#blue square and red rectangle is literally them

[tunaplatu]

I just think that they’re cute

[starsandnoodles]

I think FAR TOO MUCH about the shapes and colors of Marx from Kirby and how telling they are of his character (at least in my opinion).

You cannot tell me that whoever designed that little shit didn’t look at him and think “this is going to be so funny”

LOOK AT HIM.

First off, shape wise he’s very rounded. In character design circles are generally used to make a character look a lot friendlier! It’s a large part of why Kirby is literally DESIGNED to be your friend! He’s a round little guy without sharp edges to be seen, he’s very nonthreatening and something very similar can be said about Marx.

With that said his feet specifically are a tad bit more squared. They’re still rounded but it’s noticeable if you look at them that they’re rounded rectangles instead of just being ovals. When comparing his bread feet to Kirby’s it’s noticeable that Kirby’s are more like ovals

At most they have a little point portrayed at the edges of his feet. But Marx is noticeably shown to have Squared feet. Squares are usually used to show a character who is in some way stable. In Marx’s case this could just be a reference to how he is able to roll around on his beach ball and somehow not fall off OR it could be another thing that lures people into a false sense of security.

Another thing about Marx is his hat and bow tie. Starting with the hat it’s noticeably that both are kind of triangular up until the get to where the cotton puff attaches at the end. Even when in more of a down curve (as shown in picture below) they still keep a more triangular shape.

Not to mention the fact that his hat purposefully has triangles and circles both of which mean completely opposite things in character design. Triangles are associated with the bad guy or villain. Along with that we have the color associated with the triangle half of the hat which is red. Usually Red as a color is seen as a sort of warning, we use it on stop signs and red lights. Which brings me to say that Marx’s colors are by far the most forshadowing thing about his entire design.

The shapes are meant to lure you in but the colors are very telling of Marx’s character with red being significantly more present in his design than blue. Red being present on his bow tie and his hat directly shows that he’s possibly not what he seems even if he’s claiming to be innocent.

Or I could just be a crazy nerd who is thinking too much about it lol

[arealphrooblem]

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 4

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

“How is this art?”

Civilian had never heard of Rothko before this date, but they had assumed they would be looking at normal paintings — portraits and landscapes.

Not squares of color on a rectangle canvas.

Sure they were impressive in their size. But their simplicity clashed against the other paintings in the museum, full of intricate details and delicate brush strokes.

It definitely clashed with their idea of art. But also part of them wanted to get under Jonathan’s skin.

“Did you grow up under a rock?” Jonathan grumbled. “How are you so uncultured?”

“It’s literally two squares of color. I could paint something like that,” Civilian argued.

“Yes, but you didn’t,” he pointed out peevishly. “And even if you did, these are so much more than squares of color.”

“How so?”

Jonathan guided them closer to one of the paintings, his hand gentle on their shoulders. He positioned them directly center of one of the paintings and then stood behind them, close enough for Civilian to feel his breath stir the hair at the nape of their neck.

“To understand and appreciate this painting takes time. You have to really look.” His voice, so soft, so close, sent a small shiver down Civilian’s spine. “Rothko uses simultaneous contrast in his colors to create the illusion of light. If you stare long enough, you can see the color shimmer and move.”

Civilian squinted at the painting, trying to see what he described. At first they just remained a block of color. But, true to his word, after a few minutes, they began to see the shimmer, the glow, of the paint. Faint hues appeared in the black — red-black and dark dark blue-black. They shifted into one another, almost like a dance. It was hypnotic.

“Do you see it now?” Jonathan whispered.

“It’s . . .surprisingly beautiful,” they murmured.

“Just like you.”

The spell between them snapped. Civilian jerked around only to be met with his wicked smirk.

“So the unrefined can be taught,” he said. “You should be proud.”

“Shut up,” they snapped, cheeks hot.

He gestured to the next room. “Shall we continue?”

As they coasted to a stop on the third yellow light in five minutes, Civilian side-eyed Jonathan.

“I think this is your power — getting every yellow light.”

“That’s not a power — that’s a curse,” he muttered.

It had become a game between them. A strange, fucked up game where Civilian guessed intentionally wrong answers about the power behind his aura and he neither confirmed nor denied it.

Downplaying such power made it easier to bear sometimes, but also . . .it was dangerously easy after a month of “dating” to forget that he even had a power. The aura had turned into the background noise of their life, the way people who live by train tracks learn to tune out the noise of the trains.

Jonathan treated them to lunch every day at work, and once a week he took Civilian on a proper date — dinner and bowling (he got a perfect score compared to Civilian’s five gutter balls) or trivia night at a local bar (they both lost miserably in the sports category) or an afternoon trip to the aquarium in the next city over (their favorite date so far).

Civilian did not have any choice in the activities or any knowledge of what each date would bring, but underneath the constant layer of anxiety and frustration that coated every interaction with Jonathan was genuine enjoyment.

The dates were the only real social interaction that Civilian had outside of run-ins with neighbors and coworkers. A fact they tried not to dwell on too much.

Tonight they pulled into the parking lot of the movie theater. Civilian raised an eyebrow when Jonathan bought two tickets to Blood in the Stone but said nothing. Refined Art Museum Jonathan didn’t seem the type to like supernatural horror movies, but so much of him stayed shrouded in mystery that predicting anything about him was impossible.

Civilian, on the other hand, did not like horror movies. But they refused to let Jonathan see their trepidation. Instead, they watched the screen stone-faced and ripped the napkin in their lap to shreds. Something warm and ticklish slide down the delicate skin of their wrist just as the movie protagonist got caught up in some horrific tentacle monster and Civilian could not stop the scream from bursting out.

Jonathan’s warm breath brushed against their ear as he chuckled. His fingers slid down to detangle the twisted remains of napkin from their hands.

“Should we leave early, before you wet yourself?” he whispered.

“Why did you pick this movie?” Civilian hissed, refusing to look at him.

“Maybe that’s my power — I’m not afraid of things that aren’t real.”

“Maybe your power is being an obnoxious prick.”

He chuckled again, a low rumble in their ear, and Civilian had to bite their lip against the strange shiver that rippled down their spine.

A jump scare burst onto the screen. Civilian yelped, their fingers reflexively squeezing Jonathan’s hand. They expected him to pull away the second their death gripped relax, but his hand stayed throughout the rest of the movie, fingers casually interspersed with theirs.

Part five here

Tagging: @those-damn-snippets, @heroes-villains-side-blog

@anonymousewrites @follow-me-into-the-fog @sunnyside-world @rivalriotrenegade @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged!

[fandomsandfeminism]

@anachrolady

Since my replies seem to be giving me some trouble, let's talk about this article you sent me.

See, while this writer did a great job of repeating the same tired arguments we were all taught in middle school history, he doesn't actually give any evidence for them.

"Undemocratic? Absolutely. That’s the point."

I LOVE when people just...admit this.

For example:

That’s why America is not a democracy. We’re a constitutional republic. The Electoral College is part of that

This is just straight up not true. Even ignoring the little rhetorical game of "not a democracy, a republic" (which is like saying a square isn't a rectangle) the EC is not the reason we are a republic. We're a republic because we elect representatives, rather than taking a general election vote on legislation directly. The EC has nothing to do with that.

The Electoral College has other advantages. It asserts that all the states matter, big and small. States are political entities whose elected officials are by definition closer and more accountable to the people they serve...This means states must at some level compete with one another to improve the lives of their residents

This offers neither evidence nor even REASONING for why the Electoral College would mean that states have to be receptive to their citizens quality of life or freedoms. It's literally a non-sequitur.

The Electoral College also makes sure that presidential candidates don’t spend all their time in the most populated areas of the country.

This one is a popular claim, but is also just straight up ignores reality. YES, the EC means that candidates don't just campaign in the states with the largest populations. Instead it means that they only campaign in SWING STATES. Two thirds of the presidential and vice-presidential post-convention campaign events were conducted in just four states in 2012 (Ohio, Florida, Virginia, and Iowa).

Why this is somehow better, no one has bothered to explain.

ethnically concentrated regions of countries all across the globe have seen brutal violence and outright war because their political interests were ignored by far-away majorities who ruled over them. The electoral college helps mitigate that risk by incentivizing presidential candidates to pay attention to all parts of the country.

Not only is "the EC is the reason we don't have civil war" a WILD CLAIM (we DID have a civil war WHILE WE HAD THE EC) it's also built on the assumption that the EC promotes candidates going to all parts of the country. It doesn't.

If you want the presidency, Democrats, win it fair and square.

And this is what I mean when I say the EC encourages people to treat elections like they are a sporting game, or some kind of Risk style board game.

The idea that the *same style of election* we use for EVERYTHING ELSE - govenors, senators, congressmen, mayors, city council, Railroad commisoner- is somehow CHEATING if we were to apply it to the presidency is absolutely mind boggling.

The EC and its points and it's flat red vs blue maps has made people imagine that states are political monoliths. That either you are a Red state or a Blue state and it's a game to see how much of the map you can control and how many points you can get.

This is how the country actually votes. No state is won by larger than a 70% margin. No county or city is 100%.

California had more Trump votes (6 million) than Texas (5.8 million.) Texas had more Biden votes (5.259 million) than New York (5.244 billion). But yall have let those solid red v blue maps rot your brain, and you haven't checked a single claim that supposedly justifies this ass-backwards system.

Do better.

[embraceyourdestiny]

I think there’s a very big difference between darkness and Darkness in kh and I don’t just mean the Darknesses.

Throughout most of the series, darkness is represented by purple. Ansem, Terranort, Riku. They are covered in black sludge and purple mist whenever they use their powers.

Darkness, however, is represented by red. Terra, the Nightmares, Rage-Form, Goat Xehanort, Vanitas.

I think one, the first, is the natural darkness of someone and the other is “Created Darkness.”

In bbs, terra asks where the darkness came from and his red Darkness is fully realized after he is pushed by Eraqus and Xehanort. In DDD, the red Nightmare intentionally latches itself onto Sora. For Sora, he made himself fall to darkness. Additionally, Vanitas was literally created from Darkness.

That’s not the say the Darkness isn’t the Darknesses but I think it’s like not every rectangle is a square. Whether that Darkness is placed there by the Darknesses or has a unique property that attracts them, there is clearly a different between the darkness of some characters and the Darkness of others.

And then we see Yozora, who is half blue half red. He says that isn’t how he normally looks and the Star says he’s been changed beyond recognition. Someone made him that way, someone put Darkness (or some other force) within him.

Anyone have any others or ideas on this?

[rjalker]

Aroace lesbian pride flags! Because I couldn't find any until after I'd made them and that one was made using an aroace flag created specifically to exclude mspec lesbians, and in this house, we do not tolerate exclusionism and bigotry. Mspec lesbians are lesbians. So are trans lesbians! So are multigender lesbians! End of fucking discussion!

These are public domain, meaning you can use them for anything you'd use a pride flag for, no credit or permission needed. You can download the HD versions from the web archive here.

My only request if you use them is that, whenever possible, you include an accessible image description, meaning in plain, non-colored, non bolded or italicized or tiny text, not hidden under a read more, ect.

The orange, white, and blue stripes on each one are meant to be the top part of the orange and blue aroace flag, with an extra orange stripe in between the first orange and yellow to show more variety of experiences.

Please feel free to change the colors or saturation, and make more variations if you want! Use it for literally anything you'd use a pride flag for!

These flags are inclusive of all lesbians. Yes, all of them! Do you identify as a lesbian? Congrats! You are welcome to use these flags!

= = =

Aroace lesbian flag:

[ID: Two versions of a pride flag. The first is shaped like a square the second is a wide rectangle.

The pride flag has nine stripes of: Dark orange, orange, pale yellow, white, sky blue, white, bubblegum pink, berry red, and very dark berry red. End ID.]

X

Femme aroace lesbian flag:

[ID: Two versions of a pride flag. The first is shaped like a square the second is a wide rectangle.

The pride flag has nine stripes of: Dark orange, orange, pale yellow, white, sky blue, white, pale pink, bubblegum pink, and dark purple.

End ID.]

X

Butch aroace lesbian flag:

[ID: Two versions of a pride flag. The first is shaped like a square the second is a wide rectangle.

The pride flag has nine stripes of: Dark orange, orange, pale yellow, white, sky blue, white, tan, burnt orange, and dark brown.

End ID.]

X

[scapegrace74-blog]

Don’t Call It Love

A/N  With Saorsa done and dusted, it’s time to return to the Metric Universe.  When we last left Jamie and Claire in October 2017, they were sharing comforting silence and attending a Depeche Mode concert together.  Will things fall easily into place now that they have tripped over the line from being roommates to being friends?   Oh, hell no.  What would be the fun in that? 

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Zero 7 (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

Winter, 2017 - London, England

It happened by accident.  Happenstance.  Serendipity.   Fate.  The words she used to explain the fact that she and Jamie started seeing each other outside of the flat in social circumstances that would typically be characterized as dates varied, but her opinion remained fixed.  They weren’t dates.  Jamie was her roommate, a good friend, a fellow enthusiast of the culturally obscure, and a brilliant pub trivia partner.  They had both agreed that a romantic relationship between them would be disastrous; ergo, there was nothing romantic about their increasingly frequent outings.  If she could memorize the names for the 206 bones in the human skeleton, she could certainly manage to keep her feelings for Jamie inside the tidy box she had built for them.

Non-Date #1

They crossed paths inside the massive Spittalfields Market, both of them with shoulders damp from the chilly November rain.  Jamie was on his way to the fishmonger, while Claire carried a cloth bag filled with late-season vegetables, determined to eat something other than take-out on a rare day off from lectures and the hospital.

“Are ye on yer way back tae the flat, then?” Jamie asked, physically fighting the urge to offer to carry Claire’s wee sack.

“No, I’m off to the charnel house first.”

“The what, now?”  Surely he’d misheard her.

“The charnel house.  Don’t tell me you’ve been living over top of a medieval burial ground all this time without realizing it?” Claire teased.

Intrigued as much by her beguiling smirk as the opportunity to explore a bit of London’s history, Jamie followed Claire to a commercial highrise near the edge of the market.  Descending a non-descript stairwell in Bishop’s Square, they came to a halt in front of a glass wall.  On the other side was an excavated ruin, the crypt of the long-vanished chapel of St. Mary’s Spital hospital, a quick scan of a nearby information plaque informed him.

“They only discovered it was here when construction of the office tower began,” Claire said, a wistful look on her face.  “For centuries, travelers and the victims of London’s many plagues were buried around the hospital, quite literally in the Spital fields.  When the graves overflowed, they brought the excess bones here and stacked them for safe-keeping until the Apocalypse.  Imagine, forgetting something so...fundamental.”

Jamie grunted in acknowledgement, seeing the reflection of Claire’s face superimposed on the glass.  He couldn’t decide if this human tendency towards forgetfulness pleased or disappointed her.

“Tis rather...”

“Macabre?” she suggested with a grin, turning away from the display and climbing back into the cloud-roofed square.

“I was gonna say morbid, but as ye like.”

“We build our present on the bones of our past, my Uncle Lamb used to tell me.  He was referring to archaeology, but I’ve found it to be true of life itself.”

They walked back to the flat, collars raised against the hastening rain.  Jamie had bought enough hake for two, so they shared the narrow worktop, dicing fresh vegetables and letting their shoulders bump together occasionally.

Claire ate at the two-person dining table while scrolling social media on her phone.  Jamie used the coffee table to hold his plate and the gaming magazine he was flipping through.

It wasn’t a date.

Non-Date #4

Her cellphone rang as she was leaving the bathroom, thoughts bouncing between her end-of-semester exams and her non-existent plans for the Christmas holidays.  She accepted the call with one hand while starting the tedious job of separating her soaking curls with the other.  At first there was only static.  She glanced at the screen, recognizing the familiar number.

“Jamie?” she tried.

“...mac na ghalla, Hamish...” followed by muffled noises and masculine jeering.  She switched hands and started to towel off, making certain first that the video call button wasn’t active.

“Hal-lo.  Paging Mr. Fraser.  You have a call on line one.”

“Ach, sorry Claire.  I didna mean tae... That is, the lads were just... How are ye?”

She giggled at his discomposure.  “I’m well, thank you.  And you?”  They had seen each other that morning, as he came off shift and she was leaving for her morning lectures, so she assumed there was more to this call than a polite inquiry into her state of well-being.  She had learned over their months as roommates that sometimes you just needed to wait for Jamie to get to his point.

“Braw, thank ye.  I was... weel, I’m at the park with some o’ the lads, tryin’ tae put t’gether a side, an’ we’re short a winger, an’ I was jus’ thinkin’, ye said ye wanted tae learn tae play an’...”

Another James Fraser quirk was that he rambled in broad Scots when he was nervous.

“Jamie, are you asking me to play rugby with you?”

“Aye.  Aye, I am.  If ye wish, o’ course.”

“I did just step out of the shower...” she mentioned, already peering outside at the threatening sky and mentally assessing her wardrobe for something suitable for a ruck and maul in the rain.  “Hello?” when there was no sound from the other end in some time.

“Aye, I’m here.  Nevermind, Claire.  I dinna consider, ye must be gettin’ ready to study fer yer finals, an’...”

“Where are you?” she interrupted, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of yoga pants.

“Victoria Park?” Jamie replied, sounding hesitant and hopeful.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“Splendid!”  She could hear his smile down the line.

“I better not get mud in my hair, Fraser,” she retorted before hanging up, her own smile lingering on her face.

There was nothing romantic about rugby.

Non-Date #7

The flat was strangely forlorn, even with Christmas lights twinkling merrily in the living room windows and a tiny fir tree precariously balancing its five ornaments standing in the corner.  

They had exchanged their gifts on December 23rd, sipping on hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua and grinning shyly at each other.  She’d bought Jamie the next Call of Duty game for his XBox.  Nothing intimate, just something he’d mentioned in passing he was looking forward to trying.  His boyish glee upon unwrapping the package warmed her more than her drink.   Hands shaking slightly, she delicately opened the tastefully wrapped rectangle he presented to her.  Inside was a cashmere scarf, luxuriously soft beneath her fingers as she stroked it.

“Is this?” she asked.

“Aye, tis the Fraser plaid.  Ye ken there’s no’ a clan named Bee-cham, right?”

She was deeply touched, and thanked him was a kiss against his scruffy cheek.

Jamie had left for Scotland the next day, having somehow managed to secure a week’s worth of leave from his uncle over the holiday season.   As was her wont, she’d put down for as many shifts as possible while medical school wasn’t in session, but by some fluke she wasn’t scheduled to work New Year’s Eve for the first time in recent memory.

Some of her classmates from nursing college had invited her along to a “raging party in Shoreditch”, but she’d made up some excuse.  The truth was, she wasn’t in the mood for loud music and over-priced drinks with a group of virtual strangers.  If Geillis had been in town, she would have allowed her friend to coerce her into whatever mayhem she had up her sleeve, but Geillis was still in Columbia and eight months’ pregnant with twins, to everyone’s collective shock.  Especially the mother-to-be.

No, what she really wanted was a quiet evening at home, snuggled under her favourite fleece blanket on their couch, the latest Ferrante novel in her lap and a glass of Pinot Noir at the ready.  Jamie had a turntable and a surprisingly well-curated selection of vinyl in his bedroom, but she didn’t like entering his domain without his permission.

Without giving it a second thought, she rang his cell.  It was only upon hearing the raucous sounds of a party in full swing that it occurred to her that just because she was spending New Year’s Eve alone, it didn’t mean Jamie was as well.

“Claire?” he yelled over something that sounded a lot like live music.  “Are ye all right, lass?”

“Oh!  I’m so sorry, Jamie.  I just wanted to ask... never mind.  It’s not important.  Enjoy your party...”

“Wait!” the background noise mutated, sounding like a riot underwater, and then there was a wooden slam.  Jamie huffed a sigh of relief.

“Mu dheireadh.   Are ye still there, Sassenach?”

“Still here,” she confirmed, suddenly feeling sorry for herself.  She might be the most pathetic thirty-year old in London.

“Did the hospital no’ call ye in for a shift, then?”

She tucked the blanket under her feet, warding off the chill that always seemed to creep in from the wall of windows.  The Christmas lights she’d strung reflected against the glazing in alternating colours: blue, red, green, blue, red, green.

“No. By some miracle of the festive season, I have the night off,” she joked halfheartedly.   “I’m sorry for interrupting your night out.  I wanted to ask if I could borrow your turntable and a few of your albums?”

“O’ course.  Ye didna need tae ask.  An’ I’m no’ out.  I’m at home, at Lallybroch.”  He pronounced the word with a guttural flourish that made Claire think of an exotic kind of pastry or a rare tribal custom.  Any time Jamie spoke of his family’s home in Scotland, he imbued it with an otherworldly quality, like a fortress in a fairy tale, a far away land of warriors and mist.  It was strange to think of him there now, while she sat alone in their flat.

“It sounds like quite the party.”

“Aye.  The Frasers take their Hogmanay celebrations verra seriously.  Ye shoulda come wi’ me.”  Then, as though realizing what he’d said, he added quickly, “We could use a doctor.  Dougal sprained his ankle doin’ a sword dance, and Angus singed his arse somethin’ fierce jumpin’ o’er the bonfire.”

She laughed, her mood suddenly much lighter, and asked for more particulars as to how his cousin’s naked ass came to be in close proximity to open flame.  Without either realizing it, the last minutes of 2017 crept by.

Fireworks erupted outside, followed by the tolling of bells and honking of horns.  On the other end of the call, she could hear cheering and an off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne.  They were both silent, embarrassed to have been so caught up in their trivial conversation as to have missed the arrival of midnight.

“Happy Hogmanay, Sassenach,” Jamie’s voice came soft and sure over the line.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” she replied.  “I should really let you get back to your party.   Your family must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

He hummed noncommittally.  It occurred to her that had they been in the same place, they would likely be kissing right now.  It sent a shiver of want down her spine.

“Jamie?”  Her voice sounded thready, like she had just woken from a deep sleep.

“Hmmm?”  Shivers, again.

“What’s a Sassenach?”

He laughed softly, and she had to bite her lip.  What was the matter with her?  “Tis a Scottish word for a foreigner, particularly an English one,” he explained.

“You’ve never called me that before,” Claire remarked.

“I’ve ne’er spoken tae ye while on Scottish soil.  T’wasn’t an accurate description ‘til now.”

There was a long silence.  She could hear the sound of revelry through the door of whatever room at Lallybroch he’d hidden inside.  Outside the flat there were firecrackers.   They reminded her of mortar rounds heard from a distance in Afghanistan.

“You don’t like fireworks, do you?” she guessed.  It didn’t take an advanced degree in psychology to know that bright flashes and sudden pops of sound would trigger his PTSD.  They really were a mess, the pair of them.

“Nay.  Jenny an’ Ian’s bairns love them, an’ I told them no’ tae hold off on my account, but they insisted on a bonfire instead.  It reminds me o’ when I was a lad, a’fore ye could buy fireworks along wi’ yer ham at the local Tesco.”

Jamie launched into a long account of the significance of bonfires in Highland culture, and she let herself drift on the melody of his voice, the turntable long forgotten.

“Tell me about yer most memorable New Year’s,” he prompted after his cultural diatribe wound down.

“Oh, well, they all rather blur together, actually.  Too much drink, too much spent on the cover charge.  You know how it is.”

“Nah, I mean when ye were younger.  Ye must ‘ave celebrated in some remarkable places.”

She thought back to her time spent following Uncle Lamb around the globe.  Truth be told, traditional holidays weren’t something that stood out in her memory.  They felt like a foreign custom, a series of drawings taken from a picture book that showed a mother, father and children crowded around a loaded table while snow piled up outside.  They bore no relation to her reality.  It was no wonder Christmas and New Year’s left her feeling ambivalent.

Still, she didn’t want Jamie to feel sorry for her, so she launched into one of her favourite tales.

“One year, I must have been eleven, Lamb was leading an excavation of a Berber oasis town in northern Mali.  The site closed down for the Christian holidays, but Lamb decided to stay behind rather than travel back to England.  We ended up riding camels through these enormous sand dunes, following a local guide on an ancient caravan route.  On December 31st, just as the sun was setting and we had begun to make camp, the camel Lamb had been riding let out this infernal noise, leapt to its feet, and started to gallop away.  Lamb and the guide set off after it on foot, hollering and waving their keffiyeh in the air.  It was the funniest thing.”

“They left ye all alone in the desert?” Jamie asked, horrified.

“Oh, well, they came back eventually.  The camel had been stung by a scorpion, you see.  Once it got over the fright, they were able to catch it and bring it back to camp.”

“Were ye no’ scared, tae be out there in the dark by yerself?”

“No.  Not as I remember it.  The sunset was glorious, and little by little the sky came alive with a million stars.”

“Ye brave wee thing.”  Jamie sighed.  “I wish I was there wi’ ye.”

She didn’t know if he meant with her on that sand dune, or with her at their flat.  Either way, her answer was the same.

“I wish you were too.”

They finally hung up well past two o’clock.  It didn’t count as a date if the other person was five hundred miles away as you whispered goodnight.

Non-Date #12

The Royal London was expanding its pediatrics wing, and Claire was invited to a fundraising gala held, fittingly, in the Museum of Childhood.  The invitation included a plus one, and she’d been putting off asking Jamie if he could join her all week.  It wasn’t that she doubted his suitability as an escort.  Far from it.  But the gala was taking place on February 14th, of all nights, and the symbolism made her nervous.  Still, the alternative was spending the night being hit on by a drunken internist or hedge fund investor, and that was a headache she could do without.

“So,” she began casually a few nights before the event, “any plans for Valentine’s Day?”  If he said he was working or had, god forbid, a date, she would just have to go stag.

Jamie set down his gaming controller and turned to face her desk.  The pulsing  colours from the screen lit his curls like a neon nimbus in the dim room.

“Nah, nothin’ definite.  An’ ye, Sassenach?” he asked tentatively, as though easing himself out onto a frozen lake, unsure of the depth of the ice.  The nickname he had assigned to her during his holidays in Scotland had stuck.  She didn’t correct the inaccuracy, as she rather liked the idea of having a name that was only his.

“Well, I’ve been summoned to a fundraising gala for the hospital, and I was wondering... not that you need feel obliged... it’s black tie, which is really the height of pretension, if you ask me... anyway, there’s no way to decline gracefully short of an aneurysm, so...”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach,” he prodded.

“Mightyouconsiderbeingmydate?” she blurted, before taking a large gulp of tepid tea.

“Yer date?” he asked as though he had never heard of such a thing.

She sighed, resigned to the fact he was going to make this difficult.  “Yes.  My date.  My plus one.  My social companion.  And hopefully, my defence against spending the evening being pitied and set up with someone’s second cousin, Nigel, the chartered accountant.”

“Do ye have somethin’ against accountants, then?”  The corner of his lip was twitching with the birth of a grin.

“Oh, very funny, you bloody Scot.  Look, I need a date on Valentine’s Day and you are the only man in the Greater London Area who won’t interpret that as an opportunity for a pity shag.   The offer is on the table.  Take it or leave it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes that she couldn’t interpret.  Then it was gone.

“Ne’er fear, Sassenach.  I’ll protect ye from all the wee Nigels.”

***

She’d forgotten to ask whether Jamie had suitable attire for a black tie event.   It was too late now, regardless.  They were meeting at the museum, since she was on shift until eight.  Using the nurses on-call room to get changed, she slinked into her burgundy chiffon gown, its gauzy layers wrapping around her like millefeuille.   Her hair was a lost cause, so she slicked it back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and hoped for the best.  Silver chandelier earrings and a dab of cologne below her jaw, and she was ready to go.  She carried a small beaded clutch and her dress shoes - there was no way she was navigating the Tube in stilettos. 

The museum was a single massive space, conversation and the tympani of glassware echoing against its high-arched ceiling.  She stood in the entryway after checking her coat, spinning in circles and trying to get her bearings.  More than one lascivious glance was directed her way, but she studiously ignored them in favour of looking for Jamie.  With his height and red hair, he shouldn’t be hard to pick out of the crowd.

There was an appreciative murmur from behind her, a gust of fresh air, and then a soft tap against her bare shoulder.  She turned around.

No.  Not hard to pick out from a crowd at all.  Standing before her was James Fraser in full Highland regalia.  He wore his family tartan, a black velvet waistcoat, brilliant white dress shirt and a black bow tie.  When her gaze fell to the floor, she noticed his polished brogues and white socks pulled up to his knees.  She’d never before considered how a man’s knees might be alluring, but there it was.   Jamie had very sexy knees.

“G’d evening, Sassenach.  Ye look... weel, ye look bonnie.”  Jamie’s normally deep voice was gruffer than usual, perhaps on account of the cold night air.  Or maybe his bowtie was tied too tight.

“Good evening, Jamie,” she replied once she found her voice.  “You look, well, if you were a Jacobite, I’d say you looked regal.”

The tops of Jamie’s ears went red, and he ducked his chin, his tamed curls falling briefly forward.  It gave him the look of a bashful child receiving unexpected praise, completely at odds with the strikingly masculine figure he cut.

“No’ a Nigel, then?” he teased.

“No.  Definitely not a Nigel.  Come, let’s get something to drink before all the top-shelf liquor runs out.  You wouldn’t believe how much some of these doctors can put away!”

Jamie was a perfect date.  He stood by her elbow as she mingled and greeted various colleagues and professors, nodding at their tales of medical misfortune and smiling at their awkward jokes.  He spoke confidently about his work and current affairs, and patiently tolerated endless jibes about what a true Scotsman wore beneath his kilt.

When she politely excused them from one such conversation, he leaned over to whisper in her ear as they walked away to fortify themselves with more alcohol.

“I’ve a mind tae lift my plaid an’ moon the entire assembly the next time one o’ yer wee doctor friends asks about my underthings.  Are ye sure they arena raising funds for a new proctology department, Sassenach?”

She snorted in a truly unladylike fashion and turned to meet his unrepentant smirk.  Just then, a figure approaching from the bar caught her eye.

Oh no.  It couldn’t be.  After five years, she’d finally relaxed her vigilance, had ceased anticipating his presence at every turn, and now, here he was.

“Sassenach?” Jamie was watching her with concern.  The blush had drained from her cheeks, leaving her wine-stained lips and sintering eyes the only colour on her face.

“Claire!  Fancy meeting you here!”  Had his voice always been so nasal?  His eyes so glassy and vacant, like portals into nothingness.  He’d obviously been drinking heavily.  A blond woman half his age had her arm linked through his.

“Frank,” she uttered his name.  Jamie stepped into her side, his posture erect, somehow sensing that she needed his protection from this unheralded threat.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.  I’d heard you’d gone into the army, or some such thing.  Afghanistan, was it?  Well, with your penchant for violence, I suppose that’s fitting.”

She breathed deeply through her nose.  She would not let him get the better of her.  She wasn’t that person anymore.  With a clammy hand, she grabbed onto Jamie’s fingers where they rested around her hip.  He squeezed back.  He was here.   She wasn’t alone.  It was all the strength she needed.

“Yes, that’s right.  I served overseas for a time, but I’m back in London now.  In medical school.   Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”

Focusing on each step, she turned towards the exit, Jamie’s hand now warm upon the small of her back.  Her chin wobbled, but she bit down hard to stave off tears.

“A doctor?” Frank taunted from behind her.  “Wouldn’t a demolition expert be more apropos, darling?”

She froze, spine trembling with anger.  Jamie made a questioning noise, asking without words if she wanted him to intervene.   She didn’t.

Glancing over her shoulder, she dealt her parting blow.

“Give my best to Amelia and the children.”  Without waiting to witness the aftermath of her pronouncement, she made her way out into the chilly night air, Jamie’s bulk a silent sentinel at her side.

It wasn’t a date if it ended on the floor of your bathroom, crying ugly sobs as mascara stained your cheeks, while your partner held your shoulders and made soothing noises with his throat.  

That wasn’t dating, that was survival.

***

mac na ghalla = son of a bitch

Mu dheireadh = finally

[azeriaa]

Decided to clear the askbox before I let the queue does its job!! I will not be answering requests, however.

Note: You can still send asks to the inbox, just that I won’t be drawing them and they will be together with the queue.

FIRST || PREVIOUS || NEXT

ASKS UNDER CUT

@randomostar15 (couldn’t tag you) Have a hard time answering this one. Their relationship is… complicated. Past finds Future annoying, he is 24/7 very done with him. (´ε｀；) There’s a part of him wants to neglect his “brother” but another part of him have the urge to care for him like his own brother. He wishes to not have a little brother but at the same time, he wishes the best for his brother. Feelings are weird. :/

@6nimus9 OH MY GOD THAT WOULD BE AMAZING SDKCNASDKFJDLASDF (≧艸≦*). The fact they are both chaotic and charming at the same time is so interesting to me. They would probably chat about Papyrus’s ability, then the AUs (since Papyrus is quite eager on meeting them if he remembers AUs exists), the guy name Error who appears to be a AU destroyer. Then, Past goes and greets Ink — “Good, you were trapped in here and would never ever get the chance to escape from here have fun lol.”

@youeverjust-a Future: I do not like beetroots! Past: What about beetroots juice? Future: I love beetroots juice! Past: Then, what about beetroots— Future: I DO NOT LIKE BEETROOTS.

@anybya Past: ha ha, rewind went brr brr. (takes off gloves— prepares to rewind you back to none existence—)

@toastercreator​ Future: What’s a “bete noire”? Past: Some crazy chick made out of HATE with unexplained overpower strength who wanted to commit arson upon the world because some magician thought they were smart and apparently now that she’s dead the situation gets worse as HATE spreads across the world. Future: Ooooh! Fun!! Can I be a “bete noire”? I love burning down schools! Past: (sweats, grins wider)

@lordnindroid Future: Excuse me, good sir. Future: (coughs) Future: DO MY CLOTHES DOESN’T LOOK COOL TO YOU?!

@animix144 (couldn’t tag you) Past: You’re making everything worse. 

Oh, of course I thought of that before! Then, I realized it wouldn’t be effective. Papyrus initially used this method to remember himself, but he got nothing out of it. Predicting the future is like going into a HUGE library, there lies A LOT OF BOOKS with a lot of possibilities. (Originally, this is going to be in the mini-series but due to the limited time I have before deadline, it was cancelled.)

Papyrus’s future predicting ability:

Everytime Papyrus uses his ability, he will go to the library. The library looks like the one in Snowdin (librarby) but the inside, looks like one hell of a maze. He has to search through the categories, each books before taking out the one he needs. He then takes the book (the vision) out from the library — and loses his memories and everything he reads in the library.

His “due” of keeping the book ends when the situation happens or it is “over” (as in the future was successfully prevented/never happened). The book (vision) will be discarded on the next prediction (the next time he visited the library), like the rest of the “outdated” books.

All the books look the same (blue in colour, golden stripes across the cover), that’s why sometimes he dislikes visiting the library when literally all the books look the same. Each book is like a story book! Most of them are short stories, and sometimes the entire book only consist of one sentence (A human will come though here) or one word (Beetroots) However… when it comes to a BAD prediction… the books is red in colour and black thorn vines covers it. The content of the book is distorted and unreadable.

It may looks like he is taking a long time staying in the library, but actually, this thing happened in a quite short amount of time because uh… speed is relative and uh… time is uh… illusion… physics… uh… rocket science stuff… exploding Kahoot…

Past: It was a miracle how much stuff I could put up with him.

@mmangaboi​ Past: …I did not feel comfortable explaining this. Past: I have a long history…

@goldklm​ Past: No. Past: Went got yourself one on one of these trash over there. (points over to the pile of the SAME coats as Past)

@docmenlonhead​ Of course! There will be other AUs together in this mess but I don’t plan on drawing them as PART of the story. Just that, it would be hard because, I’m not sure which AU is forgotten or such, like, as long as a good amount of people REMEMBERED this AU exist even if the creator have abandoned it (Underlust, for example), they will be NOT go to the Neverland and stayed in their own timeline. However, that timeline will be a very unstable one as different headcanons corrupt the AUs, like what happened to Underswap. 

For Underswap’s case, (again, meant to be part of the mini-series but DEADLINES—) the original of Underswap characters were being thrown into the Neverland. They explained to the Time brothers that everything started to darken, dark squares/rectangles appears on their skies as if there were HOLES on the sky. They will see a doppelganger of themselves and was told that they will be replaced. 

And they did. 

NOTE: This have yet to be canon, I’m still working on this part of the lore. Major changes might occurs to this idea. (T0T) I would like to hear what are your thoughts on this hahah.

@pawlos-xd-animations​ @the-nameless-one1 (couldn’t tag you)

Maybe, maybe. Only time will tell.

[mooooooosicals]

I know y'all sick of me talking about this show but

If there were to be an Off-Broadway version of TGWDLM

So like I have VERY specific visions for a couple of the songs because I'm just Like That so I'mma describe a couple of them to the best of my ability. This will mainly be describing the set.

*disclaimer: I am an onstage theatre kid, not an offstage theatre kid. So offstage theatre kids have every right to roll their eyes at me and say I don't know what I'm talking about, because honestly I don't*

Okay so first of all because of a supposedly larger budget, bye bye squares and rectangles in the background. In this hypothetical production, we would have actual backdrops that would switch out, and to avoid using too many, use wagons (not the method of transportation wagon, a different kind of wagon, look it up as a theatre term if you don't know what I'm talking about) as well for specific rooms such as Mr. Davidson's office. You could have a city backdrop for pretty much the entire first half of act 1 but have different sets come out like the coffee shop and the office. As we progress to the police scene, a backdrop can come down further downstage because it's a smaller scene, and since it's an alleyway you can have something as simple as a brick wall with graffiti on it . With the bunker, the backdrop will be the same, but different wagons and set pieces will change out because we visit various different rooms in the bunker. For show stopping number, you could have some sort of cool staircase set with the piano being on a platform at the top, just because Hidgens is dramatic. I could go on and on but I want to discuss a couple of specific numbers.

The Opening Number

Okay so I imagine a classic red curtain would greet the audience as they come in to find their seats and wait for the show to begin. The reason for this is because most who haven't seen the show will think this is a show that makes fun of shows, like Something Rotten, The Prom, and Spamalot. True, it is, but it is also a horror comedy with a touch of sci-fi. I think a big part of this show is the shock factor it brings, and the red curtain is a perfect way of tricking people into thinking it's going to be one thing when it's really another.

Next, what's behind the curtain? Well, the first scene does take place in an office, doesn't it? The office set would be behind the curtain, but there would be a dark backdrop covering up the city backdrop so that the opening number can be creepier.

The theme starts playing, maybe because it's a bigger production the show can be a little bit longer so maybe the theme can turn into an entire overture, and then you hear thunder and you see flashes from the lights to represent lightning, and then...

The red curtain rips apart and drops onstage, quickly dragged offstage (kind of like Six The Musical).

There's smoke on the stage because honestly smoke really enhances any scene let's be honest here. You see he infected slowly come out, you could have them crawl out of places where people normally shouldn't be, such as file cabinets. Some could even come through the audience, depending on the type of theater it is. And yeah, the opening number carries on, and during the key change the dark backdrop goes up (it's still dark though), Paul is sitting at his desk in a chair (with his back faced towards the audience because the song is still happening), and as soon as the song is over, the lighting immediately becomes brighter and "normal" and Paul's desk and chair immediately do a 180 so that he's facing the audience.

Not Your Seed

Basically for this number we might wanna consider using smoke again. Just saying. Also the backdrop is further downstage because it's a smaller scene.

The backdrop for this scene could be a brick wall with posters and billboards on it, revealing different Easter eggs because those are fun. There's lockers in front of the wall and a single door in the middle. Alice would come through the door, slowly opening it allowing for a creepy cracking sound. There's blue and red blood everywhere, covering the lockers, the door, the wall, just everything. This is to signal that the infected have already infiltrated the school.

Let It Out

Okay this number is probably the one I've thought about the most (it's my favorite song shdhsjdj leave me alone). So prepare yourselves because there's gonna be A LOTTTTT.

Basically (damn I say that a lot, sorry) the goal here is to be as creepy and unsettling as possible. So are we using a smoke machine in this one? In the words of Hidgens, "you bETTER believe it!"

The stage appears to be completely bare, almost as if there were no production currently playing at this venue (the backdrop is the farthest upstage it can be). However, you notice that you can see the night sky, as a good chunk of the supposed brick wall is missing. This is because... Well.... The theater got hit by a meteor, it wouldn't be exactly in the best shape. There's debris all over the ground, ripped up script pages, broken props, parts of a fallen set. There's blue blood scattered across the stage, and even on the floor and the curtains somehow. Everything is dark except for a single ghost light and the eerie and faint glow of the meteor upstage.

Basically the very theater you're sitting in as an audience member has literally become the Starlight Theater.

Paul enters the theater, perhaps in the back (depending on the size of the theatre). No matter where he enters, it's somewhere you wouldn't expect him to be. He makes his commentary, goes onstage, and then suddenly out of nowhere the ghost light turns off abruptly (if you really wanted to scare the audience, you could have the light bulb pop, a small nod to the well known chandelier drop in Phantom). The lights are almost completely dark, and then suddenly you hear "We've been waiting for you, Paul" and Bill appears with a spotlight shining on him seemingly out of nowhere.

More infected begin to enter, some could even enter in from the audience to either up the humor or the fright. Then the song goes on, yada yada yada, and then the dreaded "neveeeeeeerr!" occurs. Perhaps a cool lighting trick or something could help enhance the switching between Paul and his infected persona that follows after that pivotal moment.

As the song ends, Paul pulls the pin and throws the grenade. You could have some pyrotechnical effect happen to represent the explosion, or maybe some cool lighting and sound effect that happens. And yeah there you go.

If you've read to the end of this, congratulations you have more patience than me. If you don't mind sharing your thoughts on what a bigger stage production of tgwdlm would look like, I would love to hear them!

[stylishanachronism]

Okay so we’re going to open with the fact that while Obsidian has at least one person on staff who understands armor, literally nobody understands clothing, especially historical clothing, and though they stumbled into something... acceptable in two and a half cases(1), literally everything else they’ve produced on the subject is garbage.

So what’s the most garbage cultural garb in Eora? I’m going to shock you, despite my complaining on the affront that is the Dyrwood, it’s actually the Vailians. They’re supposedly primarily metalsmiths and textile traders, (iirc Obsidian called Venice and the Phoenicians as the major guiding influences), with really strong textual aesthetic sensibilities, and yet they’re all wearing drab closefitting garments with neither wild shaping nor excess fabric, mostly in deeply boring greys. It’s like... bad period piece Renaissance Venetians, but make it 90s haute couture. It is *painfully* bad. Deadfire improves, a little bit, but these are supposedly the most baroque bitches around, I should be seeing vivid colors (especially in reds and blues and purples), rich blacks, and enough spare fabric to drown a medium sized child. Also lace. A famous vineyard’s worth of lace. At least blackwork, come on Obsidian they look cheap.

Based on Pallegina’s armor, I should also be seeing a ‘pigeon breast’ silhouette on literally everyone, or alternatively low, square cut bodices to show off extremely fancy underwear (and don’t worry, we’ll get to the underwear), and I should be seeing split hose, not pants, if I am seeing hose at all. I will accept pants for exactly two cultures and no more. and the Republics do not apply.(2) Deadfire did them a good turn by introducing brocades but where is the velvet. The silk. The weird hats. The dagged, slashed sleeves to show off the fact you’re rich enough to wear an overdress, an underdress, and then your underwear’s fancy as hell too. Everybody on the south-eastern half of the Eastern reach is wearing, at minimum, a chemise, hose, and if you’ve got boobs some sort of stays to keep said boobs put, and pockets, before you even get to their outerwear.and just like today, everybody wants pretty underwear. Embroidered cuffs and collars, clocked hose, lace on everything, if you’re rich, blackwork if you aren’t, extremely beautiful pockets, the works. The Republics, being the rich people with all the fabric, have canonically raised fashion to an art form, so they should be dripping with extra details, and they should not only be the only people with flat patterning, they should be reveling in that fact. They are not doing any of these things.

The second most garbage cultural garb is, of course, the Dyrwood. Again, I should be seeing lots of color, not necessarily saturated but given their climate and stated food products I can make an educated guess about what dye plants are around, so lots of greens and yellows and rusty-orange reds and (maybe) pale blues, and a billion extremely rich shades of brown and almost-black, mostly plainweave for themselves (they’re shipping out their brocades for the most part), but lots of embroidery again. They can keep the bracers, they’re the only canon-given detail I actually liked (and it plays into a different headcanon re: where the fuck did you get the standing army), but they don’t even get split hose, much less pants. Skirts for everybody! Again, these people are producing all the fabric, and it’s cold(ish), so multiple layers are a thing, as is excess cloth, and if you’re going to do that, you’ll dye your underdress a fun color to contrast with your overdress (which very well might be quartered, too), at the very least. There’s probably a lot of plain trimming, and guards, and they’re coming out of Aedyran fashion so there’s not a lot of shaping but stripes and plaids are probably a thing, and certainly no flat patterning. Think bilaut over later kirtles, with side lacing and belting around the waist for various purposes (like making your boobs stay put, depending on if you’ve got stays or not, or holding up said skirt when you’re working in the fields, to get it out of the way.)(3)

Based on the leather armor you pick up, I should also be seeing the beginnings of a more conical style, moving away from clothes you just drop over your head into separate skirts and bodices (for everybody, not just women), which still probably lace up the front or (more commonly) the sides. (There’s an argument to be made that kilts are a thing, coming out of Eir Glanfath, but it’s probably more of a western than an eastern thing, and frankly I’m not sold, get back to me on this.) Also, going back to my dearly cherished ring lace headcanon, pretty much everyone wears extremely beautiful knit lace shawls (but not trim, and not non-knit), because even if you’re selling all the really nice stuff you’ve still got piles and piles of little apprentices practicing their trade, and somebody’s got to wear it.

Unfortunately I just don’t have enough information about Glanfathians to say anything other than what they’re wearing is also probably garbage, and fashion is probably a hugely tribe-specific thing. More nomadic tribes probably don’t wear many wovens, probably saving what cloth they make or trade for for things like belts and blankets and carrying bags, but again, it should all be extremely colorful. You’ll see more shaping and piecework here, because leather does not appear in neat rectangles the way cloth does, and if you’ve already got that curve you might as well use it, lots of fur, mostly for warmth but also as decoration, and we might see Dyrwodian fashion influences with the more eastern tribes, depending on the mystery of what’s going down politically at that border and whether or not those tribes are more or less nomadic.

Ixmitl gets an honorable mention for having the most color and also horses, and so the pants are acceptable, but I’d like to see more color and more embellishment. And also more information. Rauatai gets an honorable mention for having actually reasonable rectangular construction on everything (clearly an accident but I’ll take it) and again, some color. Aedyr gets an honorable mention for having some logic put into it’s creation, even if that logic isn’t extended out to its colonies like it should be, and even if what we see in game makes it clear Obsidian doesn’t actually understand how things like chitons work.

Engwith gets all the honorable mentions for somehow being the most internally consistent culture as far as art and fashion go, despite 90% of that art and fashion being extremely hard to see frescoes, and the rest of it being Thaos. Yeah it’s basically a straight copy off Sumer but you know what? That just means it works.

At some point in the distant future I may update this with illustrations of canon v. what we reasonably should be seeing, but right now is not that time.

1: Whoever Obsidian picked up for Tyranny clearly stayed on (Tyranny’s clothing was uniformly pretty great, even if it had the same bra problem), and they’re the only person with half a clue, which is why the Huana look as good as they do. Pillars gets half a point for Aedyr, Iximtl, and hilariously enough Engwith, for having reasonable starting points, and Deadfire should get another half point for Rautai, but that picture of Maia exists and it is such an affront they lost it again.

2: Ixmitl and the various groups of the White that Wends can have pants, the first because they’re canonically horse people, and that’s what pants are for. The White doesn’t actually get pants, per se, they’re fairly clearly inspired variously by the Inuit and the Vikings, so they have separate undergarments we would call pants in order to help keep warm, but it counts for this. Nobody else gets pants.

3: Just for the record, this is also where Raedceras should be, fashion-wise, but we have huge amounts of nothing when it comes to non-priest everyday wear so I can’t really talk about. My logic still stands, plus they’re even less likely to know about flat patterning, but, y’know.

[robronsecretvalentine]

for @iwantmessedup

happy valentines day, bella ❤️

where you lead | 6000 words, t

if your teenage son has to explain to you that the fit, grumpy bloke who keeps you in good coffee and thick-cut bacon just asked you out, you probably need to take a good, hard look at yourself aka the gilmore girls au you didn’t know you wanted

:::

Robert’s dying. There’s no other explanation. Head pounding, vision blurred, limbs heavy; he can feel himself weakening with every step.

This is so unfair. There were so many things he wanted to do, so many things he never got chance to say. He was fine when he left the house, he can’t believe this is how it’s going to end for him. The only silver lining is that at least he’ll get to see Aaron one last time.

Somehow, and he really has no idea how, he makes it through the door. Manages to collapse into a stool, drapes himself dramatically across the counter, and closes his eyes to wait for death.

There’s a cough.

Robert prises open an eye. There’s an arm, soft orange plaid rolled at the elbow, forearm corded with muscle, a dusting of dark hair. It’s a perfect arm, Robert likes it very much. Especially when it plonks a cup of steaming coffee right under his nose.

“Drink that and stop whimpering,” the arm says. “You’re scaring all my customers.”

The arm is rude, so Robert ignores it in favour of burying his face in his cup until he comes back from the brink.

When he’s finished he holds his it out for more, musters up a sunny smile.

Aaron eyes him with disdain. “You’re an idiot,” he says, like he does every day.

Robert flashes his teeth. “But I’m your idiot,” he says, like he does every day.

He’s not, obviously, but he likes the way it makes Aaron go pink.

Aaron puts his cup back down in front of him, full again, and hurries off to take someone their breakfast. Robert puts his elbows on the counter, cradles his cup under his nose and breathes. That’s better.

“No Seb today?” Aaron asks, coming back just in time to slap Robert away from the dome of muffins on the counter.

Robert rubs his smarting knuckles. “Revising, not long til exams, is it?”

Aaron leans to fold his arms on his side of the counter, it puts his face close enough to Robert’s that he can smell him; rich coffee and bacon fat. Robert lets his mouth water.

“Yeah he was in here last night, books all over the place, taking up my best table.”

Robert glances over his shoulder to the table in the window, with its bench seat and plump cushions, sunlight falling across it in disjointed rectangles. “You should have told him to bugger off,” he says. “Did he even buy anything?”

Aaron shrugs. “He looked busy, it was fine.”

Aaron always gets sort of misty-eyed whenever they talk about Seb. Ever since Robert fled to the village when Seb was barely walking and Aaron was just a kid. Back when he thought Robert, seventeen and carting a baby round on his hip, was worthy of hero worship. Aaron, gruff and grumbling at the best of times, has doted on Seb, like the rest of village, for as long as Robert can remember, and Robert’s always poked fun at him for it.

“You’ve gone soft,” Robert tells him, sipping at his coffee.

That gets him a glare. “Do you want the bacon sarnie I’m about to put on for you or not?”

“Yes please.”

“Then shut your mouth, you talk too much.”

Robert mimes zipping his lips closed, goes back to his coffee while Aaron does his actual job.

The butty Aaron brings him is dripping with butter and brown sauce, bacon still bubbling. It’s a work of art.

“God,” Robert says vaguely, gazing at his sandwich, “Sometimes, I could actually kiss you.”

Aaron pauses where he’s making someone a drink, sugar skittering across the counter top. He coughs, sweeping it off the edge into his cupped hand and his voice, when he speaks, is frayed around the edges. “It’s just a butty.”

Robert eyes him while he takes a bite. There’s always been something addictive about flirting with Aaron, maybe because Aaron never seems to know what to do with him. Lately, Robert’s been wondering if there might be more to it, but he’d be risking a lot to ask, maybe too much. And the likes the gentle hum in the air between them as it is. Seeing Aaron in the mornings is a treat, something to file away to keep himself going.

Maybe that’s enough.

:::

“I wonder what this is about,” Seb says, jogging a little to catch Robert up.

They crunch up the drive together. Robert still isn’t used to it being light out at this time of night, barely any chill in the air. Summer seems to come earlier every year.

Jesus, he’s starting to sound like his dad.

Robert shudders, passes it off as a shrug. “No idea. When did we last even have a village meeting?”

“After the daffodil incident,” Seb reminds him, and they both a take a second to appreciate the fact that Robert never got caught for that.

“Maybe it’s an Easter thing then?” Robert suggests. “Hey, maybe Pollard wants you to wear the bonnet again.”

Seb bristles. “He can do one. Anyway, I’ve already told him how upset Isaac was to be left out last year, so I think I’m in the clear.”

Robert has to laugh. “You realise Isaac’s going to murder you?”

Seb shrugs, elbows waggling outwards. “Worth it.”

Isaac’s twice Seb’s size, all shoulders and hair to Seb’s coltish limbs and freckles. If Isaac didn’t swallow his tongue every time Seb so much as glanced his way, Robert would worry. As it is, he’s pretty sure Isaac would wear the bonnet without fuss, if Seb asked him nicely enough.

Not that there’s any need to tell Seb that.

The village hall is bustling with people but they manage to snag a pair of seats near the back. Robert catches a glimpse of Aaron on the other side of the room, mussed up hair and the dark of his beard. He’s got his arms folded and a tea towel over his shoulder, obviously wanting to get back to work. Robert stares at the back of his neck, pale and vulnerable above his collar, until he starts to feel weird about it.

Pollard waits until everyone’s seated, before he hops up on the stage. “Good evening, everyone,” he says. “I know it’s unusual to call a village meeting at such short notice but-”

“Mate,” Aaron calls out. “Can you just get on with it? Some of us’ve got businesses to run.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the room and Pollard puffs up like a blowfish, mouth opening again.

Robert slumps down in his seat and tips his head on to Seb’s bony shoulder to close his eyes. He’s been awake too long for this.

“Wake me up if anything exciting happens,” he says, already tuning out Pollard’s droning voice.

:::

He comes to, when Seb shrugs him awake, to an empty room, only a few last stragglers shuffling out.

“Is it over?” he asks, wiping at his mouth. There’s a patch of dribble on Seb’s shoulder that Robert hopes he wont notice.

Seb stands up, stretching his arms out. “It’s been over for a while. Aaron brought us food.”

There’s a bulging paper bag, rolled at top, and a takeaway cup on the seat beside Robert. Of course Aaron brought them food, Aaron’s perfect.

Oh god, what if Aaron saw all the dribble?

Robert grabs them both, sipping at the coffee as they start the short walk home. “Did I miss much?”

Seb shakes his head. “Plans for a new gazebo by the church, something about the playground, Rodney calling Eric a tiny dictator, the usual. Aaron said you’ve been looking tired and not to tell you that that’s decaf.”

Robert drops the cup he’s holding straight into the bin they’re passing. “He’s really got to stop doing that.”

Seb shrugs. “He worries about you.”

“He doesn’t need to,” Robert says, even though it makes him feel soft inside, like a bruised peach, every time Aaron tries to take care of him. Robert’s been taking care of himself and Seb for so long, he’s always an arse about letting someone else take a turn.

“So you didn’t pull an all nighter at the B&B on Saturday?” Seb asks, eyebrow quirked.

Robert sighs. “You don’t need to worry about me either. There was a leak, someone had to sort it.”

“I know, you said.”

Robert slings an arm around his shoulders, feeling guilty, in spite of himself. Seb’s a good kid, the best. Maybe Robert has been leaving him to his own devices a little too much recently. It’s hard, sometimes, to balance his new manager’s position against the fact that Seb does still need him, even if it isn’t like it was when he was little. “What do you say to movie night tomorrow night then? Just you and me.”

Robert doesn’t think anything will ever compare to the feeling he gets when Seb looks up at him with those big blue eyes, all lit up like that. He wishes he could bottle it, he’d make a fortune.

“Back to the Future marathon?”

Robert nods. “Obviously.”

:::

Robert’s cup is already waiting for him on the counter the next morning, steaming away. There’s a chocolate muffin sat on a little square napkin next to it.

Aaron’s in the corner, taking an order, and Robert ignores him when he looks up, just to be an arse.

“You can’t eat my apology muffin, if you’re not going to forgive me,” Aaron says, going behind the counter to tap away at the till.

Robert shrugs, stuffing some more muffin into his face. “I think it’s the lack of trust between us now, that hurts the most-”

Aaron cuts him off. “Oh fuck off. Tell me you didn’t sleep better last night, tell me.”

“Like a baby,” Robert says, giving up the act. He can’t even pretend to be mad at Aaron these days. “And thanks for the burger.”

There is it, that little flush in Aaron’s cheeks that makes Robert’s heart thump illicitly.

Aaron fidgets adorably for a minute. “You didn’t exactly look up to cooking. What with the pool of dribble and all.”

Robert absolutely does not go red himself, that would be pathetic. “You know how restful I find village meetings.”

“Don’t even get me started on that.”

“As if I would.” Aaron’s disdain for village meetings is well known. Robert’s pretty sure it’s been a literal agenda item on at least two occasions.

Aaron starts wiping the counter down, even though it’s already sparkling. “So, what are you up to this weekend?”

It’s a weird question. Not the sort of polite small talk Aaron usually makes with him. Robert’s spidey sense tingles.

“Friday night tea up at the farm, you know the drill. Then nothing, actually. Nicola and Jimmy are on holiday.”

Aaron nods rapidly, like this is riveting stuff, and Robert turns his weird up to fucking bizarre.

“Are you alright?” Robert asks, because Aaron’s still nodding.

“Fine, yeah,” there’s a pause. “I’m going to a wedding on Friday,” Aaron says brightly, apropos of nothing.

“Are you? Whose?” The B&B is booked out all weekend but he hasn’t heard anything about a local wedding.

“Old school mate,” Aaron says. “They’re having some big marquee do up at Home Farm, hell on earth probably. But I quite liked her at school and we sort of bumped into each other on a night out a few months ago, got to catching up. I got the impression someone had left them a couple of empty seats or something and I couldn’t think of a way to get out of it.”

“Right,” Robert says warily. That might be the most words he’s ever heard Aaron use at once. He hopes he’s not winded.

Aaron looks vaguely embarrassed, like he knows exactly what Robert’s thinking. He’s gone really red as well, hands tapping at the counter. “Don’t suppose you fancy keeping me company? So I don’t have to sit next to an empty chair all night?”

“Or take your mum,” Robert points out.

Aaron laughs loudly enough that an old woman at the end of the counter drops her fork. “Yeah, exactly.”

Robert shrugs. He can think of worse ways to spend an evening than with Aaron. It getting him out of Friday night tea is the cherry on top really. “Why not? Everyone keeps telling me I’m due a day off work so, yeah, sounds like fun.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, course. I’ll come with you.”

Aaron looks baffled, as though this wasn’t his idea in the first place. “Okay,” he says. “Great, thank you. That’s great.”

“It’ll be fun,” Robert tells him, going back to his muffin, mentally sifting through his suits to find something that wont clash with whatever Aaron might wear.

Aaron hovers for a second, mouth open, but the bell dings in the kitchen hatch before he can say anything else.

:::

Seb’s on the settee when Robert gets home, feet up on the coffee table. He’s barely more than a tuft of ginger hair and green socks, hidden behind the giant book he’s got his face buried in.

“Grandad rang,” he tells Robert, voice muffled.

Robert makes a face. Great. “You’re going to have to go for tea by yourself on Friday,” he says breezily.

Seb appears from behind his book, visibly suspicious. “Why?”

Robert busies himself putting the kettle on. “I’ve got a thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Just a thing,” he doesn’t actually know why he’s being so cagey until Seb speaks again.

“A date thing then. You can’t swerve Grandad’s for a some woman. Or bloke. He’ll go mad.”

“It’s not a date.”

Seb’s eyes roll. God, sometimes he looks so much like his mother. “What then?”

“Aaron’s friend’s getting married, I said I’d go with him, that’s all.”

Seb’s face splits open, grin rising like the sun. “Finally.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re going to a wedding with Aaron,” Seb says, speaking very slowly, like Robert is very elderly and perhaps hard of hearing. “As his date.”

Robert shakes his head. “It’s not a date.”

It definitely hadn’t sounded like a date when Aaron had asked. If Aaron was going to ask him out, if they were actually going to go there, Robert would have noticed.

“Dad,” Seb says, climbing over the back of the settee because he’s an animal. “Of course it’s a date. You’re going to wear a suit and eat food. That’s a date.”

“What would you know about it?”

Oh god. Aaron’s going to be wearing a suit.

Seb folds his arms. “You let me watch too much TV.”

“That’s definitely true,” Robert scrubs a hand through his hair, stomach knotting up when he thinks about Aaron, pink-cheeked and stuttering, asking him to fill a chair. “Oh god. It’s a date, isn’t it?”

Seb’s face is sympathetic, which is nice, but his nod is still smugger than Robert appreciates.

“Does he know it’s a date?” If Robert didn’t notice, maybe Aaron didn’t either.

“Make me one,” Seb says, nodding at the coffee cups sitting forgotten by Robert’s elbow. “And don’t be ridiculous. Aaron’s been in love with you ever since he worked out how his personal parts worked.”

Robert goes hot all over, can’t do a thing to stop it, he has to turn away to hide whatever his face is doing. “No he hasn’t. And please never say personal parts again.”

“Dad,” Seb says, stepping up behind him to squeeze his shoulders. “Everyone knows you like each other. You don’t have to stay single forever just for me, you know? I like Aaron, and I want you to be happy. Plus, you’re not exactly getting any younger here, are you?”

Robert resists the urge to check his reflection in side of the toaster. “Thanks for that.”

“And Aaron’s pretty okay looking, right? And he owns his own business. You could do a lot worse.”

“Please stop talking.”

Seb wanders back over to his books when Robert hands over his coffee, and Robert’s left at the kitchen table with nothing more than a churning belly and too many wrinkles.

Fuck. It’s a date.

A date.

He’s got a date with the only person who’s ever made his breath catch and he hadn’t even realised it was happening. He’s a fucking idiot.

He’s fucking fucked.

:::

Aaron looks good enough to sink ships. Of course he does. It’s actually unfair how well he’s filling out that suit jacket, Robert’s fingers are already itching to touch and they haven’t even made it out of the car yet.

To make matters worse, all Aaron had done is give Robert a once over when he’d opened the door, nodded, said, “You’ll do,” and turned to go before Robert could even pocket his wallet. He’s barely said three words since.

When they pull up outside Home Farm, Robert stops him before Aaron can get out of the car. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Robert gives him a look, watches a woman totter past the window in uncomfortable looking heels when Aaron wont look at back him. “You just seem a bit on edge?”

Either that or he’s regretting the whole thing.

Aaron scrubs both hands over his face, grinds the heels into his eye sockets. “Sorry,” he says, sounding pained. “I’m no good at all this.”

“All what?”

“This,” he waves a hand between them, and at the marquee set up on the grass, brightly coloured bunting fluttering in the breeze. “Weddings and that. I don’t know half these people, it’s just-”

For someone who works in customers service, Aaron is terrible with people, that’s always been true. It’s sort of one of Robert’s favourite things about him, that he gets to be on the inside of all that, see the marshmallowy centre.

Robert nudges him with an elbow. “Well that’s what you’ve got me for isn’t it, like, a buffer or whatever,” Aaron frowns at him, like Robert’s missing the point completely, and Robert hurries to continue. “You don’t have to talk to anyone except me, if you don’t want to. Pretend it’s just the two of us.”

He watches, fascinated, as Aaron’s ears turn red. “Just us,” Aaron says, nodding slowly.

Robert feels the air turn syrupy between them when Aaron doesn’t look away, and he’s half a breath from doing something ridiculous, like trying to hold Aaron’s hand, when a car pulls into the space beside them, blocking out the light, and the moment drops away.

:::

The wedding is beautiful; Aaron’s friend Bella looks amazing, her fella looks at least half as good, and the ceremony is as moving as it can be, given that Robert hasn’t got a clue who these people are or how they met or if they’re even a good match. But the bloke gets properly choked up during his vows, enough that one of the bridesmaids leans over to offer a tissue, which even Robert can’t pretend wasn’t pretty cute.

The marquee is decked out with wild flowers and fairy lights, pops of colour everywhere. Robert and Aaron share an impressed look as they’re herded in to find their table.

Aaron doesn’t seem to know anyone at the table any more than Robert does, so they mostly keep to themselves. The soup is a bit shit and the chicken is dry but they get sticky toffee pudding for dessert and Robert doesn’t drip anything down his front so he can’t really complain. Plus it was free.

He watches Aaron scrape his final plate clean with his spoon, watches his lips go sticky sweet, and has to fight down that urge again, the one that’s been popping up all day, wanting him to put his arm across the back of Aaron’s chair, lean in to drag his nose up that soft looking patch of skin behind Aaron’s ear. The one that wants to overstep the mark, just to see if Aaron will let him.

He pinches the tip of his tongue between his teeth instead and keeps his hands to himself.

They toast the bride and groom about forty times with bitter, wedding package cava, and when Robert excuses himself to head for the makeshift bar, to get them both a proper drink, he’s not exactly surprised to find Aaron at his heels.

“Let me get them,” Aaron’s saying. “You’re only putting up with this for me.”

“Oh yeah. Spending an evening with you looking like that,” Robert says, eyeing Aaron up and down. “What a hardship.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” Robert leans up beside him while Aaron orders them both a beer. “You should wear a suit more often.”

Aaron’s tongue appears, wetting at his lips. “Shut up.”

“You know, you really need to learn how to take a compliment.”

Aaron’s eyes cut to him, and Robert keeps his gaze perfectly steady even though the intensity there is something he wants to shy away from. This is him and Aaron, there’s no reason for his heart to be racing. “You look good too,” Aaron says.

Robert strokes a hand down his tie, says, “Of course I do,” like he isn’t preening under the attention, like he hasn’t spent the last couple of years looking at Aaron just to see if Aaron will look back.

They find a corner to drink their pints, and then another, and another. By the time they’re both loose enough in the shoulders to be laughing together, pointing out who’s probably having an affair with who and speculating about how long the tissue bridesmaid has been round the back of the tent with the best man, Bella and whateverhisnameis are twirling around the makeshift dance floor to Toploader. Which Robert privately thinks is a bit naff, given that it’s not actually all the way dark out yet. Also it’s overcast.

“Maybe it means something to them,” Aaron says, because Aaron’s a sap at weddings, apparently.

Half the place rushes the dance floor for the second half and even Robert’s foot is tapping by the time the song ends, eases into something softer that he remembers from when he was a kid.

“Come on,” Robert says, making the decision for them. He pulls at Aaron’s arm until he’s got no choice but to join the throng of people swaying away.

Aaron’s got his hands up, protesting. “What are you doing? I’m not dancing.”

And he isn’t really, it’s embarrassing, so Robert takes him by the waist, dragging him in until their bellies bump and Aaron has no choice but to hang on to Robert’s arms for balance. “There you go, that’s better.”

Aaron’s scarlet, shaking his head. “You’re mad, you.”

“When in Rome,” Robert says, has to speak right into his ear to be heard. And he’s immediately aware of how close they are. He can see the jackrabbit of Aaron’s pulse in his throat, can smell the woodsy heat of him, the inescapable musk of coffee underneath it all.

It catches Robert’s breath in his chest, both of them stilling when their eyes meet. Aaron’s gaze dips down to Robert’s mouth and then skitters away again, enough to make Robert’s lips buzz with awareness.

It’s overwhelming, suddenly, how much he wants to press kisses to Aaron’s beer damp mouth, take his time with it, see how far down his chest that blush goes. He wants Aaron as breathless as he feels right now. Robert has never want to kiss someone more, and Aaron isn’t even doing anything, he’s just frozen, staring back at Robert like he wants him to take.

Robert’s not like Aaron though, he’s not a particularly good person at all, and he’s self aware enough to know that the only thing holding him back is that he’s afraid of what might come next. Even if Aaron doesn’t push him away, Robert hasn’t been with someone for more than a handful of nights since he knocked Rebecca up in the toilets of her sister’s engagement party when they were 15. He’s never taken any one home to Seb before.

And he knows Seb approves, but that just makes it even more messy. Seb loves Aaron, just as much as Robert does. Seb’s the one who talked Aaron into buying the cafe five years ago, making a real go of it, eleven years old and mouthing off at Aaron about taking risks – God, it was hilarious.

But there are risks and then there are risks, aren’t there?

Seb has been the axis around which everything has turned for half of Robert’s life. Seb is everything. If Robert messes this up it’s not just his own heart he risks breaking.

So he ducks his head, breaks eye contact to tuck his chin down into the juncture of Aaron’s neck, breathe in what could have been. He holds Aaron as close as he dares, feels the hot press of Aaron’s hands across his back, thinks I’m sorry, I wish as hard as he can, and prays that Aaron can hear him.

:::

Robert has his coffee at home the next morning, nursing his hangover on the comfort of his own settee.

“It went that badly then?” Seb asks, hovering.

“It was fine,” Robert tells him.

Seb pulls a face. “Just fine? It was your first date.”

Robert feels prickly and tender about it all, still smarting from the look Aaron gave him when they went back to their drinks. There’s a good chance that Robert will never get to be that close to him again and he isn’t sure the sense memory will be good enough to keep him going.

“It wasn’t a date,” is what he says to Seb, because he might be pretty switched on for sixteen but he doesn’t need to hear all that.

Seb huffs, face screwing up again. “I don’t get you. You have the chance at something really good here, with like, the perfect guy, and you can’t be bothered? What happens when I go to uni? Are you just going to rattle around here all on your own until you die?”

Robert’s mouth drops open and it takes every ounce of not his dadhe’s got in him not to bite back. “Go to your room.”

“What? You can’t-”

“Go to your room,” Robert repeats, voice low and deadly. “And don’t you ever talk to me like that again.”

Seb’s eyes go watery, like they always do when he gets told off, and he slinks upstairs with his tail between his legs.

His door slamming makes Robert flinch, even though he was bracing for it.

:::

It’s mid afternoon before Seb shows his face again.

Robert takes one look at him and drags him in for a hug. He’s been feeling like an arsehole for about twelve hours total now, he deserves a hug, and Seb owes him.

Seb puts up with it for a couple of minutes, and then fights his way free. “Are you ready to talk about it yet?”

Robert shrugs, goes back to his pile of blankets, still feeling sulky. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You’ve been crying.”

“I have not,” so he watched this week’s DIY SOS, sue him.

Seb sighs deeply, put upon. “Dad, you know that I love you, even though you’re an actual idiot, right?”

Robert gives him a look. “Yes.”

“So I mean this in the nicest possible way, alright? Please get your head out your arse.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re in love with Aaron.”

“I think that might be an exaggeration,” Robert says. It’s not, it’s totally not. He keeps thinking about Aaron’s face, so close to his, sparkling in disco colours and watching him like Robert was the only person in the room. It’s making him feel like someone’s scooped his heart out with a melon baller.

“And Aaron’s in love with you.”

“We don’t know that.”

Seb throws his hands up. “Oh for God’s sake. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Robert’s too stunned to tell him off for swearing. “I don’t want to mess everything up,” he says, sort of meekly, he has to admit.

“Who cares if you do?” Seb asks, face crumpled up and baffled, with all the bravery of someone who has never had their heart broken.

Robert braces his arms across his knees. “Aaron’s very important to you,” he says. “And to me. He’s one of our best friends, and he’s a really big part of this village. If I do something to ruin that, it just…it wouldn’t be good.”

“So that means you don’t get to be happy? Either of you? Just in case? That’s stupid.”

Robert huffs a laugh, can’t not. “Being a grown up’s a bit like that.”

Seb comes to sit beside him, elbow digging in to Robert’s arm like always. “Well it shouldn’t be.”

“When your mum gave you to me-”

“She made you promise to take care of me, I know,” Seb looks up at him. “But you have, you do. I’m not a little kid any more, dad, look at me. This isn’t about protecting me, this is about you being too scared to go after what you want. So what if it goes wrong? Aaron’s not an arsehole, he wouldn’t stop being friends with us over something like that. Isn’t he worth the risk?”

Robert would never tell Seb this, but he fucking hates it when the kid’s right.

:::

He manages to avoid Aaron for a couple more days, before his need for decent coffee gets the better of him and he has no choice but to stop stewing on it.

Aaron’s closing up, because Robert’s a wuss and has dragged this out for as long as he possibly can.

“We’re closed,” Aaron says, he doesn’t look up from where he’s upending chairs on to tables.

“I’ll have whatever’s left in the pot,” Robert says. “I’m not fussy.”

He watches Aaron’s shoulders still. “I think we both know that’s a lie,”  he says, but he goes and makes Robert a proper drink anyway, because he’s Aaron.

Robert sits in his usual seat and drinks it. “So how have you been?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you for a couple of days.”

God, he sounds like a total wanker, no wonder Aaron’s looking at him like that.

“Are we really doing this?” Aaron asks.

“Doing what?”

Aaron gapes at him for a minute, then shakes his head and turns around to start wiping down the coffee machine. He doesn’t say anything else but Robert can feel the frustration vibrating off him, thick enough to shake the air between them.

He watches the shift in Aaron’s shoulders, thinks about the strength of them under Robert’s hands in the middle of a crowd. Thinks about everything else, about how it was Aaron who drove Seb to the hospital when he broke his wrist last year and Robert was stuck in traffic an hour away, thinks about the way he scowls at every tourist who comes in this place, and how they all leave loving him anyway. He thinks about all the stupid, pointless flings he’s had, men and women that have never stuck and never meant a thing, thinks about the couple of boyfriends Aaron has hung on to for a while, and how it had seemed like a weight had lifted every time he was single again. He thinks about how much worse his life would be, without Aaron in it. About how he’s been falling for him for years, and how he didn’t even notice it creeping up on him until it closed over his head.

He thinks about Seb, and the nice little life Robert has managed to build for them, from ashes of everything else. The life that wouldn’t exist if Robert hadn’t been brave enough to take it.

He did not work this hard, for all these years, to live half a life.

He follows Aaron behind the counter, gets a hand on his shoulder to turn him around.

“What are you doing? You can’t be back-”

Robert takes Aaron’s face between his hands, drags him in until their foreheads touch. Aaron stills in his hold, eyes fluttering shut when his brain catches up to what’s going on.

Robert gives himself a minute, to take it in, making a memory because he has a feeling he’s going to want to remember this. “You talk too much,” he murmurs, nonsensically, before he tips their mouths together.

There’s an almost overwhelming feeling of finally, and then Aaron’s coming back to life in his arms, fingers creepy crawling up over Robert’s shoulders and into his hair. Robert gathers him close, makes fists in the butter soft flannel of his shirt to keep him where Robert wants him.

He tries to keep the kiss soft, as romantic as it had seemed in his head, but then Aaron’s mouth is opening under his and his tongue is in Robert’s mouth, and suddenly he’s half hard in his jeans, trying not to ride Aaron’s thigh. He gives up trying to control it and just kisses back, keeps kissing for as long as Aaron will let him, until his mouth feels sloppy with it and his chin is burning from the rough of Aaron’s beard.

They’re both breathless when they finally part, and Aaron looks about as shell shocked as Robert feels; like the ground has shifted under him, like he can’t believe they haven’t been doing that the whole time.

Aaron’s hands slide down Robert’s chest. “What are you doing?” he asks, and he sounds suspicious enough that Robert laughs.

He gathers his courage into a ball. He’s a grown man, if Aaron worked up the nerve to ask him out, Robert can do this.

He keeps hold of Aaron though, so he doesn’t get any ideas about moving away. “So, I had a word with Seb, and it turns out I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”

Aaron gives him a look like, you don’t say, but he doesn’t say anything so Robert keeps going. “It also turns out that I’m sort of massively in love with you, so.”

It’s quite cute, the way Aaron’s mouth drops open and just sort of… stays that way. “You what?”

Robert looks him right in the eye. “I love you. And I have it on pretty good authority that you feel the same way?”

He doesn’t mean to make it a question but it happens anyway. Aaron’s frowning, sort of kneading at Robert’s chest with his fingertips like a kitten, but he’s nodding.

“Yeah?” Robert prods.

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Obviously, yeah. I though you weren’t interested. After wedding, when you – I thought you weren’t-”

Robert cuts him off. “I’m interested. I’m…more than interested.”

“So why did you…”

“I was scared,” Robert admits, grudgingly. “I think I’ve been trying to tell myself I was looking out for Seb, but that’s not it. I’ve never felt like this before, I’m bloody terrified.”

Aaron’s nodding. “Same here.”

“Seb reckons you’re worth the risk.”

“That does sound like him,” Aaron says. “Also he’s right.”

Robert strokes his hands up Aaron’s back, feels the push and pull of them breathing together. “So, I’m in. If you’ll have me.”

Aaron’s eyes are the bluest thing Robert has ever seen. “I’ll have you,” Aaron says, voice a murmur, and it’s him who leans up this time, kisses Robert until his head’s spinning. Until it feels like this could actually be his life.

Aaron fits against him like he was made to be there, and Robert lets himself imagine, for the first time, a world in which he doesn’t fuck this up.

[thebrotherswholoved]

Day Two: “Secret Santa”

“How much homework d’you got?”

Sam’s sitting there, staring at the eraser of a number two pencil, trying to make it implode. Maybe if he has no pencil he won’t have to take the exam?

“Sam?”

Oh, yeah. Jessica’s sitting cross legged on the table beside him, legs knocking into the nearby bookcase just filled to the brim with knowledge: useless and obsolete knowledge, at least. That section of the library is history. Oh, shit, will Gottesman put Assyrian culture on the test?!

“Samuel Winchester, what is going on inside that big head of yours?” Jess flirts in that shameless, up-in-the-clouds air about her that made the entire junior varsity football team fall for her.

Sam thinks she’s cute. That said, he doesn’t think she’s hot and she’s definitely not his type, but she’s sweet and bakes delicious pastries for the environmental awareness club’s bake sale. She’s the type of girl any guy, girl, or anybody in between would be lucky to have—just not him. Jess would be his type if she had short hair. And a more phallic pubic area.

He’d usually make conversation and let his dimples do the talking to protect her from eminent rejection on his part, but he’s too fucking stressed right now to do anything but dissociate and stare at the damn pencil he’s holding.

“Mostly elephants,” he mutters, flicking at the wood like a syringe. He just came from his anatomy course, so he’s in a doctor-y mood.

The blonde snorts a bit, covers her nose, and tries to cover up her ‘crudeness’ with a dainty chuckle. “Elephants? Why the hell are you thinking of elephants, beautiful mind?”

“I’m trying to remember who they trampled in that one damn war, I think it’s the Persian one?” He blows air through his teeth and rolls the writing utensil away until it hits his pre-calculus book. “And I’m wondering if they can trample me.”

“You’ll do fine, Sam,” she slides off the table, tiny plaid skirt pleating with her in the motion. That just reminds him of how scratchy his own plaid tie is against his throat. Damn uniforms. “It’s Reid you need to worry about. He’s gonna kill my grade.”

This draws a chuckle from the lanky freshman, long hair—that just barely abides by the dress code—dangling in his face.

“Like, with the test or wielding a sword?”

“Yes,” Jess sighs and prepares to leave to her next period. “Alright, nerd. Good luck with your elephants, or whatever.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh and turns to look out the window at the snow falling into the bleak mid morning air. He wishes he could go and frolic out there—maybe even practice his physics by zigzagging around an open area to prove his hypothesis.

“You Sam Winchester?”

Jumping out of his skin, he turns around and is met with the sight of Benny, a boy in his English class he’s never spoken to.

“Uh...yes?” He stutters. This boy is intimidating: he’s a sophomore in remedial English, a jock, and a total dickhead to freshmen. Especially nerdy freshmen on the robotics team—great, this is exactly what he needs right now.

Before he can offer any explanation up for why this guy is even in a library, a tiny package is being tossed into his hands and Benny is trudging away to go beat up a mathlete or something.

The small box is wrapped in what appears to be the Sunday comics from the newspaper, and judging by the date on one of the sides, it was yesterday’s paper. The job is poor, but the haste the person who wrapped it was in seems to be kind-of endearing. There’s a dollar store bow taped onto the top of the gift, and Sam feels an impulse to be as delicate as possible.

Unwrapping the thin pages covering the present and opens the box, he feels his heart drop into his lungs at what he finds. It’s a necklace with thin black thread and a golden pendant in the shape of some ancient figure’s head. Whoever this is, they know his style—it’s absolutely beautiful.

When he takes it into his hands like a wounded dove, a note falls out as well. It’s written with erasable ink on loose leaf notebook paper and folded into uneven quarter squares. The handwriting betrays the presentation, however: beautiful cursive glides across the page in narrow strokes of the shitty blue-inked pen used. In shock, he holds the note in both hands while still thumbing over the blunt edges of the pendant.

“Sam—

God, that’s a pretty name. It suits you, you know: you’re totally a Sam. A pretty name for a pretty boy.

Sorry, I know I suck at this. I’m only writing because I’m too fucking scared to talk to you. I know I’ll blush and make a fool of myself, and that’s not attractive.

We’ve met twice before. Once in September when you worked as a library aide and helped me find a barcode on a Stephen King novel, and again last week when I picked up your pencil for you. Each of those times I had to walk away and breathe for a minute because you just stole my suaveness and tore it to shreds.

I want you to wear this necklace all week, okay? My uncle gave it to me, and I don’t do jewelry, but I thought it’d look good on you. It’s supposed to bring good luck to the wearer, not like you’ll need it. You just seemed stressed.

If I have the balls, I’ll try to talk to ‘ya soon in person.

Awkwardly,

Your Secret Santa”

Sam’s hands are trembling with excitement and trepidation at the note. Someone likes him—and it’s a boy! He’s never had another guy like him, ever. Then again, who the hell is this boy with beautiful handwriting?

He helped a lot of people check out books in September, and lots of Stephen King novels were read. Plus, he’s fucking clumsy. Literally everyone has had to pick up his pencil for him!

It’s gonna be a long week.

•••

For the love of god, let his suffering end!

Sam wants to bang his head against his locker until he passes out. This secret santa gig coupled with the seven midterms he’s taken this week have successfully steeped his brain in anxiety. His last exam period just got let out and yes, elephants were included; but now, he has no distraction from the whole crush scenario.

The brunette fumbles with his amulet in stressed anticipation as his steps quicken, eager to escape the hallway and get to his locker. Over the course of the last five days, he’s received four more notes in the same penmanship, each one making his heart melt. Sure, it’s no Shakespeare but it’s unique and genuine.

His fingers tremble as he twists the number dial lock: 11-02-83. Expecting a note, he begins scanning the blue walls of the metal rectangle but finds nothing but that same handwriting in erasable marker on the door:

“Turn around.”

By the time he whips around, brown hair following the action, he’s neglected to notice that everyone has cleared the hallway and is standing with giddy smiles and phones on video. The only person in this vacant zone is a tall, sandy blonde, freckled junior boy.

Holy shit. It’s Dean fucking Smith.

His hand finds the necklace and he tries to breathe but can’t find the willpower to do so. His brain is running into overdrive trying to decide if this is real or not. The footsteps nearing him seem real and so do the calloused, motor-oil-stained fingers wrapping around his hand in a cautious way, Dean being afraid of something Sam can’t quite place.

“Do you like it?” The boy runs his fingers through his spiked hair and bites his lip, cheeks blushing beet red.

“I love it.” Sam blurts out before his sense of reason can muffle his heart. Exhaling, he relaxes a bit. “I really love it.”

Dean lets out a breath and lets his thumb roll over the soft skin on the back of the younger’s hand. “Good. I hoped you would.”

Sam’s heart is beating out of his chest like in one of those wacky cartoons, but he steps forward and rocks back on his heels. Bravery rising, his hand moved from his own to cup under his chin, emerald eyes scanning his lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t need to ask twice. Sam’s head seems to nod before the taller man can even finish his question, and Dean’s eyes flicker with excitement before closing. The gap between them is closed and chapped lips meet peppermint chapstick as their worlds collide. The crowd is cheering but they can’t hear anything. Both boys are far too focused on the taste of each other on their tongues and when they part, Dean drops his bad boy act and wraps him in a hug.

Arms tightening around his neck in response, Sam brings his lips to Dean’s ear and smiles.

“You have beautiful handwriting.”

[asexual-snowman]

Weird dream...?

So there was a video game I was playing at the beginning and the longer I went without dying the further my checkpoints were? Anyways the game was pitch black, 3rd person, obstacles and gravity esisted. I collected these purple boosters that flashed white after collecting them. I flew higher everytime I collected one. Afterwards I turned on a never ending playlist of the game and fell asleep to it. There was a lot of blue around me, too. (that's important) I then woke up in the dream. Everything was seemingly normal except for what seemed like a hallucination that kept happening every minute. I decided to do some research on this game I was playing in an infinite loop. I found it was something called ‘Super Block Man’ (there was no blocks like just casual squares kind of thing. My character was also a bird I think.) The company that made this game was called something like Les Lesata or something like that. The creator was originally from Taco Bell and for some reason after finding out the name, the entire mood becomes terribly bad and horrifying. I go back to sleep in the dream, and after waking up, I am extremely weak. Everything is hazy and I see this square head, rectangle torso, legs, and bendable rectangle arms, he’s glowing a bright blue but nothing is illuminated around him. It then gets to my brain that he wants to be saved. So I- omg... I jump into my Xbox 360! Not my Xbox One. (This is about half of what I remember.) After jumping in I meet the other 5 block people. Same structure, different colors. The first is called Peach, I don't know his real name. He’s a color that I literally can't describe, I have never seen this color before but it looks kind of like red. The second is Orange. Same thing but I know this orange color. He also is appearantly in love with Peach. Next is Lemon, literally acts like a dickhead he’s just rude and is a bright yellow. Next is Lime a bright green polar opposite of Lemon. Blueberry was skipped, and last is Pinky, bright pink, attracted to Peach, the only female and is the only lustful one. Did I mention that Orange is a total sweetheart? 

I’m wearing my blue dress with nothing else on in this world. It's a mall on the outside but my school on the inside. It turns out my music teacher killed these block people, they were originally alive and she corrupted them and trapped them. I think I was the blue guy even though I’m female. I tried not to die blah blah it’s just hiding from my teachers. Then there was this locker scene that involved my friends, let’s call them Uraraka, Sero, and Kaminari to hide their identities. So Uraraka knows that I'm not supposed to be in this world. So she hides me in this basically closet long locker, Sero puts his backpack on my face to cover it, and Kaminari pretends to pick his nose and closes the locker. A few seconds later my friend, (let’s call her Tsuyu because of identity) opens the locker then immediately closes it after seeing Kam picking his nose.

Yeah, I think I’m gonna turn these block people into my own OCs now.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

35 of 2022

The Classification Survey ©

I am: [ ] male [ ] female

I am __ years old: [ ] 13 [ ] 14 [ ] 15 [ ] 16 [ ] 17 [ ] 18 [ ] 19 [ ] 20 [ ] 21 [ ] 22 [ ] 23 [ ] >23

I am __ tall: [ ] < 4’7 [ ] 4’7-5’ [ ] 5’1-5’3 [ ] 5’4-5’7 [ ] 5’8-6’ [ ] 6’1-6’4 [ ] >6’4

My face shape is: [ ] round [ ] heart [ ] oval [ ] square [ ] oblong literally none of these. My face is long and narrow lol.

My body shape is:

[ ] oval or apple [ ] pear or a-shaped [ ] strawberry or v-shaped [ ] ruler or rectangle [ ] square or H-shaped [ ] hourglass or 8-shaped // I’m actually not sure because all I know is I am tall and slender, so.

My hair color is currently: [ ] black [ ] platinum blond [ ] blond [ ] dirty blond to light brown [] brunette [ ] auburn [ ] dark brown [ ] red [ ] ginger [ ] orange [ ] pink [ ] other

My eye color is: [ ] grey [ ] light blue [ ] deep blue [ ] black [ ] dark brown [ ] brown [ ] golden [ ] hazel [ ] light green [ ] deep green [ ] other

I have the following piercings: [ ] ear lobes once [ ] ear lobes multiple [ ] auricle [ ] pinna cartilage [ ] forward pinna [ ] rook [ ] conch [ ] diath [ ] tragus [ ] anti tragus [ ] industrial [ ] orbital [ ] snug [ ] eyebrow [ ] nose [ ] septum [ ] bridge [ ] tongue [ ] belly [ ] lower lip [ ] labret [ ] snake bites [ ] spider bites [ ] monroe [ ] medusa [ ] angel bites [ ] dimples [ ] madison or neck [ ] nape [ ] hips [ ] nipples [ ] genitals [ ] other [ ] none

I have been diagnosed with:

[ ] depression [ ] social anxiety [ ] general anxiety [ ] panic disorder [ ] obsessive compulsive disorder [ ] bipolar disorder [ ] post traumatic stress disorder [ ] anorexia/bulimia [ ] body dysmorphia [ ] insomnia

I would classify myself as or mostly as: [ ] heterosexual [ ] bisexual [ ] homosexual // except that I’m not even sexual, I’m a homo-alterous ace at most, but okay

I smoke: [ ] more than a pack a day [ ] less than a pack a day [ ] less than one cigarette a day [ ] socially [ ] never

I drink:

[ ] enough to get wasted every day [ ] enough to get a buzz every day [] at parties to get wasted [ ] at parties to get buzzed [ ] a beer or glass of wine with my dinner [ ] never

I have tried or regularly use:

[ ] marijuana [ ] salvia [ ] shrooms [ ] cocaine [ ] heroin [ ] acid [ ] vicoden/lortab [ ] oxycontin/percocet [ ] adderall [ ] freon [ ] nitrous oxide/whippets [ ] pcp [ ] meth [ ] ecstasy [ ] other [ ] none of the above

I have committed the following:

[ ] shoplifting [ ] stealing from a friend [ ] stealing from family [ ] stealing from a stranger [ ] underage drinking [ ] underage smoking [ ] illegal drug use [ ] selling drugs      

The statement(s) that most applies to my family is:

[ ] I live with my (adoptive or biological) mother and father who are married to each other. [ ] I live with my mother and father who are NOT married to each other. [ ] I live with my mother who is single [ ] I live with my mother and stepfather [ ] I live with my father who is single [ ] I live with my father and stepmother [ ] I live with a grandparent or grandparents [ ] I live with an older sibling [ ] I live with a younger sibling [ ] I live with my children [ ] I live with my husband or wife [ ] I live with my boyfriend or girlfriend [ ] I live with a roommate or friend [ ] I live alone [ ] I have a different living situation

I have __ sisters:

[ ] 0 [ ] 1 [ ] 2 [ ] 3 [ ] 4 [ ] 5 [ ] 6 [ ] >6

I have __ brothers: [ ] 0 [ ] 1 [ ] 2 [ ] 3 [ ] 4 [ ] 5 [ ] 6 [ ] >6

The statements that most apply to my parents are: [ ] I hate my family [ ] my family hates me [ ] my parents do not treat me my age [ ] my parents do not trust me, and have no reason not to [ ] my parents do not trust me, with good reason [ ] I lie to my family often [ ] my parents do not deserve to be treated the way I treat them [ ] I should probably show my parents that I appreciate them more [ ] my parents never show me that they appreciate me [ ] I never say “I love you” to my parents [ ] my parents do not care what I do  [ ] my parents give me and my friends alcohol  [ ] my parents are very strict [ ] my parents have no idea what goes on in my life [ ] my parents support my decisions [ ] I am very close to my parents [ ] my parents trust me and I honor that [ ] my parents trust me and I take that for granted [ ] I never see my parents

The statements that most apply to my family are: [ ] I am the favorite child [ ] one of my siblings is clearly the favorite child [ ] one of my siblings is out of control [ ] I am the smart sibling [ ] I am the athletic sibling [ ] I am the artistic sibling  [ ] I am a middle child [ ] I am an only child [ ] I am very close to my siblings [ ] I am very close to one of my siblings [ ] I have a twin [ ] I do not get along with any of my siblings [ ] I am the least liked child [ ] my siblings rat me out [ ] my sibling is my best friend [ ] i am jealous of my sibling [ ] my sibling is jealous of me [ ] I never see my siblings

I like to read: [ ] manga [ ] comic books [ ] magazines [ ] biographies [ ] memoirs [ ] classic literature [ ] plays [ ] scripts [ ] romance novels [ ] science fiction [ ] fantasy novels [ ] self help books [ ] textbooks [ ] newspapers [ ] political books [ ] general fiction [ ] children’s books [ ] horror novels [ ] mystery novels [ ] poetry [ ] young adult fiction [ ] humor [ ] jokes [ ] nothing

I like to watch __ movies: [ ] romance [ ] comedy [ ] romantic comedy [ ] drama [ ] historical [ ] western [ ] horror [ ] science fiction [ ] fantasy [ ] adventure [ ] action [ ] war [ ] crime [ ] kung-fu [ ] thriller [ ] psychological [ ] zombie [ ] mystery [ ] documentary [ ] mockumentary [ ] spoof [ ] musical [ ] animated [ ] silent [ ] art film [ ] depressing [ ] pornographic [ ] educational [ ] no

I like to play __ video games:

[ ] roleplaying [ ] driving [ ] hunting [ ] sports // none at all?

[alphaedd]

What's your opinion about the red leader/tord design?

ohhh, I’ll give it to you with pleasure anon ! I hope you’re ready, long rant ahead bc im an art student and that means, I’m Overly Technical, I Throw Personal Opinions Around, And I’m Probably Too Mean For What Eddsworld Is

for those who did not see it :

anyway

so let’s start with starters. shape. when you first look at the design you notice immediatly : it’s triangles and rectangles (aside from the lonely ass knee pads. and belt which are just “shield” coded) what the fuck this mean ?? well, triangles = DANGURUS, S H A R P n shit. you get it, the codes for danger and stabby shit. it’s also the code for hierarchies n such cause pyramids. this guy is high in the hierarchies, this guy is made to step on people and shred them. curvy + pointy = teary. simple designs maths. its ideal for cartoon characters who are pretty outside = inside coded. after, ngl, they went /super basic/, whats “expected” when you go with that. rectangle legs and feet, triangle torso, square jaw, yadda yadda… they laid down the stereotypes and called it a day.

now let’s see the colours, which are treated pretty much the same. you have classic black for darkness, evil and death, classic red for blood, war and yadda yadda, eletric blue for electricity and basic robot aesthetics, gold for power and wealth and royalty, and of course because tord is a basic tankie bitch who wears the communist colours. theyre p average but at least they aren’t at full saturation so-

anyway. next layer of rant. the “themes” for the clothes. ok its just, obvious magneto copycat with a mix of the clothes from typical centurion outfit but robot and your average modern army clothes. we get it, honour, strenght, war, evil, yadda yadda. extra average. looks like the phantoms from the zelda franchise too. symetric but not too much cause arms. and tbfh they bother me- the robotic one just…. doesn’t make sence ? you have precise groups of muscles that are set in a precise way to move one way or another. and this arm simply just doesn’t respect them at all and they dont seem to be any sort of functional whatsoever in their setup. I’m not sure how he could lift his arms with his shoulders pillons setup this way. I also fail to understand how the robot exoskeleton on the other arm works, and I honestly find it God Damn Ugly like bitch ! that aint following no movement whatsoever. it’s fucking shapeless, yikes ! yea point being, nice try but it’s super average and the arms would need a Lot of work. also capes are terrible in modern fights because they get stuck everywhere and if there’s wind they can make it harder to be stable which is shit if you need to aim at stuff but w/e.

however, what’s interesting is a winks about the previous stuff, namely the black hoodie. it’s funny cause tord’s developpement went a bit like this, when you look : nerd who faps at hentai and loves guns -> asshole who doubles as miracle scientist with dreams a little too big to be good -> kylo ren- okay okay that was a joke. but point stands still, total dictator who is a little too edgy for his own good, literally wants to rule the world as an absolute god. it’s very stereotypical but if they had made part 2 of tord’s developpement a lil more funny, I bet it’d have gone well. they switched tones and its where it just didnt work. eh well.

so yeah summed up, its a very average design. hard to distinguish from your average mary sue. but, guess what ? mary sues can be pulled off with the right universe. they can go and make him a villain that smashes everything with little thoughs and… itd be perfectly in line with what he did previously. I mean, cmon. we’re talking about “I moved in the house of my ex friends and bugged them for ages and bullied them and blew up their house when i couldve just pretended to come for a visit of a day or just broken in to get the robot and be done with it, aka im an edgelord doing unecessary shit just for the sake of wrecking stuff”. of course that guy would want overdone outfits that barely look functionnal ! of course hed be like these stereotypical brute leaders ! hes a walking parody of them- after yeah, couldve done it better. couldve either pushed the evil even deeper into the stereotypes to make it ridiculous just like that outfit. i could see it with the new costume. that or, tord trying to be evil, but his outfit just… keeps getting in the way. stepping on the cape/getting it stuck in doors, barely being able to move his arms, constantly suffocating under the headgear, etc… could work. but I can’t see tomska make it work, sorry. i say a lot of things here but ngl, I’m 90% sure they didn’t think of even half of what I said when they did the design. so lol.

anyway, hold my faygo. i have the rep of being a wizard able to make anything look good n hot. so sit down and watch while i demonstrate. see also : tweaking a lil the design

(didnt turn as good as planned so will give another shoot tommorow. i still cant draw hoodie hoods fdjskdjdsk)

Big Sib, [06.02.18 23:30]he goes out and poledances in the same outfit, probably

[yokodana]

For just $18.00 Catalog# 6667 1930's to 1950's Japanese Textiles: From Arai-Hari Cleaners Japanese Kimono Meisen Silk Fabric Piece Width:14 inches / 35.56cm Length: 58 inches / 147.32 cm US$18.00 per piece Item Details and Description Fabric History/Pedigree: 1930s to 1950s silk fabric pieces received from traditional Japanese kimono cleaner/reconstructor called Arai-Hari -- see an excellent explanation of traditional Arai Hari by textile expert John Marshall, by click-pushing HERE. Fabric Description: Meisen silk, lightweight and slightly translucent, softer than many other meisen of this period we see; a combination of modern and classic looking patterns, to include: Japanese wooden bridges; other motifs are large (about 6 inches/15.24 cm) tall square/rectangles; within each rshape are various flowers, as well as other flowers here and there; Fabric background is a solid vermillion (shuiro -- traditionally said to bring good luck, ward off evil spirits); with other colors in designs being: red, green, mustard, gray, off-white, light-mustard and black; This piece same on both sides; no sheen. Colors: Please NOTE that colors and contrast differ on each device so use our text descriptions to complement your sense of the fabric). Condition: Excellent Background Information on Meisen Kimonos: Meisen is defined literally in our Kenkyuusha dictionary as "...common silk stuff"; meisen fabrics (or garments made from them) are currently called 'meisen'; Meisen kimono were made similarly to kasuri (ikat) , though meisen usually have very colorful patterns with distinct -- often more modern -- motifs and a slight sheen; 1950s meisen have intentionally fuzzy, almost Impressionistic look and often larger designs; Kasuri/ikat, of course, is mostly indigo blue and some white with black. To learn more about kasuri click here. To see pictures of meisen silk vintage kimonos from Google, touch HERE. Other Cultural Notes: The best discussion we've found of Meisen silk fabric ...