#coral rings price

[persephoneprice]

The Tortured Poets Department & the TBOSAS Characters I related them to on first listen

♡ Fortnight- Coriolanus Snow

♡ The Tortured Poets Department- Lamina

♡ My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys- Lucy Gray Baird

♡ Down Bad- Felix Ravinstill

♡ So Long, London- Persephone Price

♡ But Daddy I Love Him- Brandy

♡ Fresh Out The Slammer- Festus Creed

♡ Florida!!!- Arachne Crane

♡ Guilty As Sin- Tanner

♡ Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me?- Coral

♡ I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)- Sejanus Plinth

♡ loml- Livia Cardew

♡ I Can Do It With A Broken Heart- Vipsania Sickle

♡ The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived- Lucy Gray Baird

♡ The Alchemy- Clemensia Dovecote

♡ Clara Bow- Iphigenia Moss

The Anthrology

♡ The Black Dog- Lamina

♡ imgonnagetyouback- Juno Phipps

♡ The Albatross- Livia Cardew

♡ Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus- Sejanus Plinth

♡ How Did It End?- Reaper Ash

♡ So High School- Diana Ring

♡ I Hate It Here- Lysistrata Vickers

♡ thanK you aIMee- Clemensia Dovecote

♡ I Look In People’s Windows- Pup Harrington

♡ The Prophecy- Felix Ravinstill

♡ Cassandra- Arachne Crane

♡ Peter- Festus Creed

♡ The Bolter- Persephone Price

♡ Robin- Mizzen

♡ The Manuscript- Persephone Price

#tbosas #coriolanus snow #lamina #Lucy gray Baird #felix ravinstill #persephone price #brandy #Festus creed #arachne crane #Tanner #coral #sejanus plinth #livia cardew #vipsania sickle #clemensia dovecote #iphigenia moss #this is just first listen I’m not sold on all of them #the ones in bold are the ones I heard and was immediately ‘it’s this character’ to me #the tortured poets department #tell me your thoughts if you have any!!!! #Diana ring #apollo ring #juno phipps #mizzen #reaper ash

[dfoxmedia]

PRODUCT DESCRIPTION: This 6.05 Red Coral gemstone is also called Rakta Prabal stone, Praval, Munga, or Moonga. Red Coral grows in the depth of the sea nearly 10 to 300 meters below the sea level as Coral Reef. These gemstones originate mainly from Italy, Japan, and Taiwan. This gemstone is available with various certifications which you can choose while purchasing from our website.

BENEFITS: • This gemstone is beneficial for mental and physical health • Gives positive energy to the wearer • Red Coral also helps to reduce rashness and anger • This stone helps enhance leadership qualities.

#red coral #red coral 6.05 carats #red coral benefits #red coral gemstone #red coral gemstone price #red coral gemstone ring #red coral gemstone online #red coral gemstone original

[princerealgems]

#white coral gemstone #white coral gemstone astrology #white coral stone #gemstone #red coral gemstone #white coral #white coral stone benefits #white coral benefits #white coral astrology #red coral #red coral stone #coral gemstone #coral #red coral stone benefits #how to identify red coral stone #red coral stone price #red coral benefits #red coral stone wearing finger #benefits of red coral stone #red coral ring #coral stone #red coral test #benefits of red coral

[forestshadow-wolf]

Because I am equally obsessed with cod and a video games call coral island, I have meshed the two together so often but imagine a very loyal protective guard captain of the menfolk kingdom ghost who distrusts humans and human soap who got out if the military and takes over the family farm as a fresh start and falls in love with ghost. Anyway I hope you have an amazing day!

Aww this is a cute idea :)

---

Soap had always had an affinity for the ocean. A couple kilometers down the road from the farm is a vast expanse of rocky cliff-shores. He used to spend his days as a boy playing, and swimming down at the rock flats with his siblings.

He fell out of touch with that side of himself not too long after joining the military. There is a severe lack of beach days in the army.

So I'm thinking about soap not quite fresh off of honorable discharge due to his demolition days having put a permanent ringing in his right ear, and a bad explosion wrecked his knee bad enough that he's got a permanent limp and sometimes it'll go weak and drop him. He's deep in depression without the direction and rigidity of military life. Sure he's working, his da sets him to work in the fields, but it's all just numb.

One night he finds himself walking out the front door, down a distantly familiar path that leads all the way to the rock flats. He almost doesn't realize until salt water is splashing over his bare toes and soaking into his trousers.

And for once he actually feels something. He feels real. It feels like home. He should have come here sooner. He doesn't know why he hadn't.

Something catches at the corner of his gaze.

There sitting in the edge of the rock is a man. Sitting dangerously close to the water for the time of night it is. The tides get... playful when the moon comes out.

He moves closer to warn the man of the danger, but as he approaches he sees that its not a man. Or- it is (maybe) but he's not a human. He knocks a pebble with his shoe and it skitters across the rock.

The man- the mer, he sees now- whips around, some kind of viscous hooked weapon in hand. The man's large frame coupled with the bleach white skull obscuring it's face, and the wicked sharp teeth it bares at him, the man makes an imposing sight. Soap freezes, holding his hands up in Surrender.

A better look at the man reveals details a quick glance didn't reveal to him before. The three notches in the underside of the dorsal fin, oddly enough it looked red and almost fresh. Fresh scrapes along the length of his scaly tail that soap could see. What looked to be old scars, and fresh cuts on his chest and arms.

---

Another attack on the kingdom from the shadows, had left the kingdom wary, and Ghost on edge. He was working himself too hard, ghost knew, and soon Price was gonna send Gaz after him to settle. But for now he had a job to do. For now he focused on protecting his kingdom. And fight now that meant patrolling the area, making it known that they were as strong as ever, that should the Shadows from the south, or the Kretch from the east decide to attack, they were ready.

The Kretch had been fairly quiet as of recently, but he'd found another scouting group of shadows on his rounds of the land. Taking them out was a workout, they bashed him into the rocks, opening fresh wounds, and scraping up his tail, but nothing he couldn't handle. It was the dog they let loose on him that had been the problem. Bullsharks. Viscous creatures, even in the best of times it was smart to avoid them. But especially so if it was the Shadows' dogs, they keep them starved, makes them angry

He's strong, but he knows his limits. And he'd struggle with one on a good day. Injured and overworked, he has no chance. His saving grace? Bullsharks are fast, but he's always been faster. So he swims.

Away from the kingdom. Away from the people he swore to protect. He swims to land, dreadful, dry land. The only thing besides death that'll deter these beast is land. So up he goes onto the rocks. He'll have to wait it out.

I'll be continuing this later today. Let me know if you want a tag.

#every time I post there is a 50/50 chance I'll use American or European terms lol #lovely ask #anon ask #mermay post from February anyone? #sorry it took so long #mer au #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #el rambles

[buffetlicious]

I usually ordered my ham in advance but this year I decided to try cash and carry instead. Whether I preorder or buy off the shelf, the price is still the same, except that I don’t get the cooler bag and cranberry sauce if I did the latter. Here is the boneless Ham Royale (±1.8 kg before cooking) I bought from NTUC supermarket.

Woke up early to slice up the ham and prepare the rest of the ingredients while toasting the Rosemary & Olive Panini Roll in the oven. Pan-fried the ham then the brown button mushrooms and king oyster mushrooms with olive oil and black pepper. Time to assemble the sandwich with a layer of green & red coral lettuces, ham, cheese, canned pineapple rings and the sautéed mushrooms to make my Ham & Panini Sandwich with a side of potato crisps. Later on, sis makes her own with an extra fried egg added to the sandwich.

#Christmas #Ham & Panini Sandwich #Homemade #Ham Royale #Ham #Pork #Pan-Fried #Toasted #Rosemary & Olive Panini Roll #Bread #Brown Button Mushroom #King Oyster Mushroom #Stir-Fry #Black Pepper #Green Coral Lettuce #Red Coral Lettuce #Cheese #Canned Pineapple #Fried Egg #Potato Crisps #Breakfast #Food #Buffetlicious

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack short take (53)

*Operation Felix* Read [this] & [this] first.

Mizzen: Untie me, you evil sea witch!

Coral: Not until you share those bacon pizzas with everyone!

Mizzen: Never!!

Coral: Ugh. I’m starting to agree with Reaper’s stupid idea to house my gremlin in a separate enclosure.

Reaper: See! I was right all along!

Persephone: Mizzen, buddy, how about we just give the other Tributes two boxes of pizza to share for themselves?

Mizzen: Don’t fall for their evil lies, Percy Price! They only want to steal what’s rightfully mine!

Coryo: *opens a pizza box and grabs a slice* To be fair, gremlin, you didn’t even pay for these.

Mizzen: Who cares!

Lucy Gray: Who payed?

Felix: Nobody. We just stole them.

Coral: Nice.

Felix: But forget about that! Dill, we came here to talk-

Dill: Not with you!

Felix: Dill, please just give me a chance to explain-

Dill: You lied to me!

Felix: I’m really sorry-

Dill: You said you were Philip Raven’s Bill! Not a freaking Ravinstill!

Felix: Dill, please-

Dill: Go die in a ditch, you evil Ravinstill!

Felix: But-

Dill: Not listening!

Felix: If I told you that I was a Ravinstill in our first official meet and greet, then you would’ve just cursed me to the moon and back-

Dill: I thought you were my friend!

Felix: We can still be friends if you just hear me out!😭

Reaper: Don’t listen to his evil Ravinstill Propaganda, Dill!

Clemensia: Back off, Reaper!

Androcles: Listen to my bro, Dill!

Felix: I’m here to tell you that-

Dill: I’m going to sleep!

Felix: I’m stopping the Hunger Games forever!

Dill:. . .

Reaper:. . .

Rabid Raccoon:. . .

Dill: Forever?

Felix: Forever.

Dill: How?

Felix: Me and the others are still working on that.

Coryo: We’re replacing the games.

Dill: With what?

Livia: Love Island!

Coryo: Talent show!

Festus: Cooking contest!

Sejanus: Baking contest!

Palmyra: Fear Factor!

Androcles: Go back to fixing the pizza truck, Monty!

Palmyra: Just saying.

Hilarius: *is playing Patty Cake with Wovey* We could always go with my ✨Hunger Games: Singles Inferno✨ plan.😀

Everyone: No!

Wovey: What’s singles inferno?

Hilarius: That’s when-

Coryo: Shut up, Hilari!

Felix: Guys, could you just leave me and Dill for 10 minutes?

Reaper: No!

Dill: Reaper, shoo.

Reaper: Fine! But 5 minutes max!

Androcles: Good luck, Class Pres!

Coryo: Choose my talent show idea, Class Pres!

Sejanus: ✨Hunger Games: The Great Panem Bake Off✨ is better, Class Pres!

Festus: ✨Keeping Up With The Ravinstills✨ will change Panem forever, Class Pres!

Felix: Festus, shoo! Go talk to Coral or something.

Festus: *walks to the other side of the enclosure with everyone else* Don’t deny it, Class Pres!

Felix: Whatever~! I can’t hear your stupid idea from there, Creed!

Dill: *sighs* Finally. Now we can talk in peace.

Felix: So. . . Um-

Dill: So you’re really gonna do it? I mean, stop the Hunger Games from continuing, just because you still want to be my friend?

Felix: Yeah. That’s ✨Operation Felix✨. That’s my brilliant plan.

Dill: Why? I’m just a stranger-

Felix: Because that’s what friends are for, Dill.

Dill: And?

Felix: And because I’m tired of being surrounded by idiots all day.

Dill: *sighs* That’s true. Me too.

Felix: So that’s it. Let’s just stop the Hunger Games and save our favorite idiots from burning Panem to the ground.

Dill: Philip- I mean, Felix, you have to promise me that you and your minions will do your very best to stop this madness, okay?

Felix: I promise.

Dill: Pinky swear?

Felix: Pinky swear.

Dill: But what will you do when the countdown starts? What will you do when the bell rings?

Felix: Don’t worry about that. I’m going to abuse my ✨Ravinstill Nepotism✨ to the point of no return.

Dill: You better, Class Pres! I’m really counting on you!

Felix: So. . .

Dill: I forgive you.

Felix: Really?🥺

Dill: We’re friends again.

Felix: Oh, Dill, I’m so happy-

Dill: But you guys better find the right sponsors to feed us.

Felix: Coryo and I will be working on that.

Dill: Also, I’m allergic to fish. So don’t send me sushi or something nasty like tuna.

Felix: Noted.

Dill: And tell Clemmie to send Reaper only bread and water.

Felix: That’s kinda mean.

Dill: That’s what he gets for being an idiot and cursing my good name!

Felix: Bread and water it is.

Dill: And Felix.

Felix: Yes?

Dill: Buy me a Hello Kitty pajama onesie with matching bunny slippers too. I wanna wear it in your next super secret ✨slumber party✨ with your minions.

Felix: Sure! No problem, Bestie!

Dill: And don’t invite the gremlin.

*Meanwhile, at the other side of the enclosure*

Coryo: *is already eating a slice of pizza with Festus and Sejanus* Mmm.😋 These are really good! 10 out of 10. Would eat again.

Festus: Totally!

Sejanus: I would buy a hundred of these just for you, my Coryo, my love!😍

Lucy Gray: Yo, Coryo, my new best friend, can you give me a slice?🥺

Coryo: Sure. Here you go, Birdy.

Jessup: Me too.

Lysistrata: Here’s two slices for you, Jessie.

Jessup: Thanks, Lizzie.

Facet: ✨Girlie✨, pass me a box.

Livia: Bestie, here! Have three.

Facet: Nice.

Mizzen: *is still tied up* My bacon pizzas!!😭

Persephone: I’m so sorry, Mizzen. Sorrows and prayers to you and your loved ones.😞🙏

Coral: Lol. Don’t be. My gremlin is a certified menace to society.

Palmyra: Like me!😀

Juno: Go back and fix the truck, Monty.

Palmyra: But-

Juno: I’ll tell everyone at school tomorrow about the 10 gallons of milk incident.

Palmyra: Fine.😞 I’ll fix and clean the truck.

Hilarius: Oh, you’re getting good at playing Patty Cake, Wovey.

Wovey: Mr. Rich Clown, can we change the game? I’m bored.

Hilarius: Okay, Wovey. What game do you want to play next?😀

Wovey: Monopoly.

Dennis: *jumps out of nowhere* Nice!

Coryo: By the way, where’s Vipsania, Gaius, and Andie?

Treech: Oh, them? They’re just watching Sheaf sleepwalk and talk with the rabid raccoons.

Sheaf: *is sleep talking* My furry friends, sing ✨Waka Waka✨ by Shakira.

Rabid Raccoons:. . .

Sheaf: Raccoon version!

Rabid Raccoons: *start singing*

Androcles: Guys, are you seeing what I’m seeing?

Vipsania: This is just another fever dream-

Gaius: Andie, get the cameras! The rabid raccoons are singing Waka Waka!

#tbosas #crack #crack post #crackship #snowjanus #coriolanus snow #president snow #sejanus plinth #lucy gray baird #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #the hunger games #suzanne collins #thg #thg fic #tbosas fic #thg incorrect quotes #tbosas incorrect quotes #felix ravinstill #dill #reaper ash #clemensia dovecote #hilarius heavensbee #festus creed #jessup diggs #wovey #treech #mizzen #coral

[superchat]

AC6 subtle storytelling is cool. lxke, anything and everything the intstitute did was unethical in several ways, both for humans and for coral. but the institutes actions, your actions, allminds actions, rusty, ayres, etc are all working under this idea of "the ends justify the means"

everyones actions, at the end of the day, results in the coral release..which, ..I GUESS ITS NOT A BAD THING?? kinda??

seems like a central theme throughout the game is that you cannot make change for a better world without taking losses, radical change is a necessary and comes with a price

i guess the only one who fought for something else was thumb dolmayan, who saw the coral release and got scared and instead went for stagnation, which meant slowly losing a war against the corporations while they bled the planet dry

like elden ring, every crucial character is just a huge radical in their beliefs and what theyre willing to do for them

#literally copy pasting most fmom a discord rant #i spam there a ldt but this is easier for archiviog and sharig #ac6 spoilers #ac6

[animaljamrim]

"Rare Peridot Ring"

"Ruby Ring" Recolor

July 31, 2023

Location: Epic Wonders, Coral Canyons (Top Floor)

Price: 1,500 gems

Shop Page: 1

Nonmember?: Members only

VFX?: twinkling

Variants?: No

#animal jam #aj classic #ajc #jamblr

[spunknbite]

South Downs, revisited

The garden faces south.

Wisteria and lavender. Borders of delphinium. Brilliant violet asters, peonies and shock-white hydrangeas. Hostas that could use splitting come spring. Hollyhocks thriving, standing ten feet easy. Lady’s Mantle, climbing roses, snap dragons. Yarrow, a lot of yarrow.

Grow you a garden. Start from seed, from the beginning, the inception. Dirt under fingernails, cracked terracotta pots, noon sun high. Watch stalks rise and flowers bloom, creation, something new and whole and yours.

There’s lattice-work arches too. A little neglected, water-warped wood imprinted with decades of climbing tendrils tattooing the grain. The clematis has fallen back, overstretched and thinning at the apex, but still the stains of its vines remain on the wood, revealing past summers. The patio stones that dot the perimeter are smoothed almost slippery from years of use and rain. Initials are carved in the trunk of the overgrown birch that shadows the back gate. SM + RB dug deep in testament, a fine layer of moss creeping at the edges.

Loved, this garden was loved by its former caretakers. Could be loved again, certainly.

There’s room enough to spread out. Add some colour — daylilies, cosmos, bellflowers. Coax some ivy up the brick. Mint as ground cover, along with flowering thyme, lily of the valley, phlox. 

He could build an awning off the back wall, offer some more cover. Move the hostas – they’d be happier under the protection. Plant some astilbes, coral bells, some begonias in the summer. Add a few lounges, a place for an angel to read while it storms. 

Maybe an apple tree, if he’s feeling bold.

-----

“I quite miss the country,” Aziraphale says one afternoon. A sip of tea, the familiar clink of cup on saucer. “It’s been centuries.”

“Tadfield?”

“Centuries since I’ve holidayed properly. The occasional day trip hardly counts.”

“You can’t leave this shop.”

“Not permanently, maybe just to get some air. See the sky again.” Saucer meets desk. A smile his way, blue eyes alight,

“And I will make thee beds of Roses  And a thousand fragrant posies,  A cap of flowers, and a kirtle  Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle”

“For Satan’s sake, you’re invoking Marlowe of all people?”

“And why shouldn’t I? Just because he’s been a smidge overshadowed by —”

“You know he was an atheist, angel?”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“And that broken clock can write poetry too?”

“Quite.”

The bell above the shop door rings, and Aziraphale is off. 

-----

The third bedroom is just a nook really; it peaks out of a dormer window overlooking the back garden. It has built-in shelves along one wall, inset and bordered with the sort of colonial crown moulding that Crowley imagines only Aziraphale would truly appreciate. Grandmotherly; shelves seemingly meant to house sun-faded doilies and ceramic cats.

But it could be a library. Granted, a small one, but there was space enough for a collection of the essentials with room to spare under the window for a desk. An angel must keep up with his correspondence, after all. 

Dear angel, he’d written once, centuries ago. Then scribbled it out.

Dear angel, he’d written again, not long after. Then burned it.

Dear angel, he’d written again and again and again. Wasted paper made pulp made paper again, never sent.

-----

He buys the damned cottage. 

Dumb idea. Impulsive, really. Like a lot of what he did, what he still does — gets a notion in his demonic skull and just charges on, unencumbered by reflection. As if he trusts some higher power is looking out for him, has his back – the absurdity of it. Once upon a time before the beginning of the world, he’d sauntered vaguely downward without really considering all the consequences, the ramifications of it all; hadn’t weighed and measured, worked out the celestial maths. No, he made a choice and paid for it without knowing the price.

(he would have kept sauntering on anyway, knowing where it would ultimately lead — earth and humans and their wonderful cars and Aziraphale and and and — but he hadn’t known then, couldn’t have known, just what shape his damnation would take, and that was rather the point; he was a careless idiot)

Here too, on earth. We can run away together — Alpha Centauri. Get an idea, a cocked up, stupid thought and go all in on it. 

The Bentley, raging down London streets. A sharp, nearly blind corner. Is there oncoming traffic? Could he stop if he wanted to? Who’s even in control, has he ever been? Has he gone from one master to another to another?

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

So he buys the damned cottage, because what else can he do?

-----

Aziraphale gets in the elevator and Crowley gets in the Bentley. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but it’s not South Downs.

Also on ao3 for anyone interested.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #today i chose violence #south downs happily ever afters are my fav candy of choice so hey let's ruin that just like season 2 ruined me

[dailydoseofdeadly]

Coral Snake

Name: Eastern Coral Snake

Species: Micrurus Fulvius

Class: Reptilia 

Size: 2-3 feet long

Habitat: In the United States, from southeastern North Carolina to eastern Louisiana

Fatalities: One death in the past 40 years; 47 human bites reported to Florida Poison Control Centers each year

Conservation: Least Concern

The Eastern Coral Snake lurks in dry, typically sandy areas, ranging all throughout the southeastern chunk of the United States. As a part of the Elapidae family, which contains the well-known cobras and mambas of the Southern Hemisphere, getting bit by a coral snake on your hike might cost you more than 3k for an ER visit. Coral snakes are known to be active during all parts of the day, particularly dawn and dusk. Throughout the year, these little guys tend to be especially active during the fall and spring. 

Unlike other snakes, coral snakes are a little shy and awkward. Many Floridan hikers who have had the pleasure (or displeasure, depending on whether they got bit or not) of coming face to face with a coral snake have reported that they are not aggressive towards humans without any provocation. Moral of the story: don’t touch them, they won’t touch you. And now you’re saving 3k and your forearm. 

Coral snakes, as told by their name, are very vibrant, exhibiting red, black, and yellow rings on the entire length of their body. Their smooth skin makes them look polished. Looks like someone remembered to wear their moisturizer. Typically, the females are longer than men, who are only 2 feet long, while most females are 3 feet. Short kings, am I right? Now speaking of kings… 

If you happen to cross paths with a coral snake (or something that looks like a coral snake?), before deciding to piss your pants, take a look at the color arrangement on the body of the snake. Taking it up north, the king snake, which does look a lot like the coral snake, resides in the barren wasteland from Illinois to Texas, and south to Alabama. They are unlike the coral snake in almost every way except looks. The king snake is not venomous and likes wet areas. If you get bit by a king snake, it’ll probably just hurt, not kill you. Well, how do I figure out if the yellow, red, and black ringed snake near me is venomous or not?? Just remember this simple mnemonic, “Red touch black, safe for Jack; red touch yellow, kill a fellow”. 

However, if you end up being the unluckiest person alive and end up getting bitten by a coral snake, get immediate help immediately. That was redundant, but it gets my point across. Spend the 3k on an ambulance ride to the ER; it costs less than the heavy price tag your life wears. Being a part of the same family as the black mamba and king cobra, the coral snakes’ fangs wield an extremely potent neurotoxic venom. This venom attacks the nervous system, characterized by muscle weakness, difficulty speaking, difficulty breathing, difficulty swallowing, paralysis, and potential respiratory arrest. To avoid these effects and potential death, get anti-venom for the toxin immediately. Being quick to get the anti-venom isn’t quick enough. Delayed use of anti-venom for victims who show these symptoms has shown to progress to paralysis within half a day. The one victim of the venom failed to get medical treatment for the coral snake bite. 

Just like Taylor Swift said, Florida is one hell of a drug, and if you get bit by a coral snake there, let’s hope that drug is rapidly administered anti-venom.

Image from The University of Florida, Florida Museum

#marine biology #omg #omgpage #deadly #nature #biology #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #florida #florence and the machine #coral snake

[quek-a-sketch]

For the BRK, are there any specific design things for the characters? Like would Edyn have any jewelry or would Gill have something from Edyn etc etc

Ok so!! The main big one I can think of rn is Gillion has the other Axe earring that matches Chip, he wears it as a necklace until he gets a piercing later in canon in allport! It's what makes him leave the undersea along with some photos so that's a pretty big one!

(they only had enough money to buy one thing from a stall so they bought a pair of earrings and wore one each to match)

Edyn still has her star shaped jewelry! I'd say one is an earring, ones a necklace and ones a ring! It was a tiered necklace when she was young but it got broken over the years after the wreck, she has a lot of piercings in the present compared to canon Edyn, she also has a head piece thing! Think the headbands from sailor moon but there's a crystal pink star in the middle

She does have a little seashell pendant she keeps locked away, Gillion also has one! It's on a little bracelet far too small for him now, but he took it with him to the oversea, they are from the many pendants and trinkets Finn would decorate his hair with! Gils bracelet also has a little pink star for Edyn and a red flower for Lizzie (though he doesn't know that until later)

Lizzie got rid of a lot of her sentimental things from her time on the Midnight rose... Is what she says but she has a matching braclet to gillion, but instead of a seashell and the red flower hers has a blue marble (Gil) and a fire shaped pendant (chip), I think now she might have them as earrings or attached to her outfit reeeeallll subtle (the marble was probably broken and a shard was turned into a ring for example!)

Chip would be the most littered in memories but the sad truth is he lost a lot of them when it sank, or over the years with other street kids taking them etc he has his axe earring and as a kid he had a bracelet aswell (same as Lizzie's but with a red flower pendant for her instead of a flame)

He had a pearl bracelet made from pearls Gil would collect for him and Lizzie and Edyn helped make it for his birthday when he was young , he has an old locket with a rose on the front and inside is a photo of them all on the black rose! (Price took both of these from chip when they got close)

He also now has a ruby earring and an earring that's literally a piece of pink coral he pierced his ear with

Sorry if this isn't incoherent or very clear but!!

I need to make full actual design changes to them which I promise I'll draw eventually!!

#black rose kids au #jrwi #jrwi au #gillion tidestrider #edyn tidestrider #captain edyn

[trash-monkey]

The Other Side Of The Lake

"Come, mariner, down in the deep with me;

And hide thee under the wave;

For I have a bed of coral for thee,

And quite and sound shall thy slumber be..." A soft voice rings throughout the empty training ground in the warm night as an unusual person sits at the waters edge of the stream that runs through it.

"On a pillow of pearls thine eye shall sleep,

And nothing disturb thee there." Wet raven colored hair sits gently around the porcelain face barely touching their shoulders and eyelids lift with thick eyelashes revealing greenish blue doe shaped eyes looking up at the starry night sky.

"The fishes their silent vigils shall keep;

There shall be no grass thy grave to sweep,

But the silk of a mermaid's hair." Their voice trails off as they finished the song to finally take notice of the small eyes watching the peculiar person only to cause them to flinch when the person turn their own eyes to them but only to find kindness instead of the usual hatred.

"Hello child, what brings you here tonight?" They cooed at the shaking dirty clothed child hoping to ease his fear but he doesn't respond.

"My name is Ryuu Tama and what is your?" I tried again and rewarded with a reply this time.

"N-naruto Uzumaki, what are you?" He asked after seeing my black orchid colored fish tail dipping into the water instead of human legs while creeping forward but still cautious.

"Come sit next to me and I'll tell." I pat the ground beside me with a smile which he dose but leaves some space between us.

"I am what you would call a Nix, we are from the same tree of merfolk as mermaids and sirens which makes us their cousins." He's eyebrows frown together while processing the information that mermaids actually exist and not like the book describe that ,he find in an alleyway even though he couldn't read well he still tried until he got too frustrated to continue on so he placed it in the nightstand for a different time.

"What makes you different from the other two?"

"It's because we have two special powers, one we call Boulevard where we can create a underwater space filled with sea life and we can enter it through any type, size, or shape of water but we can only be able to use this power when we find our mate which I haven't found yet so I live in my parents Boulevard until I do. The second one you'll found out at a later time as it is late and you should have been to bed by now, young children like you must need their sleep if they wish to grow up strong." I make it as if I'm telling him a secret before telling him it's bed time making him sad and pout.

"Child do not worry, if you wish I shall be here again tomorrow." I promised him while giving his messy blond hair a pat causing his eyes to light up in excitement and happiness at the possibility of making a friend.

"Ok! I'll see you tomorrow!" He loudly claimed before running off which I watch until his figure is gone before sinking into my parents Boulevard but sadly they aren't among the living, with a happy sigh I lay onto my bed of seaweed and drift of to sleep with thoughts of the precious child of the sun. Around the same time like yesterday I pull myself out of the Boulevard to sit at the streams edge only to find the boy already there in his previous spot.

"Well, hello again. Like promised I'm here and I hope you haven't been waiting too long, so what did you today?" With that he immediately goes off talking about the food he called 'rawman' that he had for every meal today.

"I've never had this 'rawman' but I'm sure having it for every meal isn't good for you, Naruto? Don't you want to get big and strong?" At first he was astonished before deflating.

"Yes but....." He whispered to the point I could hear him while turning his gaze to the grass.

"I couldn't hear you, can you speak louder for me please?" I reach out and gently rise his head to look at me only to see me smiling at him.

"But people always give me out of date stuff while also over pricing it, everywhere I look people are glaring like I did something but I don't know. Why does everyone but Jiji hate me!!" By the end tears are falling from his sea colored eyes and I quickly bring him into my arms.

"I do not hate you, Naruto and I have a feeling I never will." I rub his back as he crys his heart out, while rocking I started humming a song.

"Two loving souls by death cruelly parted

In madness and grief, a dark path started

Calamity was drawn, rituals subverted

But by her cold steel was death averted

Mortal ties broken, with the adepti she went

Their abiding place filling paternal bonds rent

To her red strings of binding they sent

And they dwelt long together content

The crane returned to a home without luster

The cobwebs overgrown, the grave-shrouds a-fluster

But one bond upon her

This world could not muster

From the world she seems apart

But there are those who know her heart

With crimson spear and flashing brand

To still the raging tides they stand

The crane once returned

And once, she was spurned

She turned, and left alone

Now, she might be found with friends all around

To whom she is bound — a home." By the end his tears are dry up while look up at me in aww which I smiled at.

"You like the song? It's one of many songs my mother sung to me." He nods.

"But I don't get it." He tiles his head in confusion causing me to laugh at his cuteness.

"How about I tell you tomorrow, yes? It's bed time now." He pouts his lips, standing and walk a few feet away before turning back to me.

"Will you tell me more stories?" He asked sweetly while staring at the ground.

"Of course!" He gives a large smile before completely leaving and I return to the Boulevard to sleep.

_______________________________________________

#fanfic #anime #naruto au #naruto oc #naruto #naruto universe #naruto uzumaki #gaara

[princerealgems]

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[thebigshotman]

Starting today in Spaul’s little store in the landfill-yes, he hasn’t relocated just yet-choosing “BUYMORE!!!” will actually take you to something different. The four new items that the Addisons gave him.

Coral gave him a standard makeup set to sell, which will temporarily increase Defense.

Saffron gave him buttercups that can be pinned on, increasing the amount of TP accumulated.

Navy gave him White Ribbons, which increase the graze time of bullets and makes it easier to do so.

And Clem gave him free certificates for one bottle of Self Flavored-Teas to sell. Nothing much other than what it says on the tin.

The product descriptions are a lot less clickbait-y, but they still sound a little shady and the prices still oscillate between double digit and four digit amounts of Kromer. And of course, he’s still selling his terrible bowties, his poison, his broken swords, and his replica Dealmakers. They’re just under the “BUY” menu now.

The shop itself looks the same. But now there’s a very glitchy pop up over the store, featuring him smiling wide as his glasses alternate their colors.

SPAMTON G [Spaul] SPAMTON’S HOMEMADE STORE!!! COME ON IN AND [[Buy Now!]]!!

As for the puppet himself, he’s positioned at the desk as usual. Tapping his fingers along to the music as the phone rings to its tune every now and then. Hopefully, this is just what he needs to drive up business.

Hopefully, he won’t let his newfound friends down.

#(replies to stuff will come later on today!) #(just showing that Spaul’s had his shop inventory updated now 😁) #ONE WEIRD TIP-in character #NOTHING MORE THAN A SIMPLE PUPPET-main verse #TUNING IN-status

[grecojewelers-blog]

Captivating Round Cut Diamond Rings for Exquisite Brides

Chances are that there are at least a couple of people you know who have round-cut diamond rings. Round-cut diamond rings in Ft. Myers, FLare quite popular for modern brides who are searching for something classic, and elegant that offers brilliant shine and shimmer.

Reasons to love round diamond rings and necklaces

One of the main reasons why a lot of brides tend to prefer a round-cut diamond necklace in Ft. Myers, FL is that it tends to have shine and shimmer just like a diamond ring. When you choose a round diamond you can be sure it will be glitter ring all the time.

Round diamonds also tend to mask color better than other shapes. This means that you can rest assured your diamond will look bright and white. These diamonds are also quite versatile and easily pair with a range of cuts, settings, and styles to suit your needs.

Your round diamond is great at hiding inclusions owing to how sparkly they are. However, your jewelry repair in Cape Coral, FL will tell you that round diamonds are the most expensive diamonds.

These diamonds never go out of style and can easily be passed down to future generations as an heirloom piece for years to come. If you are on a budget, you will need to decide what’s more important to you, the size or clarity of your diamond.

The cut of your diamond is directly proportional to how sparkly your stone will be. Always pick an excellent cut and high grade for your diamond. Head to a reliable and trusted professional who can offer you a range of high-end metals and stones at an affordable price.

A solitaire and prong setting works best with this diamond as it is simple and allows the beauty of your stone to stand out and shine. You can also pair your ring with a diamond band that offsets the sparkle.

End Note

Like with any diamond ring, make sure to take your piece to a professional every couple of months to clean, repairs, and maintain it so that it looks new and shiny for years to come. Your jeweler will polish the stone, buff the metal band, and tighten the setting so that it stays in good condition for a long time.

You should also store your ring safely away before cleaning, cooking, swimming, gardening, showering, sleeping or even exercising.

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[sunlightmurdock]

AETERNA | One

PROLOGUE | MASTERLIST

SYNOPSIS: TROUBLE COMES TO TOWN.

WARNINGS: smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; smoking weed; mentions of sw as a joke; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff. word count: 6312.

The summer in Atwood, Georgia, began as all summers in Atwood always had. Slow. Creeping in through the remaining breezes, blooms and spring showers. Fitting itself into the days so unsuspectingly. It never feels like it’s really summer until the sweat is already beading down your back and the girls’ skirts are an inch shorter than they were a year before.

There’s a spot around the back of Creekside Pines Retirement Village, covered by the shade of those namesake pines, where the girls who work there go to smoke. The Pines has been around longer than any of the residents currently in it; the Church started it decades ago and they made sure to keep it going.

Tucked under the shade of those thick, green pine trees, the branches provide a respite from the approaching early summer sun and also from your dirtbag boss, Conrad Wheelan.

Olive and you, you and Olive. Since Conrad hired you last September, the two of you have become quite the dynamic duo. Candy-striped partners in crime, experts at avoiding old guy sponge bath time. Smokers of cheap, gas station cigarettes. Gossipers of a truly impressive standard.

You’re sitting on opposite sides of the brick walls that bracket the stairs to the back door, your foot beside her hip and hers beside yours, your knees bent and a Marlboro between your index and middle.

“But anyway, I think she’s just jealous. He broke up with her for a reason.” Her face is veiled for a moment by tendrils of swirling cigarette smoke before the midday sun beams once again on her freckled face. She’s talking about a boy she has been fooling around with. He’s older, and he called off his engagement two months ago.

His ex really has it out for Olive. She’s a pretty little nurse at the local hospital. Her daddy went after the poor guy with a gun when the engagement broke. The ex went after Olive in the middle of Herb’s Wholefoods, shoved her right into the display of tinned peaches. But hey, your Mom got six dented tins for the price of one. Silver linings and all that jazz.

Your break was over twenty minutes ago, but the AC is broken and you’ve spent the morning choking on the smell of Eau de Old Lady — the smell of magnolias in bloom and Marlboros on fire are a much welcome change in pace.

Besides, your best friend is in crisis. She’s got a bruise the size of a not-tinned, regular ol’ peach in the middle of her back, a shattered ego, and apparently a new step-kid on the way.

“So, what’s he going to do about it?” You ask her, your face towards the sun, cigarette ash on the wall beside you.

“The baby? — I don’t know. She didn’t even want the kid until he told her he was leaving, now she’s suddenly Mother Theresa.” Olive says with a wistful sigh. Her older boyfriend got that girl in trouble and ran for the hills, but apparently he treats Olive like a princess. Your mother says she’s trouble, but you like her.

Girls like Olive will always pick the wrong kind of man. It’s that kind of No Man’s Land where human nature and fate come to make out — and that’s not Olive’s fault — she’s just at their will; like a puppet. Or a hamster on a wheel.

“You know, I think you’d make a pretty boss step-mommy.” You tell her, cocking your head the way that you do when you know you’re dancing right along her nerve endings. A smile creeps across your coral- glossed lips, revealing the coral-glossed ring they have left around the butt of the cigarette.

“Oh, bite me. You know I’d rather swap places with Hughie Marshall than get stuck raising her kid.” Olive scoffs out, flicking at the cigarette with a red painted nail and bending her bruised knees. That’s quite a thing to say around here.

You didn’t know Hughie, before. Not really. His dad was the principal of your high school, but you knew him after Hughie was already back.

Apparently before his accident, Hughie was a real stud. All-American with dark hair and a bright future. Then he stepped on a landmine in Cambodia; he wasn’t even supposed to be there by the official military statement. But he was.

He doesn’t leave the house anymore. His brain’s all mashed together and he’s got a metal plate in the left side of his head. One arm and no right foot, but worse than that — no jaw. Folks say it was taken clean off in the blast. They sent him out to California for a whole bunch of surgeries, but he still looks like a guy who has been pieced back together.

But Olive’s only kidding about wanting to be in his place. No one wants to be in Hughie’s place, especially not Hughie.

Her joke isn’t the kind of thing that needs to be laughed at, your polite exhale of amusement mixes with the soft rustle of leaves, a fleeting moment of rebellion against Dictator Wheelan and his reign of terror. Each smoky exhale carries whispers of things that would make your mothers shiver, but such is the way for two girls on the cusp of freedom.

In this hidden sanctuary, on the cusp of the woods, the two of you are a united front against the elderly residents of The Pines. Rather than the bell that signaled the end of your freedom in your school days, nowadays it’s the sound of heavy leather shoes on the linoleum that signal the end of your stolen respite.

“Shit.”

“Shit.” The two of you agree, stubbing out your cigarettes and leaping up from the walls, throwing the butts into the mess of fallen foliage at the side of the building.

And at once, Conrad swings open the fire escape door and finds the two of you standing there in your candy-striped aprons, white stockings and pristinely white shoes. Like butter wouldn’t fucking melt.

He’s a towering man, maybe six foot five in his prime, but he hunches a bit from his constant slouching at his desk. He was a red- head once, but now his hair has thinned to the point of scarcity, and he’s usually got a razor rash on his neck from shaving a bit too hastily in the mornings. He knows damn well that the two of you were out here slacking.

“Ladies,” He tries, his smile tight-lipped and half frozen, like a salesman who couldn’t quite make himself look human enough to get the job. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Halbert and Mrs. Knight could use some help in the dining room.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wheelan.” Olive hits him back with a smile that comes much more naturally, and a cool shrug of her shoulders. She’s a real girl-next-door type. It’s why the wrong kind of guy likes her so much. You’re halfway certain that her killer smile and her long legs are the only reason that Conrad hasn’t fired her yet.

“Yes, sir.” You follow suit.

He allows the both of you to dip around him and just like that, you’re locked back in with the living dead. Old folks who seem just as confused as you about how they’re still hanging on. Oh, that’s mean, really — they aren’t so bad. They’re nice to you. You listen to them.

“I like it when you wear your hair like that,” Mrs. Knight tells you, sitting back uncomfortably. Her green eyes study you, her fingers curled around a shivering china teacup. “Much better than when it's down.”

You’ve learned by now that most of the compliments in this place come with a backhand. Your chin propped up on your palm, you answer her with an amused smile.

“Maybe you could do my hair like yours one day, June,” You suggest, stacking together the remnants of her lunch so that it’ll be easier to porter back to the kitchen. She used to own her own salon down on Mayfair Lane, your mother got her first haircut from June Knight. You shoot a look across the room at Arnie Knight, who is watching you care for his wife. “Teach me how to land a guy like Arnie.”

“Oh, honey — you know my Arnie’s one of a kind.” She giggles. Your mouth twists back into a grin. He sure is. He stormed the beaches in Normandy and still found it in himself to father seven kids once he made it back. In his day, Arnie sounds like he was a stud.

There aren’t too many studs left in Atwood these days. Those boys are either wandering hallowed halls, meat-heads that will be here forever or settled six feet under. Anyone more than four years older than you is either a war hero, or they’re like Hughie Marshall.

The ones that still wake up in Cole County aren’t the kind of boys you’ll be sharing your golden years with, anyway. No, you’ve got much bigger plans for your retirement.

Napa Valley, a sprawling house with burnt orange tile overlooking a vineyard withthat your silver-fox husband who tends to you while you enjoy the fruits of his labour and spend your afternoons tipsy, waiting for the party to start that evening. Far, far from the shade of the trees that line Marsh’s Creek, beside Creekside Pines Retirement Village.

That’s one day, though. For today, the excitement stretches as far as letting Billy Cline pick you up in his true blue 1965 Chevy short bed pickup. Just like most of the guys your age that are in this town, you’ve known Billy for a long time. Your mother still thinks of him as the sweet little boy with blonde curls and overalls.

He still wears overalls, but his blonde curls are now straighter, slicked back with a generous helping of pomade. He came right from work, the auto shop in town, to pick you up.

You change shamelessly in the passenger seat of his truck as he speeds along the old road out towards the Cole County airport, shoving your uniform into your bag and wriggling into the clothing you had smuggled past your mother.

“I’m not driving you home wearing that,” Billy chortles, eyes wide and already shaking his head as you pull the knitted halter neck over your chest, your lips pursed in concentration as you fasten the tie behind your neck. “I’ll stop at the Post Office and you can walk from there.”

Exhaling and kicking the bag into the footwell, you tug open the glovebox and start to root for the sunglasses you left in here last time.

“What? You don’t dig the orange?”

You know full well that Billy’s concerns about your outfit don’t start or end with the burnt orange color of your hot pants. He scoffs loudly beside you to agree as your fingers stumble across the little plastic baggie at the back of his glovebox.

“I don’t dig that your old man threatened to slash my tires last time he saw me rollin’ with you.”

That makes you laugh. You pluck the green from the glovebox and melt back into the blue suede seats Billy had spent all of last summer fixing up.

“Fred wouldn’t hurt you.” Your father talks a big talk sometimes, maybe that’s where you can get it from, but he likes Billy and he’s not the kind of father that spends his time worrying about which boy you’re messing around with. “Might trick you into doing some yard work for him, though.”

Straight, empty road for miles ahead, Bill turns his head and looks at the bag caught between your index and middle fingers, dangling toward him like the forbidden fruit itself.

“Great, so I’ll take you home high as a kite and dressed like a hooker and he’ll invite me to water his gardenias.” He hums, reaching out and snatching the bag from you. He still has every intention of lighting up, but he knows there’s a pothole about a mile ahead and the last time he let you roll up along this road wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Come on, Bill — now,” Your white canvas sneakers are still discarded in the footwell, you kick your bare feet up onto the dash. “That’s no way to talk to your best chance at ever getting laid, is it?”

There’s a fondness in the way he rolls those steely-blue eyes at you. There’s no real destination at the end of this long, empty stretch of road. There are one of four possible spots for the two of you to pick from.

Just far enough from Conrad Wheelan, and your father’s gardenias, and the Cole County sheriff's department for the two of you to crawl into the bed of the truck, light up and wait for time to pass.

It’s no way to spend summer, really. But this is the last May that your afternoons will look like this. Next May, you’ll be thinking about Olive and Billy from the Paramount Pictures backlot. Maybe Warner Brothers, you’re not in a position to be too picky.

As a kid, you had sworn that you would pack your things and head for the hills the day that you turned eighteen. Things hadn’t worked out quite that way, but now, you’ll be sitting in the Malibu sunshine before you turn twenty-three.

“Who the fuck is that?”

You drop the bag onto the bench and follow Billy’s eyes towards the rearviewrear view mirror, fully prepared to see your Uncle Paul’s police cruiser coming up behind you. Instead, you’re met with the picture of a very small heavy hauler. Cherry-red, coming over the hill like hell on wheels. It’s illegal to drive that fast, even out here. Especially in something that big.

The house that you pass on the left has two young kids who live there, and the Whistler family let those kids play in that unfenced yard all day long. A big, red truck coming along this country road that fast… bye, bye Whistler family.

“Fuckin’ maniacs.” Billy mutters, frowning and shaking his head. It almost makes you smile. William Cline, slipping back into the weepy little boy he had once been, a stickler for the rules back then. But you don’t have time to smile.

Your knees push up onto the suede, your palm flattening against the back window, sticking to the glass with a squeak as you slide it open. That cherry red truck is a lot clearer without the filter of dust and dirt between you, and a lot less small now that it’s getting closer.

“Probably late for a delivery or something. It’s gonna try to pass you.” You realise, resting your arms over the back of the bench. Billy almost forgets why that’s important as he glances across at the way those burnt orange shorts flex around your ass.

He swallows, checks the rear-view mirror and remembers the sharp bend coming up. There aren’t any signs and it kind of comes out of nowhere, and if this jerk tries to overtake him on it, his truck is going to wind up in a ditch.

He eases his foot onto the break and considers just stopping all together, biting the inside of his cheek. Out of towners. The truck grows bigger and bigger, the engine rumbling like a growl, until it’s close enough that you can see the man behind the wheel. His hair is longish and feathery, jet-black and his face is half covered by a pair of green lensed sunglasses.

By his side is a kid, already looking at you. She has long blonde hair tied back in two braids, and a strange look on her face. Like she is excited to see you. She sits forwards in her seat and cocks her head sharply to the side, her eyes tracking you as the truck whizzes by. The sharp motion makes you pull back swiftly from the window.

Her head twists to follow until she’s out of your view and you’re blinking at the painted trailer being hauled by the truck. Maverick’s Cabinet of Mysteries. A circus. Red and white stripes and a big, shining yellow font.

“Did you see that kid?” The words spill from your lips as you brace one hand against the dashboard, watching the rest of the truck whizzes by, trying to blink that awful, jerky, movement of her neck from your mind.

“What? — No, I saw that jackass almost take my side view mirror with him.” Billy huffs out angrily, putting his foot back on the gas the second that giant trailer is past him.

It’s not the only one. Right behind the first, is another truck that appears identical. You don’t get a look at the driver, just the red and white stripes and Maverick’s Cabinet of Mysteries in that shiny red and gold font.

“Who even goes to the frickin’ circus anymore?” Billy’s care for his truck spills out in bitterness as he steadies the wheel and watches the second truck be succeeded by a third. All three of them, red and gold and white death traps, growling as they speed along the road ahead of you.

The cold feeling from the first truck has passed by, now you’re at the mercy of the sun being at its highest point, casting out heat like a blanket, warming the cab of the truck like a greenhouse.

Twisting in your seat, your lips twitch as you find that the three cargo trucks aren’t unaccompanied. Behind them is a string of vehicles, lead by a pretty far-out Chevy camper with rad burnt orange racer stripes along the side.

You look back at Billy over your shoulder. “We could.”

It’s not like there is much else to do around this place. Beats the regular Friday tune of heading down to the Empire movie theatre by Lane Street and sipping at a sugary, fizzing coke while watching a Western.

As the camper draws closer, your gaze locks on to the two people sitting in the front. A dark haired woman, her lips red and round, sucking on a lollipop with her bare feet kicked up onto the dash. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, but you know she’s looking at you.

It’s almost at the speed limit, not quite at the same terrifying speed as the trucks ahead but still warranting a ticket. In the driver’s seat is a real stone fox, broad and tanned with sunkissed brown caramel-curls and a real Burt-Reynolds-in-100-Rifles kind of moustache.

They’re driving with the windows down, cooled by the breeze in their hair like they aren’t icy enough already. Her sunglasses are round and plastic-framed, with orange lenses. So cool— so California. And him too.

Even with his more standard gold-framed caravans, his barely buttoned blue short sleeve and the equally caramel coloured dusting of chest hair spilling out, he looks like a movie star.

You’re barely aware of Billy crushing your idea beside you. “Me? — Nah. Sorry, sister, no way — lame, lame, lame.”

Doesn’t matter, you’ll be going with or without him if Mr. Movie Star is going to be there.

His white camper with the orange stripes gets close enough for you to realise that it’s not just her looking at you, he is too. It’s a little narcissistic to assume that it’s for any reason other than the way you’re already staring at them, but the thought of the two of them liking what they see — thinking maybe you could look like them — makes your coral lips stretch.

Up close, you can hear the blaring sound of their radio. A guitar riff that you remember from somewhere deep in the back of your mind, something you know you’ve heard many times before but just can’t place.

You follow them, magnetized by the draw of their eyes, planting a palm right between Billy's greased overall thighs and leaning across the bench to keep staring through the rolled-down driver’s side window.

The raven-haired woman pushes the lollipop into the hollow of her cheek and tells him something. You can’t hear it over the sound of their radio blaring out. He responds with a just-can’t-help-it kind of grinning chuckle, turning his head to look across at you.

The door was open, and the wind appeared.

The candles blew, and then disappeared.

The curtains flew, and then he appeared.

Sayin’ “Don’t be afraid.”

On all fours, looking at him like he’s the new guy at the zoo.

Come on, baby (and she had no fear).

And she ran to him (then they started to fly).

They looked backward and said goodbye (she had become like they are).

Heat gathered across your skin, that knitted late summer sunset coloured halter stretched tight across your chest, scandalous by the standards of Atwood — downright foxy if you ventured further west.

Your hair has been freed from the tidy updo that Conrad Wheelan prefers it to be in while you’re working, but not quite tamed after that. Wild and free, as the wind whips through it.

As if to try to contain your grin, you sink your teeth into the coral of your bottom lip, beaming at him anyway. Then, you lift the hand that isn’t settled between Billy’s thighs, and wiggle your fingers at him in greeting.

“What the hell are you doin’? — I can’t even see the road!” Billy complains.

Mr. Movie Star couldn’t have heard him, but he shoots a look at the complaining driver anyway. Then, his attention is yours again. Still smiling that amused smile, he lifts a tanned arm from its perch against the open window ledge, and throws up a loose peace sign across the stretch of road between you. His passenger laughs around her lollipop.

”Sayin’ hello. It’s polite.” You tell him back.

Between his obnoxious music, the wind whipping between the cars, and the equally polite indoor voice you had spoken in, there’s no way that Mr. Movie Star could have possibly heard you. He laughs like he had.

With that, the camper passes by. It takes the song and the blaring guitar with it, the rhythmic picking carrying across the flat stretches of road. It’s got tinted windows all around the sides and back. A real pussy wagon, you bet. Mr. Movie Star has probably seen a lot of action in the back of that van. Queue the wistful sigh from you. If you could just stop from grinning.

“Get off. C’mon, put your seatbelt on or something.”

“He was really something, don’t ya think?” You say, still grinning dumbly as you retreat back to the designated passenger’s spot, tracking the camper along the old stretch of Airport Road.

“Yeah, yeah — mellow out before you ruin my seats.” Billy grumbles, frowning at his side-view mirror. Six more vehicles to go; none of them drive quite as wild as those first couple of big trucks.

“How long d’you think they’re in town for?” You prop one elbow against the side of the door and plant your chin atop your palm, staring after the camper as you kick your feet across Billy’s lap. “You think it’s like an all- summer deal or just a couple of weekends?”

Billy shoots a steely look across the cab.

Sure, he was kind of a weedy kid. Small for his age, with a mom who was rarely more than a stone’s throw away. He’s not bad looking. Stick thin with a long, straight nose but pretty blue eyes. There’s usually motor oil in his blonde hair these days.

Either way, he hadn’t always exactly been the pick of the litter but with the war and stuff, he’s not such a bad option these days.

And still, you’ve had him benched in the friend zone since freshman year. Both of you know that it’ll just take an especially dry season for you to finally do him, and you are good company, he likes having you around.

He doesn’t like the douchebag with the ‘stache moving in on the closest thing he has to a girlfriend.

“They might stop by The Pines — you know, like those folks from the fair did, that one time.” you’re really talking to yourself at this point.

Billy looks across, unimpressed as he’s overtaken by a 1959 Ford F-100, painted a faded shade of light green.

Three people are crammed into the cab, and as it slips in front of you, you find that the bed of the truck is also occupied.

Two girls and one hell of a guy. He’s sitting with his back to the cab, shirtless and golden all over with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a hand of cards held to his chest.

The two girls are wearing little tanks and coloured hot pants, conferring with each other while he watches, cool as ice.

He’s grinning, a smooth talker even when you can’t hear what he’s saying. It’s not money that he’s talking those poor girls out of either, that’s why one of them proudly has his t-shirt balled up in her lap.

“Mrs. Cavendish would have a cow if—“ your rambling trails and your smile spreads as Golden Boy looks up from his poker game and finds you watching. “Whoa. Where are they finding these dudes?”

“Probably jail,” Billy mumbles, begrudging the topless wonder in the back of the truck. “Or a register of some kind, if you catch my drift.”

Golden Boy’s lips stretch thin around his hand-rolled cigarette, his grin dimpling his cheeks. Totally jiving with the way you’re staring at him, stretching his already broad shoulders like a peacock would with its feathers.

He’s a sandy kind of blonde and maybe even more of a movie-star looker than his buddy had been.

He tips his chin and graces you with a nod of acknowledgement. Then, he looks down at the hand of cards and closes his lips around the cigarette, inhaling deeply.

With a cool shrug, he cocks an eyebrow and seems to dare his two lady companions to put their money where their mouths are.

Billy glances down at the bag of green still on the bench between the two of you, practically starting a mental countdown until the two of you are out by the Falls, high as kites. Far from tanned, muscled carnie folk.

The trucks and cars pass by and head for the horizon, and Billy’s blue Chevy hugs the curves of winding country roads all the way out past Route Thirteen. Past Airport Road, there’s no sign of your two new objects of affection — given the heat of the late afternoon, you’re starting to wonder if all of them were a mirage or something.

That’s what the boys who come back from war tell you they saw out there. Apparitions in the jungle, like ghosts, but nice. Tommy Holdman says he thought he had died out there, laying flat on his back after he lost his leg, and all he could see was miles and miles of coastline. A perfect, pretty beach. His own idea of heaven.

Yours, apparently, is something far different.

The Falls isn’t really a waterfall. It’s maybe a ten- foot slow incline in the river bend. It’s shitty enough to not draw too many visitors, unlike the much more popular swimming spot out where the old quarry is. That place would be packed on an afternoon like this.

Your spot is on the far end of the county, nestled a while back off the road but not too far into the woods. It’s a spot to cool off without having to commit to really swimming, and it’s the only spot you know where the fuzz wouldn’t come poking around at the smell of skunk.

No one comes out here, not even the cops.

The afternoon is all yours, right through into the evening. It didn’t take Billy long to get over his mood, he’s grinning when he drops you off, right by your front door.

There’s no way he would make you walk all the way from the Post Office, not really. Everyone’s heard those stories of girls going missing in small towns like this, and through all of her faults, Betty Cline had raised a pretty stand-up young man.

“See ya Tuesday, I’ll call you!” You wave to him as you jog up the front steps onto the porch of your parents’ home.

He waves back from the driver’s side of his truck, and drives home to his mother’s roast chicken the same way he always does. She still packs his lunches too.

Fred looks up from Hawaii Five-O, in all of its multicoloured, static-fuzz glory as the screen door rattles to an abrupt shut. He flinches as the heavier, wood front door slams behind it.

“Look at that, she is alive.” He calls from the living room, for your ears more than anyone else’s.

“Hi, Papa Bear. You worrying about me again?” You coo, kicking your shoes off by the door and strolling across the hardwood, bracing yourself on the doorframe as you swing widely into the parlour, where Fred sits in his recliner, staring at his prized possession — the color TV set he bought after the new year.

“Worryin’ about you is like worryin’ the fox might hurt itself on its way out of the coop.”

You don’t much mind the image of yourself, the sly fox, prowling around town and making all of those chicken-shit boys cry for help. Your mouth almost twitches at the thought as you plonk yourself down on the carpeted floor and turn your attention towards Steve McGarrett saving the day.

Clearly at some point after you have nestled onto the carpet with your back to him, Fred clocks the outfit you have wandered home in.

“Now, where’d the hell did you even buy somethin’ like that?” You can hear the wrinkled frown on his aging face. He’s only in his fifties now, but with deep wrinkles and freckles from years working outside.

“Church-sale, I think.” You answer back, wondering if your mother is still up. She goes to bed early on weeknights so that she can be up early for her work at the grocery store in the mornings.

Fred lost his sense of smell when he worked in the mines in his late teens — he couldn’t tell the difference if you smelled like Mary-Jane or magnolias.

“You were with that kid from the auto shop again?” Fred puffs on cigarettes like a chimney. It turns the white ceilings brown occasionally, but your Mom has always been ready with a tin of cloud-coloured paint to fix that.

“Uh-huh. You know Billy.”

“Yeah.” He decides. There are worse boys you could be running around with than that teary-eyed fella.

“Saw a bunch of vans out by Airport Road today. Setting up a circus somewhere near here.” You tell him absently, both of you watching the television set as you pick at the carpet.

“Heard somethin’ about that. Gus O’Malley’s renting his south pasture out for something like that, I think.”

“I was thinking I could maybe borrow the car Saturday. Take Georgie.”

Georgie is an accident; an anniversary celebration turned rambunctious fifth grader with a knack for messing with your stuff while you’re at work. But he’s a cute kid, you’ll give him that. The little booger is fun to be around sometimes.

With Georgie around, there’s something to do other than head out of town and drink or smoke or spend the money that’s supposed to get you to California. If you take Georgie, Fred usually sponsors the trip.

“This Saturday?”

“Yeah. Figured they’d be running by then.” You lean your palms back into the rug, worn velvet under them. It doesn’t bother you that Fred barely turns his head from the television — before that, it had been the sports highlights in the paper.

“If you’re going to get him all hopped up on sugar, do me a favor and drop him off at Grandma’s on the way back.” Fred chortles, mostly to himself, as he brings a half-warm Budweiser to his mouth.

You smile at that, remembering the days Fred threatened to do the same to you. You grab at the knee of his faded blue jeans to push yourself up from the ground.

“Thought I might drop him off by the interstate, set him free. Like God intended.” You tell the house, headed for the hallway with the end goal being your bedroom on the second floor of the humble blue craftsman.

“I-59, not I-75. Can’t have him finding his way home.” Fred calls as you take the first step out onto the stairs, your fingers trailing your work bag, discarded onto the chipped wooden post that ends the railing.

“Now where in God’s name did you find those shorts?” Oh, she’s awake. Your mother’s voice is behind you, and if you had to guess you would imagine that her head is poking around the doorway into the kitchen and gawking at your fashion choices. She is.

“You went out wearing those?”

You stand, frozen on the stairs for a second, stuck in a moment of consideration. Fred’s pretending not to hear all this, he prefers not to get involved. Joan’s not so forgiving.

Turning around will mean a certain lecture.

“Gotta be up early, I won’t wear ‘em again.” You decide, hastening up the stairs before she can call you on your lie. Your bare feet hit the landing and slip a bit on the loose runner your dad swears he’s going to remember to buy underlay for one of these days.

As you steady, the door to your right creeks open and Georgie stumbles out of his cowboy-covered bedroom, rubbing uncaringly at his eye socket.

“Hey.” He yawns, heading for the bathroom, his hand-me-down pyjamas hanging down over the tops of his feet as he shuffles for the bathroom.

“Hey. Wanna do something with me Saturday?” You ask him, already headed for your own room. He stops and turns his head, eyes no longer heavy with sleep but wide open with curiosity.

“Yeah. What?”

“It’s a surprise.” You decide, twisting the handle and letting the door creak open wide as muscle-memory guides your hand to the lightswitch and illuminates your bedroom. It’s not really a surprise, but he won’t go back to bed if you tell him now. “Night, Georgie.”

“Goodnight!” He calls back, closing the bathroom door almost all the way. The light bulb’s still out and he’s still scared of the dark.

You close your bedroom door, shutting all of them out and immediately reaching for the ties of your halter top. They fall loose and you shimmy out of the fabric, then the shorts.

Flowered paper on the walls, hardwood floors, this room is filled with the remnants of the little girl you once were in here. The shag rug and the Janis Joplin print above the bed are evidence of the newer, cooler woman who now occupies the space. The two of you coexist in this little space just fine most days.

Next comes the quest for a shirt to sleep in — sleeping in the nude doesn’t work when you have a Mom like Joan. She means well, you’re grateful for her. She’s the first person you’ll thank when you get your first award. Even though she still comes in without knocking.

Shirt acquired, you hear Georgie’s door click shut down the hallway as you scan the room for the book you discarded last night.

The window in your room faces miles of fields. In the far distance, you’ve never really noticed that you can see the O’Malley farm. Well, kind of. Ahead of that, there’s a small dusting of forest that hinders your view.

Your search for the book comes to a brief stop as you turn towards the open window and look out over the view. More specifically, of the red and white glint of weatherproof canvas that comes to a sharp point, dazzled with lightbulbs.

“Did you see what your daughter came home in?” Joan asks, shaking her head from her seat at the sewing machine. It whirs impolitely over the conversation, seeing blue thread through the hole in the knee of Georgie’s blue jeans.

“Sure did.” Fred drops his beer into the trash with a clang and rolls his shoulders back. He turns towards her, already expecting the worried frown he sees.

“People’ll talk.”

“Let ‘em,” Fred shrugs. He considers another Budweiser, but knows he’s got to be up early to get to the factory in the morning. “She’s a smart girl, she’s not out causing any trouble.”

Joan stops the machine and hums in consideration.

“Besides, I’m sure it’s a right of passage — wearing stuff that makes your folks’ blood pressure go crazy.”

She smiles, pushing up from the chair. Her socks pad across the green and yellow linoleum until she reaches her husband, her head tucking into the crook of his neck.

“You’re right. But I don’t like those shorts.” Joan decides as her husband takes her into his arms, smoky smelling and familiar.

Behind them, the morning’s paper sits discarded with only the sports section disrupted. Printed in an appropriately black ink, is the freckled face of Audrey Weiss. Her large-round glasses are still sitting on the bridge of her nose, her shoulders are angled and she’s beaming, looking front and centre. Above her portrait, the word MISSING is in the same shade of mourning-appropriate black ink.

That was a school photo. It’s old, her bangs have grown out already. Her round glasses are all torn up now, shattered and mangled — about 200 yards from her broken body, which is yet to be discovered in an empty stretch of red-dirt land off of a highway in southern Arizona.

NEXT CHAPTER

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