meant that her own nutrition had never been her highest priority, but now that she'd resigned from her job... well, most of her days were spent lounging and snacking.

Right now, all she wanted to eat was sweets. She'd mustered all her willpower to turn down a second slice of lemon cake the night before and was now regretting it. Squeezing between other customers at a very busy Honeyduke's, her hands stuffed with a variety of candies from the shelves. Taffy, chocolates, and toffees — she wanted them all.

She pushed by another customer to snag the last gummy wand off the shelf, but instead was met by the sight of a familiar face staring down art her. It was him — the man who'd done this to her. The one that had cost her her job, the one who cost Ari Fisk his future happiness. She couldn't move and she couldn't speak, and instead gawked at him like an utter fool. He seemed so friendly. Almost too friendly.

"What?" was the only word she could muster as she protectively wrapped a single arm around the swell of her abdomen.

this set is a bee-auty
Post Log
Well, that wasn't the helpful hint he'd hoped for. Was he wrong about knowing her from somewhere? No, she was definitely familiar. She didn't look like she recognized him, though, and that threw him for a loop. Ben wasn't used to being on the other end of a bad recollection. He was, generally speaking, fairly memorable.

"How've you been?" he asked, his tone favoring slightly by still generally cheerful. He knew he knew her, and he was just going to keep bluffing until one of them figured out how.

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