#and the lighting on the court matched the color of his kit

[maggieqmei]

Look what this win means to Ben✨

[ahatintimepieces]

Fabric Hearts

Remember the first part of that build-a-bear au I wrote for @smieska-draws? It’s back! But now the au name makes sense! Imagine!

Luka, known as the Snatcher to most of the mall locals, runs the Kraft-a-Kid while his daughter, Hattie, runs around with her friends. There’s definitely nothing suspicious about Luka. The rumors that he snatches the souls of children and stuffs them into the dolls are completely unfounded. Probably. Most likely. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s fine.

This is, of course, another au that Smieska and I both developed and like to swap ideas for SO send her your love and adulation because I couldn’t have written this without her ;o; <333 Here’s the link to the piece she did for first part if you haven’t seen it yet (which u should because it’s fabulous and incredible). Without further ado, here it is!

Words: 4,131

The door squeaked open as Luka recorded the number of tiny, elastic collars with bright bells in the back.

“Dimitri can’t make it today,” he warned without looking up from his clipboard. His golden gaze flickered up towards the boxes filled with cotton stuffing and he quickly counted them as footsteps approached. “If you get a sudden influx of customers, come grab me.”

“It’s me, Dad,” Hattie’s voice came from right beside him.

“Did I stutter?” He glanced down without missing a beat. She gave him a deadpan stare as he grinned. His sharp canines glinted in the unnaturally bright florescent lights. “Come on, kiddo. How about you help me with my business endeavors instead of frittering away your summer romping around the mall?”

She readjusted the brim of the top hat she made from her millinery lessons at the fabric store. Why his child fixated on hat-making out of everything she could have taken an interest in was beyond him but even he had to admit her royal purple top hat was well crafted.

“I’m going with Belle and the others to get lunch at the food court,” she said, ignoring his jesting. “Can I have money?”

“You know if you had a job you wouldn’t need to be asking me,” he lamented dramatically before wedging the clipboard between his arm and side. He reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his slacks.

“I’m not even twelve.” She blinked up at him with large blue eyes. “There are child labor laws.”

“Excellent.” He nodded, opening his wallet. “Don’t let anyone in the mall convince you otherwise. But,” he slipped out a bill and gave her a pointed look, “if you accept this, you have to do me a favor.”

“I already cleaned the bathrooms last weekend,” she whined.

His grin widened.

“Tough luck, kiddo.” He twisted the bill in the air, watching her nose scrunch as she seriously weighed her options. After a second of letting her think that she was going to have to do her least favorite chore, he extended the bill towards her. “Just bring me back a coffee and I’ll consider us even.”

Relief instantly flooded her features as she took the bill.

“I can do that! Your usual?” She headed towards the door.

“That’ll work,” he said, tucking away his wallet and grabbing the clipboard again.

“Thanks, Dad!” she chirped before moving to open the door.

Just as she reached for it, the door swung open, and she stumbled back. Luka immediately dropped the clipboard and slipped behind her with the speed of shadows dodging the light. She smacked into his legs, and he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder as Alex walked in with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry, kid! I didn’t see you there.” Alex winced, looking from Hattie to Luka’s hard glare.

“I’m fine!” Hattie promised, giving a bright smile until she placed her hand over Luka’s fingers. She jolted and twisted around. “Dad, are you okay? You’re really warm.”

“It is hot in here.” Alex tugged at their collar, wincing.

“The thermostat dial was probably nudged,” Luka dismissed, pulling away and stooping to grab the clipboard. “I’ll take a look.”

“Should I get you water?” Hattie asked.

“I have water. Now go have fun.” He shooed her towards the door. “The sooner you leave the sooner you can run my errand.”

Hattie hesitated but when he returned to his task of recording inventory, he heard her retreating footsteps.

“Sorry,” Alex muttered as they crossed over to the table for the employees. They dropped their backpack before grabbing the light purple apron with their nametag.

“Let’s just be careful with how forcefully we open doors, hm? I don’t want to deal with any workplace liability cases. They’re a pain.” Luka shot the teen a toothy grin. Glancing back down to the clipboard, he added in a more monotone cadence, “Anyway, Dimitri can’t come today, so once Ember leaves, it’ll just be you and me for the rest of the day. If it gets too crowded on the floor and I’m not around, come find me.”

“Right.” They nodded firmly. While wiping back their bangs and smearing the beads of sweat on their brow, they hurried out. Once the door closed behind them and Luka was alone, he let out a sigh.

The flame that had flared when Hattie nearly got hit crackled noisily in his otherwise empty chest. Luka placed one of his pale hands over the flame and counted out the seconds between metered inhales and exhales. The snap and pop of embers faded and when he glanced towards the thermostat, the temperature in the room lowered back to a comfortable range.

Not that he was bothered by the heat, but he didn’t need his employees passing out.

Ember’s shift ended as he got to counting the unstuffed plush shells. As she hung her apron over the hook, she informed him that two separate groups had just entered the store. Luka nodded, finishing his current count before getting ready to help Alex on the floor.

He brushed back his long, spiky hair into a ponytail. Stray strands the color of soot fluttered against his cheek, and he tucked them behind his ear.

They reflected a warm violet when they caught the light.

With his hair as contained as he could manage, he grabbed his own amethyst apron with the Kraft-a-Kid’s signature logo; a stylized baby goat and parent goat waving a friendly greeting. After draping it over his black suit and making sure it didn’t displace his dark purple tie, he tied the apron with nimble fingers, clawed at the tips. He double-checked that the pocket had extra thread and a compact sewing kit before he clipped on his name tag and headed out into the workshop.

Alex snapped their head up from one of the stuffing stations, looking relieved when they spotted Luka rounding the counter. Alex returned their full attention to the small girl and her mother while Luka smiled at the two teens with a younger child hovering by the bins of unstuffed shells by the entrance.

While he didn’t know them personally, he recognized Brooke and her younger sister Hali, who worked (or in Hali’s case just hovered around in the back when not at daycare) at their uncle’s travel agency, and then Makoto, who worked at the jewelry store. Judging from their uniforms, the teens were probably using their breaks to accompany Hali. Since he often heard good things about their work ethic and Hali’s sweet nature from Mari, he assumed he had an easy session ahead. He waved them over.

Brooke and Makoto shared a nervous look while Hali bounded over with a bright smile.

“Why, hello there!” Luka pasted on his most vibrant customer service smile as he lowered onto the seat by the stuffing station. Cotton and soft fibers filled the glass tank decorated to look like hearty trees and branches climbed around the edges. The machine itself matched the lilac walls and brown and bronze gears that decorated them. The bins and shelves that held the merchandise throughout the store were all structured to look like spools of golden thread.

Holding an unstuffed goat with dark brown fuzz and silver horns, Hali shyly smiled up at Luka as Brooke and Makoto slowly joined.

“I see you’ve picked your new friend!” Luka held out his hands and Hali gingerly lowered the flat goat into his palms. “Before we bring them to life, how stuffed do you want them to be?”

“Um?” Hali tilted her head with a blank expression.

“Do you want them to be firm or squishy?” Luka clarified, fitting the goat around the nozzle and getting his foot ready over the pedal.

“Fiwm, pwease!” Hali declared in a cutesy voice.

“Excellent choice!” Luka set to work, pumping the pedal as he filled out the head of the goat plush. The machine roared to life, blowing air and fluff with the force of a vacuum. Though, his ears perked when he caught Brooke and Makoto in an intense discussion as they remained a couple steps back. What he couldn’t hear over the machine, he pieced together easily enough.

He knew the rumors and could guess what was on their mind when they mentioned the Snatcher and stolen souls.

Luka smirked as he pulled his foot from the pedal and the machine hushed.

“Now it’s time for my favorite part.” He beamed, pulling off the firmly stuffed goat and then reaching for a bucket full of small felt hearts. “The soul ceremony! Go ahead and pick the heart that most resonates with you.”

“If it’s just a heart, why is it called a soul ceremony?” Brooke asked, her voice quivering as she pressed closer to Makoto.

Hali, meanwhile, was completely enraptured with picking out the right fabric heart.

“Hearts, souls, same thing, really,” Luka soothed with a toothy grin, giving the teens a considering look.

Makoto’s gaze flickered down to his fangs. She lifted her chin, trying to project an air of confidence. But her furrowed brows wavered.

“Souws awe heawts?” Hali gasped, looking up with awe.

“Absolutely!” Luka kept his voice cheerful, gesturing to the bucket. “It’s what gives your new friend life! I imagine without one, they would feel pretty empty and hollow.” Keeping his chin tilted down, he lifted his eyes towards the teens and lowered his voice just a touch. “Wouldn’t you feel pretty soulless without a heart?”

The two stiffened.

“Pwobabwy!” Hali chirped, completely unaware of their increasing unease. She dug around the hearts and pursed her lips. “How do woo know which heawt is the best?”

“That’s up to you!” Luka bounced effortlessly back into an upbeat cadence. He pinched a heart with a checkerboard pattern in red and white. “The nice thing about these hearts is that they’re blank slates. They’ll be filled with whatever you put into them. But don’t put in too much!” he added with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want your new friend to be more you than you!”

Brooke squeaked in fright and his grin stretched.

“I wiwl take this one, then!” Hali held up a solid red heart.

“Great! Hold on to it, now.” Luka placed the tub back down. “First, why don’t you rub the heart on your hair so your little buddy will always have soft fur!”

Hali beamed at that and rubbed the fabric heart on her hair. When she pulled it back down, some of the blond strands followed the heart while the strands too far away stuck up from the lingering static.

“Well done! Now, rub it against your funny bone so your friend has a sense of humor.” Luka tapped his elbow when Hali crinkled her nose for a moment. Her eyes lit up in understanding and once the heart was granted good humor, Luka added, “and why don’t you strike a superhero pose, so that your pal will hold courage.”

Hali giggled as she placed her hands on her hips and preened.

“Fantastic. Lastly, I want you to rub the heart between your palms!” Luka motioned for her to mimic him as he demonstrated. “Now, when it’s nice and warm, give it a clap to start its heartbeat!”

The clap resounded through the workshop and the teens jolted behind her.

“That should do it,” Luka praised, holding out his palm. Hali handed the heart over, and he slipped it into the goat, tucking it snuggly away in the cotton and fluff.

He then set to filling out the rest of the plush. Once it was stiff and sturdy, he handed it to her, asking if she was content with it. When he received an enthusiastic nod, he took it back and sealed the hole. He snipped the extra thread with the scissors in his apron and then passed the goat back to Hali.

“Here’s your new friend! Be sure to visit our shop in the back! We have plenty of accessories and outfits for the newest member of your family,” Luka recited the same sales pitch as always. “Once you’re ready, head over to an open kiosk so you can fill out the adoption papers. If you need any help, Alex or I will be overjoyed to assist.”

“Thank woo!” Hali hurried over to the accessories, hugging the goat to her chest.

Luka clasped his hands and turned to the teens. When his gaze flickered to the floppy hooded doll in Makoto’s arms, her embrace tightened.

“Ready?” He motioned for her to hand it over so that he could stuff it.

She looked to Brooke, who shrugged with uncertainty. Makoto stepped forward.  

Keeping his tone light, he went through the same script as always. He asked if she wanted the doll to be firm or squishy and, in an effort to loosen her up a bit, offered to add any fun sound boxes or scents to the plush. She remained on edge until he asked about the nametag on her uniform as the machine roared to life again. She explained how her boss liked to give everyone themed nicknames and she was saddled with “Makoneko.” When he asked if she appreciated the nickname, she pointedly rolled her eyes as he removed his foot from the machine pedal again. Her shoulders relaxed when he chuckled.

“Your turn to pick a heart,” Luka twittered in an overly cheerful voice as he held out the bucket.

“Do I have to do the ceremony?” Makoto hesitated, plucking the first heart she saw. Rather than scared, her bored expression mirrored that of many teens who wanted to skip the step.

Perfect.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” He shrugged casually. “What is a heart without a heartbeat? A soul without a person behind the personality?”

“What?” She faltered, shoulders slowly stiffening again as Brooke’s eyes widened.

“I only mean it’ll be a sorry existence for this little friend.” Luka waved the stubby hands of the purple plush toy. “And you get out what you put in.” Her brows dipped in slight confusion, and he smirked. “You have to at least start its heartbeat. You don’t want to bring a ghost home, do you?”  

“Just do the ceremony!” Brooke hissed through clenched teeth.

“F-fine,” Makoto said, slowly lifting the heart to her long black locks. “So, hair for soft fur?”

“Does it look like this one has fur?” Luka gestured to the doll with the yellow spiral in its hood. He scoffed, turning up his nose. “Of course not! No. First, why don’t you rub the heart against your belly so that it’s full of laughter.”

“I thought that was the elbow.” Makoto crinkled her nose. Though she rubbed the heart against her stomach, eager to get it over with.

“There is a difference between telling good jokes and laughing at them, kiddo,” Luka offered with a smirk. “Now, how about you jump up and down a few times? I’m sure your friend would love to share some of your energy.”

“What does that mean?” She jolted.

“Just that exercise keeps the heart healthy,” Luka said placidly.

Her eyes narrowed but she eventually gave a sluggish skip.  

“Then, rub it against your ear, so it will always listen.” He smiled brightly, being sure to bare his teeth. Once she complied, he clasped his hands together. “I’m sure you know what to do now! Warm it between your palms and then clap to start the heartbeat!”

She let out the breath that she had been holding, relieved it was finally over. She gave a small clap before passing the heart back. He slipped it into the doll.

“Any names in mind for your friend?” Luka prompted as his foot tapped the pedal.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled curtly, purposefully trying to let the whirling air in the stuffing machine drown out her answer.

“How’s this feel?” he asked a few seconds later when the machine hushed again. He pulled the doll from the nozzle and passed it back to her.

“Good.” She returned it after assessing the squishiness.

“If you haven’t got any names, I always thought these particular dolls looked like minions,” he prattled, closing the seam. When she didn’t respond, he continued lightly, “so Minion might be a good name.” He glanced up to meet her gaze and lowered his tone. “You did make sure it’ll listen. It’ll be an obedient little kiddo.”

Her breath hitched.

“Obedient to who?” she challenged, maintaining a fragile glare.

“All done!” Luka snapped upright after snipping the excess thread, pretending he hadn’t heard her question. “Welcome your friend into the world!”

Makoto accepted the doll, her gaze flickering between it and Luka with uncertainty.

“Same as always,” he droned in his peppy, customer service voice. “Browse to your contentment. My daughter recommends the plush purple cherries. You want to keep your buddy happy and fed! Make sure to finalize the adoption and meet Alex or I by the counter.” He glanced over to find the other young girl with her mother already at the cash register. “Looks like it’ll be Alex!”

Makoto nodded numbly as Brooke stepped forward and looped her arm through hers, rescuing Makoto by tugging her away.

“One more thing,” Luka began, keeping his eyes on his clean-up routine. The teens’ footsteps paused as they hovered. Though his smile laced his voice, his enunciation was sharp. “I’m sure the Snatcher doesn’t have to tell you but be sure to treat your new friend as you would yourself. You put your soul into bringing them to life, after all.”

The teens gasped.

“Have a good day, kids.” Laughter laced his voice.

They rushed away as he chuckled.

While he finished cleaning up, Hattie returned with her friends. As soon as she spotted him behind the stuffing machine, she rushed across the tiles decorated to look vaguely like a forest path.

“Here’s your coffee,” she chirped, holding up the cup.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” he asked, pushing to his feet and picking stray fluff from his apron. Once he was as clean as he was going to get, he accepted the drink. He held it towards his lips, pausing to quirk a brow at young Muriel and Timmy as they passed the stuffing machines to check out all the colorful outfits. Belle, meanwhile, joined Hattie with her azure bow bouncing in her dark coils.

“We’re going to head to the bookstore.” Hattie shrugged. “Tim’s friend is hosting a card game tournament.”

“Remember to be back by six,” he instructed. “Don’t go snacking after four or you’ll spoil your dinner.”

“I know, Dad,” she huffed dramatically.

“Also, Mom says hi, Mr. Kingsley,” Belle pipped in.

“Tell Mari I return the sentiment. Now get your friends to stop loitering.” He turned back towards Hattie and rose his voice so Timmy and Mu could hear. “They scare away customers.”

“Says the Snatcher,” Timmy whispered to Mu.

Luka covered his smirk with the coffee cup. His gaze shifted over Hattie and Belle and he watched as Makoto and Brooke fled the store at a brisk pace. Hali struggled to keep up, but she managed to meet his eyes and offered a cheerful wave.

“Fine,” Hattie sighed. “Come on, guys!”

“I need to stop by Mom’s before we head to the bookstore,” Belle mentioned as she and Hattie turned to leave. “I left my cards with my backpack.”

As the girls left, Luka turned to head back towards the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. He immediately winced.

“Ugh, tepid,” he grumbled as Timmy and Mu ran past, hurrying out to follow Hattie and Belle.

After making sure the kids all had their backs turned and Alex was busy with something on the counter, Luka summoned a gentle ember to his hand. While the flame harmlessly licked the cup, the coffee warmed inside until steam wafted from the hole in the lid. He took a tentative sip and swallowed the scalding liquid.

The flames in his chest crackled and popped, and the knots in his shoulders eased.

He snuffed out the ember in his hand as he lowered the cup. Mist trailed from the lid as the coffee maintained its heat.

“I think you scarred those two for life,” Alex muttered as Luka returned to the counter.

“Which two?” he asked, mind still on Hattie and her friends.

“Brooke and Makoto.” Alex glanced up, shaking their head with a scolding expression.

“I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary,” Luka said calmly. He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee during his momentary break. “If those hooligans are letting their imaginations run wild, it’s not on my conscience.”

“Uh-huh.” Alex gave him an unimpressed look. “Also, I think we’re running low on the beach ball accessories.”

“I noticed,” Luka muttered, swirling his cup pensively. “Those aren’t particularly popular, and we are getting near the end of the season…”

While they discussed whether they needed to send out an order or if they would make it until the fall selection came out, Hattie rolled on the balls of her feet as she, Timmy, and Mu waited for Belle to return from her mom’s flower shop just across from Kraft-a-Kid. Hattie idly watched all the mallgoers, thoughts blank, but Timmy and Mu had their eyes locked on Kraft-a-Kid, thoughts whirling noisier than the stuffing machines.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Belle announced as she bounced out with her deck of cards.

“Hattie.” Timmy whirled around. “Your dad’s magic!”

“Timmy, he doesn’t steal souls, we’ve been over this,” Hattie whined, crossing her arms.

“If he doesn’t steal souls, then what’s with his coffee?” Mu snapped, nodding her head towards the display window where Luka could be seen leaning against the counter inside the workshop.

Hattie squinted, trying to figure out what was out of place with the steaming coffee cup. After a moment, she turned to Belle, who shrugged.

“It’s hot!” Mu gestured wildly, causing her blond mustache to bob with her movement. “Look at that steam!”

Hattie blinked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Belle supplied dryly. “Because Hattie ordered it hot.”

“But he said it was tepid!” Timmy argued. “We heard him!”

“He probably thinks it is,” Hattie said, knitting her brows together. “He likes his coffee hot enough to burn his tastebuds.”

“You aren’t getting it!” Mu huffed. “It wasn’t steaming when he said it was cold!”

“Okay, but even if he somehow heated it up, that didn’t have anything to do with stealing souls,” Belle appeased.

“That’s what we mean!” Timmy urged. “If he can use one type of magic, he can use others!”

“I regret the day I told you about those rumors,” Hattie grumbled.

It didn’t matter as much when strangers said it, but instead of laughing with Hattie when she told them that people thought her dad was some kind of heartless, soul-snatching monster, Mu and Timmy had latched onto the conspiracy and ever since refused to let go. She couldn’t talk about new product plushies or designs around them anymore because they would just start a debate about which shell would best hold the souls of children.

“Look can we just get going?” She started walking in the direction of the bookstore and Belle matched her pace. Mu hurried to catch up as Timmy trailed behind, keeping a watchful eye on Kraft-a-Kid.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen anything weird?” Mu insisted. “Heard any screams of children he caught? Seen any dolls move in the corner of your eye?”

“You know he laughs like a cartoon villain?” Timmy added.

“The store is literally called Kraft-a-Kid!” Mu continued. “Open your eyes, Hattie!”

“Kid is just another word for baby goat!” Belle argued. “It’s cute!”

“We aren’t talking about this anymore!” Hattie snapped, tugging down on the brim of her hat. She turned away from them and focused on Belle. “So, what deck are you using? The one with fairy types? Or your cat themed one?”

“Both!” She grinned mischievously as she happily helped to redirect the conversation. “I combined them because I wanted to use all my favorites. How about you?”

“Going with the forest deck.” Hattie glanced up, where her deck was safely tucked away in the hidden compartment she stitched into the top hat.

Timmy and Mu huffed, letting their argument go as they pipped in with talking about their own decks. But it was only a matter of time before they started back on their theories about her dad’s supposed magic. Trying not to deflate too much, she kept her eyes forward. She swallowed her frustration and focused on the upcoming tournament.

Besides, even if her dad did have magic and only used it for heating up coffee, it hardly seemed something a heartless monster would do.

Right?

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 7: A Spark of Electricity

Keith makes a new friend and discovers he’s been committing tax fraud his entire life completely unknowing 🤣

First  Previous  Next

Keith stirs. It hadn’t occurred to him that sharing a bed with Lance might be to his benefit, but he finds it better than being alone. He’s spent a few decaphoebs of his childhood alone already.  

Being alone as a kit does a lot of damage. It can make the kit skittish and paranoid. It impedes their ability to express themselves, both verbally and through body language. Especially body language. It leads to depression and antisocial behavior.

And it makes sleeping difficult. Kits are instinctively driven only to sleep when their older littermates or parents are around. It keeps them safe. As such, having a full-grown, larger Altean sleeping only a few dashes away does a lot for him.

It can’t repair what was done to him as a small kit crying on a cliff’s edge for his father to get up and climb back up to find him, but it helps.

Except now he's alone, curled up by himself beneath the warm blankets. Or is he alone? There's a static sound, a flash behind his eyelids, a curse. Keith opens his eyes.

A small girl, an Olkari, is fussing with a panel in the wall. Much like himself, Keith can't imagine that she's an adult. But when she turns around, she wasn’t exactly a child, either. More adolescent. But extremely small.

“Oh, great, you’re awake! Keith, right? That’s what Lance said you like to be called.” Seemingly benign.

“Who are you?” Keith asks, blinking sleep and tangled hair from his eyes.

“Pidge. I’m the resident tech expert around here. I’m modifying the lighting system so that you can adjust it from your datapad. There was a glitch, unfortunately, which Lance picked up earlier when he went to adjust it for you before he left. My fault. Happens to the best of us. I’d fix it the ‘normal’ way, but the Castle isn’t Olkari tech, so old-fashioned way it is! Besides, I don't mind it. I actually like doing it this way.”

Normal way? This is the normal way! Keith sits up. “I don’t have a datapad.”

Pidge holds up a piece of glass with a white border around it. “Now you do.” She tosses it onto the bed. “I’m almost done with this. Just give me a second. Then I’ll help you set it up. Can you read Altean?”

“No.” He can, but the girl doesn’t need to know that. Keith busies himself with tracing the embroidery on the duvet cover.

“You're a terrible liar, but that's your business. That’s fine. I can program the pad to translate everything into Galran for you. We can even go old school and use a handprint scanner to unlock it, if you want. Only you and Lance would be able to get into it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lance said that Hunk and I are to make you as happy and welcome as possible and since we’re friends, I’m happy to oblige.”

“We’re friends? Who’s Hunk?”

“Lance, Hunk, and I are friends.” Pidge pressed the sparking tool back to a wire. “You are... a potential friend. Lance says you seem alright.”

“I’m flattered,” Keith deadpans. Pidge laughs. She’s not... so bad. Nothing here, minus the people Lance calls ‘courtiers’, are too terrible. And the Altean food. That’s terrible too. Also the clothes.

There's a lot that's terrible.

“Be nice, and maybe I’ll make you a body modification so you can taste sweet things?”

“You can do that?” Pidge nods, replacing a panel in the wall, work seemingly complete. “But you’re... just a girl? Like, a very young girl.”

“Nonbinary, actually. But yes, I am quite young.” Pidge smiles, removing the magnifying lenses from their eyes.

“Oh. Sorry. I-” Keith had assumed that most species followed the laws of the Alteans. he'd assumed his species was unusual.

“No worries. Just try to remember for the future and we're all good.” Pidge gets up from the floor, coming to sit on the bed like it's their own. “So, you wanna turn that datapad on?” Keith sucks on his lip, ears wilting as he inspects the datapad for a button. “Here. Gimme.”

Keith hands the datapad to Pidge, blushing beneath his short facial fur. The Olkari shows him a small button on the side, turning it on and handing it back to him. They spend the next varga showing him how to use it, how to translate texts, how to access the castle’s documents. They even show him how to tap into video feeds they’ve set up to spy on the kings in Alfor’s laboratory, though they warn him that not everything that happens in there is alchemy. At least not in the traditional sense.

Apparently Coran likes to visit. Also? Gross.

After all of that, Keith finds himself just... chatting with the young Olkari. They poke him and prod him and shine a flashlight in his ears. They ask probing questions about his personal biology and what purpose such trimorphism might serve.

“Well, it used to be that child-bearing and care was more of a... communal thing? We didn’t always form the strong bonds with our mates that we do now. But since our trimorphism doesn’t hold any disadvantage, our biology hasn’t changed.”

“That. Is so cool.” Pidge fiddles with another panel in another wall while Keith makes note of which foods he likes from the sampler he’s just received for breakfast. “Keith?”

“Hm?” Keith looks up from a small bowl of deep green beans, licking the corner of his mouth. Pidge turns, absently playing with the end of his tail. They’re a cute little thing, Keith decides. Inquisitive. Benign. A kit, like himself.

“How old are you?”

“Just nineteen decaphobes. Turned nineteen a few movements ago.”

“So you’re just a pup. Like me.” Keith nods, gesturing for them to continue. “Why would Zarkon marry you off, then?”

“Didn’t like my dad. Different perspectives, I guess? My father wanted to focus more on internal growth; Zarkon wanted to focus on expansion. They had a falling out.” Keith twitches his tail, watching the inquisitive Olkari chase it with their honey-colored eyes. “It happens sometimes. Anyway, I think he wanted me gone. Bring back sad memories, I guess.”

“How did you end up with him anyway?”

Keith’s ear wilt, tail stilling. “My father... died. Zarkon sent me to live with a friend, Takashi. He's basically my littermate.”

There was so much more to it than that, but Keith didn’t want to talk about it. Pidge narrowed their eyes at him, and Keith knew they could tell he was hiding things. Finally, they nod.

“Well, at least Zarkon didn’t hold your father against you.”

“No, he didn’t. He hoped I would be happy here, I think. He worries about me.” Keith tucks his legs up to his chest. Pidge hums, reaching out to touch a tangled lock of Keith’s hair. They begin working the knots out of it.

“I’d worry too, if my child nephew was married off to the likes of Crown Prince Lancel. He’s got quite the reputation. Or did. Adam says everyone was astounded when he showed up to hold court today. Especially King Coran. King Alfor's heart probably stopped when he heard about it.”

“What does Lance normally do?” Keith latches onto the change of topic.

“Hm. Runs all over. Flirts. Goofs off. Goes hunting. Flirts some more. The people like him as a person, but they don’t care for him as their crown prince. Y’know, because a crown prince becomes a king, and a king needs to like, do stuff. Other than the local prostitutes.”

Keith grins just in time for the door to open for Lance himself, followed by Adam toting a stack of tablets.

“Okay... question one,” Lance mutters, nose stuck in his own datapad. “What the quiznak are taxes?” Adam sighs, exasperated.

Pidge gives Keith a significant look. “Do you want to laugh or shall I?”

“As his spouse, I claim that right.” Keith dissolves into quiet laughter, the Olkari following suit.

“Oh, great!” Lance vaults over the back of the couch with a comb. “You two are getting along. Pidge, Keith. Keith, Pidge-”

“We’ve already done that,” Pidge informs him.

“Excellent! Anyhoo, Keith, your hair is a mess. Come here.” Lance doesn’t wait for a response, instead taking one lock of Keith’s hair at a time, starting at the ends and working his way up.

"...Thanks. I'll- I'll get it cut. It's inconvenient like this."

"No, don't you dare. I need you to keep it." Adam looks like he might throttle Keith. "Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to endear you to these fops? The cuter and more harmless you look, the better."

"Gee, thanks," Keith grumbles. Pidge snickers, going through the pockets of Lance's... what is it with Altean clothes? Lance has pants, but then a skirt in the back? What's even the point of that? He also had a cape? Nevermind. Pidge searches in the pockets of his pants.

Keith allows Lance to do as he likes since the comb doesn't hurt. He occupies himself chatting amicably with Pidge, taking comfort in the blunt openness and bright enthusiasm that they exude. Lance joins in, braiding a red-and-gold ribbon into Keith’s hair. The seamsmaster has assigned Keith an aesthetic and run with it. But the braid looks pretty, so whatever.

If only the matching wardrobe were more comfortable.

Hair done, Keith climbs up into the loft, watching from above as Adam and Pidge team up to teach Lance about taxes. He likes Pidge. Likes how sweet Lance is with them, giving them bits of junk he’s found lying about, letting them sit in his lap and scan the soft scales on his face with some device. He yelps when they try to stroke them against the grain. Pidge, unaware that it would hurt, apologizes immediately. Lance just waves it off, the same way Pidge waved off Keith's misgendering earlier.

These people. They're so easy-going. Adam is a tight-ass, but he's definitely overworked and probably overtired. Lance and Pidge seem to take offense to little, brushing off accidental hurts like one might brush off a drop of rain. Keith likes them well enough, but he's content to do so from his loft, where he can't be disappointed if they don't like him back.

Instead, he listens. And learns. Apparently, taxes are an allotment of money taken from the citizens to fund the crown. Who knew?

Living in the woods like a wild animal is not taxable. Keith smirks, realizing that he's technically a life-long criminal.

Wait until Lance finds out.

[cherryyharryy]

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence. 

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.” 

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many. 

“Chinese?” I offer. 

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.” 

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain. 

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks. 

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother. 

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong. 

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it. 

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table. 

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s. 

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window. 

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles. 

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning. 

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh. 

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs. 

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez. 

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.” 

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!” 

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us. 

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it. 

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing. 

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings. 

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday. 

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere. 

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle. 

“This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.” 

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it. 

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit. 

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away. 

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning. 

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself. 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back. 

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class. 

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky, 

Yours, until the rivers all run dry. 

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook. 

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines, 

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme 

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him. 

I'm gonna stay right here by your side, 

Do my best to keep you satisfied 

Nothin' in the world could drive me away 

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag. 

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten. 

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice. 

And I'll be yours until two and two is three, 

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea 

In other words, until eternity 

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor. 

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back. 

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here. 

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago. 

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am. 

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home. 

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I  pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent. 

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home. 

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you. 

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says. 

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention. 

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name. 

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials. 

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature. 

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction. 

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again. 

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete. 

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here. 

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in. 

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time. 

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before. 

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park—Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death. 

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry. 

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today. 

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island. 

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone. 

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time. 

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day. 

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame. 

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself. 

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years. 

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer. 

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest. 

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs. 

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?” 

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs. 

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again. 

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me. 

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing. 

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment. 

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument. 

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

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

Next Chapter

Let me know what you think!

Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @aileenacoustic and @bathrobesinparadise!!!!!!!!!

[tsc-clave]

TSC characters as colors • TDA edition

Emma – bright red

Emma is short tempered, really short tempered, something that bright red conveys. Her will to avenge her parents and save everyone is so intense that, along to her love for Julian, it’s her only focus.

Cristina – ochre

Ochre is a warm yellow, a color that doesn’t distract you or disturb you, it simply transmit good vibes. Cristina is a very loving person and she tries to make everyone happy, even though she’s a tough one, just like this color.

Diego & Jaime – gold

The Rosales brothers are deeply bonded, affectively and spiritually talking. They are described as perfect and witty, concepts that gold can easily convey.

Kit – white

Kit is very sly, but also very lost in the new world he has been put abruptly. White may represent a new life or beginning, something that Kit had to experience.

Annabel and Malcolm – yellow

Yellow can be associated to craziness and folly and the couple, in one way or another, didn’t show a stable mental state.

Julian – blue

Blue is a color that relaxes and Julian is the comforting presence at the Institute. Don’t forget that blue is a cold color, just like Julian under stressful situations that require a certain nerve.

Helen & Mark – green

Helen and Mark have been torn away from their family, resulting in them going through painful years. Both never lost hope, green is the perfect match for this attitude.

Ty – orange

Orange is a warm and nice color, but still fiery. Ty may seem detached from reality but, by contrast, he’s very passionate and does everything to reach his goals and to stay around the people he loves the most.

Livvy – cream

Livvy’s personality was practical yet compassionate, something that can’t be put in one category or another. Cream is a soft color between white and yellow, two colors that can summarize her temper.

Dru – black

Black isn’t always associated to malice and evilness, sometimes it just represents the unknown and mystery. Dru is attracted to dark and horror things, but she’s very intelligent and willing to help others in order to make everything okay again.

Tavvy – sky blue

Tavvy is still a little boy but creativity and obedience are some of the traits that define him. This light shade of blue can express the boy’s attitude, a happy and carefree one.

Kieran – dark brown

Dark brown is a murky tone but still a hot color, the one that reminds of Faerieland. In fact, Kieran knows his worth and tries to be a better king for the Unseelie court while loving Mark and Cristina.

[imperfekti]

Tenipuri Party: Tezuka Kunimitsu profile translation

TN:

In the absence of an official English version, this translation is intended to help those who can’t read the material in the original language. Please support Tenipuri by getting your own copy of this book - it is worth it! There are various ways of purchasing it even for those not living in or visiting Japan.

The pictures I have included in this post do not show full pages.

On the translation: this time I’m aiming for a more direct, “Japanese-sounding” translation to share the mood of the content more as it is. This will probably cause some sentences to appear weird in English.

On Tezuka’s style of speech: his word choices and sentence structures are mostly polite and serious.

I’m still working on Japanese, so there might be mistakes. Please let me know if you spot any translation errors so I can fix them here!

Tezuka Kunimitsu

U-17 German representative player Seishun Gakuen Middle-school player

Beyond the imagined future - the released challenger!!

Message

“For the support every day, I’m grateful. For the sake of becoming a professional, and for the sake of my tennis, I intend to earnestly keep confronting myself. I think you are the same. In the future as well, together. Let’s go without carelessness.”

Extra prize: A voucher for two at a high-class mountaintop hotel “An undeserved honor. I’m focusing on tennis right now, but… If I can make the time, I will gratefully use it. For two, huh…”

Profile

[DATA] Middle-school 3rd year / October 7th (Libra) / Blood type O / 179 cm / 58 → 61 kg / Left-handed

Special techniques: Drop shot, zero shiki drop shot, Muga no kyouchi, Hyakuren jitoku no kiwami, Saiki kanpatsu no kiwami, Tenimuhou no kiwami, Tezuka zone, Tezuka phantom, Zero shiki serve

Playstyle: All-rounder

Family: Grandfather, father, mother

Father’s occupation: company employee (business) (grandfather is a judo instructor for the police)

Hobbies: Mountain climbing, camping, fishing

Favourite saying: The enemy is within yourself

Favourite color: Green or blue

Favourite food: unacha (a dish with eel carefully broiled in soy-based sauce), Räucheraal (TN: smoked eel)

Favourite book: German-Japanese-German dictionary (to carry with him)

Favourite music: Classical (Beethoven)

Preferred type of person: Trying not to think about it at the moment.

Preferred date spot: Zugspitze

Most wanted item: A mountain model kit

Things he’s bad at/with: Being idle, colourful cakes

Elementary school: Seishun Dai Daiichi Elementary School

Committee: Student council president

Strong subjects: World history

Weak subjects: None

Often visited place in school: The library

Uses allowance on: Books

Skill outside tennis: Woodworking, preparing fish for cooking

Routine during tournament: Keeping a diary in German, watching foreign comedy-dramas.

Favourite anniversary: 23rd August

Preferred travel destination: Macchu Picchu ruins and Huayna Picchu

Present for a special person: Writing a letter of gratitude

Scenes

Injuries, seizing the nationals… Tezuka Kunimitsu overcame numerous challenges that waited for him and seized glory. But he is not a man who would be satisfied with that. From now on too, I want to pay attention to the steep path of him who moved over to Germany.

(Quotes on pictures:)

“I will not lose.”

“Saiki kanpatsu no kiwami!?”

“And then Seigaku’s era will begin once again!”

“Now, let’s go without carelessness.”

Indeed, it should perhaps be called a “Tezuka zone”.

“Hyakuren jitoku no kiwami!?”

This boy’s tennis is certainly Ten’imuhou no kiwami!?

“No matter who I will end up fighting… I will win!”

The German representatives’ strained atmosphere connects to rapid development (*1)

Tezuka-senshu (*2) becoming a German representative was a shock. Did you not have worries about this decision?

If I said no, it would be a lie. However, as to what is important for me as someone aiming to become a professional, I judged it to be fighting as a German representative and based my decision on that.

Specifically, the currently important thing for Tezuka-senshu is…?

Most of all, it is actual experience of fighting at a higher level. At the German training centre, I have the fortunate chance to rally with top pros like Volk-senshu. Even in practice, they are always making hypotheses as to which shot they should hit, what kind of a play they should make in any kind of match circumstances when they are standing on the court. Having put myself in such a strained atmosphere, I can truly feel my level of experience rising rapidly.

Any bewilderment at facing your former comrades…?

Whoever will become my opponent will not be a problem. But, at first, I thought I was feeling sorry. However, at the time of fighting Japan in the exhibition match, I came to realise my heart was throbbing about competing against them. But just fighting as sworn friends, it is not to elevate ourselves. Rather, by putting a net in-between and confronting each other, the light can come from a new angle and hasten growth - that is what I believe right now.

Then, what is Tezuka-senshu’s current objective or dream?

Upon seizing the world, to hold up the flag of Germany that showed in me, a foreigner. If the opponent for that match were to be Japan, there would not be higher joy.

In a well-ordered and non-negligent environment, pleasant days go on

Have you already grown accustomed to life in Germany?

Yes. Everything proceeds very systematically, so in that sense, it sometimes feels like it is actually even more pleasant than in Japan.

What things for example are like that?

Everyone is already gathered around 15 minutes before the set meeting time. The notion of ecology is growing, so most customers carry eco bags for their shopping, and the separation of waste is enforced thoroughly. Everything is done logically, and it’s an environment without negligence.

I see. It suits the serious Tezuka-senshu perfectly. Then, how do you spend your days off?

Touring antiquarian bookshops is currently my biggest enjoyment. From Goethe to Ende, I have been able to acquire several original texts that I couldn’t in Japan. Also, when time and money allow, I try to go to classical concerts.

What about the German language?

The German language too is a very systematic and logical language. There are very few exceptions, as long as one memorises the basic grammar and idioms, it is quite effective to use. Of course I still lack study, and there are many points where I lack experience, but words are not the only means of communication. Rather, sometimes it is facial expressions that speak more eloquently.

Facial expressions…?

Yes. Facial expressions.

Message for Tezuka Kunimitsu

As expected… should I say. Congratulations. (Inui)

YEEES! CONGRATULATIONS!! (Kawamura)

You should still be able to grow one rank higher. Put effort into your training. (Volk)

I will definitely not forget the thing that you taught me. Let’s meet on the court. (Fuji)

I’m glad you seem to be doing well in Germany too. Eat your meals properly! (Ooishi)

Tezuka-buchou-senpai, congratulations. We are protecting Seigaku. (Kaidou)

I’ll win one day, both in popularity and tennis! (Momoshiro)

You’re not planning on ending it at this? I’m waiting for the next opportunity to fight you. (Atobe)

Congratulatioons. But I’ll overcome you soon. (Echizen)

Are you doing well Tezuka? Send something tasty from Germany! (Kikumaru)

This guy is in 4th place!? Gimme a break! You can go higher than that! (Siegfried)

Party talk

Q: Who would you like to inform about this time’s rank and feelings? A: My family. My grandfather too is always supporting me.

Q: You are being served a lot of food. A: Ooishi. I’m grateful, but it’s already enough. I’m eating sufficiently… I tasted Japanese unacha for the first time in a while.

Q: You can also take part in an improvisation skit competition. A: … No, thank you. I was able to enjoy it quite a lot just by watching.

Q: You got excited with Bismarck-san, though... A: … I was merely unilaterally lectured about how to flirt with women.

Q: Who did you come to the venue with today? A: With the German representative senpai. In addition to training, we measured the time and ran to the venue.

Q: Oh? Is there something the matter with Echizen-kun? A: No. I just thought he seems to have gained experience and grown somewhat.

History

Age 0 October 7 Birth

Age 5 Makes a mistake in dance moves in a kindergarten’s play

Age 10 June Climbs Switzerland's Matterhorn with his father

Age 11 Summer Meets Yukimura and Sanada after the Jr. Tournament, has a match Goes fishing with grandfather, catches a sea bream

Age 12 March Graduates from Seishun Dai Daiichi Elementary School

April Enters Seishun Gakuen Middle School Is hit on the elbow with a racket by a senpai in the tennis club Is told to become "Seigaku's pillar of support" by Yamato

Age 13 November Displays a sketch of mountain grass in the culture festival

January Goes to the first shrine visit of New Year with the club’s 1st year members, makes a vow of conquering the nationals

April Becomes a 2nd year Becomes the vice captain of the tennis club

June Participates in a bread eating race in an athletic festivals, places second

September Gets lots of recommendation letters and becomes the student council president

Age 14 Declines the Jr. Senbatsu invitation Around autumn Has an uncomfortable feeling in his arm

October On the field trip (Taiwan), buys tea utensils for souvenirs

November At the Allied music festival (*3) , participates in the class chorus as a musical conductor

February For the first time in his life, forgets something

April Becomes a 3rd year Becomes the captain of the tennis club

May Wins Tokyo preliminaries championship Is mistaken for a teacher at Kawamura Sushi Has a match with Ryoma on courts underneath the railway

June Wins prefecturals championship Declines offer from the special overseas JFH program Goes to the drawings for the Kantou tournament

July Is invited to Hyoutei’s opera appreciation party as the student council president but declines Start of Kantou tournament In the first round against Hyoutei, loses to Atobe in S1 Goes to Kyuushuu for rehabilitation

July 27 Wins Kantou tournament championship

August 14 Drawing for the nationals, returns from Kyuushuu

August 17 Start of nationals Faces Higa in the 2nd round, wins against Kite in S1

August 19 Quarterfinals against Hyoutei, wins against Kabaji in S2 Semifinals against Shitenhouji, wins against the Chitose-Zaizen pair in D2 Yakiniku battle, is one of the last members remaining

August 23 Finals against Rikkai, loses to Sanada in S3   Wins nationals championship Goes to the victory celebration at Kawamura Sushi

Age 15 (*4) September Is invited to Rikkai’s ocean festival, makes guest participation in a play

October 12 Climbs Kitadake with father

November Participates in U-17 camp Wins against Kaidou in the “friendly fire” matches Learns about a fishing mobile game from Marui and Kirihara In the court shuffle between 3rd and 5th court, wins against Yamato Abandons the match against Fuji midway, departs for Germany Aiming to become professional, participates in the German representative team

December Participates in the U-17 Pre-World Cup drawings U-17 Pre-World Cup starts In Vs Japan, wins against Irie-Atobe pair in the second match U-17 World Cup starts Is drawn into a fight about food by Siegfried, eats Japanese food together Wins against South Africa and Canada

Plan

(Pictured: two documents of mountain climbing plans, including itinerary, packing list and map.)

“This is from when me and father climbed during consecutive holidays. When climbing mountains, let’s make plans properly and climb without carelessness.”

Fashion

It seems he didn’t bring much clothing with him from Japan. I will give you something next time. (Volk)

With Kunimitsu’s hair style, clothes from any country would suit him. (QP)

Wearing clothes you received just like that. That’s like you. (Fuji)

Whether the person in question is aware of it or not, wearing a waistcloth is quite stylish. (Kite)

“I am not a person who is particular about clothes, but only when it comes to shoes, I make it so that I can play tennis in them.”

Room

Bedroom of the room I’m staying in in Germany There’s only bare minimums like the bed and desk that were part of the furnishings. But I’m thankful that letters and daily necessities have been delivered from Japan. Overall, I like the things made from wood and seeing the townscape from the window.

TN:

*1 張り詰めた, haritsumeta. Strained, stretched, tense. Not strained in the sense of anxious or having problems. It seems more like everyone is ambitious and focused.

*2 選手, senshu: player, athlete. I chose to leave this as it is since the interviewer uses it all the time as an honorific, and couldn’t figure out a natural expression in English.

*3 連合音楽会, rengou ongaku kai. This seems to be some kind of an annual music event that at least schools participate into.

*4 It seems like a mistake that age 15 is placed at September, not October.

[rdwyns]

          hey y’all, it’s kit again ! swapping jeyne out for anya, my muse from the last iteration of warofcrowns but with some obvious edits ! if you remember her from the old version, fair warning, she’s gotten significantly worse. her intro is still absurdly, ridiculously long, i am well aware and will not apologize. but if you do manage to read the whole thing you have my eternal gratitude & admiration ! i’d also really, really love plenty of plots and connections for her so if you want to plot, here’s how: like this post if you don’t mind me messaging you, or get a head start and shoot me a message either on IMs or on discord !

⤷ ( kit. cet. 22. she / her. violence against children. ) the courts offer bread and salt to anya caron née redwyne of house caron. many say the twenty-five year old ruling lady of nightsong is known to be poised and insightful, though ill tongues whisper that she is insecure and volatile. when her name is uttered, one is reminded of a faint light in a sea of fog, sweet fruit souring into wine, & a dark stain spreading over silk. may she be blessed and protected in this war of crowns.

        tw - discussions or mentions of alcoholism, childbirth & pregnancy, domestic abuse & neglect, suicide by drowning, food & disordered eating, forced marriage, mental & physical illness, misogyny. ( yeah it’s a lot, don’t mind me. )

basics.

name. anya caron née redwyne. nicknames. age. twenty-five. traits.      + educated, reverent, insightful, poised, curious, resourceful, sentimental.      - guarded, resentful, volatile, insecure, transgressive, dependent. titles. ruling lady of nightsong. loyalty. house targaryen.

family.

desmond redwyne, ruling lord of the arbor. ( father ) viola redwyne née ???, ruling lady of the arbor. ( mother , deceased ) ??? redwyne, heir to the arbor. ( half-brother ) ??? ??? née redwyne, lady of the arbor. ( half-sister )

??? caron, ruling lord of nightsong. ( husband ) amerei caron, lady of nightsong ( sister-in-law )

pre - history ; house & parents .

the redwynes were always military men. had to be, really, being island people, more isolated and often more endangered than their mainland counterparts. really, there was nothing quite so loved as war, except perhaps wine.

an old, proud house, the redwynes and their fleet have fought for targaryen kings for centuries — they stood by aegon in the dance of the dragons, stood by jon & daenerys against cersei lannister, and even stood by maegos against the dornish and northern rebellions.

lord desmond redwyne took his father’s seat in the reign of king aeron. in a prosperous and peaceful time, men drunk on dreams of a glorious war grow restless — so he hunted, and whored, and drank, and none of it so much as touched his reputation. no, lord redwyne was an honorable man, a true servant of the realm, an example to many.

lady viola redwyne might have said otherwise, had anyone asked her. prone to bouts of melancholy, often disagreeable, and with a reputation for refusing suitors, she might have even succeeded had she not been so beautiful. lord redwyne must have her, and her father could not refuse.

his second wife, fifteen years his junior, and unhappy with the match, she could not love him, nor his other children, nor the arbor. a lack of love in such close quarters sours into hate over time, like bad wine. one of her few reliefs was that he already had an heir and a spare. poor health and misery would not have made her a brood-mare of any longevity.

family history & early childhood . 

as it stood, anya was more an unexpected result than a desired outcome, and ultimately even a bone of contention. she bound her mother by love, to the arbor and the man that she hated.

they were left well enough alone, for a time, viola and her daughter, the septa, and the maidservants. even the wet nurse sent away. anya’s infancy brought a modicum of respite, but it would not last more than a handful of years.

by that time it aroused suspicion. lady redwyne would hardly leave her chambers, refuse to let the child out of her sight, would not see her husband and even refused food for periods at a time. it was unhealthy, unnatural, they soon started saying. in inns and winesinks at ryamsport men would murmur ‘poor lord redwyne, imagine a wife that beautiful going mad on you,’ into their cups, laughing at their great fortune to have avoided his.

and perhaps there was something real to it, perhaps there really was something unsettling about the arrangement. perhaps not. but in the end it was only the talk that mattered. once it reached lord redwyne’s ears, red with shame at being laughed at by traders and fishermen, he put his foot down. viola’s whims were not to be indulged or tolerated any longer, and besides, ‘the child’—by this he meant anya—‘must grow to be a fool or a half-wit if left in her care.’

and so anya was removed to the care of a cousin, mostly sheltered from her mother’s influence. there were fights about it for months. the withdrawn lady redwyne who would not speak but to her daughter and her maidservant and looked to the window whenever anyone looked at her had disappeared. she raged, schemed to steal her daughter away, wept, wandered the halls at night, and made trouble.

lord redwyne even tried being gentle, for a time, speaking in soft pleading words for her to be reasonable, but gentle or harsh it made no difference. if she saw anya twice, even three times a day, it was not enough — to her mind, he had stolen her daughter, stolen her life, stolen her freedom and anything else he might think of taking, and she wasn’t wrong. but when she threatened to throw herself from the eastern tower, she sealed her own fate.

on horseshoe rock, one of the smaller islands in the waters surrounding the arbor, a small stout keep was furnished and staffed, and lady redwyne was sent out of sight, out of mind, and certainly out of the way, where she couldn’t cause another such a stir — and most importantly, after a while, the talk died down.

personal history .

with all the difficulties tended to, and all the loose ends and loose canons carefully tied down, anya’s upbringing was left to a succession of septas, servants, and after a time, an aunt, newly widowed  and returned to the arbor.

out of her father’s favor for as long as she could remember, with a rocky relationship with her siblings ( i won’t go into detail in case my wc is picked up ! ), anya found little relief within the castle walls. she attended her lessons dutifully, could sew and sing and smile, recite the houses, their sigils and heroes, and it all meant little and less to her.

she wanted to set sail, she had always insisted — since before she knew what it really meant, just uttering phrases picked up along the way the way one does around seafarers — but desmond redwyne would not suffer any of his daughters to venture so far beyond his control. he knew better than to trust sailors, and certainly never trusted women.

so instead anya spent years at her window, watching sails shrink and disappear over the horizon ; by the sea, swimming in a cove under the watchful eye of the septa ; sneaking in the fields during harvest, stealing grapes ripe to bursting. searching desperately, maybe shiftlessly, for a little bit of sweetness. all the while she visited her mother only rarely, on namedays and holy days and days when, for whatever mysterious reason, her father’s pity won out over his good sense.

she studied too, though silently, mostly unnoticed. the kitchen girls, the household guard, the way people talked when they didn’t think anyone was paying attention. watched her father most of all, and had no illusions about him. even if she still aspired to please him, somehow, to gain his approval, she knew: he was a cruel man, harsh, childish, selfish, drunk on wine and himself, and yet still too clever to let all of that be his ruin.

her betrothal, like any lady’s, was inevitable — on the horizon of her future, marriage appeared to her like a fog, uncertain in all aspects but its impending approach. in the end it was a transaction, as these things almost always are. a dowry of ships, wine, and gold ( but really, mostly ships ) was enough to make anya a desirable bride despite the whispers of madness that clung to her mother, and she was promised to the heir of nightsong without even the illusion of being well-matched.

demure, docile, even shy, few suspected that, days before she was to leave for her wedding, anya would disappear in the night. would sneak from the castle in the dark, with a torch and one gold dragon, paid to the wife of a fisherman who, in her husband’s small boat, rowed anya to the shores of horseshoe rock to say goodbye to her mother one last time.

it was a mistake, but she couldn’t have known that. she came at night, the only time she could, but to viola, startled from her sleep, she was a ghost in the moonlight. after the truth came, ‘i’m leaving. father says i must,’ her mother, in tears, threw herself in front of the door, on the ground, wept in fits and refused to let her leave. it was the first and last time anya ever truly believed her mad. with promises that she would refuse her marriage and sail home as soon as she could, she left.

she was guilty, of course — so guilty it ate her up, and very nearly killed her, but not so guilty that she turned back. her mother could not bear for her to go, but anya felt she would die — truly die — if she were forced to stay.

the preparations were already well underway by the time word reached them from the arbor. lady redwyne had disappeared. alseep in bed at night, swore the servant, but gone in the morning. the island was searched for weeks, coasts scoured, sailors and captains interrogated, but to no avail. some say she escaped, others that she was kidnapped, and yet others know with conviction that she simply walked into the sea and drowned

though she wore the her house colors instead of black, anya was married in mourning. the wedding was a ridiculous affair, lavish and splendid and festive, and it only made her all the more self-conscious. she was polite, sweet, but in the momentary lull of conversation she looked lost. doe-eyed — not innocent, but wary, reproachful.

( note --- everything that follows may be changed at a later date if / when her husband is applied for ; i’m trying to keep it as vague as possible for that reason, sorry. )

it was a relief to be gone from the arbor, that she could not deny, but things at nightsong were not better. she was withdrawn, in mourning, clumsy in her attempts to draw affection from her husband and all the while mistrusting him ; even at the arbor she knew the household, was familiar with the scullery maids and the maester. here she was a stranger in her own home, and resentment blossomed as easily and intractably as wildflowers.

in the end she found she had traded a familiar prison for one completely alien to her. in the end it was probably worse. she did not sour quickly, no --- it took time, but sour she did. 

tl ; dr , personality .

a traumatic, tense, and lonely childhood, ghost-like and disconnected. mommy and daddy issues, because why not. that and a poor marriage leaves her bitter, withdrawn ; there is a deep, foul darkness in her that she does not have the strength to keep at bay.

haunted by rumors of madness passed down from her mother, hard to disprove when she seems to be turning into her more and more every day. more recently questions of her fidelity have been raised ; she ignores them publicly but remains wary. honestly she’s not ‘mad’ it’s just what they call women with big emotions and opinions, y’know.

despite all that she still seeks sweetness, tenderness --- she is seriously traumatized and seriously sentimental, but not necessarily a good person. she might try to be or think she is, but in the end she’s also very shady and good at lying to herself, or aspiring to goodness. wants intensity above all else, whether good or bad. 

basically what happens when you put a sweet, sensitive girl into the rough, careless hands of men ; even when they do not mean to misuse her some damage is inevitably done. that’s not to say she’s only a victim ; she can be as cruel as she is tender, and hurting only makes her want to hurt more.

very insecure, which manifests itself in a lot of different ways ; does she try to make herself big and powerful ? does she try to turn herself into whatever it is she thinks someone wants ? does she overthink things and say too little end up seeming like an absolute whacko ? does she get overexcited and yes.

poised and image-aware but resents it. she should have been the daughter of a miller or a fisherman or even a knight, but not of a lord ; harbors secret dreams of simple domesticity but she’s been told at every turn that makes her weak or small-minded so she dreams of nothing instead.

plot ideas !

cousins. i haven’t yet decided what house anya’s mother is from, so there are plenty of options for familial attachments there, though probably a house from the reach / southern kingdom ! her father also probably had sisters, although they’d probably be another generation older and have adult grandchildren at this point, so. second cousins ? i think ? 

failed or cancelled betrothal. this is also super open ! again, would probably be someone from the southern kingdom, all things considered. what their relationship would be or whether they had even ever met is all very much up in the air. 

former flings. again i like to keep my plot ideas open to customization and further plotting ! but i also think that she may, probably, arguably, definitely have sought comfort elsewhere after realizing her marriage was not going the places she was hoping. idk man she just wants to be touched. how intense it was or how long it went on or what it meant are all very very open to discussion, i love a little drama but i definitely don’t need this to turn into a ship or anything ! and again this would be open to any gender because all my muses are bi !

enemies. i cannot stress this enough, i love enemy connections. maybe anya’s jealous and petty which she is perfectly capable of being ; she loves herself a backhanded compliment and has a bad habit of lashing out when she’s feeling upset or otherwise justified in her shittiness. could also be enemies due to bad blood between their families, since her dad is fairly shitty also. 

family ward. could go two ways ; either someone who spent some time in their childhood at the arbor or somewhere anya might have been sent for some time in her childhood ? she was fairly isolated at the arbor for most of her childhood but i would love for her to still have some childhood connections or something.

#badreputation friends. anya adores her sister-in-law amerei more than she can express ; both of them have a dark cloud of a bad reputation hanging over their heads. anya’s a madwoman and a whore, and amerei’s killed all three of her husbands, if the rumors are to be believed. which means that anya absolutely adores any lady with a bad reputation, especially if that reputation is only bad because of misogyny. they also don’t necessarily need to be friends, but anya definitely finds them more interesting than most others.

little sibling-ey relationship. yea i’m braindead and not thinking of cool names for these things anymore. anyway, gimme a muse who’s still all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and brings out the very best in anya ; she’s always been the youngest sibling but with an intense need to protecc ( catch her rehabilitating birds with broken wings and defending the baker’s boy from bullies ). also has loads of mostly half-bad advice to pass on ! 

literally anything else ! please ! i just love intense, extensive, or lore-heavy plots but also anything casual and fun i am not picky ! i just ! want plots and connections and muse to write !

[p-artsypants]

Rage Awakened (8)

THIS IS THE REAL CHAPTER I SWEAR.

I apologize for my little prank earlier, it was just too hard to resist! 

Ten years ago, Terra, Aqua, and Ventus lost their fellow apprentice, Sora, in Deep Jungle. Now, they are to return with two new students, Riku and Kairi, to lock the heart of the world. All the while, something watches from the trees. Feral!Sora AU

FF.net | Ao3

@chachacharlieco @violetstar-writes

Eraqus assumed having all the kids out of the house would be a treat. Finally time to get things done that he had been putting off.

But he had neglected to factor in all the chores left behind.

He was in the throne room, mopping the marble in silence. He sighed to himself, his mind active of worry. Aqua hadn’t checked in in two days. He kept telling himself it was just because they were busy, but the paternal part of his brain kept telling him that they were in danger.

“One more day, and then I’m going after them.”

Turns out, he didn’t have to go that far. The front door slammed open.

“Master!” Aqua called.

The mop fell to the floor with a clatter as Eraqus ran from the room.

His children were all gathered in the entryway, a young, barely clothed man in Terra’s arms.

“Oh god...is that...? What happened?”

“We found and sealed the keyhole,” Terra explained, wanting to get that out of the way. “But then we were attacked by a creature, it kind of looked like a heartless, but not...”

“It had long red eyes instead of yellow dots.” Added Riku.

“Long red eyes? Did it hurt him?” He gestured to Sora.

“No, it just...” Aqua struggled to explain what happened. It was rather bizarre after all.

“Here, let’s take him to the infirmary. You can tell me all about it then.”

The infirmary was just a room with a bed, bathroom, and cabinets filled with potions, ethers, elixirs, and panacea.  There was not much use for a first aid kit with those who were proficient in magic around.

Sora was lowered onto the bed, still not waking.

“He doesn’t look injured. Tell me what happened,” Eraqus demanded as he began his examination.

“Well, Kairi was the first to see him...”

They each took turns explaining what had occurred, each making sure there was not a single detail of the trip left out.

After Eraqus had looked him over, the story was still going, and all he could do was listen, his face screwed up in thought.

“His keyblade…ate the monster?”

“That’s what it looked like...a heart wasn’t released either.”

“Hmm...” the Master hummed in thought, truly lost for words. “I am deeply troubled by this information, but I’m glad you told me.” With nothing else to do for poor Sora, he simply covered him with a blanket and made him comfortable. “All we can do now, is wait for him to wake up. Perhaps he will allow me to study his keyblade then.”

Aqua said, “Master, he’s still rather hostile towards those of us he knew back then. He thinks we abandoned him there.”

Eraqus sighed, “a logical conclusion. Then I suppose we will just have to regain his trust.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Simple.” He looked to Kairi. “We have a liaison.”

“Me?” She asked.

“Of course. Aqua says he’s taken a liking to you.”

“Yeah but...” she hesitated, “he said he remembered me, from a time when he visited Radiant Garden as a kid. What if I don’t live up to those expectations? Will he feel betrayed again?”

“Oh Kairi, you needn’t worry about that. Just do your best and be a friend.”

Unsure, she said nothing, only hunched her shoulders.

“Now, you’ve all had a very long week, why don’t you get cleaned up and go to bed, hm? King Mickey has invited you to a dinner in celebration of your hard work tomorrow night, so sleep in, relax, you’ve all earned it.”

“Dibs on the shower first!” Ventus shouted, before running out of the room. The rest soon followed, except for Kairi, who lingered, watching Sora.

“If you’re feeling restless, I could use some help preparing Sora’s room.” Eraqus offered.

She nodded, pulling her eyes away from him, and together, they went down the hall.

The Castle of Departure was a very unique castle indeed. It’s form was tied to Eraqus’ keyblade, and therefore his will. Extra rooms could be created as needed, without the exterior being altered.

Eraqus stopped at the spot in the hall between Riku’s and Kairi’s rooms, then he summoned his keyblade, light surrounding the tip.

A door with a crown appeared in a flash, and unlocked with a click.

Each room in the castle was different. The bedrooms were paired with the owner’s keyblade so that only they, and Eraqus, could unlock it. In turn, the room was made just for them, and showed a reflection of their heart. Kairi’s room looked very similar to the one she had back home in Radiant Garden; large, with plush carpets and big windows with wispy curtains. Likewise, Riku’s matched the one back in Destiny Islands, despite that room no longer existing.

So opening Sora’s door, Kairi expected a child’s room, since that’s the way it would have looked back then. However, that’s not what was inside. At one time, this may have been a child’s room, and a rather small one at that, but something was wrong. Immediately inside was a three wall section, that was reminiscent of these times, a small bed against the left wall, pictures on the right. Souvenirs and mementoes, various types of gear for snow, ocean, and desert, a whole pile of toys and play weapons, all in a hodge-podge of childhood excitement and wonder. But where the fourth wall, the adjacent wall should have been, there was a staircase that led down into a huge room. Only the ceiling was visible, as everything else was hidden under piles and piles of junk.

The larger section of the room was dark, despite the skylight, only the tops of the piles were visible. The further down, the darker it got, until everything was seeped in darkness. Who knew just how deep that went? A layer of dust covered everything, and cobwebs hung like curtains in the corners. Besides the neglect of ten years, the room just felt heavy.

Eraqus coughed at the dust cloud that had unsettled upon opening the door. “We may have our work cut out for us after all...”

Kairi wandered in, her eyes bounding over each corner in curiosity.

“Was it always like this?”

“No,” Eraqus stated, walking over to the stairs. “There was a bay window here once, huge and let in plenty of light…It was always messy though.”

“So...I didn’t realize these rooms could be this big.”

“They’re a big as they need to be. Ventus’s room, when he first came, was tiny, and completely white. But as the years went on and his heart healed, the room grew and color appeared. I suspect that this mess is a physical manifestation of the state of his heart, much like his keyblade.”

“I can understand the mess and darkness then, but why is the room so big?”

“That I don’t know. I surmise that Ansem the Wise could have the answer, but it is difficult to understand the heart’s nature.”

Kairi gave a lingering look to the hoard, then turned away, noticing the right wall. At first glance, it looked like it was covered in magazine clippings, but upon further inspection, it was plain to see they were photographs. Photos mostly of people, and Sora was with them. Many she recognized. A younger Hercules, Peter Pan, some pirates from the Caribbean. There were even more that she didn’t recognize. But in each picture, Sora was beaming with excitement and hugging someone. Above it all, there was a sign written in child’s handwriting. ‘People I never want to forget’

Then, right smack in the middle, there was a picture of him with her, of all people. Both very young, around six years old. Arms wrapped around each other, cheek to cheek, and smiling bright as the sun.

Carefully, she pulled the picture off the wall and flipped it over. In her uncle’s handwriting, ‘Kairi and her Prince Charming’ was written.

“We did know each other.” She whispered. “Did you know?” She asked Eraqus.

He hummed in confirmation. “Most of the time, I allowed Terra and Aqua to go out and see the worlds alone, knowing that the worlds themselves could teach them infinitely more than I ever could. However, after an incident involving a dragon, I became much more cautious about what worlds Sora went to with them. On missions deemed too dangerous for him, I took him to Radiant Garden or Disney Castle. He’d continue his studies either with the Captain of the Guard, Goofy, and the Court Magician, Donald Duck, or with your uncle, learning the affairs of the heart.”

Kairi continued to stare at the photo, begging the memories to return.

But alas, they were blank.

“When he disappeared, I came and told you myself what happened. You were inconsolable for days. Ansem the Wise said you hadn’t cried that hard since you lost your parents. You refused food, and eventually stopped talking to people for the next two years...that’s actually what prompted your Uncle’s experiment on you. He worried that even as a Princess of light, you could become lost to the darkness. So he asked me to lock your heart, and in turn, you lost your memory. That wasn’t the intended effect, but...”

Kairi vowed at that very moment that she was going to remember everything about him, and make a whole bunch of new memories in the process.

She turned to her master, smiling despite the heartbreak she had just endured. “We better clean up for him then!”

—

In the middle of the night, when all was silent, Sora awoke.

His immediate, very logical reaction was panic. He was in a place totally different from where he fell unconscious after all. But once he realized he was alone, he relaxed ever so slightly. He sat up, feeling the blanket that was draped on him. It was clean, and in good repair, not like the scraps of cloth he found in the jungle. And it smelled familiar.

He slid out of the bed, his bare feet touching the cold hard floor. He looked around, noting the absence of foliage. Peering out the window, he couldn’t see much in the darkness, but there didn’t seem to be any trees at all. A strange place. Then, he found the exit and crept into the hall.

It was eerie, being in a foreign place at night. The halls were wide, but mostly empty, so there weren’t many places to hide. Instead, Sora kept to the shadows, and moved slowly.

There was something familiar about this place, though he couldn’t quite place it at the moment.

Then he passed the doorway to a large throne room, and it hit him. His old home. When he had fallen in battle, they brought him back instead of leaving him behind like he expected.

Perhaps...they really did care for him.

But that’s not what he said.

He followed the familiar path to his old room. Though, his door was flanked by new doors on either side.

He pressed against the door, it opening with a creak.

The inside had been vacuumed and dusted, and a large sheet covered the far wall.

Eraqus looked up when he heard the door open.

“Sora,” he said simply. “I wondered when you’d awake.”

The response was a hiss, as the boy backed into the hall.

“So you are feral, just as Aqua said.”

Sora quit hissing, but kept his distance.

“Have I ever given you a reason to distrust me? Did I not care for you and love you like my own son? You were always so smart, Little One. Why would I purposefully leave my prodigy in the jungle all alone? Would I abandon him?”

Sora whimpered at the softness of his tone. It wasn’t accusatory, or demanding, just casual.

Eraqus beckoned him forward with a flick of the wrist. “Come here, Little One. Let me see your keyblade.”

Little One. Little, but mighty. Small in size, but big in heart. That what he used to be called. That was his title. He hated it at first, but grew to see it as an honor. Those who heard it would underestimate him.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he deserved that name anymore.

Shyly, Sora crawled over to his master on his knuckles. Eraqus sat on the bed and patted the mattress next to him, but Sora just knelt at his feet.

Master Eraqus held his hands out. “Come on, it’s alright.”

With great hesitation, Sora summoned his keyblade and rested it in his hands, ashamed.

Eraqus was silent as he studied the blade. “What have you been doing all these years?”

He didn’t answer, only stared at the ground in shame.  

“This is...unheard of, as far as I know. Perhaps Ansem will have some answers in due time.”

Sora still didn’t respond, only clenched his fists.

“But that’s a problem for another day. Come, let’s get you cleaned up. King Mickey has invited you to Disney Castle for a dinner tomorrow. You remember Mickey, don’t you?”

Sora sat back, staring at him thoughtfully.

“Maybe Donald? Or Goofy?”

His eyes widened slightly as he declared, “A-hyuck!”

Eraqus smiled. Not all was lost. “They’ve missed you, you know? It was very hard on them.” He stood, and gestured Sora to follow.

Curiously, Sora followed obediently, walking on his knuckles and toes.

Eraqus led him to a bathroom at the end of the hall. Sora watched as he flicked on the light, and turned the water on in the tub.

“You haven’t had a proper bath in some time. You’ll have to get cleaned up for the party.”

Sora crept to the tub, testing the water with his hand.

“Warm enough?”

Sora gave a little nod.

“Alright, just wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Once he was alone again, he explored the room, faintly remembering how things worked. The sink, the toilet, and even the shower caddies filled with soaps. There was a red bottle, and he pulled off the cap, taking a whiff. It smelled like fruit, so he gave a little taste.

Bad idea.

Eraqus returned to find Sora rubbing his tongue on a towel.

“Um, that’s not—here, let’s get you washed up.” He picked up the open bottle of soap and brought it over.

He had raided the laundry room and found some suitable pajamas. A shirt from Riku, some pants from Ventus. Enough to give the boy something to wear that was more than the loin cloth.

Sora climbed in the tub hesitantly, feeling weird about it. But Eraqus was unfazed as he dumped a bucket of water on him to wet his hair.

“You’re lucky your hair wasn’t matted. We won’t have to cut it…though a trim might do you well.” He squeezed some shampoo into his hair and started to massage it in, but Sora smacked his hands away to do it himself.

“Of course, I don’t need to do this for you anymore.” Eraqus said with a hum. “Think you can handle the rest on your own? I’ll make you something to eat.” As he stood, he could faintly hear Sora speak.

“T-thank you…Master.”

With a soft smile, he left the room.

Alone, Sora continued to lather the shampoo in his hair, his mind wandering.

This was…completely different than he expected. Different than what he said would happen. He was met with kindness and understanding. He was wanted, and maybe…even loved.

Well, he couldn’t go back to the jungle. So he was stuck here, no matter what. And Kairi and Riku seemed to be on his side.

Kairi.

Perhaps she would be worth staying for.

[marjiandco]

Father’s Day Reprisal

J'baro's ears perk up at the sound of a frantic buzzing. Looking around beneath the canopies of trees, he spots a sweaty, irate moogle. He hears its voice but doesn't listen, keen on taking in the sight of a creature he's only heard in tales. It's much smaller than he thought. Out of curiosity (and a little bit of brutish tactlessness) he grabs its pom and squeezes. Soft but solid beneath the fur. He chuckles when it lashes out with a kick, and throws some sort of package at him. He waves the thing off as it disappears back into the shadows of the forest.

“To Pasun...for the journey.'' he reads.

The writing on the tag is written in what someone would thing cursive Common would look like if it was described to them. The paper around it was torn on one end then glued back together with too much tape. Guess all that time adventuring didn't leave room to learn how to gift wrap.

“Who's that from?” the man to his left asked.

“My kit.” J'baro still felt giddy saying that. His kit, J'Mahrji. The kit who came back from the dead to become the hero of Eorzea.

He quickly ripped the thing open then and there, and inside were a pair of good boots. Fine leather on the inside with hard ribbed grips on the bottom. He held up his bare foot and measured it; perfect match. He chuckled to himself, their last conversation was her fretting about how they would walk to their new land without shoes. A nice gesture, though he knew he'd only wear them when she was around.

                            _____________

Count Edmont de Fortemps closed the door to his private chambers. In the midst of rectifying old rules and speaking amongst the high and low courts, he found himself gladdened by the isolation. He felt taxed after the days events, and with Aymeric off to the front, his duties seem tenfold. His relief was replaced by shock, and then a softness in his belly. On his writing desk, a crude display of a gift sat. No doubt delivered by his children for the upcoming father's eve. His cane clicked over the rug, and standing in front of it, surprise colored him again. The small handwritten note said:

To Count Edmont. Happy Father's eve.

-Marji Wahluuk

Carefully he placed his cane down as he eased himself into his chair. His form sank comfortably enough into the old thing, and with deft hands, he opened the package. Inside was a brand new quill, and to his delight a Vanu Vanu feather as the base. The ink was of the finest craftsmanship. So Mistress Wahluuk had heard his complaints of his diminishing ink supply. To have a real Vanu Vanu feather to go with it was a joyful surprise. He must thank her, and have her pass on his thanks to the beastman who gave her, him, such a wonderful gift.

      _____________

Ooji'a took a drag of his cigarette, watching numbly at the red light burned bright then diminished after each breath. His room is dark save for the wretched light of the city barging into his apartment. He'll have to buy better curtains than these moth eaten pieces of shite. He kicks his feet onto the coffee table, paying no mind to the bottles of beer rolling of in hasty retreat. Should cut his nails, he thinks. He wriggles his toes and coughs, the burning, putrid smell of alcohol, smoke, and uncleaned teeth scratch at his senses. He's been good, but on this day, he deserves to slide back into old habits. It's his right, and damn anyone to the seventh layer of hell who'd criticize him for it.

There's a knock at the door. Ooji'a hunches over in his chair, tail flicking in irritation. After a minute, whoever at the door hasn't taken the hint; the pounding at the door was already switching him from numb, to pissed the fuck off. He launches himself out of his chair, spitting his butt onto his long singed rug and stumbles to the door.

“The f-”

He stopped. As he swings open the door to punch whoever dares bother him, he sees a little white thing hurry away, a small, ugly package on his welcome mat. He contemplates leaving the thing, but curiosity urges him to lean over and take it. He holds tight to the door frame with one hand and picks it up. Inside, he drops it onto his chair, rummaging through his mess to find a lantern. Leaving the light low for his keeper eyes, he digs his nails into the side of it and tears the box in two.

“Menphina's tits Marj.” He mumbles to himself.

Inside there was a small music box. Just like the one they had when they were little. He counted the seconds as he reached his hand to open it, careful to touch only when the room spins the least amount. He sinks to the floor and places it between his knees, listening to the sounds of happier memories.

[wishtorn]

          heya i’m kit ! i’m going to start this off by apologizing for how obscenely long this intro has turned out to be. i really got caught up … but there’s a summary at the very end, and if you do read the entire thing you get a million brownie points ! message me here or on discord to collect. i’ve also included a handful of general plot ideas if anyone’s interested in them, but i’d also love to think up some more specific ideas. just like this or shoot me a message and i’ll come plot !

⤷ ( kit. cet. 21. she / her. none. ) the courts offer bread and salt to anya targaryen née redwyne of house targaryen. many say the twenty-four year old queen of the southern kingdom is known to be well-intentioned and nurturing, though ill tongues whisper that she is guarded and sentimental. when her name is uttered, one is reminded of sleepless nights, a faint light in the fog, & the smell of sea salt and spring.

         tw - discussions or mentions of alcoholism, childbirth & pregnancy, domestic abuse & neglect, drowning, food & disordered eating, mental & physical illness, misogyny. ( i didn’t realize it was going to be this much of a shitstorm until i sat down and started writing. idk what to say, guess i’m #dramatic ? )

pre - history ( house & parents. )

the redwynes were always military men. had to be, really, being island people, more isolated and often more endangered than their mainland counterparts. really, there was nothing quite so loved as war, except perhaps wine.

an old, proud house, the redwynes and their fleet have fought for targaryen kings for centuries — they stood by aegon in the dance of the dragons, stood by jon & daenerys against cersei lannister, and even stood by maegos against the dornish and northern rebellions.

lord desmond redwyne took his father’s seat in the reign of king aeron. in a prosperous and peaceful time, men drunk on dreams of a glorious war grow restless — so he hunted, and whored, and drank, and none of it so much as touched his reputation. no, lord redwyne was an honorable man, a true servant of the realm, an example to many.

lady viola redwyne might have said otherwise, had anyone asked her. prone to bouts of melancholy, often disagreeable, and with a reputation for refusing suitors, she might have even succeeded had she not been so beautiful. lord redwyne must have her, and her father could not refuse.

his second wife, fifteen years his junior, and unhappy with the match, she could not love him, nor his other children, nor the arbor. a lack of love in such close quarters sours into hate over time, like bad wine. one of her few reliefs was that he already had an heir and a spare. poor health and misery would not have made her a brood-mare of any longevity.

long before her parents ever laid eyes on each other, however, a scandal rocked the redwynes ; lord desmond was then merely the heir, a knight and a naval captain of some repute. his eldest sister was already wed to a lord on the mainland, but the younger was a wilder thing, with a taste for adventure that was indulged by their father. the lord greyjoy’s reputation preceded him, and when she first spotted him, on the deck of a ship off the coast of fair isle, he had already quite captivated her. they met in secret, at sea, where they were not lords or ladies but each king on their own ship. the last time her ship sailed from the arbor, it was under the cover of night, to steal away to pyke, and the shame and scandal of it tore through the redwynes like a hurricane. she was shunned, rarely spoken of, and when the news came from pyke that she had died, no one at the arbor shed a tear. 

family history ( early childhood. )

as it stood, anya was more an unexpected result than a desired outcome, and ultimately even a bone of contention. she bound her mother by love, to the arbor and the man that she hated.

they were left well enough alone, for a time, viola and her daughter, the septa, and the maidservants. even the wet nurse sent away. anya’s infancy brought a modicum of respite, but it would not last more than a handful of years.

by that time it aroused suspicion. lady redwyne would hardly leave her chambers, refuse to let the child out of her sight, would not see her husband and even refused food for periods at a time. it was unhealthy, unnatural, they soon started saying. in inns and winesinks at ryamsport men would murmur ‘poor lord redwyne, imagine a wife that beautiful going mad on you,’ into their cups, laughing at their great fortune to have avoided his.

and perhaps there was something real to it, perhaps there really was something unsettling about the arrangement. perhaps not. but in the end it was only the talk that mattered. once it reached lord redwyne’s ears, red with shame at being laughed at by traders and fishermen, he put his foot down. viola’s whims were not to be indulged or tolerated any longer, and besides, ‘the child’—by this he meant anya—‘must grow to be a fool or a half-wit if left in her care.’

and so anya was removed to the care of a cousin, mostly sheltered from her mother’s influence. there were fights about it for months. the withdrawn lady redwyne who would not speak but to her daughter and her maidservant and looked to the window whenever anyone looked at her had disappeared. she raged, schemed to steal her daughter away, wept, wandered the halls at night, and made trouble.

lord redwyne even tried being gentle, for a time, speaking in soft pleading words for her to be reasonable, but gentle or harsh it made no difference. if she saw anya twice, even three times a day, it was not enough — to her mind, he had stolen her daughter, stolen her life, stolen her freedom and anything else he might think of taking, and she wasn’t wrong. but when she threatened to throw herself from the eastern tower, she sealed her own fate.

on horseshoe rock, one of the smaller islands in the waters surrounding the arbor, a small stout keep was furnished and staffed, and lady redwyne was sent out of sight, out of mind, and certainly out of the way, where she couldn’t cause another such a stir — and most importantly, after a while, the talk died down.

personal history i ( childhood & youth. )

with all the difficulties tended to, and all the loose ends and loose canons carefully tied down, anya’s upbringing was left to a succession of septas, servants, and after a time, an aunt, newly widowed  and returned to the arbor.

out of her father’s favor for as long as she could remember, with a rocky relationship with her siblings ( i won’t go into detail in case my wc is picked up ! ), anya found little relief within the castle walls. she attended her lessons dutifully, could sew and sing and smile, recite the houses, their sigils and heroes, and it all meant little and less to her.

she wanted to set sail, she had always insisted — since before she knew what it really meant, just uttering phrases picked up along the way the way one does around seafarers — but desmond redwyne would not suffer any of his daughters to venture so far beyond his control. he knew better than to trust sailors, and certainly never trusted women.

so instead anya spent years at her window, watching sails shrink and disappear over the horizon ; by the sea, swimming in a cove under the watchful eye of the septa ; sneaking in the fields during harvest, stealing grapes ripe to bursting. searching desperately, maybe shiftlessly, for a little bit of sweetness. all the while she visited her mother only rarely, on namedays and holy days and days when, for whatever mysterious reason, her father’s pity won out over his good sense.

she studied too, though silently, mostly unnoticed. the kitchen girls, the household guard, the way people talked when they didn’t think anyone was paying attention. watched her father most of all, and had no illusions about him. even if she still aspired to please him, somehow, to gain his approval, she knew: he was a cruel man, harsh, childish, selfish, drunk on wine and himself, and yet still too clever to let all of that be his ruin.

her betrothal, like any lady’s, was inevitable — on the horizon of her future, marriage appeared to her like a fog, uncertain in all aspects but its impending approach. in the end it was a transaction, as these things almost always are. ships, wine, and gold ( but really, mostly ships ) were enough to make one of lord redwyne’s daughters a future queen.

demure, docile, even shy, few suspected that, days before she was to leave for king’s landing, anya would disappear in the night. would sneak from the castle in the dark, with a torch and one gold dragon, paid to the wife of a fisherman who, in her husband’s small boat, rowed anya to the shores of horseshoe rock to say goodbye to her mother one last time.

it was a mistake, but she couldn’t have known that. she came at night, the only time she could, but to viola, startled from her sleep, she was a ghost in the moonlight. after the truth came, ‘i’m leaving. father says i must,’ her mother, in tears, threw herself in front of the door, on the ground, wept in fits and refused to let her leave. it was the first and last time anya ever truly believed her mad. with promises that she would refuse the prince and sail home as soon as she could, she left.

she was guilty, of course — so guilty it ate her up, and very nearly killed her, but not so guilty that she turned back. her mother could not bear for her to go, but anya felt she would die — truly die — if she were forced to stay.

the preparations were already well underway by the time word reached them from the arbor. lady redwyne had disappeared. alseep in bed at night, swore the servant, but gone in the morning. the island was searched for weeks, coasts scoured, sailors and captains interrogated, but to no avail. some say she escaped, others that she was kidnapped, and yet others know with conviction that she simply walked into the sea and drowned.

personal history ii ( marriage & rule. )

though she wore the right house colors, anya was married in mourning. the wedding was a ridiculous affair, lavish and splendid and festive, and it only made her all the more self-conscious. she was polite, sweet, but in the momentary lull of conversation she looked lost. doe-eyed — not innocent, but wary, reproachful.

but the rockiness, the uncertainty, if at first seeming insurmountable, soon dissipated. prince daeryon was not her father, nor much like many other lords that had so worried her. no, he was kind, and gentle, and patient, and in need of some kindness himself.

as unlikely as it may be, they tended their happiness like a garden, and it wasn’t long before leaves were sprouting where her fear had been. for a while they lived well, on laughter and sunlight and the thrill of young love.

but of course it doesn’t last — nothing does. when king aeron dies, things change hard and fast. the freedom to walk through the city, ride in the kingswood, or sail to dragonstone for a fortnight on a day’s notice was gone, replaced by a hundred new duties, funeral arrangements to be made, small council meetings to attend.

at that point, the two of them also certainly start feeling the pressure for an heir. the difficulties and delays that had once been only a source of gossip became a source of concern, even as their duties kept them apart more often than ever, as the long nights and tense meetings started to fray his nerves.

they were soon blessed with a son, aeric, though the pregnancy and birth left anya exhausted, weary, and withdrawn just as her husband needed her most. the pressure of the crown which he had borne with such fickle strength was beginning to crush him.

no man, not even the best of them, could carry a kingdom on his own. it certainly wasn’t made easier by the constant jostling from one side or the other, a meddling mother, resentful elder sisters, or grasping, ambitious councillors. anya was forced to admit that however much she loved her husband, however good a man he was, he was not a good king. not good enough.

so she rose to the occasion, as gracefully as her fears and meagre experience let her, sitting in on small council meetings and more private discussions, by his side. she consulted carefully, leaning heavily on the hand of the king, working tirelessly to ensure her husband’s realm remained intact, his rule secure, and their family safe.

present.

her son is nearly four years old now, a happy, healthy child without the slightest clue of the dangers he is in, simply by virtue of his birth. anya worries about him constantly, and spends as much of her time as she can with him.

in king’s landing, she’s often attending meetings, writing letters, keeping busy — all to ease the pressure from her husband, who is only worrying her more and more as each day passes. he grows withdrawn, erratic, unpredictable, but she’s less afraid than sorrowful. he’s in pain, she can tell that much, but how to soothe it ?

very nervous about the trip north. she’s never been so far before, never left her son so long before, and certainly never seen her husband in such an unfamiliar — hostile ? — environment, and is deeply concerned with what issues might arise.

still, the coronation at winterfell is a solid opportunity to strengthen the ties that the previous generation had spent so long binding, to show each other and the realm that two kings intend to continue their fathers’ peace and collaboration.

tl ; dr.

      + well-intentioned, nurturing, insightful, gracious, curious, resourceful       - guarded, sentimental, unforgiving, hesitant, volatile, insecure, spoiled

a traumatic, tense, and lonely childhood, ghost-like and disconnected. mommy and daddy issues, because why not.

a betrothal for wealth and power ; naval strength and trade wealth married into royal bloodlines. 

a young son and a marriage that is loving, starts easy, but grows ever more strained under the weight of a crown.

trying desperately to keep her shit ( her kingdom, husband, family ) from falling apart at the seams.

way more responsibility, work, and stress than she signed up for, if we’re being honest, but she makes it work.

stress, anxiety, worry, chaos, fear, all those good things tbh.

and despite it all, at least a conditional kindness, and a sentimental softness that ought to be hidden better than it is.

plot ideas !

lady friends. yes i know how stupid that sounds, but honestly, a girl needs girls around her or she’s bound to lose it. i imagine she’d mostly know other ladies from the souther kingdom, but may have also met and befriended others from the north at the funeral of king aeron, or elsewhere.

almost- or cancelled betrothal. someone whose father was in talks with anya’s to arrange a betrothal, or perhaps one had already been arranged. they could know each other and have met, or have never laid eyes on each other. either way, once a royal prince is on the table, any deal is off.

cousins. i haven’t yet decided what house anya’s mother is from, so there are plenty of options for familial attachments there ! her father also probably had sisters, although they’d probably be another generation older and have adult grandchildren at this point, so. second cousins ? i think ?

enemies of the crown. honestly, i love some drama and animosity, so i’d love any reason for there to be tension and cold looks and only the barest minimum of politeness, with undertones of anger. ugh, wat a dream. could be they disapprove of the targaryens, or of daeryon in particular, or of her personally too i guess, or something went down ?

again these are just vague ideas, but i will come up with tons of more specific ones for anya and your muse(s) if you want me to !

[lastbluetardis]

healing kiss from tentoo to rose?? ❤️

Remember, I’m only taking Ten or AU Ten – So I made this a Ten x Rose canon-verse ficlet inspired from a prompt on @doctorroseprompts about a soulmate’s touch having the ability to heal.

Okay, most of these prompts won’t be this long, but my imagination got away form me on this one.

Ten x Rose, triggers for injuries and a bit of blood

send me kissing prompts (Ten x Rose only please)

The Doctor had been on the opposite end of the marketplace when the explosion happened, but as soon as he’d heard the deafening ‘boom’, he’d screamed Rose’s name and sprinted towards the jewelry section she’d said she wanted to visit. 

But she wasn’t among the mass of people amidst the shining displays of necklaces and earrings. The only other place he knew she would be was the food court. She loved trying alien dishes, and he loved that about her. He loved how she so wholly embraced his lifestyle and never let anything faze her. He couldn’t have asked for a better traveling companion and best mate. She was perfectly matched to him, and the implications of that hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.

But no, there was no way that a pure soul such as Rose could be soulmated to someone like him. They weren’t even the same species. It was unheard of. Well. Not entirely unheard of. But it was rare.

That train of thought came to a screeching stop when he saw that the food court had been the center of the attack.

“Oh, no, no, no,” the Doctor begged. Dust stung at his eyes and irritated his airways, and he coughed as he ran around, looking for Rose. Maybe she’d been somewhere else? Maybe she’d been in the clothing stalls.

But the dust began to lift, and the Doctor saw a familiar red hoodie, and he thought he could be sick when he saw the wearer of the hoodie was lying motionless in a pool of blood among the rubble.

“Rose!” he cried, sprinting up to her. His hearts pounded throughout his body as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, gods, Rose! Rose, please. Wake up. Wake up! Wake up, Rose, come on. Rose!”

With shaking hands, he touched her neck and her wrist, and he nearly cried with relief when he felt her pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips.

“Oh, Rose, it’s okay,” he whispered, fluttering his hands around her. “You’ll be okay. We’re just gonna pop home to the TARDIS and I’ll patch you right up. Eh? Won’t that be lovely? You just rest, and let me take care of it.”

He continued talking to her as he gently probed her neck, and then her back. To his relief, nothing seemed broken, and so he gently lifted her into his arms.

But before he could start towards the TARDIS, he was shuffled by the police into a bunker.

“More bombs are on the way,” they said as he squirmed out of their grasp.

Two sets of the four-handed aliens shoved him into a cellar and they joined him before they slammed the doors closed.

“I need to get her back to my ship!” he shouted. “She’s injured! Please, just let me go!”

He moved to the stairs and pounded on the closed doors, but they remained closed.

“Bio-lock,” a police-person grunted. “Won’t unlock for anyone but us.”

“Well unlock it then!” the Doctor snarled, but before he could forcibly make the police officers unlock the door, the ground shook and another explosion rocked their little bunker. Dust rained down on them, and the Doctor nearly lost his precarious footing on the stairs.

Cursing, the Doctor jumped off the stairs, and he clutched Rose’s lifeless body closer to him.

“Please,” he begged, unsure of who he was speaking to.

The bunker was relatively empty, and the Doctor found the most secluded corner that he could, and he sat down on the cold, hard ground and kept Rose in his lap. He dug around in his pocket until he found a handkerchief and a bottle of water.

He worked on cleaning her head wound to assess the damage. The back of her head was scraped up and bruised, but the more concerning wound was the six-inch gash that split from her temple down to her jaw. It was still bleeding, and the Doctor pressed the handkerchief against it to staunch the blood.

“Please, Rose,” he whispered.

As the minutes passed and the handkerchief grew redder and Rose’s face grew paler, the Doctor was getting desperate. He needed to get her back to the TARDIS now, or find a way to stop the bleeding.

But he didn’t exactly carry an emergency first-aid kit in his pockets. Though after this trip, he was certainly going to stash one in his pockets in case of emergency.

That wouldn’t help him now, of course. He was in the middle of one of the biggest emergencies of his life. He was watching his best friend bleed to death in his arms, and he was helpless to stop it.

“You can’t leave me yet, Rose,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose into her dusty hair. “We’ve got so much yet to do together. We’ve barely even begun. Eh?”

The Doctor sniffed against the ache in his throat as he thought of all of the places he wanted to take Rose. He wanted to show her the universe, because she deserved the universe and more.

His chest hurt at the thought of going back to traveling alone. He didn’t want to be alone. He knew he could find another travelling companion, but he didn’t want another travelling companion. He wanted Rose. He always wanted Rose.

She’d brought the light back to his life, and showed him that life goes on and that it’s okay to feel the darkness but it wasn’t okay to let it consume him. She helped him keep that darkness at bay, and he loved her for that.

He froze. Did he mean that?

Oh, gods, he did. He meant it. He loved her. He loved her company and her friendship. He loved sharing breakfast with her and watching her slowly wake up as her tea mug grew emptier. He loved sitting with her in the library after a long day. He loved cuddling up beside her to watch a film.

He loved Rose Tyler. She was the only one for him.

So maybe… just maybe…

The Doctor held his breath, then gently pressed his lips to the area just above the gash in her head. Her skin was hot and tacky with sweat, and his lips seemed to tingle as he pressed tiny kisses along the outside edges of her wound.

“Please,” he whispered into her skin. “Please.”

The legends of soulmates was known throughout the universe. Two people who’s lives were so intrinsic to each other. Two people who were perfectly matched for each other. Two people who would bring health and happiness and healing to each other.

That last part, though, was more literal, because when two soulmates finally met, a kiss from one soulmate to another could cure any ailment. This ensured a long and happy life with your other half.

The Doctor had enjoyed the notion of a soulmate, but accepted that he probably didn’t have one. After all, Time Lords already lived too long, and they had their own method of healing.

But now, as the Doctor pressed frantic kisses to Rose’s face, he begged for the universe to give him this.

“Come back to me, love,” he murmured, finally getting to the end of her jaw.

He was about to make another circuit of kisses back up her injury when her skin seared red hot. 

Or rather, gold hot.

Her skin glowed gold, as though she had regeneration energy burning under her skin, and the Doctor watched with bated breath as her skin knitted itself together before his very eyes.

When the glow faded, her skin was no longer the sickly pale color it had been, but rather pink and yellow and perfect. Rose then twitched in his arms, and she groaned as she opened her eyes.

“Rose!” he whispered, and he crushed her tightly to him. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you!”

“Doctor?” she asked, her voice sounding a little groggy. “Doctor what happened?”

“There was an explosion,” he said, keeping his face buried in her shoulder.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He pulled back and trailed his fingers across her face, from her temple to her jaw, where there used to be a raw, gaping gash but now there was only warm, smooth skin.

“Doctor,” she said quietly. “Did something happen?”

“You were in the market when it exploded,” he whispered. “And you were injured.”

“But I feel fine,” she said.

“Because I healed you,” he answered. He cradled her cheek in his palm. “With a kiss.”

Rose furrowed her brow for a moment before her eyes widened, and a slow smile overtook her face. It was such a hopeful and happy expression that the Doctor couldn’t help but return it.

“But that means…”

“You’re my soulmate,” he whispered, finally feeling the awe at having found his soulmate. 

Rose let out a happy giggle and launched her arms around his neck. He held her tightly to him and he pressed a kiss to her neck. She shivered in his arms, and he so he did it again.

“I’d always hoped you were my soulmate,” she admitted, and those words warmed him from the inside out. He never dreamed to think that Rose could love him like he loved her. But evidently she did.

“I’d long given up hope of having a soulmate,” he answered. “But I am so, so happy that it’s you, Rose. I love you.”

Rose pulled back, and the Doctor saw her eyes were shining with tears.

“I love you too,” she whispered, softly stroking his hair away from his eyes. “So much, my Doctor.”

He smiled, and they both moved at the same time until their lips met in a soft kiss. Her lips were warm and fit perfectly against his, and he thought he could spend forever kissing Rose.

She angled her head to the side and slotted his bottom lip between hers. He hummed as pleasure sparked lazily through his chest and down into his belly as they leisurely kissed. And for the first time since the explosion rocked his world, the Doctor felt completely at peace, and he wondered idly if it was too sappy to say that his soulmate’s kisses were able to soothe emotional wounds as well as physical ones.

But as Rose’s fingers teased through his hair and she again whispered that she loved him, the Doctor didn’t care. There was no such thing as too sappy when he was being kissed by Rose.

send me kissing prompts (Ten x Rose only please)

[tintinnabulary]

Archeron Ambrosia

Chapter Three

AN: Thank you all for the amazing support you’ve given me the last two chapters! Here’s another one that I wrote, and hopefully I’ll start posting a chapter every Friday. Luckily, I think the scene is finally fully set and developed, so from here forward I’ll be doing cute (and maybe eventually smutty???) goodness for you all to enjoy!

Don’t forget to comment, and let me know if you want to be tagged in any of the future chapters!

Masterlist

Feyre readjusted her heavy backpack on her shoulder as she glanced down at the directions Nesta had given her to get from Velaris University to the new storefront they had been working on for weeks. While working at a bakery was never the plan for her life, Feyre was quite content being a cake decorator--and equally glad her capstone supervisor, Alis, let her turn in photographs of her cakes as part of her artist portfolio.

Feyre heard a male voice calling her name in the distance and picked up her pace. Since starting her final year at VU last semester, another student named Tamlin had been trying to ask her out and learn more about her. At first, it was flattering having someone take such a keen interest in her. But then the obsessive behavior became more and more alarming, and Feyre had no doubt it was his voice calling out after her. Not wanting to be so easy to catch up to, Feyre ducked down a side road and began zig-zagging her way through businesses. Her heart rate picked up as she heard his steps pick up on the concrete behind her.

Feyre quickly diverted to the main road, and saw the bakery a few blocks down on the side. As she looked over her shoulder to gauge her distance from Tamlin, she ran right into a stranger. Without thinking, Feyre blurted out, “Pretend you know me, please.”

Feyre looked at the stranger, who’s beauty struck her near speechless, and noticed his violet eyes looked at her, flickered over her shoulder, then hardened slightly which didn’t match the smile that sprung up on his face. He threw his arm around Feyre’s shoulders, then loudly declared, “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” He winked down at her, equal parts flirty and conspiratorial. He glanced at the paper in her hands, his smile seeming to turn a tad more genuine. “I was supposed to walk you to the bakery. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Confusion clouded Feyre’s eyes eyes before settling into the role he had built. “You were late. I had to get to work. Couldn’t be late on my first real shift.”

“Well, I’m sure Elain would understand.”

Fear coursed through Feyre’s veins. How did he know her sister’s name? Did she just get herself into a worse situation with this stranger? He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “Calm down. I met her earlier today. I work next door. I’ll explain later when this guy leaves.” Feyre nodded slightly, placing a smile back on her face and relaxing slightly.

At that moment, Tamlin caught up with Feyre, his eyes setting into a cold, hard stare at the mystery stranger.

“Hello, lovely day isn’t it?” the stranger said, a playful and dangerous smile adorning his face.

Feyre tried to match the man’s smile and tone when she said, “Hey Tamlin, This is my boyfriend.”

“Rhysand.” He held out his hand. Tamlin stared at it before crossing his arms and looking at Feyre.

“How come I’ve never heard of him before?” The smug look he wore, like he caught Feyre in a trap, made her want to punch him.

“Because I like to keep my life private, Tamlin. Now, is there a reason you’re here, or can I finish my walk to work?”

Tamlin fumed, but spun on his heel, walking away as Rhysand yelled, “Nice to meet you!” at his retreating form, shit-eating grin on his face.

Feyre spun out from under his arm, grumbling a “thanks,” then continued walking towards the bakery.

“ Hey wait,” it didn’t take long for Rhysand’s long legs to catch up to her. “You work at Archeron Ambrosia, right?” Feyre only glanced up at him. “Your sister, Elain. She came by my our shop and brought a cookie sampler tray. They were delicious. Did you make them?”

Feyre snorted. “No. I just decorate them. Nesta does all the baking.”

“I didn’t meet her. She’s another sister?”

“Yeah. The oldest.” Feyre stopped outside the bakery. “So I take it you work at,” she looked around Rhysand to see the sign, “Illyrian Inscribed?”

“It’s a tattoo shop.” Rhysand shrugged, placing his hands into his pockets. “I own it with my two brothers, Cassian and Azriel. And my cousin Mor works the front desk. So, if you ever want to get some work done, I’d be happy to give it to you.”

“Maybe, we’ll see.” Feyre smiled at him, then moved towards the door, running into a shaggy haired man leaving the store, smile lighting up his face. “Oh! I’m sorry. The second person I’ve run into today.”

“Speak of the devil.” Rhysand smirked. “This is my brother, Cassian. Cassian, this is Feyre. She works at the bakery too with her sisters.”

“Hi.”

“Hey! Your sister, Nesta, she’s a firecracker.” Cassian ran a hand through his hair, “I hope you’re not as tough.”

Feyre laughed, “No, she’s the toughest of us all. I’m a nice, middle of the road kind of girl.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow at that, and Cassian roared with laughter. “Good, good. I’m glad this little place has moved in next door. I think it’s going to make things quite interesting.” Elain came rushing out of the tattoo shop, blush coloring her face, as she rushed past the group and into the shop. “Very interesting.”

“And on that note,” Feyre declared, adjusting her backpack again. “I’ll see you guys around.” Feyre moved towards the door.

“See you around, Feyre darling.” Feyre looked at him, where he returned the wink, and she scoffed and entered the bakeshop.

“Oh man,” Cassian laughed, clapping a hand on Rhysand’s shoulder. “We are in trouble. Let’s go find out what Az did that made that little doe-eyed girl turn so red.”

~~~~

Feyre walked into the shop, bells jingling, and moved behind the counter. She set her backpack in a small storage area beneath the cash register, tossed her directions into the trash, and began putting on her black and blue night sky themed half-apron. Hearing voices from the back, Feyre made her way into the back to see Elain talking animatedly, blush still adorning her cheeks, and Nesta calmly measuring cream and butter into a large electric mixer.

“And he stood so close to me, and reached around to grab a cookie. It was so intimidating. He was so tall and mysterious and handsome and I just don’t think I can ever go over there again!”

“Who are we talking about?”

Both heads whipped up at Feyre, then relaxed. “Azriel! Az? I don’t know what to call him. He works next door at the tattoo shop.”

“Oh yeah. I met Rhysand and Cassian on my way here. They both seemed nice.”

“And handsome.” Elain sighed. “How are all three of them so attractive? That really isn’t fair. Or real. Real life is not full of men that devastatingly beautiful.”

“You can say that again.” Nesta mumbled.

“What was that Nes?” Feyre asked, smirk firmly in place.

“Nothing.”

“I saw you met Cassian. He said you’re a firecracker. Started ballbusting right from the get go?”

“He needed to be knocked down a few pegs.” Nesta blew at a strand of hair that was falling into her face. “Coming in here with all that swagger and confidence like I’d just throw my panties at him” She blew another breath at the strand. “That’s probably what he expects from all of the girls.” A third frustrated breath had Elain coming over and tucking the strand behind her ear. “Thanks.”

“No problem. That’s the first guy to ruffle your feathers though, Nesta.”

“He ruffled nothing.”

“Well, Azriel ruffled something with me.” Elain laughed, and Feyre joined in.

“Well, Rhysand came in like a knight in shining armor, saved me from that awful guy Tamlin that I haven’t been able to shake. I literally ran into him on my walk home.”

“That’s just like a romance novel” Elain sighed. “Three of us, three of them. Triple dates?” Elain perked up, and Feyre laughed at the face Nesta made.

“Elain, you might be jumping ahead. You might want to work on a conversation with the guy before you plan your children’s names.”

“Or,” Nesta interjected, “We could focus on all of the cakes we have to make. And making sure this business succeeds. And not worry about what the people next door are doing.”

“Nesta,” Feyre leaned on the counter. “They have a successful business. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to talk to them about what they’re doing to get business in this little corner of the city.”

Elain leaned next to her, “And if you happened to get a date out of it, would that be so bad?” She batted her doe eyes at Nesta, and Feyre burst into laughter. Nesta’s face scrunched up and she leaned across the counter, facing her two sisters.

“Would you two please, for the love of the Mother, get to work on your decorations?” The two burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright.” Feyre stood up, and moved towards her airbrush kits in the back corner of the room. “Elain, let me know when you’re ready for me to paint those fondant flowers you’ve got for the Spring Court cake, and I’ll work on the wood patterning on this cake for Mrs. Alias’s party. I’ve got to get it right since it’s the first in my portfolio she’s going to see up close and personal.”

“Fine.” Elain grabbed a slab of fondant out of the industrial fridge and slapped it on the counter. “But we’re not done talking about a triple date.”

“We’ll talk about it when you can hold a conversation with the guy.” Nesta said, blowing hair out of her face as she poured her batter into cake pans.

Tag List:  @tragically-broken, @bluephoenix222,  @alicethelonerabbit,  @court-of-fandoms-and-art

[thatishogwash]

The Ugly Sweater

Summary: Kuroo gets nervous before his first date with Sawamura.

AO3

No warnings.

AN: I'm going to do a 13 Days of Halloween (Fall or October) type of writing, trying to beat this writers block.  So if you have any pairs or prompts feel free to shout them at me!

Kuroo stood leaning against a pillar as he watched the various trains pull up to the blinking lights, stopping and spilling forth commuters before moving on their way again.  He watched as tourists and those not use to the Tokyo area stepped onto the solid ground almost as if in a daze, glancing left and right before shuffling out of the way as those just trying to go about their normal routine moved past them.  Some people were already bundled up tightly while others didn’t seem to get the message that it was well into October already.

Kuroo was wishing he had gone for a little more comfort than style because his fingers were feeling the cold.  He couldn’t help it.  He was nervous and he couldn’t remember the last time he had actually planned out an outfit then promptly tossed it aside to try on what seemed like every article of clothing he had only to find it all left wanting.  He had thought he had a sort of casual sense of style but he couldn’t wear any of it, not a single thing.

It was ridiculous really.  This fluttering nervous feeling, the sense that time was moving at a snail's pace and yet everyone around him was flying by.

Kuroo had known Sawamura for years.  Sawamura had seen Kuroo in his school kit, in sweatpants and overly large sweaters.  There had even been that one horrendous night when Sawamura had found Kuroo sprawled on the bathroom floor, someone’s bathroom floor and covered in his own sick.  That was a night Kuroo was particularly glad he didn’t remember much of.

But on the other hand it was Sawamura, who Kuroo had known for years.  The same Sawamura with the soft eyes and wide shoulders.  The Sawamura who hid his craftiness underneath layers of stalwart country boy attitude.

The Sawamura who had asked Kuroo out on a date only a week prior, stating he would be in Tokyo visiting with Sugawara and oh hey, do you want to catch that new superhero movie?  Maybe get something to eat afterwards.  My treat.

And Kuroo had laughed into his phone as he shuffled through his microbiology notes, had jokingly asked Are you asking me out Sa-wa-mu-ra?When Sawamura had replied that if he was, would it change Kuroo’s answer Kuroo’s brain had stopped.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t realize he flirted with Sawamura, and yes, he had noticed that sometimes it seemed like Sawamura didn’t completely hate him and maybe, just maybe, he flirted back with Kuroo sometimes too.  They had exchanged numbers after their first practice match, had really started texting each other on a regular basis after the training camp, and had somehow become pretty good friends in college despite the fact that they were separated by about five hours.

Up until rather recently Kuroo would have spent a typical Friday night hopping from party to party, or party to bar.  He had dated around but nothing had stuck.  Within the past year he found himself spending more time in his dorm, having skype calls with an old Karasuno captain while they watched whatever one of them had picked for that night.  Sometimes it was Spanish soap operas, other times Korean dramas, and even a few true crime shows managed to slip themselves in there.  More often than not Kuroo would find himself drifting to sleep under the glow of his laptop and listening to Sawamura’s deep, warm chuckle.

Kuroo had even spent last Christmas with Sawamura and his family after he learned Kuroo would be home alone for the holiday since his mother was going on a cruise with her two sisters.  Kuroo had been planning enjoying the mostly empty dorms and finally having the kitchen, which the whole building shared, to himself.  He could take hours to do his laundry and no one would take his clean clothes and put them on the dirty dryer top.  But Sawamura had demanded he come to Miyagi, and Kuroo hadn’t met a person yet who would say no to Sawamura Daichi when he put his mind to something.

So go to Miyagi Kuroo went.  He spent the holiday with the Sawamura’s, a huge family whose shenanigans put a certain understanding about why Sawamura Daichi had so easily been able to control his trouble maker of a team with such ease.

Kuroo could admit that he liked seeing Sawamura right in the morning, ruffled from sleep and blearily looking for food.  Kuroo liked a lot of things about Sawamura actually but he had thought it had been an unrequited crush.  That had been fine with him.  Friendships were rare and to be treasured, Kuroo would never despair that he couldn’t hold Sawamura’s hand or kiss him when he was able to text him daily, to get snapchats of him and Iwaizumi at the gym or practice, to receive care packages simply because Sawamura had heard a catch in Kuroo’s throat when they talked the previous night.

Kuroo pulled at the bottom of his shirt, wondering if he should have gone with something with a bit more color.  Why was everything he owned black?  When did he become that person?

Though it was very likely that Sawamura would show up in sweats and a hoodie.  Not that it didn’t look good on him but it was his usual wardrobe.

Kuroo looked up when he heard another oncoming train, the train that should be holding Sawamura who had asked him, Kuroo Tetsurou, out on a date.

When Sawamura stepped off the train Kuroo’s first thought was he definitely was not wearing sweats and a hoodie.  It was just jeans, a sweater, and some white converse but Sawamura looked good.  It had to be the sweater, Kuroo thought, it was the only logical explanation.  It was a dark orange, green, and yellow.  Simple fall colors that should have clashed in an ugly way but seemed to warm up Sawamura’s deep skin tone.

Sawamura was looking around before he spotted Kuroo still leaning against the pillar, a smile warming up his sometimes far too serious face as he made his way through the crowd towards Kuroo.

“Hey.”  Sawamura greeted, his tone even.  Kuroo couldn’t tell if the redness in his cheeks was from the cold or because Kuroo couldn’t seem to stop staring.

“Nice sweater.”  What the hell!  What the ever loving hell was that Kuroo?  Sawamura glanced down at the sweater, running a hand over the soft looking fabric before looking up at Kuroo with a quirked eyebrow.

“Really?”  Sawamura asked before a grin slowly carved itself into his handsome features.  “You bought this for me for my birthday.”  Kuroo let out an indignant squawk as he looked over the sweater, which now that he was looking at it up close and not taking in the full picture of Sawamura Daichi in the sweater, he did feel like it was familiar.

“I sent you ugly sweaters!”  Kuroo cried in mock outrage.  “It’s got to be your shoulders.  Or your shoulder to hip ratio.  It’s ridiculous.”

“Well, this was a nice experiment but I’m going to go back to Suga’s and we can just pretend this never happened.”  Sawamura motioned behind him to the trains before taking a step away from Kuroo, who let out a real cry as he leaned forward to grab a handful of that traitorous sweater.

“I’m sorry.”  Though he really wasn’t and it was clear that Sawamura had no plans to go anywhere else.

“No, this is about how I pictured it going.”  Sawamura let out another grin as he stepped forward.  “Your fingers are freezing.”

“I know, they are like icicles, I’ve lost all feeling you’ll have to help me.”  Kuroo then got a brilliant idea.

“Kuroo I swear if you-” Sawamura let out an indignant sound as Kuroo pushed his fingers underneath that lovely sweater to press against Sawamura’s warm skin.  “Unbelievable.”

“You said something about a superhero movie?”  Kuroo reminded him.

“Now it’s a horror movie, and you’re paying for the popcorn.”  Sawamura grumbled.  His cheeks were red but he wasn’t forcing Kuroo away from him, which Kuroo counted as a win.

“Mean Sawamura.”  Kuroo wasn’t good with horror, he hardly could stand the true crime shows Sawamura sometimes wheedled into their weekly movie night.  Kuroo let his fingers fall away from Sawamura, he had regained some feeling back in them and he knew when he was pushing Sawamura too far.  “Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into.”  Kuroo reminded him as they began walking together towards the cinema.  Kuroo casually, or as casually as he could which meant it wasn’t casual at all, reached down to take hold of Sawamura’s hand.  His fingers weren’t as long as Kuroo’s but his palm was wide and warm, their fingers slotting together nicely.

“I claim temporary insanity.”  Sawamura grumbled, but there was a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“Claim denied!  Case thrown out of court!  Order!”  Kuroo shouted until Sawamura pulled on their entwined hands, shushing him through his laughter.  “You are sentenced to a lifetime of me.”

“I’ll take the jail time.”  Sawamura deadpanned but when they got to the cinema Sawamura paid for the popcorn and they ended up seeing the new superhero movie.

Right before the previews Kuroo managed to get them in a picture together, claiming that he needed to send it to all their friends to prove that this was happening but mostly he just wanted a picture of Sawamura in that fall colored sweater, the one Kuroo had bought for him for his birthday nearly a year ago.  The one Sawamura had purposely worn to please Kuroo.

[kierakravec-blog]

The patients wait for the fix

However, these nine to five road racers have been changing lanes of late. In fact, they've veered off course so dramatically that they've left the carriageway altogether nfl jerseys. For the mild mannered middle aged rider is increasingly eschewing the flat tarmac for off road trails and cross country courses.

Cheap Jerseys from china The patients wait for the fix, many clothed in soccer jerseys. Bayern Munich was in town for the that evening. Germans depart the store munching on the Maple Blazer Blunt Doughnut, massive sugar high guaranteed. In 1905, Albert Einstein propounded the photoelectric effect, one of the earliest applications of quantum theory, wherein he stated that light is made up of discrete quanta and not continuous waves. He further said that the energy in each of these quantum is proportional to the frequency of radiation. This was contradictory to the age old theory about the wave nature of light energy..  Cheap Jerseys from china

wholesale nfl jerseys from china Nick and Nina Clooney (left) met twins Ella and Alexander on Tuesday hours after their birth in London. Nick, 83, said they were 'gorgeous' and both have dark hair He added that while Amal (right in February) was doing 'terrifically well', George may have self medicated to deal with the momentous occasion https://www.cheapjerseys168.com. 'George, well, his eyes were glazed so I'm not sure that he was sober.  wholesale nfl jerseys from china

Cheap Jerseys free shipping The best match of the tournament was the quarterfinal between England and Brazil, which contained equal quantities of intensity, beauty and luck. Michael Owen scored with characteristic elegance on a blistering run after a Brazilian gaffe in the 22nd minute, and England led until first half injury time, when Rivaldo equalized on a Ronaldinho assist. A minute into the restart Ronaldinho delivered an incredible, foot of God like goal from a free kick from midfield.  Cheap Jerseys free shipping

wholesale jerseys from china Relocation is one of the most difficult and fact sensitive issues that Family Court Judges and matrimonial litigants will face. After all of the evidence is provided, the Court must be satisfied that the relocating parent has proven a good faith reason for the move and that the child will not suffer. Addressing the Baures factors and being prepared with proofs and documentation is necessary if you want to prevail in a removal matter..  wholesale jerseys from china

Cheap Jerseys from china This case features Mahogany with Macassar ebenholzfarben veneer finish and as a result pear tree wood material accents. Which it has cedar paving to absorb dampness together with credo humidification system and hygrometer. Assuming that you are today a cigar lover, I recommend the individual this cigar case.  

cheap jerseys 55 on the ice. Right after Mike Moore. What Moore is, is a Sharks defenceman who was playing his fifth NHL game. "On a good team there are no superstars. There are great players who show they are great players by being able to play with others as a team. They have the ability to be superstars, but if they fit into a good team, they make sacrifices, they do things necessary to help the team win.  cheap jerseys

Cheap Jerseys free shipping The first stage is to download the games console image. The version used here is something called "cupcade", developed by Adafruit https://www.cheapjerseysaleusa.com, it utilises Shea Silverman's AdvMAME emulator and is adapted to run smoothly with the Adafruit 2.2" TFT screen. The image is available for download from here and can be written to an SD card using your preferred method.  Cheap Jerseys free shipping

Cheap Jerseys china The flowers of the mimosa tree are aromatic. Interestingly, it is not the petals, but the long thread like stamens of these flowers that make them look so showy and colorful. Its color can vary from a yellowish pink to a coral red. You can get ready for a disaster by making an emergency essentials kit. This is done by storing the supplies that you will need and learning the skills that are necessary to help you survive a doomsday event. In today troubled times preppers will be ready to deal with catastrophic disasters, will you be one of them?.  Cheap Jerseys china

"They come in the dark; they feed on you; they scurry away when you turn the light on," said Lynn Kimsey, director of the Bohart Museum of Entomology at the University of California Davis. Their bites can raise itchy red welts that bedevil their victims wholesale nfl jerseys . There are stories of people dumping gallons of insecticide on their mattresses and dousing themselves with bug spray before they go to sleep.

They want to buy solutions, not pieces and parts of technology. Customers are placing more and more reliance and value on their IT infrastructure. They just want it to work.January 3, 2002 (WEB HOST INDUSTRY REVIEW) John W. Sadly, a few weeks before the premiere of season two, Armstrong's husband, Russell, committed suicide. It was after than event that Armstrong claimed she had been an abused wife. Season 2, which was taped prior to Russell's death, showed the couple in marriage counseling and having issues with other cast mates.  wholesale nfl jerseys

cheap jerseys Also, laser capture microdissection has been used to selectively isolate epithelial cells from frozen tissue sections of the mammary gland1. Some of these sampling procedures were validated in an earlier study using qPCR for specific genes and/or using microarray11. With the advent of Next Generation sequencing https://www.cheapjerseysitems.com, RNA Sequencing presents the opportunity to examine gene expression on a global basis, thereby providing numerous advantages over microarray analyses because of its wide dynamic range and its ability to quantify all genes present and not only those targets found on the array12 cheap jerseys.

[naturecoaster]

Indoor Fun for Florida’s Nature Coast

Do you wonder what to do when it's raining and humid, but you need to get out and have some fun. Even when it is sunny, hot, and humid in Florida's Nature Coast, one can get a little stir-crazy. Most of our nature coast activities are outdoors, so what is there to do? Meet Diana Marsh from Paint the Town Citrus. She is the heartbeat of four businesses in the Crystal River Mall and her energy and charisma provided a solution for our area's need for indoor fun. Paint the Town Citrus is a large paint and sip store, where you can visit any day between one and five p.m., except Tuesdays, to create one of hundreds of paintings in the colors you want, guided by an artist. This place takes the “paint and sip” concept to a higher level by providing the ability to choose from hundreds of predesigned paintings, and to customize the colors of your creation to meet your décor.

You can have painting parties of up to 50 people at Paint the Town Citrus. Each person can create the same painting or a different one. There is the ability to have parties of up to fifty people, complete with beer, wine, sodas and food, creating a painting of your choice. A well-established local artist will be your instructor and all the materials needed for each guest to create their very own painting are included. There are literally hundreds of paintings to choose from. Here is a link to most of what’s available.

There are classes by local and renown artists. Here is Florida Highwaymen artist Curtis Arnett and two of his students with their creations. Paint the Town Citrus also has “Paint Your Own Pet” Nights, “Bob Ross" Oil classes, Florida landscape class with Florida Highwayman Curtis Arnett, paint with coffee class, traditional oil painting class, watercolor classes and many more. Their schedule is here. All classes include all the supplies needed to take home a 16” x 20” special project. The Nature Coast’s largest art gallery is located in the store also, featuring subjects galore from animals to cartoons to landscapes and people. There are over 2,500 pieces of art available – some from famous artists such as the Florida Highwaymen and others from the local artists that provide instruction in the store. This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Nikki B’s All-American Restaurant

In the Crystal River Mall is a food court, with Nikki B’s All-American Restaurant offering custom hot dogs such as the Detroit Coney, featuring a Dearborn natural casing hot dog with Detroit style Coney sauce, mustard and chopped onions on a toasted bun. It tastes just like the ones on Grand Avenue in Detroit. There’s the Flint dog, the Chicago dog featuring a Vienna beef frank with relish, pickle, tomato, sports peppers and celery salt in a poppyseed bun, a New Yorker, Green Bay, Cleveland, Seattle and Atlanta dog, which is a bacon-wrapped hot dog with spicy BBQ sauce and cole slaw on a hoagie roll.

This is a true Detroit Coney Dog from Nikki B's All-American Restaurant. Tastes just like home. When first hearing about Nikki B’s, the skeptic came out. Having been disappointed at many restaurants that claim a true Detroit Coney, this food court location hit the mark! Root beer floats, make your own dogs, “Poutine,” Greek salad, and several other regional favorites make a fantastic menu that was served with attention to detail. Fresh ingredients and handcrafted hot dogs made a fan out of me. Creating a painting takes time, so a meal can provide a nice break. At Paint the Town Citrus, they let you take as long as it takes to finish your masterpiece. However, painting in a store may not be the best thing to do with children who like to move and touch when they create.

Citrus Coastal Creations

Coastal Creations is a great place to take younger people for a fun, creative session. With spin art, sand art, sticker art, plaster painting, and make your own jewelry projects available for walk-ins, your child (or inner child) will feel accomplished when they create their own 3d masterpiece.

Kits to create masterpieces

Locally made nature coast crafts

Art projects provide a great outlet for active kids.

Arts, crafts and gifts are plentiful.

Manatee crafts too. Citrus Coastal Creations carries all types of Nature Coast crafted gifts for sale also. Beautiful wearables, linens, jewelry, home décor and more from local crafters are priced nicely so you can shop while your partner-in-crime creates. There are many amazing gifts at Coastal Creations.

TG Stylz

Then there is TG Stylz, an upscale but relaxed salon where you can get pampered, puffed, beautified and more – and shop the lovely boutique full of clothing and accessories. TG Stylz is a full-service salon offering spa services like facials, manicures, pedicures, eyelash extensions, permanent makeup, waxing, and even Invisablend® hair thinning treatments.

A nice entrance to a casual but professional salon at TJ Stylez. Creative stylists and a wonderful clothing boutique make a great combo. Their creativity with hair is phenomenal – color, highlights, cuts, Brazilian blowouts, extensions, dreads, braids, Ombre color and Up dos. But the clothing boutique makes TG Stylz an even more wonderful find for when you want to look your best from head to toe. Go ahead and stop in to shop and while you are there talk to a stylist about the look you have in mind and “get ‘er done” with style.

My "Paint Your Pet" experience at Paint the Town Citrus

Genesis, my young filly being silly. I have a six-month old filly named Genesis. She is so adorable and when I found out you could bring a picture of your pet to Paint the Town Citrus, I wanted to paint “Gennie.” I called 352-601-1344 and talked to “Autum,” a local artist who provides Bob Ross painting instruction as well as sells some of her artwork at the onsite gallery.

One of Paint the Town Citrus' artists draws my photo like a paint by number. I drove to the Crystal River Mall, just north of the city of Crystal River. When I arrived, I was given a smock and offered a beverage. Meanwhile, my photo was taken to the back room where an artist quickly rough sketched the image onto a 16 x 20 canvas and printed a copy for Autum who would guide me.

Rough sketch with background painted. I sat down and was given a palette of color on a plate and a handful of brushes. The canvas reminded me of a paint-by-number project of my youth, except there were no numbers and my colors were hand-mixed my Autum.

We had a printed copy of the picture for Autum to guide me with. She mixed the paints for me. Painting each section with the mixed paint and the appropriate brush, guided with Autum’s technique suggestions, I was comfortable and happy making something that now graces my home and I proudly show to family and friends. About mid-way, I was offered food because it is part of the “all inclusive” package that Paint the Town Citrus offers. I had eaten lunch before arriving but was talked into a fried ice cream from Nikki B’s. Peaches and cream was the variety I chose, and it was so delicious that I plan to visit just to enjoy that dessert again. After dessert, I always want coffee and that was gladly provided.

Delicious dessert was included in my "All inclusive package." This is Nikki B's Fried Ice Cream with peaches and cream toppings. Yes. It is as good as it looks! Honestly, I felt a bit like a celebrity with all the service. I continued brushing my canvas, turning it to make application easier and talking with my guide. Then she took the canvas and blow dried it! This was so I could make a few final strokes to add texture and light, completing the portrait and – WOW – I am so happy with the results!

Ta! Da! Here is Genesis by me, created with love at Paint the Town Citrus with guidance from Autum. (See how it matches my wall?) When I left, I was floating on air because I was so proud of my creation. It looks great in my house and I am already planning to go back and do it again in a couple of weeks for another pet (We have 6.)

The Crystal River Mall

All four of these businesses are located in the Crystal River Mall, 1801 US 19 just north of the city of Crystal River. This mall is primarily home to small businesses and has only a Rural King anchor store and a Regal Cimemas movie theater. The center of the mall has a whimsical sail-themed ceiling and there are many events held here, from Trick-or-treat nights to Art Walks. The mall got a bad reputation when its former anchor stores closed, but the owners have stepped up to make it nice again. Read the full article

[jonasjjackson]

Latest Interior Design Trends: 8 Inspiring Mood Boards

Latest Interior Design Trends in Hardware: 8 Inspiring Mood Boards

Last year, we revealed mood boards based on new interior design trends in hardware tones and finishes and how they’re combined to create specific styles—check out how we’ve styled latest interior design trends in hardware finishes, tile and paint to complete finished looks you can apply anywhere in your home.

The knobs, handles, drawer pulls in a room–often an overlooked and last touch in a renovation—pull the entire look of a room together. And, replacing your hardware easily freshens up the look of your kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. It can even boost your curb appeal!

Read on to find paint colors, tile selections and even house numbers, too, for these new interior design trends and how to apply these design tips throughout your home, inside or out.

Soft and Organic

We mixed the warm undertones of champagne with the cool tones of antique brass and brushed nickel to create soft and organic vibes. These metals are balanced with earthy decor pieces and a muted color pallet so that one metal doesn’t dominate the other. The soft forms and shapes of the hardware stay consistent with angles, edges and lines, which is accentuated by the floral patterns in the linen. Consider adding organic decor and accent pieces, and splashes of color with fresh greenery to tie this look together.

Seen in This Mood Board

Hickory Hardware Adorno 2-11/16 in. Satin-Nickel Ring Pull

Kwikset Hancock Antique Brass

Pfister Brea 4-in. Centerset Single Handle Faucet in Brushed Nickel

Amerock St. Vincent 3-3/4 in Center Golden Champagne Cabinet Pull

Pfister Brea Towel Ring in Brushed Nickel

Corso Italia Impero Volaka 12 in. x 24 in. Porcelain Floor and Wall Tile

Behr Doeskin Gray N200-2

MSI Whisper White 3 in. x 6 in. Handcrafted Glazed Ceramic Wall Tile

LG Hausys HI-MACS 2 in. x 2 in. Solid Surface Countertop Sample in Strato Cloud

New Traditional

Champagne bronze—a new take on traditional bronze fixtures—seen in Delta’s Dryden collection can be used throughout many different decor styles, including modern. Re-do your whole room with champagne bronze hardware for an elegant look. Or, simply add in some of the warmth of champagne bronze to update and balance cooler polished nickel or matte black hardware. Pair it with organic-shaped tile, like MSI’s marble mosaic, and natural wood flooring for a fresh take on a traditional look.

Seen in This Mood Board

Dryden 8 in Widespread 2 Handle Bathroom Faucet in Champagne Bronze

Dryden Single Robe Hooke in Champagne Bronze

Liberty Everly 3 in. Champagne Bronze Cabinet Pull

Liberty Everly 1-1/8 in Champagne Bronze Cabinet Knob

Martha Stewart Living Faceted 3 in. Polished Nickel Cabinet Cup Pull

Schlage Plymouth Matte Black Entry Door Knob with Camelot Trim

Pergo Outlast + Vintage Pewter Oak 10 mm x 7 1/2 x 47 1/4 in. Laminate Flooring

MSI Cecily 11 x 13 in. x 10 mm Polished Marble Mesh-Mounted Mosaic Tile

Merola Tile Adagio Glossy White Porcelain Mosaic Tile

Silestone Quartz in Calacatta Gold

Behr Taupe Tease N210-1

Lucite and Glass

Cool, crystal-clear Lucite is currently topping our designers hot list. This interior design trend has taken interior design by storm, especially in furniture. Lucite’s light reflective surface can add glam to any room. Add a little bit of depth to the room with hints of metal in your finishes, like a stainless steel faucet, and the playful shapes of mermaid tiles.

Seen in This Mood Board

Delta Zura Single Hole Single-Handle Bathroom Faucet with Metal Drain Assembly in Stainless Steel

Liberty Polished Nickel and Clear Acrylic Cabinet Bar Knob

Liberty Polished Nickel and Clear Acrylic Bar Pull

Schlage Custom Alexandria Satin Nickel Collins Trim Combined Interior Door Knob

Behr #N440-1 Streetwise

Liberty 1 7/8 in. Polished Nickel and Clear Acrylic Hexagon Cabinet Knob

Jeffrey Court Beverly Blue Fan 8 3/4 x 13 in. x 8 mm Ceramic Mosaic Tile

Jeffrey Court Beverly Blue 4 x 12 in. Ceramic Wall Tile

Merola Tile Classico Carrara Hexagon 7 x 8 in. Porcelain Floor and Wall Tile

Mixed Materials and Finishes

A hot interior design trend in 2017 was mixing metals. This year, we’ve gone even further and mixed materials, too. Try adding in different wood tones, mixed tiles, mixed metals and greenery for an eclectic look. Everything goes together now. While we suggested following a couple of simple rules last year, eclectic, mix-and-match and breaking the rules are the new norm. Make up your own unique style by following your own rules, but try to keep it balanced and intentional.

Seen in This Mood Board

Hampton Bay Door Bell Push Button Mediterranean Bronze

Liberty 1 1/2 in. Satin Nickel with Faux Capiz Internet Cabinet Knob

Pfister Pasadena Double Robe Hook in Midnight Chrome

Liberty Luxe Square Dual Tone Cocoa Bronze and Satin Nickel Cabinet Pull

Belleview Satin Nickel Single Cylinder Door Handleset with Polo Knob Featuring SmartKey

Architectural Mailboxes 5 in. Antique Brass Floating House Number 4

Behr #N230-1 Castle Beige

Urban Loft Interlocking 12 x 12 in. x 4 mm Glass Stone Metal Mesh-Mounted Mosaic Tile

Armstrong American Vintage Scrape Wolf Run Hardwood Flooring

Farmhouse

All white farmhouse kitchens are a thing of the past, replaced by rich and wooden tones.

This look takes the best of rustic with antique white subway tile, adds a touch of industrial with aged Venetian bronze hardware while incorporating the sleek elegance of modern through Behr’s Mars Red paint. The shapes and lines of the knobs and drawer pulls are all fairly simple, which helps keep the look understated and approachable. This also leaves some decorative space for a few accents that have an organic, natural texture or feel.

Seen in This Mood Board

Kwikset Tustin Venetian Bronze Passage Hall/Closet Door Lever

Liberty Brightened Opulence Venetian Bronze with Copper Highlights Cabinet Knob

Liberty Venetian Bronze with Copper Highlights Rectangular Bin Pull

Montague Metal Products 5 1/4 in. Aluminum Script House Number Eight

Pfister Ashfield 4 in. Centerset Single-Handle Bathroom Faucet in Tuscan Bronze

Kwikset Z-Wave SmartCode 910 Venetian Bronze Single Cylinder Electronic Deadbolt Featuring SmartKey

Pfister Towel Ring Kit in Tuscan Bronze

Liberty Southampton Venetian Bronze in Copper Highlights

Behr Mars Red PPU2-11

Marazzi Montagna Wood Vintage Chic 6 x 24 in. Porcelain Floor and Wall Tile

MSI Antique White 4 x 12 in. Handcrafted Glazed Ceramic Wall Tile

Bold Statement

All white everything is out. Rich and vibrant hues are in, especially when paired with bold prints. Inject pops of bold color and prints into decorative elements like tile, paint and tie the look together with sophisticated champagne bronze hardware and fixtures.

Seen in This Mood Board

Delta Cassidy Tub and Shower Faucet Metal Cross Handle in Champagne Bronze

Delta Cassidy 8 in. Widespread 2-Handle Bathroom Faucet with Metal Drain Assembly in Champagne Bronze

Schlage 4 in. Bright Brass Classic House Number 8

Delta Addison TempAssure 17T Series 1-Handle Shower Faucet Trim Kit Only in Champagne Bronze

Delta Cassidy Open Towel Ring in Champagne Bronze

Liberty 3 in. Dual Finish Champagne Bronze with Flat Black Bar Cabinet Pull

MSI Fiandra Khaki 12 x 24 in. Glazed Porcelain Floor and Wall Tile

Jeffery Court Moonrock 9.875 x 11 ½ in. x 8 mm Porcelain Mosaic Tile

Merola Tile Egeo Naxos 9 ¾  x 9 ¾  in. Porcelain Floor and Wall Tile

Behr MQ1-50 Art Deco Pink

Behr Meteorological N430-6

Matte Black

Last year, matte black was all the rage—and honestly, not much has changed. There’s no wonder why, either. Not only is it the most popular finish for outdoors, it’s made its way inside, and can easily pair with almost any other finish. It’s super versatile and works with so many decor styles, ranging from modern to coastal. Here, the beach board wood flooring, botanical Merola and vintage-style fretwork tiles blend a modern yet fresh and industrial look without overwhelming the senses.

Seen in This Mood Board

Pfister Venturi 4 in. Centerset Single-Handle Bathroom Faucet in Matte Black

Pfister Venturi Single Robe Hook in Matte Black

Liberty Modern Geometric 1 1/32 in. Flat Black Cabinet Knob

Liberty 3 in. Flat Black Beveled Drawer Pull

Kwikset Halifax Square Iron Black Privacy Bed/Bath Door Lever

Pfister Venturi 3-Piece Bath Accessory in Matte Black

Malibu Wide Plank French Oak Rincon

Merola Tile Area 15 Botanic Black 6 x 6 in. Porcelain Floor and Wall Tile

Behr #PPU26-21 Overcast

MSI Retro Fretwork 12 x 12 in. x 10 mm Polished Marble Mesh-Mounted Mosaic Tile

Gold Finishes

Incorporate and mix warm and subtle gold finishes like champagne bronze, brushed gold and brass for an elevated look. Then, for retro-inspired glam, add in dramatic black marble to accentuate golden tones. Here, we’ve paired gold hues with Tangier green mosaic tile to saturate the senses and layered in white to evoke a clean inviting look that’s both airy and luxurious.

Seen in This Mood Board

Liberty Rectangular Platform 3/4 in. Bayview Brass Cabinet Knob

Liberty External Campaign 3 in. Bayview Brass Cabinet Pull

Pfister Venturi Brushed Gold Faucet

Liberty 4 3/8 in. Champagne Bronze Beveled Square Hook

Kwikset Tylo Polished Brass Half-Dummy Door Knob

Architectural Mailboxes 4 in. Polished Brass Floating House Number

Liberty 12 in. Bayview Brass Simply Geometric Drawer Pull

Amerock Arrondi Towel Ring in Brushed Bronze/Golden Champagne

Behr #HDC-MD-06 Nano White

Jeff Lewis 6 in. x 12 in. Nero Marquina Polished Marble Field Wall Tile

Jeff Lewis Laurel Brass 8.625 x 15.125 in. x 9 mm Stone and Metal Mosaic Tile

Merola Tile Hudson Tangier Emerald 12 3/8 x 12 1/2 in. x 5 mm Porcelain Mosaic Tile

Browse The Home Depot’s Hardware Section for the latest interior design trends in knobs, cabinet and drawer pulls, handle sets, faucets, paint, flooring and more.

Follow our Bathroom Design Ideas board on Pinterest for hardware looks for your bathroom.

The post Latest Interior Design Trends: 8 Inspiring Mood Boards appeared first on The Home Depot Blog.

from Home http://blog.homedepot.com/latest-interior-design-trends-hardware/ via http://www.rssmix.com/