#rainbow flagstone

[wnltl]

Pool DC Metro Large traditional backyard pool fountain design featuring custom-shaped natural stonework

[shtojan]

Pool in DC Metro

An illustration of a sizable, traditional backyard fountain with custom-shaped natural pool concrete.

[sevendevilsinwesteros]

Pool DC Metro Large traditional backyard pool fountain design featuring custom-shaped natural stonework

[majestativa]

Herod’s palace rose up like some Alhambra on slender columns iridescent with Moresque tiles, which appeared to be bedded in silver mortar and gold cement; arabesques started from lozenges of lapis lazuli to wind their way right across the cupolas, whose mother-of-pearl marquetry gleamed with rainbow lights and flashed with prismatic fires. The murder had been done; now the executioner stood impassive, his hands resting on the pommel of his long, bloodstained sword. The Saint’s decapitated head had left the charger where it lay on the flagstones and risen into the air, the eyes staring out from the livid face, the colourless lips parted, the crimson neck dripping tears of blood. A mosaic encircled the face, and also a halo of light whose rays darted out under the porticoes, emphasized the awful elevation of the head, and kindled a fire in the glassy eyeballs, which were fixed in what happened to be agonized concentration on the dancer. With a gesture of horror, Salome tries to thrust away the terrifying vision which holds her nailed to the spot, balanced on the tips of her toes, her eyes dilated, her right hand clawing convulsively at her throat. [...] The dreadful head glows eerily, bleeding all the while, so that clots of dark red form at the ends of hair and beard. Visible to Salome alone, it embraces in its sinister gaze neither Herodias, musing over the ultimate satisfaction of her hatred, nor the Tetrarch, who, bending forward a little with his hands on his knees, is still panting with emotion, maddened by the sight and smell of the woman’s naked body, steeped in musky scents, anointed with aromatic balms, impregnated with incense and myrrh. Like the old King, Des Esseintes invariably felt overwhelmed, subjugated, stunned when he looked at this dancing-girl, who was less majestic, less haughty, but more seductive than the Salome of the oil-painting. In the unfeeling and unpitying statue, in the innocent and deadly idol, the lusts and fears of common humanity had been awakened; the great lotus-blossom had disappeared, the goddess vanished; a hideous nightmare now held in its choking grip an entertainer, intoxicated by the whirling movement of the dance, a courtesan, petrified and hypnotized by terror. Here she was a true harlot, obedient to her passionate and cruel female temperament; here she came to life, more refined yet more savage, more hateful yet more exquisite than before; here she roused the sleeping senses of the male more powerfully, subjugated his will more surely with her charms – the charms of a great venereal flower, grown in a bed of sacrilege, reared in a hot-house of impiety.

— Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature, transl by Robert Baldick, (2003)

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Chromatic Memory: A Poem

Vague spoilers for Loki (and also Avengers and Thor). Also, I continue to struggle with punctuation in poetry. Sorry.

Chromatic Memory

I remember

Sweet, blushing fragrance of the roses

In my mother's royal gardens,

The sun glinting off the gilded walls

Of my opulent childhood home.

I remember

Fireworks in hand and lightning on the air,

Sapphire stone and rainbow bridge,

My brother, blond hair and scarlet cape whipping in the tempest,

Begging me to stop, to come home.

I remember

Falling through desolate obsidian space

Into the violet, violent arms of a Titan,

Emerald silken cape torn from my shoulders

Soaking up yellow bile and crimson blood by my captors.

But with the verdant vines of time all around me

And these coal-dark horns atop my brow,

The pain of those days and the memories

Of homesickness fade to pink scar tissue and gray void.

Scar tissue. Void. Time.

I remember

Citrus, neon pastry on my tongue

His knee brushing mine beneath the table,

Silver daggers passing between hands

A drunken metaphor for love more true than I'd first thought.

I remember

Sparkling blue eyes and fracturing timelines,

Losing him to bursts of opalescent light and carmine strands,

Mobius, in the flickering torchlight of the time prison,

Shaping me into my best self with his words.

I remember

Passing through smoky darkness at the end of time

Inky marble flagstones shot through with gold,

Speaking with a madman in heliotropic robes

Who fancied himself a god, again and again.

White hair and brown coat as I descended

Silver stairs to the end of the line,

Iridescent explosion and black tendrils as I put an end

To iris and cornflower-enthroned dictatorship,

Robes of life-giving jade surrounded me as I

Ascended prismatic stairs Heimdall would be proud of,

A final look back through the darkness

At his pale, beautiful face in the minty glow of the TVA.

Memory is a kaleidoscope, of Asgard, of him, of home.

A cerulean Cleveland sky, a soft breeze

Through summer leaves, the scarlet thumping

Of my lovesick heart, the stationary ebony Oxfords

Of a man letting time pass, the twisting rosy lips

Of a god stopping time to step into a golden

Midgardian afternoon, to write more many-hued memories

With the snowy-headed, Erie-eyed man.

[thinkingishard]

Blossomvale: Spring 1. Page 7.

<< First Page || < Previous Page | | Next Page >

£1+ Patrons get pages a day early!: patreon.com/ReniDraws

Blossomvale is based on my playthrough of M. Kirin’s TTRPG ‘Iron Valley’ (which is pay-what-you-want!: https://mkirin.itch.io/iron-valley)

Thanks to @a-tired-space-ace and @theforestspiritplaysironvalley for creating image IDs for these, I’ve made some slight edits and will include them myself when I get Spring 2 out!

[Image ID: a comic drawn in a cute, cartoony style.

1.  Gumi, a koala in a rainbow sweater, and Mo, a brown bear in a black hoodie, walk into a cute little coffee shop named “The Cup Half Full”. It is a little brick building with a single window under a pink and purple awning. There is decorative stained glass above the door which Mo and Gumi are walking through. There are loose, large flagstones outside, where two chairs and a table set up. There are several plants scattered around. There is a brightly coloured sandwhich board decorated with a heart, and showing some boxes suggesting a specials menu. We can see that it's a beautiful day with only a few clouds in the sky.

2. Inside the coffee shop, we see a brown counter with a coffee machine, a tip jar, a screen, and a small stand-up sign. Behind the counter are two staff members who say 'Welcome!' in a speech bubble shaped like a cloud, adorned by pink hearts: - a pink axolotl who wears a beanie featuring a pin badge that says 'she/her', wearing a white, longsleeved collared shirt under a brown apron. She is wiping out a mug with a cloth. - a golden-brown and white hamster who is wearing a scoop top t-shirt and a brown apron the same as the axolotl. Her hands are on the counter.

3. The axolotl leans forward on the counter towards Gumi, who is smiling and holding a hand up to her face. The hamster is smiling and standing next to the axolotl. A speech bubble from the axolotl says, "You're a new face!" Gumi replies, "Yes! I'm Gumi!" The axolotl says, "Nice to meet you! I'm Bug and this is Elm" her speech continues into another speech bubble, "Go on and take a seat"

4. We see Bug - fullbody, so we can now see her tail - with a happy look on her face as she gestures to a very small shelf. The shelf has a potted plant on it and some boxes styled like real-life board game boxes. They read 'Hue Mind', 'Always Glade', 'Epidemic', 'Overthrow', 'Copper Big City', and 'Shaping Venus'. There are three more boxes which do not have readable text. Gumi is facing us as she has her elbows on a round table that has a plant in the middle. Her chin is resting in her hands. Mo is looking at Bug from the lower right of the panel. A speech bubble from Bug reads "So, as Mo knows, this place's tiny but we do have some board games" a speech bubble from Gumi replies "OoOh!"

End ID.]

[dobroyeutro]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: ALASHAN FLAGSTONE Cashmere Rainbow Convertible Flip Top Gloves.

[aardvark-123]

Shrine Maiden’s Mission

Sent from the heavens, wielding rainbows and lightning in the name of peace and justice, Hoshiro Nijinazuma is Gensokyo’s greatest warrior. Her decision-making skills, however, leave a lot to be desired. When mysterious goddesses set up shop beside the mountain lake, Hoshiro and her companions face an unusual challenge. Can Reimu last against the daughter of gods? And what is the true definition of heroism? Tonight, two women in blue get used as blunt weapons...

~The Legend of Hoshiro Part 6: Shrine Maiden’s Mission~

"Don't worry about it, Reimu! It was just some weirdo talking about weirdo stuff."

"I know, but... What if she was right? My shrine's been doing terribly these past few months. I might have to get a side hustle..." With a woeful look, Reimu slumped sideways and squashed her cheek against Marisa's shoulder. "I was going to clean the shrine today, but now I can't face it."

Marisa sighed. "Moping all day isn't gonna get you anywhere," she declared, stroking Reimu's hair. "Why don't we go and dig for wild rakkyu? They're delicious when you pick them yourself! Come on, you clearly need an adventure."

Reimu looked up at her, suddenly interested. "Maybe we should take a look around Youkai Mountain. She said there was-"

"Good morning, fellow Incident-Resolvers!"

Reimu and Marisa looked up in alarm as Hoshiro thumped down in front of the shrine. Cirno and Kaguya alighted rather more gently on the flagstones.

"Um," said Reimu.

"Oh, hi!" said Marisa.

"Guess what? I resolve Incidents now!" declared Kaguya, her eyes shining. "It's brilliant! I needed something to get me out of the mansion, and then I met these two."

Hoshiro gave Kaguya a hug. "We're glad to have you, aren't we, Cirno?"

"Enough of this gay banter," said Cirno gravely. "Reports have been coming in of a frog with an elder youkai's power, and such a thing could see the balance of power be seriously un-power-balanced."

"Are you joking? A frog?" scoffed Reimu.

"Quiet, you! Marisa, you must've heard something," said Cirno. "Did you?"

"Uh, no!" Marisa laughed nervously, laying a hand on Reimu's shoulder. "Actually, we were just off to Youkai Mountain for unrelated reasons. Guess you won't be cleaning the shrine today, huh?"

"...No," said a slightly mollified Reimu. "Some other day. So Hoshiro, you and your friends going somewhere that isn't Youkai Mountain for the usual half-baked reasons, right?"

"Not definitely!" said Hoshiro, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance.

"I do hope not," said Kaguya.

"Well, have fun. Unless you want to stay and clean the shrine!" Reimu broke out in giggles at the absurd thought. "All right, Marisa, I'm ready. To Youkai Mountain!"

"For love, freedom and free love!" agreed Marisa.

Watching them disappear over the horizon, Hoshiro was nonplussed. "Wow... Those two never slow down!"

"Crazy kids like them have more energy than they know what to do with," observed Cirno. "What're we doing now, anyway?"

Hoshiro gasped delightedly. "Let's clean the shrine! She said we could, and it'll be a nice surprise when they get back!"

Kaguya blinked. "I have always wanted to sponge down a torii, but do we have time for a sidequest?"

"You've got to be joking! I let you two in my team to have fun, not do chores!" agreed Cirno, folding her arms. "Even if cleaning was fun, that frog could still be out there!"

"Yes, good point. We've been looking for it since this morning!" said Kaguya. "Should we really abandon the pursuit for cleaning?!"

"Well..." Hoshiro bit her lip. "It'd be something! Instead of hunting, we could use our strength for a shrine maiden who can't take care of herself!"

Kaguya looked at Cirno. Cirno stuck out her tongue.

"You... Paid more attention to Eiki than you let on, didn't you?" said Kaguya carefully.

"Who's Eik-"

"The one with green hair you met in the Bamboo Forest! She's the highest judge of the dead in Gensokyo!"

"Oh." Hoshiro's eyes widened. "A yama?! I didn't know! But- but yes, I remember. 'Listen, think, and work out what you do need to do, something something change the world.'," she recited. "I think cleaning the shrine is what we need to do."

"Er, well..."

"Heroism means helping those who can't help themselves, however that is, and together we are a hundred maids!" Hoshiro insisted. "We'd make Reimu so happy! Isn't that worth it?"

"Forget it," pouted Cirno, looking deeply uncomfortable.

Kaguya gave Cirno a look. "You really are the Toph to her Katara, aren't you? Well, I'm convinced! Whatever challenges come our way, I won't rest until the shrine is spotless!"

"Kaguya, you're the best!" Hoshiro spun around, punched the air and launched into her speech. "Forever Champion, Hoshiro Nijinazuma! Princess of the Cosmos, Kaguya Houraisan! Cryogenic Sorceress, Cirno I don't know your surname! Together we clean for hygiene, tidiness and friendship! Draw your duster alongside my bucket of soapy water, and by our glowing hearts let the shrine be made pure!"

========================

"What a crazy day. I had no idea there were so many kami for so many things!"

"It's not your fault! Religion isn't the kind of thing shrine maidens know about."

Reimu gave Marisa a withering look. Marisa burst out laughing, and together they carried on up the stairs to the Hakurei Shrine.

"At least we made some new friends," Marisa continued, kicking a discarded bar of soap off the path.

"I'm amazed," said Reimu, "that Sanae managed to arrange a sleepover tonight without me ever actually inviting her. That girl's something else!"

"She's way-" Marisa noticed something and furrowed her brow. "...Cool? Reimu, is that a mop and bucket up there?!"

They ran up the last few stairs to find three impromptu cleaning ladies asleep on the patio. Kaguya and Hoshiro were snuggled up together with Cirno curled up on top of them, a bucket wedged tightly over her head.

"I didn't think it was that late," said Marisa worriedly. "I ain't tired at all! Did someone slip us a barrel of coffee?"

"It's just an afternoon nap, Marisa! Although I don't know what they're playing at sleeping here." Reimu approached Hoshiro and tapped her on the head. "Hello? Hello?! Forever champion?!"

Hoshiro groaned softly and blinked herself awake. "Oh, hi again! We did some cleaning up," she said drowsily. "Like you asked."

"Clea... Cleaning?" Reimu's eyes widened. "You cleaned the shrine?!"

"I talked Kaguya and Cirno into it," Hoshiro informed her.

Realising her name was being worn out, Kaguya yawned loudly and sat up. "You were, um... Youkai Mountain! What happened there?" she asked while Cirno tried to get comfy again.

"We found a shifty goddess who'd just set up shop on the mountain! Her name's Kanako, and she has a shrine with loads of rope and things, and a green and blue shrine maiden for a daughter!" declared Marisa.

"And it turns out the villagers just love the shiny new Moriya Shrine," said Reimu wearily, "so I haven't been getting any business lately."

"Oh, that's a shame," said Hoshiro, ignoring a tide of swear words as Cirno tried to pull the bucket off her head. "But look on the bright side. With another shrine maiden working for an actual goddess, the village'll be twice as safe!"

Reimu's jaw dropped. "Actual goddess?! TWICE AS SAFE?! I'll show you twice as safe!" In a towering rage, she called the yin-yang orbs and leapt into the air. "Spirit Sign: Fantasy Seal!"

Cirno had just managed to pull the bucket off with a pop. "A fight! Yippee!" she squeaked before falling under a hail of amulets.

Hoshiro and Kaguya pulled back and let the amulets breeze past them. Reimu was in full force, still at 3.86 power from her fight with Kanako, and her bullets came thick and fast.

"This is unbelievable!" cried Hoshiro, ducking under a persuasion needle. "Rewarding us for cleaning your shrine with a spell-card duel?! You're so thoughtful, Reimu! I've looked forward to facing you again for years!"

"Hoshiro, she... She's attacking us!" shouted Kaguya incredulously.

"I know! That's an integral part of danmaku!" breezed Hoshiro. "All right, time for our counterattack! Nijinazuma: Seven-Coloured Strike!"

"Eek!"

"Yipe!"

Marisa and Reimu dove for cover as seven bolts of lightning flashed exploded across the courtyard, lighting up the shrine and the flagstones in seven bright colours.

"She's strong!" Marisa cried. "I wasn't gonna try the extra stage until tomorrow!"

"Come to think of it, this is a strange choice for an extra stage. It's pretty much unconnected from Kanako, the Moriya Shrine and everything else," Reimu said thoughtfully.

"I don't understand," said Hoshiro. "Why are we sparring if it's...? Um, what's happening?"

Reimu groaned. "How is she so stupid? Do you ever listen to anyone, Hoshiro?!"

"Of- of course I do! Why, what's wrong?" said Hoshiro dolefully. "Didn't we clean up enough? We tried our best, and honestly, we aren't experts! You should've hired a cleaner if you wanted perfection."

Reimu closed her eyes and took a few steadying breaths. "Listen," she growled, "it's perfectly simple. I'm taking my anger out on you because you think Sanae's better than me. Do you understand?"

"So you're...?" Hoshiro scowled. "But that's so childish, and after we cleaned your shrine! I DON'T think Sanae's better than you!"

"She might be," said Kaguya.

"She was a bit nicer," said Marisa.

Reimu gave Marisa a look. "Unlike her, I can't waste time being nice when all of Gensokyo's depending on me!"

"Isn't wasting time your biggest hobby? I see you doing it every day!" said Marisa, smiling impishly.

Reimu screamed. "Right, get over there with those three! I'll take you all on!"

Marisa giggled, whipping out her hakkero. "Must be the phantasm stage if you're that upset. All right, let's go!"

========================

"So?" With wide, curious eyes, Sanae looked between the battered Reimu and the amulet-weary Hoshiro. "Who won?"

"I did. A decisive victory," smiled Reimu, her arms folded and her nose held high.

"It was down to the last spell-card! She got me with a duplex barrier when I looked away! Reimu's so good," gushed Hoshiro, patting Reimu on the back. "It took Cirno and Marisa's combination to beat her!"

Reimu's smile vanished, she slapped Hoshiro's hand away. "D-don't tell her about that!"

"So you can be beaten! That's good to know," said Sanae sweetly. "How did you manage it, Marisa?"

"I'll see if your friends are back with that beer!" yelled Reimu, storming out of the shrine. "Kaguya, Cirn- Wait, who's this?" Her voice echoed back inside, growing fainter and eventually falling silent.

Marisa grinned mischievously. "Well, Sanae, you know how people use planks to flatten out soil when they're building?"

"No," said Sanae.

"Cirno was the plank," explained Marisa. "Reimu's bloomers were the building site. Ker-slamuel!"

"Cirno was frozen, so it didn't hurt her," Hoshiro cut in.

"And as for Reimu-"

"Vengeance will be mine!"

Reimu's shout cut through the merriment. Marisa looked up in alarm and saw Reimu standing in the doorway, a flailing kappa raised triumphantly over her head.

Marisa gulped. "Er, Reimu, let's be reasonable!"

"No. BANZAI!!!"

The kappa squeezed her eyes shut. Reimu hurled her acros the room. Marisa dove for cover, but it was too late, and Nitori slammed into her like a raincoated missile. They fell in a pile of black dress and blue waterproofs behind the kotatsu.

"Er," said Hoshiro, "who was that?"

"She followed me home," said Reimu sweetly. "I saw a little opportunity, and I made use of it it."

"Nice to feel wanted," groaned Nitori. "But I wish you'd tell me what you were planning first! Ow..."

"I'm going to love it here!" giggled Sanae.

[cuculine-nelipot]

Wish We Could

Chapter Two: London

{ Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary: After the Battle of Howgarts, Hermione and Ron start dating; their slow-burn friends to lovers arc complete. He’s nice, and she’s comfortable, and everyone is happy for them. Everyone but Fred, who can’t stop thinking that he loved her first, and Hermione, who begins to wonder if they really are as over as she thought they were. }

22nd August 1998, Night

“Well that was a colossally stupid thing to do,” George says from his old bed in The Burrow, spending the night at their mother’s insistence. Half laying down, he doesn’t look up from his magazine. Fred stands uncomfortably still, staring out the window, as though shell-shocked, even though Errol has long been out of sight.

“Yup.”

23rd August 1998, Morning

It was true that it didn’t take an awful lot to keep her up all night: a new book, a good essay, or better, a long one. Hermione had pulled her fair share of all-nighters, but none like this.

“Were you up all night reading again darling?” Her mother asks, taking stock of her daughter’s messier than usual hair, the shadows around her puffy eyes.

“Yes.” This wasn’t a lie exactly — she’d read that letter countless times.

“You look awful.” It sounds harsh, but her mother’s furrowed brow shows real concern.

“It was a sad story.”

1st July 1996

Summer had come to engender mixed emotions in Hermione. On the one hand she was of course excited to see her parents again, but on the other, she missed her friends terribly. She never had friends like Ron and Harry before; friends she saw day and night, friends she shared every meal with, friends she knew from experience would risk their lives for her as quickly as she would for them. She had no siblings, and had hardly kept in touch with the few friends from primary school. It was too difficult to keep fabricating stories about her Very Normal Boarding School Where Nothing Life-Threatening Ever Happened. So home for Hermione had become synonymous with the sort of deep-seated loneliness one only feels when one knows precisely what they are missing.

And now, to make matters worse, there was Fred. Fred who had kissed her in the hospital, and again by the lake, and again in several empty hallways while they waited for term to officially end. Fred who had, over the past year become more important to her than she ever would have expected. Fred, who didn’t look at her like he was lost and she was supposed to have the map, or make it. Fred, who so often grabbed her by the hand with a whiny come on Hermione, mischief dancing across his face, and dragged her along for some pure and honest thrill-seeking, who showed her the world as she had never seen it before.

The shrill ring of the telephone abruptly cut through her melancholia. Assuming it was only her parents phoning from work, she took her time making her way downstairs.

“Hello?”

“Hermione?”

“Fred?” She asked, her voice pitched with incredulity. “How are you calling? Why are you calling?”

“I believe it’s called a payphone and I am using one because I wanted to talk to you.” Even through the crackle and static, the teasing grin in his voice was obvious.

“Wanted?”

“Want.” He could hear the smile in her voice too.

24th August 1998, 10:17 a.m.

Perhaps George was right, and that her silence over the weekend means she isn’t coming. She is wiser than Fred after all. And George is usually right. Still, Fred waits, at an al fresco table at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, his right leg bouncing manically up and down, his eyes flitting to his watch every few seconds. He has been sitting there for forty-eight minutes.

Of course, Hermione knew at once that it was an undoubtedly bad idea, going to see Fred. Though really, it would only be a bad idea if she still has feelings for him, which she doesn’t, or if he still has feeling fore her, which she is sure isn’t true either. Then there is the fact that she had hardly made it to Florean’s all summer, and he has a lovely blackcurrant and gin ice-cream that he’s meant to stop making once Autumn rolls round. But then there is the question of why precisely Fred wants to meet her. And then there is Ron. Such thoughts chased each other in circles around her head, nipping at each other’s heals all Saturday night and most of Sunday, until another owl arrived. This one with a note from Flourish and Blotts asking her to please collect her order at her earliest convenience. Was Monday morning around 10 a.m. not her earliest convenience?

And so at eight-thirty on this almost chilly August morning, Hermione left her house for Belsize Park station, hopped on the Northern line, and alighted five stops later at Leister Square. She walked two minutes in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron, changed her mind, and instead went to Foyles, which reminded her that she did indeed need to go to Flourish and Blotts. After buying just three books and a new book bag, she again made her way to The Leaky Cauldron, then onward to Diagon Alley. This whole harrowing ordeal took over an a hour, and so apart from picking up Merlin’s Annotated Dante’s Inferno, she decided to splurge a little on some new quills, a well of peacock blue ink, and a couple of fancy leather bound notebooks.

It is perhaps this added weight that, on observing Fred Weasley’s anxious form outside Florean’s, impedes her attempted escape. Instead, before she can take two steps back the way she just came, she feels a hand pulling at her wrist.

“Hermione, wait.” She turns to see him looking imploringly at her with his bright green eyes, so wide and so close she can see flecks of gold in them, reflecting the morning sun. “It’s just ice-cream.”

Just ice-cream — who could argue with that? They order two scoops each and return to the table he had already occupied, Hermione dumping her bag on an empty chair emphatically in a show of annoyance. For a while they sit in silence; her refusing to speak first, and him not wanting to risk ruining their fragile peace. She scoops ice-cream into her mouth without looking up from her bowl, and he eats slowly, without looking away from her.

“I want the record to show that I think this is a colossally stupid thing to do,” she says suddenly, her eyes still fixed on her food.

“Well I suppose ice-cream’s never the healthiest thing in the world but Florean’s is pretty —“

“You know what I mean,” she cuts him off bitingly.

“The record will reflect that both you and George think that this is a colossally stupid thing to do. However, I would like to remind all relevant parties that it was my idea, and between the two of us I am the only Ravenclaw so therefore—“

“What do you want Fred.” She phrased it like a question, but her tone makes it abundantly clear that she would like nothing more than for him to just shut up.

“I just want to talk.” He looks abashed, or as abashed as he can look for Fred Weasley.

“I’m not sure we have anything to talk about.”

“Oh,” he says in a tone both needled and needling, “I think we have plenty to talk about.”

“Like what Frederick? You broke us up remember? Not me. You’re the one who walked away —”

“I walked away? You were the one who was leaving. You left —”

“I had to go. You’re the one who said you couldn’t —“

“And you’re the one who hung up the phone. And you’re the one who kissed —”

“I knew this was a mistake.” She grabs her bag, her chair scraping harshly on the flagstones in her haste to leave, desperate to not hear the end of that sentence.

“Hermione —“ He whines, but she doesn’t look at him. Can’t.

“Good bye Fred.”

17th July 1997

“Good bye Fred.”

“Hermione —“

A click as the phone disconnected. He stood alone in the red phone booth, in the flat above the store.

“You alright there mate?” George asked from the couch, turning from the Daily Prophet, his brows furrowed with concern.

The receiver still held to his ear. The singular, monotonous hang-up tone filled his head, his body, pervading the very fibre of his being.

2nd July 1996, Morning

“Buoyant” was the only word that came to mind as Hermione walked down Charing Cross.  She felt buoyant. She had resigned herself to spending the week or so before she and her parents went on vacation wandering around Hampstead with nothing but her books for entertainment, until Fred called and asked if they could meet the following day — today — at The Leaky Cauldron. So she made her way there, buoyantly, glad for some company and more so that it was his.

“Granger!” He hailed from the curb. Of course, her heart didn’t actually skip a beat, but it felt like it did.

“Why are you waiting out here?”

“Well the Cauldron’s a bit of a dive yeah? And Diagon Alley is just the one alley and we’ve been loads so I thought maybe you could show me your London?” He says, all in one breath. She wasn’t sure but she thought his face pinked a little.

“My London?”

“You know… Muggle London.”

“Why?”

“I dunno — if I’m going to live here I should know the area. And,” he added, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. His speech became stilted. “I want to know what your world’s like.”

“Okay,” she smiled. Buoyantly.

The first place she thought to take him was of course Foyles bookstore, because it was close, and because, well, books. A whole monumental treasury of books.

“Bloody hell,” his eyes widened in child-like wonderment the second they walked through the door. The patchwork rainbow of spines and covers, the smell of new books, the sheer notion of being surrounded by so many stories, and so much knowledge. Even if it only lasted a moment, Hermione had never seen him so still or so quiet before, and she briefly wondered if she had broken him. “This place is massive,” he spun around as he spoke, taking it all in, “is everything in London this big?”

“Not everything. Just a lot of things.” She couldn’t look away from him, the spark in his eyes eliciting an adoring smile. “Did you bring any quid?”

“What’s that?” He asked, not really listening.

“Pounds, muggle money, did you bring any?”

His face blanched as he turned to look at her sheepishly. “Might have forgotten. But I have regular money.”

“‘Regular’ is a state of mind Frederick. And wizard currency far from regular. It’s ridiculous.”                                

“It’s not!”

“29 knuts to a sickle and 17 sickles to a galleon? It’s completely impractical.”

“Okay fine. Maybe you have a point.”

“Oh I definitely have a point.” Hermione retorted, grinning from ear to ear. She insisted that she had been meaning to change some money anyway, so they switched 10 galleonss for £50.

He moved further inside slowly, overwhelmed and unsure of where to start. At first he simply trailed behind her, but eventually wandered off on his own, winding through the stacks and pulling books off the shelves to peruse at length. She found him in a corner near the children’s section over an hour later, surrounded by piles of books ranging from classic literature to astrophysics. The only things he seemed sure of were a home improvement manual for Mr. Weasley, and the first two volumes of Asterix and Obelix.

“You alright there, Frederick?” She asked, crouching down beside him.

“There’s so many Hermione. How am I supposed to pick? I’ve never even heard of half these subjects before. Do I need a book about aerospace technology? Do I need seven? How should I know?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you don’t need any.”

“Help me,” he whined, looking up at her with his big, doleful green eyes. He had never in his life felt quite so distressed. She sorted through the volumes surrounding him, eventually selecting The English Patient — one of her personal favourites — A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and a history of 20th century archaeological discoveries.

When they at last emerged, it was onto a London bustling with the lunch-time rush. Rather hungry themselves they went in search of sustenance and managed, with a little magical persuasion, to find a table in a small French bakery. At their window seat they split a quiche Lorraine and a croque monsieur, drank iced-chocolate, and tried to stave off the crash that inevitably follows a bookstore-high.

“You’re being awfully quiet today.”

“Hm?” He perked up. “Oh, sorry. It’s just a lot to take in, this.” He gestured vaguely to the sprawling city outside.

“But do you like it?”

He shrugged. “I love it.”

“Good.” She smiled, satisfied, settling further back in her seat.

“Do you like it?” He asked after a moment’s silence, studying her face carefully.

She picked at her food, considering. “I do but… I’m usually alone. I think I like it better with you.” She paused, then nodded as if affirming the truth of it to herself. “This quiche is pretty good.” She raised her fork but before she could take another bite, he was leaning across the table, one hand lightly holding her face, pressing his mouth to hers.

24th August 1998, Evening/Night

This time, Hermione is certain of it. She will not leave her room until the first of September. Her parents however are not on the same page.

“Hermione dear?” Her mother calls, hearing the jingle of keys in the front door. “Is that you? Come into the kitchen.” Hermione obliges, and finds her parents reading different newspapers at the kitchen table, with a steaming pot of earl grey and a plate of shortbread between them like they did everyday after work. The sight is enough to warm Hermione’s heart. She had missed this almost more than she could bear.

“How was your day darling?” Her father asks without looking up.

“Fine.”

“Did you buy any books?” Mrs. Granger does not look up either.

“I bought a few, yes.”

“That’s nice.” Her father offers, taking a sip of his tea.

Hermione lingers by the doorway, not saying anything. Eventually her mother looks at her, and observes a certain heaviness in her countenance. “Why do you look upset? Come sit down and have some tea.”

“Is this about Ron?” Mr Granger inquires, a particularly paternal brand of protectiveness evident in both his tone and in his eyes.

“Is it about the brother?” Her mother asks with hawklike instinct.

“Are you thinking about your… adventures?”

“You promised no more secrets darling.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Hermione interjects before they can pursue their line of questioning any further. They blink at her, equally taken aback. “If that’s okay with you,” she adds imploringly, unwaveringly meeting their eyes. They in turn consider their daughter carefully.

“Well alright then,” her mother says, turning back to her paper. “Dinner is in an hour. Go wash up.”

So she does, and she eats dinner with her parents, and after that she re-reads her new herbology textbook in the living room while her mother reads a le Carré and her father listens to a radio comedy. And she’s happy, honestly. She’s happy to be nestled in the warm glow of her childhood home, with her unchanging parents. She’s happy they are safe, and that for the first time in years there was nothing foreboding hovering on the horizon. She is happy, or at least, she is content.

Fred Weasley on the other hand is far from happy or content. After his rather disastrous morning he went straight back to the flat above the store, determined to spend the rest of his day off in bed. He didn’t move for hours. Rather impressively, he was still in bed when George came up after closing. His hair stuck out at odd angles as though he had been trying to pull it out, his sheets were fitfully dishevelled.

“Oh mate,” said George with an emphatically slow shake of his head, “you really need to get a grip.”

Fred looked up from Asterix and Cleopatra, shooting his brother a reproachful look.

“I’m going into London to get dinner. Do try to regain some level of composure before I get back yeah?”

That seemed like too much effort, so Fred fell asleep instead. He wakes up much later, at 1:38 a.m with London rolling round his head like a marble dipped in luminous dye, tracing webs of light. Quietly, he grabs his Nimbus 2001, climbs out the window onto the roof, and shoots off into the night. A certain frost sparks in the air, pinching at his skin. The wind whips through his hair, at his cheeks, stirs something inside his chest.

All the lights are off in the Grangers’ Hampstead home when he arrives, about 20 minutes later. All but the warm glow of a reading lamp emanating from what he knows is Hermione’s window. He hovers across the street, obscured by trees and shadow. He can see her silhouette on the sheer white curtains, sitting in bed, perfectly still, her head bowed slightly. Reading, most likely. His mind wanders to all the times he’d seen her in that exact posture, in a zen-state of complete focus; her small placid mouth, her smooth brow, the inward curve of her nose, mahogany brown ringlets framing her face. He remembers how he used to try and touch her cheek, her nose, her mouth, and how she would swat him away like she was shooing a fly.

She moves; her arms stretch above her head, her hands intertwined. She switches off the light, and Fred goes home.

2nd July 1996, Evening

“Had a good day darling?” Her mother called from the kitchen as Hermione closed the front door.

“It was alright, yes,” she said, leaning against the kitchen doorway. But the smile spread across her face suggested that it was a lot more than simply alright.

“What did you do?” Her father asked, his nose still in his paper.

“Oh you know, just went central. I met up with Fred. Went to Foyles. Had lunch. Walked around.”

“Who’s Fred?” Her father asked sharply, head snapping to face her.

“Ron’s brother,” she replied. Suddenly embarrassed, she shifted her weight nervously.  “One of the twins. You’ve met him before dad.”

“Why were you with Fred?” Her mother’s stare was as piercing as her father’s tone.

“Well he and George just moved to Diagon Alley and he asked me to show him around a bit,” she replied in one breath.

“Just Fred?”

“Yes.” Her face burned under her parents’ scrutiny, and she struggled to hold their gaze, not wanting to seem guilty, like she was hiding something.

“Why?”

Hermione only shrugged in response, pursed her lips, desperate for this to be over. “I’m going to shower now.” She turned abruptly and left the room.

“Dinner’s in an hour,” Mrs. Granger called after her daughter. A door slammed shut upstairs. She turned to her husband, and they shared a look of utter disbelief.

chapter one | chapter two

taglist: @thelasttime​ @bchnan​ @lovedyouthreesummers​ @keoghans​

[treehehe116]

Ok my dears, lets do some self care meditation, reblog to spread the feels :)

You are in a cozy room, lying on the squishiest couch in the world, with a heavy alpaca wool blanket. Sitting on your chest is a cat that is purring like a champion. You dog is snuggled up at your feet, occasionally snuffling around or thumping their tail.

You have a large bookcase filled with your favorite books, and a couple you have yet to read. You are part of a book exchange club, and trade books with others via mail all over the world.

The air smells clean, like freshly cut pine wood and rain and books. The kettle is about to start whistling, and then you will make a lovely pot of tea, and pour it into the large, heavy, handmade mug with an aspen-tree pattern. there is a stew that you’ve been working on all day long bubbling slowly, softly releasing its scent. Parsnips and potatoes and broth and spices.

You have bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters, and a enermous pothos growing in a pot. The vines are winding all around the beams of your little cottage.

You pjs are completely soft, and you have fluffy socks and slippers on. You hair is having a great day.

Outside the trees are turning scarlet and orange and golden, and the fallen leaves are gentle whispering against the flagstones of your walkway.

Your chickens are quietly clucking as they root through the side garden, and you hear the wood doves softly calling to one another.

The brook is softly burbling, constantly telling the stories about the things it has seen upstream to the weeping willow, who leans down to her friend to hear more.

A gorgeous deer emerges from the forest, tranquilly nosing through the food you left for her.

A rainbow of songbirds sit on the handrails outside your porch, happily murmuring about their day, and occasionally spying through your window to check on you.

Your order of flower bulbs will be arriving at the town post office soon, and you will have to descend your mountain then, but for now you bask in the comfort of your home. You are safe and warm, and you feel no need to be anything.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xxvii. Beauty and Her Beast

@claudeng80 yeah, Obi is assuming a lot here...or maybe just not thinking much at all. whatever he learned about teamwork from working for Zen, he’s fast falling out of the habit :\

@bubblesthemonsterartist XD yes yes, you can just imagine Izana - what the princess has fled? oh DEAR the predictions are amazing, hope you enjoy the reveal! xD

@the-pompous-potato  this made me laugh so hard, Obi going nyoom - that is the perfect way to say it XD and poor man, always on the verge of getting his girl when SOMETHING HAPPENS...

<<Previous || first arc || AO3 || Next>>

The hall stretches on interminably, like a room in a dream.

When Shirayuki bursts from the prince’s chamber, her eyes are full, and her heart is broken. She is blind to everything but the need to get away.

Her feet carry her forward, but she is going nowhere, on and on, without end -- until someone catches her arm.

The momentum spins her around. She throws up her hands to shield her face.

...

“Shirayuki!” 

The voice is familiar. She peeks through her fingers.

Kiki stares back at her, still holding Shirayuki’s wrist. Her face is pale, drawn, grim, but still she is present, tangible, close.

The fear drains out of Shirayuki, leaving behind an aching sense of loss. Her head drops onto her friend’s shoulder. 

She begins to cry in earnest.

...

Kiki pats her hair with one hand. The touch is light and quick, too rapid to really be comforting, but Kiki’s breathing is deep, steady, rhythmic.

She doesn’t push Shirayuki away.

The tears begin to abate of their own accord.

...

As soon as she hears Shirayuki quiet, Kiki drops the hand to her shoulder and eases her upright.

She meets Shirayuki’s eyes, holding her gaze--still serious, but something more than that: determined.

“Shirayuki,” she says again, “please come with me.”

...

Kiki guides her like a compass bearing: destination unknown, but the direction unmistakable.

Shirayuki follows as closely as her skirts will allow, almost bumping into her friend when Kiki changes direction unexpectedly.

The cooling air signals that they have left the castle proper, but Shirayuki does not look up, does not raise her eyes, does not care for anything but having someone to follow.

...

Interlocking lines crisscross her field of vision, the familiar patterns of the courtyard flagstones unfolding.

Then warmth embraces her. 

The sweet, spicy, earthy, damp fragrance leaves no doubt: Kiki has led her home.

Shirayuki tilts her chin back to drink it in.

...

For a moment she thinks her eyes are deceiving her, conjuring up phantoms of the past to complement the familiar sensations of the greenhouses.

She must have imagined the two white-clad figures that emerge, rising from the mists of her memory like rainbows from fractured light.

It isn’t really Garrack Gazalt, tall and careless, wiping dirt from her hands, or little Ryuu, shy but intent, clutching a box of half-filled soil samples.

Would she have conjured them like this, though - dusty and travel-stained? 

Could she have projected their looks of mingled surprise and delight, the quirk of Garrack’s smile, the flop of Ryuu’s hair grown down over his eyes?

...

Wavering between doubt and hope, Shirayuki allows herself to step closer, lift a hand, reach out to test their corporality, feel for herself whether her friends had truly returned to her.

Before she reached them, Garrack threw back her head and laughed - the unrestrained sound of weariness passed into a hazy unconcern.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Lady Shirayuki!”

...

Shirayuki pulls up short. She tries to laugh, but no sound comes.

The chief pharmacist pauses, regarding her steadily. 

Then she pulls Shirayuki forward into a quick hard hug. “There, you see, lady? We’re real.” 

Shirayuki chokes on happiness, unconscious of the tears collecting and escaping in tiny streams, little paths that all led elsewhere, away from the nightmare that has been closing on her the past three days. 

“And Ryuu?” She turns to him with a shining face. “Will you give me a hug, too?”

He stares up at her with round eyes, hesitates, then sets down the crate.

...

Garrack looks over their heads at Kiki, quirking an eyebrow as if to say, That bad since we left, is it? 

Kiki looks back impassively. 

She hasn’t smiled much since the war, even less since the funeral, but as she watches Shirayuki hold Ryuu close, the lines around her mouth ease.

...

“We’re here to see how they tended the greenhouses while we were away,” Ryuu informs Shirayuki quietly. Even after she lets him go, he stands closer to her than usual, expressionless except that his eyes are brighter than before.

Shirayuki regards him affectionately, but her eyebrows draw together. “Ah, but Ryuu… you haven’t had a chance to wash or eat, don’t you think…?”

...

He’s shaking his head. 

It’s not like that for him - the greenhouse isn’t a chore. It’s familiar and soothing to come here after bouncing in a carriage for so many hot, dusty hours. 

The entire time he and Garrack were away, Ryuu’s thoughts have returned here, to these fertile rows, wandering among them in his imagination as he wondered whether they were receiving the proper care from the other pharmacists.

Even miles away, it was his place to escape to when the stress and strangeness of setting the Port City pharmacy to rights overwhelmed him.

Now he is anxious to see that nothing has gone amiss in his absence.

...

Ryuu doesn’t know how to put all of that into words, so he answers, “It couldn’t wait.”

...

“You arrived at the perfect time, lady,” Garrack interjects, leaning over them. “We could use another pair of hands, but it seems everyone from the pharmacy has gone!”

Shirayuki’s mouth twitches. “That’s because… well, it is past nightfall,” she points out, torn between amusement and concern at her old colleagues.

Garrack waggles a pair of forceps and an empty glass tube. “Care to take the samples from section three?”

...

Time runs backwards.

The intervening months melt away. Garrack and Ryuu are back, and it’s like a part of her returns with them, slotting neatly into the space it left behind.

She forgets she is wearing royal, not pharmacist, white. She accepts the assignment and hurries to find a clipboard and labels while she is at it - administrative work never was the chief’s strong point - and then she gets to work.

...

It is idyllic, peaceful to work in silence among the greenhouse rows, the three pharmacists silent but conscious of each other’s presence.

Shirayuki can almost pretend that when she finishes, she will walk out the doors and find everything as it was before: 

Mitsuhide and Kiki, opposite and easy, like two bookends; Obi, nearer than her shadow; and Zen, the center of it all, smiling on each of them and holding out his hand.

...

She reaches out in response, lost in her dream… Then she realizes that it is Ryuu standing before her.

Shirayuki flushes. She starts to stammer an apology -- until she sees his face.

He regards her with the lost, lonely look of a puppy who found his way home but isn’t sure if he’s allowed back inside.

“Ryuu! What is it?”

“Shirayuki…” He frowns at the ground, shuffles his feet. “I just came to see if… you needed anything…”

...

“Oh…” Shirayuki stares at Ryuu, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how.

He stares back, his expression mirroring hers.

Shirayuki wavers then breaks into a smile. “I have everything I need right here, Ryuu! We’re together again now, and that’s what matters.”

His face lightens. He smiles back.

...

Close enough to hear every word, Obi watches unseen. 

As he listens, his fingers slacken on the knapsack strap. 

It slides from his shoulder.

...

He looks at Shirayuki, at Ryuu, at this place of comfort and warmth that brings color to their faces and light to their eyes.

They are surrounded by what really makes them happy: purpose, a sense of belonging, the pharmacy, and each other.

He has no right to take her away from any of this.

He won’t break again what’s already broken.

...

He turns away.

//

A/N: if your memory is a little fuzzy after 6+ months as to why Garrack and Ryuu have been absent, the backstory is buried in this chapter.

[animal-crossing-sideblog]

CATALOG!!!

I’m gonna have everything in my catalog that’s for sale in here!! I’ll separate it by clothing, furniture, and other (flooring and Wallpaper) and the price will be at the end. I’ll try to keep this updated but we’ll see. I’ll try to list any variations but if you see an item you like and there’s nothing listed about the variation(s) or if you don’t see the one you want then feel free to dm me and ask if I have it!! if you see something you want feel free to dm me!!

Furniture

Accessories Stand(Brown)—1,500

Baby Panda—1,800

Book stands (pastel)—1,100

Camping cot(red)—1,800

Cardboard box (both plain and labeled!!)—120

Director’s chair (light brown)—1,600

Double sofa (dark brown)—4,300

Fortune-Telling Set (Purple)—1,000

Grasshopper-head model—1,400

Hammock (white)—1,300

Imperial Partition (Brown)—5,000

Kitty Litter Box (brown)—1,100

Knife Block (natural)—1,200

Lantern(Blue)—1,900

Macrame Tapestry (White)—840

Magnetic Knife rack (stainless steel)—1,400

Menu Chalkboard (dark brown)—1,800

Mini Cactus Set—400

Outdoor air conditioner—2,200

Poolside bed (light brown)—3,400

Portable radio (red)—1,500

Pot rack (wooden)—3,000

Punching bag (blue)—3,800

Rattan Armchair (brown)—3,200

Rattan Wardrobe (brown)—6,900

Rattan towel Basket (Gray)—1,800

Record Box (Black)—2,600

Studio Spotlight (white)—2,100

Table lamp—1,100

Tea set (red)—1,000

Traditional tea set (plain)—1,000

Wall Clock (Blue)—690

Whiteboard (blank)—2,600

World Map (Pacific Ocean)—640

Writing Chair (natural)—1,700

Zen cushion—500

Serving cart (white&silver)—1,300

Clothing

Barrette—490

Boa Fleece (green)—1,400

Caterpillar Costume (rainbow)—1,700

Denim Pants (light blue)—1,120

Desert Outfit (pink)—2,520

Everyday tights (black)—720

Flowery-dot tights (pink)—720

Fringe skirt (blue)—1,560

House slippers (Gray)—490

Jumper work suit (blue)—1,050

Lace-up dress (pink)—2,500

Layered Tank Dress (blue)—1,200

Lemon umbrella —770

Madras plaid shirt (green)—1,120

Paper boy cap (brown)—1,470

PJ outfit (navy blue)—1,050

Rain Boots (yellow)—490

Rainbow umbrella—840

Raincoat (yellow)—1,280

Slip-on loafers (green)—490

Striped socks (monotone)—600

Striped tank (green)—800

Sweetheart tank and shirt (pink)—1,200

Tulip Hat (orange)—630

Other

Blue playroom wall—2,540

Concrete flooring—820

Concrete wall—940

Flagstone flooring—1,700

Jointed-mat flooring—1,050

Pine-board flooring—2,500

Purple camo flooring—1,320

Red-brick wall—1,000

Rosewood flooring—2,420

Simple red flooring—1,500

Tatami mat—1,500

White Botanical-tile wall—1,240

White delicate-blooms wall—1,900

White simple-cloth wall—750

Wooden-knot flooring—780

Yellow playroom wall—2,540

[suddenlysomewherethatsgreen]

“I’ll take you to that little development you dreamed about” When do you think Audrey told Seymour about that?❤️

(I didn’t want to respond right away because I too had wondered this in the past, and I wanted to write it):

About a week into her career as a floral consultant, Audrey had understood that there wasn’t much to do, and that the hours were long. That was when she began to bring in her magazines. Still closed up by her own shyness, she would spend lots of time entrapped by these pictures.

“Whatcha got there, Audrey?” Seymour asked.

She looked up from her page and smiled politely. She closed the cover and held it for him to read. But she didn’t say anything. Although she liked Seymour and he had shown her nothing but kindness, being closed up around men had developed over time. It was safer that way.

Seymour saw a page of the magazine about two weeks later. It was open on the counter in front of her and Audrey was leaned forward on her elbows.

“Some refrigeration would be nice,” she murmured to herself.

Seymour looked up, hearing her quiet voice. “What?”

Audrey spun the magazine around on the counter for it to be facing him. She tapped her ruby nail.

“A refrigerata’. That’s what we need for the shop. The flowa’s would last so much longa’.”

He picked up the page and glanced at it. There was a picture of a refrigerator in the right hand corner of a page, but his eyes had trailed along. He noticed another drawing of a family sitting at a kitchen table. He noticed the wife. She was blonde with lipstick and she was laughing. Seymour could swear, she looked almost like… Audrey. The man sitting next to her was tall and buff with a crop of brown hair. And for a brief moment Seymour fantasized it was himself.

Suddenly embarrassed, he handed the magazine back.

Winter came in the weeks that followed. To Seymour and Audrey it felt colder than normal, even if the temperatures in Skid Row were never complacent.

“I just wish there was more green,” Audrey said. Her eyes were locked on her page.

Seymour rubbed his hands together trying to bring heat into them.

“Winter can’t last forever.”

Audrey shook her head. “No, but even in the summa’time there’s no green here.”

Her eyes moved from her page around the room full of greenery.

“Have you eva’ wanted a garden, Seymour?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

“Me too.” She moved her eyes back to her page and hesitated before handing it off to him completely.

There was a picture of a house with a rainbow cascade of a garden.

“That’s nice.”

She leaned forward on her arms. “What would you grow?”

He put it down and thought. “Gee, I don’t know. I’ve never had a garden before.” He thought back to his plants currently wilting in coffee pots in his basement. “I’d take even a yard.”

Audrey smiled. “A yard would be nice.” She picked up the magazine again and buried her nose. “With green grass.”

This fantasy to Seymour remained abstract until Audrey shined more light on it much later. By then the snow had just started to melt, and sat in grey heaps around the curb. But it was just nice enough to stand outside. And that’s where they were. On their lunch break sitting on the back steps of the shop.

“But if you could leave Skid Row, where would you go?”

Seymour thought back. “I don’t know, I have nothing to compare it to.”

“Just imagine somewhere.”

Seymour felt the spring air on his face. “Somewhere with air.”

Audrey giggled.

“No, I mean…” he smiled and snickered at his vague obvious response. “Fresh air. Lots of fresh air.”

Audrey gazed off. “That’d be nice.”

“What about you?”

She spread out her legs in front of her and jiggled her toes. “Somewhere with lots of green grass.”

Seymour nodded. She often mentioned this color.

“What else?”

She kept her gaze away and her face began to shine. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. Just, a little street in a little suburb. A little development far far from urban Skid Row.”

She was still beaming. Seymour felt uneasy. He didn’t like the thought of Audrey leaving and having to be without her.

“Everybody has the same little lawn out front and the same little flagstone patio out back,” she was speaking fast. As if she had this thought before, and was reciting a dream. “All the houses are so neat and pretty…”

She stopped herself and snapped back. Suddenly embarrassed with how open she was being she tucked her chin in her jacket collar.

“With lots of green grass?” Seymour asked.

She smiled and nodded.

“Where is this?”

Audrey thought. “Somewhere.”

“Somewhere?”

She nodded. Seymour pondered this and too gazed off. He could see it too now.

“Somewhere that’s green?”

Audrey’s face brightened. “Yeah. Yeah. Somewhere that’s green.”

[rebeldynasty]

Fall of the Spectrum, New Content

A/N: So, while my edits on FotS are by and large minor, I did wind up writing a new piece to go with a pre-existing scene. In this case, a memory sequence regarding the character of Iris and her origins--largely focusing on the fact that she is not the rainbow goddess, but named after her. Let me know what you think. ^^

Iris stared at the goddess; eyes wide, unblinking.

“I see,” said the goddess. She spoke not to Iris, but to her handler; a Cuu-Sith with furry brown ears and unremarkable blue-grey eyes. “And that’s where you found her?”

“Yes, Lady Hera,” replied the Cuu-Sith. “Had I not intervened, I’m confident her fate would have been unfortunate. More unfortunate than it has been thus far.”

Iris didn’t understand what they were talking about. All she knew was that with her cold, aquamarine eyes and sharp jawline, the goddess frightened her. And while she had only known the Cuu-Sith, Aiore, for the length of three sleeps, the last thing she wanted was for him to leave her with this cold-eyed goddess.

“Can she speak?”

“Yes, though I’ve drawn little more than a handful of words from her.”

Hera made a humming sound in the back of her throat, then crouched so that she and Iris were eye-level. “What is your name, child?”

“I…I-Iris,” Iris managed, her fingers curling around Aiore’s tufted tail for comfort. “That’s what the matron called me.”

Hera rocked back on her heels, then stood. Coppery ringlets framed her face, lighter streaks catching the light of the strange, round room they were in. “Iris. Just like… But that’s not possible. She died long ago.” She turned to Aiore. “And I sense no godly essence in her. What then, pray, is she?”

Iris felt the first stirrings of anger at the goddess’s words, but before she could give voice to it, Aiore spoke. “She’s a hybrid. Water-demon and siren, if the matron spoke truly.”

Hera inhaled sharply, her expression pained. “A forbidden union, then. Few of the clans tolerate such things. How curious though,” she added, her voice barely above a murmur, “that they would choose that name.”

“They must have known her once,” said Aiore. “During one of her peace talk missions, perhaps.”

Hera pursed her lips. “Perhaps.” Then to Iris, she said, “How fitting then, sweet child, that you will become my ward and personal aide, just as your namesake once was…”

Iris awoke with a start, momentarily confused by her surroundings. Gentle waters lapped against her shoulders, the scent of evening blooms thick in the air.

Of all the foolish things to dream.

Iris sank lower into the soothing hot springs, releasing a sigh of frustration. Of course she would dream about Hera while at her lowest. After all, hadn’t it been Hera who frequently gave utterance to her failings? Was it not Hera’s voice that rang through her head whenever her plans fell into ruin, allowing the seeds of self-doubt to take root and fester like so many cancerous cells?

Iris pushed the thought from her mind, knowing it did little good to dwell on the past. Especially since there were far more pressing concerns to be dealt with in the here and now.

Nearly three weeks had passed since their plans had completely and utterly backfired. Not only had the units she’d deployed around the world come under attack—those not killed in battle having been taken prisoner by the Regulations Force—the firebird had obliterated more than half of her force. And somehow, even obliterated wasn’t a strong enough word for what he’d done.

Scowling, Iris tilted her head back, resting it against the smooth stones encircling the pool’s edge, dark brown eyes unfocused as she stared at the starlit sky.

Everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve, lost. And for what? she fumed. To realize they couldn’t take the artifacts’ gifts for themselves? That the only reason they granted the daemon power was because it was his power to begin with? Powers that he’d been robbed of the moment the artifacts had all come together, releasing their seals and sending the artifacts themselves back to their places of origin. Or perhaps it was to the places where their owners had been best loved; it didn’t matter.

If only I’d known about the fail-safe, she thought, closing her eyes in frustration. But she hadn’t known. Hera and the rest of the gods on the council had kept that information under lock and key. If Iris had known that bringing the artifacts together would result in disbanding them, she would have been more careful in laying her plans.

Even so, they had opened the portal to Nowhere, and that’s what mattered. True, if they’d been able to keep the artifacts out of the High Council’s grasp it would have been much better, but Iris supposed they couldn’t have everything.

Except everything was precisely what she wanted, and with the artifacts, she could have had exactly that—everything. With them, she could have overthrown the entire Spectrum, could have overthrown Apophis himself.

But that hadn’t happened. Instead, the artifacts had vanished right out from under her nose, and here she was, still in Apophis’s shadow. Even after learning that the girl had a connection to the artifacts, that she gained powers from them just as the daemon did, might even be the reason that his powers returned to him at all… Iris still hadn’t been able to accomplish what she’d set out to do.

Instead of being a good little victim, the firebird had gone and ruined everything. He had rather take his own life than let some insignificant human girl wind up in Iris’s grasp.

Turned out not to be insignificant after all, though, didn’t she? Iris mused, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.

Of the few things that had actually gone right that day, the knowledge that the girl was more important than Phenex had let on during interrogation was one of them. That, and destroying the bulk of Iris’s forces had been his last act of defiance.

One less threat. With him out of the picture, all that stands between me and the girl is the daemon. And really, what is his power compared to mine?

Still, they would have to be careful. With what Reeves had planned, they couldn’t afford to let the girl slip through their fingers again. Their very futures depended on it.

She glanced around at the Japanese hot spring with a sigh, her gaze roving past the blossoming magnolia trees on either side of the flagstone path and toward the teakwood reception house on the far side of the property. Or rather it had been the reception house, until Iris had chased away the humans running it and claimed the spa for her own.

It had been decades since, and not for the first time, she felt her time here was coming to an end. Soon, her safe haven would either be completely taken over by Apophis’s elite unit, or destroyed in one of the many coming battles.

With this realization came another: Much as she hated to leave the warm, bubbling waters caressing her skin, she would have guests soon. Rising from the pool with a shiver, she flicked her wrist, and a gown of rich plum appeared, covering from her right shoulder all the way down to her ankles.

Stepping from the pool’s edge, she slipped into a pair of open-toed stilettos, and began making her way down the blossom-strewn path.

Yes, she would have guests soon, very soon. But first, she had other matters to attend to.

[ask-runaan-anything]

(small child anon) Whoaaa! *giggles in delight* *gets up to go outside and tugs lightly at your hand*

*smiles* Well, if you insist. *lets you lead me out onto the broad dark flagstones, warm with sunlight, as a fresh breeze brings the smell of flowers and the forest leaves rustle across a spread of thick grass* This is very relaxing. Shall I blow you some bubbles? *waves my hand and enormous rainbow-hued bubbles dance slowly on the breeze, showing you your wiggly reflection in their ripply surfaces as they pass by*

[sectorcrescentia]

Fireworks

Title: Fireworks

Author: Firefall Bangemthump

Rating: Everyone

Word Count: 1,765

Summary: Old traditions become new again.

Surgeon-Commander Gray looked at the box skeptically, and then looked up at her companion, who was carrying it and watching her with an expression of expectant curiosity.

“Well? What do you think, ma'am?” Ko grinned. “I think we did pretty well to get hold of these this late. I tried three places and they were all sold out.”

Gray huffed with disapproval. Perhaps you should have taken that as an omen, she signed.

Ko put the box down on the kitchen table to free her own hands. While she knew Gray could understand her speech perfectly well thanks to her hearing aid, she knew she appreciated it when Ko made the effort to join her in sign language.

But it’s traditional, she replied.

So was the slave trade, Gray observed. That doesn’t make it a good idea.

Fireworks on Coronation Day is a thing, said Ko.

They’re a liability, said Gray. Do you know how many injuries they cause?

Ko shrugged. But they’re fun.

Gray cocked an eyebrow pointedly. Ko tried a different tack.

Did you never do this on Macropus?

Gray shook her head. There were fireworks. My father thought that actually participating in them would demean the family.

Ko grinned. So how about sticking one up him now?

Gray paused, thinking it over. There’s a certain logic to that.

Right, said Ko. And I bet you haven’t had a chance since then because the Navy keeps you too busy.

Correct. Gray nodded. Did you ever do this in the Royal Marines?

No. Ko hesitated. Officially. But young marines and live laslock ammo-

I suppose I should be grateful you survived, Gray’s ear twitched as she cut her off.

Ko shrugged. I’m going to set them in the garden.

Gray got to her feet with a theatrical sigh. I’d better come, then. In case you blow yourself up.

Saving me from fireworks now, doc? Ko laughed.

Gray looked at the felinid over the top of her spectacles. How else would I make sure you knew how bad an idea this is? she said.

The ‘garden’ of the small townhouse they had acquired in the shadow of the unfashionable side of Admiralty House was not really deserving of the name – it was a narrow rectangle paved with grey stone, walled with grey stone, with nothing in it but a narrow bench of wrought iron that was missing one of its wooden slats and a small pot containing the desiccated stick of whatever the previous occupant of the house had tried to grow. Normally the only illumination came from a pair of lamps on either side of the kitchen door, but tonight they were joined by the sparkling lights of the other fireworks being let off all over Crescentia. The spaceport had passed into Montressor’s shadow, making it as dark as it ever got, and the spectacular colours of the fireworks – mostly patriotic red, white, blue and gold, though with more than a few pinks, greens and purples mixed in – stood out brilliantly against the night of the etherium. Ko paused for a moment to enjoy the sight, and then emptied the box of fireworks out onto the ground and took stock – a handful of rockets, a few multi-shot Arcturian candles joined by a linked fuse and a slow match on a stick. She busied herself with arranging the rockets in the furthest possible corner when she heard two solid metallic sounds behind her and looked around to see Gray standing with her arms crossed behind a bucket of water she had just placed on the ground next to her medical kit. Ko grinned.

Are you still trying to tell me something, doc?

Gray arched an eyebrow.

Rest assured that you will not forget it if I have to use either of these.

Ko smiled as her companion pointedly switched off her hearing aid and watched her expectantly. Striking the match, she touched it to the fuse of the first rocket and then moved back to stand with Gray. The projectile fizzed to life and soared into the sky to join the others launching from all around the neighbourhood, bursting in a shower of golden sparks. The sound was amplified in the stone-walled yard, but was nothing serious to ears long-since attuned to the thunder of warship guns.

You seem to know what you’re doing, remarked Gray.

No need to sound surprised, ma'am, Ko joked.

Gray looked severe. Ko took a deep breath and relented.

When I was a kit, she said. Coronation Day was always one of the better times. Even when I was on the streets, me and the other kids would save up for a few penny bangers.

Gray moved closer, knowing that Ko’s childhood was a subject rarely raised. She didn’t say anything, but Ko seemed to feel the need to keep explaining.

The city was grey. Grey, brown, black. But one night a year there was colour in the sky as people let off their fireworks. Ko’s pale blue eyes were focused on the past for a moment. You could look up and almost forget where you were.

She stepped forward to light the fuses on the other rockets one by one, and watched nostalgically as they launched in series. Gray wasn’t watching the fireworks as they soared into the sky to join the constellations bursting over the spaceport. She was watching Ko’s face. And it seemed to her for a moment that despite the scar, the whitening fur, and the other signs of a life hard-lived, there was a sparkle in the pale blue eyes and a little hint at the vivacious and free-spirited kitten she must presumably once have been.

Doc?

Gray realised that Ko had caught her gaze and was looking back at her curiously. She coughed and stepped away.

This will make it better.

Ko watched her douse the garden lamps. The difference it made to the next firework was obvious, but Ko was uncomfortably aware that the sudden darkness limited their communications options. As Gray returned to her, she put down the slow match and sought out her hands to raise them between them. Gray understood and nodded. She could still understand Ko’s sign, albeit more slowly, by feeling out each one. Ko, despite much effort, was not quite able to master the art yet, and hadn’t forgiven herself.

But now you can’t talk to me, she said.

Gray’s reply didn’t use words. It didn’t need to. She simply bent down to pick up the match, returned it to Ko, and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. Ko tried to judge Gray’s facial expression in the dark, managing it when a salvo of fireworks burst overhead, their incandescent rainbow reflecting and shimmering in the surgeon’s eyes and glasses. Gray gave her a nod. Ko, making use of the light while it was there, nodded back, smiled and mouthed a silent thank you. Gray patted her shoulder and stood back to let her set up the Arcturian candles, arranging them in a row across the far wall of the garden. Ko bent to light the fuse, only to freeze when pain flared white-hot in her lower back. She gasped and sank to her knees, the match clattering to the flagstones as she dropped it.

“G-Godsdamnit…Doc?” She gritted her teeth and remembered that Gray had switched off her hearing aid. But she needn’t have worried. A blue firework burst overhead and cast its harsh light into the garden. Gray, appalled to see her, was by her side in an instant, arms wrapping around her body in a manner that was supportive in more ways than just the physical. She felt herself being helped up and guided towards the bench, where Gray lowered her gently to sit and then knelt in front of her, the last of the blue light showing her eyes filled with concern. Ko saw her switch on the hearing aid and nod questioningly.

“My back again, ma'am…damn it…when I knelt down…” She hissed in pain as she tried to straighten up. Gray moved her hands to keep Ko’s spine straight, propping her back against the wall. Ko closed her eyes for a moment and then nodded slowly.

“That…that’s better, doc. Thanks. Guess I should have learned my limitations by now.”

The shadows had fallen over the garden again, but Gray’s white coat was reflective enough to show up lighter against the darkness. She stayed in front of Ko for a moment, holding her hands until her pained breathing returned to normal.

“I’m sorry about this…I just thought that maybe…since I’m out of the services now…maybe I could find something to make the day special.” Ko shook her head. “Stupid, really. Pining for a past that never was. Some things you can’t get back. I should have known it.”

Gray did nothing for a moment. Then, to Ko’s surprise, she let go and moved away towards the dying ember of the dropped slow match. Ko watched as she picked it up and blew on it to rekindle it, a fiery yellow glow briefly highlighting her lips and face as Gray turned to look at her. For a moment, Ko could almost have sworn she saw a smile there – but perhaps it was a trick of the random lights and shadows. What was certain was that Gray then turned away and applied the match to the fuse that Ko had been trying to light. It fizzed into life and Gray stubbed out the match before she went to join Ko on the bench. The fireworks began launching in sequence, a dazzling salvo of colours soaring into the sky to join the others. Ko watched them appreciatively and reached over to take Gray’s hand.

Thank you.

All she got in reply was an encouraging squeeze. But after a moment she felt an arm slide awkwardly around her waist in a gesture that could only partly be due to concern for her back. Grateful that nobody could see her blush in the dark, she shifted into the embrace and felt Gray against her side on the narrow bench. After a while, she sought out Gray’s free hand.

The fireworks have run out, she said.

Ko felt Gray nod, but not move. The garden was still and dark now, their private supply having fired itself off, though the display continued elsewhere over Crescentia. She understood and smiled.

Thank you.

Gray’s only response was to hold her a little closer while they watched the fireworks. But that was still enough.