#Plaques for Benches

[classicmemorialbenches]

Memorial Bench Inscription Ideas

service for memorial bench inscriptions and pay close attention to the design and layout. Our inscriptions are deeply carved into the hardwood, creating a beautiful shadow effect, and do not need to be darkened.

Here are some ideas for memorial bench inscriptions:

Remembered with love and cherished forever.

A life well lived, a heart well loved.

Always in our thoughts, forever in our hearts.

You will be deeply missed, but your memory will live on.

Your memory is a treasure we hold in our hearts.

In memory of a beloved

[benchmemorialplaques]

New York City

November 2024

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[severalowls]

The bench at the bus stop at the big junction near me has conspicuously disappeared and I swear to god it had better just be in for repairs and not Gone.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

Revising my will to let my loved ones know that I, too, want to come back as a bench.

…but not one of the ones with the trash cans attached to them. I have contamination OCD so that is like an existential nightmare to me.

[yoshistory]

i wonder if i would be like. allowed. to set up a little free library outside my apartment

[s0upofthenight]

Please put why and give any details you'd like in the tags!!!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1922 "Hobbit House" is a 9 unit apt. complex in Culver City, CA. The 10bd, 9ba, 10, 980 sq ft residence was designed by 1940s Disney artist Lawrence Joseph. There are 5 buildings and current leases are lower than market value so there's the opportunity to increase them when they expire. $1.95m.

It's also an historical monument. So the original owners did live here, according to the plaque.

Another of the 5 buildings on the property. There's also a water feature and it looks like this building needs work.

It's nice, but the water looks green. Looks like it needs some refreshing and landscaping.

Johnson's granddaughter lived here and is selling it. It's cute. Look at the floor. A Google search suggests that it was once a restaurant. This looks like a bar, but it's probably a kitchen now.

So, I would imagine that the new owner could live in one of the units, if they're not all rented. This is a nice big bedroom with lots of built-ins.

Wow, it hasn't been well-cared for. What's happening here? So, it definitely needs work.

This bedroom is in good condition. It must be freshly painted.

One of the other units. Gee, the roof is in need of replacing. They probably all do.

This is nice, though. So many built-ins and those floors.

Interesting dining room.

I found photos of the units when they were for rent. This one has a tiny kitchen.

But, it has a cute little built-in table and benches.

This is the bedroom. If you live here you don't need much furniture, b/c it's already here, and you can't move it.

It even has a built-in bed and nightstands.

This bathroom is in better condition than the one in the other unit.

This is the largest home on the property.

The living room facing the windows out front. It even has built-in sofas and tons of shelving and storage.

This must be the dining area of the main room.

It has a large galley kitchen.

Someone painted over the upper cabinet, put some sort of metal on the doors, and it's all been propped up by a stick.

This bedroom also has a built-in bed, dresser, and nightstands. Looks like a large closet in the wall.

This unit has 2 bedrooms. Look at the big built-in bureau and vanity table.

Small bath.

Here you can see the 5 buildings and it looks out of place in the surrounding area. There's parking for 9 cars and it's on a .25 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3819-Dunn-Dr-Culver-City-CA-90232/20432038_zpid/

[weirdstrangeandawful]

I doubt this will happen but decided right now right here: When I die, someone needs to dedicate a bench with the most batshit crazy thing I have ever said.

Some candidates:

'Aoûtisme' [actually inspired by @whatcoloristhatcat I believe]

'I'm like if the CIA was Peter Pan'

'Alto clef is a frat boy'

'My left nipple is not pleased with the goose activities'

'You are a very very inefficient soda stream'

theres something about being disabled and needing to sit down constantly in public spaces that makes you notice how often benches are put up as tributes and memorials. and before i hit an age where i really started to need them as frequently i think i never fully understood the sentiment but now its become very endearing to me. a bit of relief and care for you in the name of someone who offered us the same… i dont think i had a point with this post but i hope everyone thats been memorialized as such knows how loved they were to become synonymous with respite even to total strangers

[classicmemorialbenches]

Techniques we use to depicting images on memorial bench designs

At Classic we have a number of techniques we use to depict images on our memorial bench designs and one of our favourite things to do is the colour resin inlay. There are several techniques that can be used. Here are,

✅Preparing the artwork

✅Carving the shapes into the wood

✅Pouring all of the colours

✅Skimming off the excess glue

✅clamped

[ozzgin]

Pyramid Head x Reader

Featuring Pyramid Head and a reader with amnesia lost in Silent Hill. This is Pyramid Head as originally intended for Silent Hill 2, so expect a lot of game-based immersion. Warning: NSFW, dubious/non-consent, violence, gore

[Horror Masterlist]

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

You grunt and slap the wheel, hoping your defiant act of violence will somehow convince the car engine to start again. It remains quiet. You run a hand through your hair and sigh. The palm is mildly sticky with moisture and you realize you've been sweating a fair amount. No wonder, you're stuck in this shithole. You couldn't see a damn thing ahead with all this fog. The only discernible object was a rusty, run-down sign showing "Silent Hill". You've never heard the name before, but reading the letters and allowing the words to escape your lips has brought you an unexpected wave of panic. You quickly began hyperventilating and your arms involuntarily twitched and twisted, pulling the wheel of the car along with them and causing the car to swerve into a street barrier. And now it refuses to turn back on. Fantastic. 

You hesitantly grab the door handle. After a deep breath in, you open the door and step out. Given the car crashed sideways, you can no longer tell which way is back and which way is forward. You can only see the first few inches of the barrier in both directions, but everything else vanishes under the thick clouds of mist. You rub your temples, becoming increasingly upset with yourself.  What were you even doing, driving all the way to-

Wait. Where were you going in the first place? You recall leaving from...home? But where is that supposed to be? No, don't do this. Not now. You walk back to the car and open the glove compartment, angrily pulling out a thick stack of documents and spreading them out onto the chair. You scan over them, growing more impatient. You don't recognize anything. The names and words and addresses don't hold any meaning. You glance up to the rear-view mirror in an attempt to detect some trail of blood seeping from your scalp, as a concussion might explain your sudden memory loss, but your appearance is fresh. Almost as if you didn't just crash your car in a strange place in utter confusion. 

You check your phone. Even if you can't remember, there has to be someone in your contacts that will come to your aid. The screen glitches briefly when you unlock it and the menu is empty. No contacts, no messages, no apps. No matter, emergency will do. You type in the digits and lift the phone to your head, but quickly remove it when loud static assaults your eardrums. Why is nothing working properly? You're tempted to just slam the junk into the pavement, but find enough composure to stuff it back in the pocket for now. 

All that's left to do now is to find another human. You begin walking. The road has to lead somewhere, that's for certain. And soon enough the barrier is replaced with a different kind of fencing that you use as guidance. It seems to be a small bridge. Just a few steps further and you discover the first signs of modern, populated world: a bus stop. Behind the waiting bench is a brief map of the area and you trace the plaque with your fingers, mumbling the path to yourself. "Now let's see...This is Nathan Avenue...Rosewater Park ahead...Ah, the Silent Hill Fire Station should be very close."

You can't wait to be done with this mess. They'll call for a tow truck and get you out of here. You almost sprint to the next block, expectantly. In fact, you can already spot someone right outside the building. 

"Thank God! Listen, my car broke down before the bridge. My stupid phone is also...huh." 

Just as you mention it, the same static as previously erupts from the speaker. You're startled and fumble for your phone. You're about to apologize to the person in front of you, but upon lifting your gaze you instantly stop in your tracks. 

'Person' is a strong word for it. It resembles one, or maybe it was one long ago. What's crawling towards you, however, is not how you'd define it. The arms are melted into the torso, mimicking a straight jacket of skin. The bony, crooked legs are dragging themselves in an unnatural, unnerving way. The creature has no face, save for a gaping hole, a bizarre cavity deforming what should be a head. Your mouth grimaces with disgust, followed by fear. Terror. You have the choice of returning to your damaged car, or attempting to find actual help deeper into the town. You run ahead, praying that someone's out there. The dissonant sound of a siren can be heard, diffused into the persistent fog.  

By the time you reach the next building, you're gasping for air. You didn't expect to run this far. You went all the way around Toluca lake, avoiding the side streets. The center was swarming with those abominations. Each turn and each corner would eventually reveal its revolting murmur, that pathetic shuffle of disfigured limbs. Thankfully they're not fast, nor smart. A little distance and they lose their interest to pursue you. You fall against the brick wall of this small house and read the poster. "Silent Hill Historical Society". Doesn't look too promising, but it's surprisingly devoid of any monstrous being. At this point you'd be more grateful for emptiness. It's safer. 

You tiptoe your way in, wary of potential attackers. There's a faint buzz echoing from afar, but other than that no immediate danger. You examine the lobby and notice the paintings and old photos hanging from the decaying wallpaper. It smells slightly rotten. One of the art pieces catches your attention and you stop in front of it. "Misty Day, Remains of Judgement". 

The abstract character depicted on canvas reminds you of an executioner. The more you stare, the clearer you can feel some kind of guilt knotting inside your stomach. Your shoulders are heavy and you're overwhelmed by the same anxiety of a child about to be punished. Awaiting the belt. The calloused hand of an unforgiving father. Your throat is dry.

Your musings are interrupted by the static that - as you've since learned - warns you of approaching creatures. The rooms are cramped and the walls are narrow and you dislike the idea of calculating your escape within this claustrophobic maze, but it's preferable to being dead. You jog along slithering paths, unsure of where they lead. The threatening turbulence of your phone goes up and down, like a sine wave, with each turn into uncharted territory. In your frantic efforts to flee you don't see the large hole blocking your way, or at least not fast enough. By the time you figure out the outlines of this pitch black well, you're flooded with the light sensation of gravitational force, stretching and compressing your innards as you fall. Is this how you end?

It's not so easy. 

As soon as you open your eyes, a burning pain metastasizes through the head, digging deep into your brain. You grab onto your scalp and press your fingers over the skin, hoping for a small relief. In your debilitating migraine you don't hear the agitated flutter of limbs. They're minuscule, but so many. Thousands of sclerotized joints frothing around your limp form. You lift yourself off the rusted ground and yelp voiceless at the sight. Cockroaches. The pile of vermin lets out a deafening, high pitched screech with every movement. You drag your elbows in an attempt to get away, but the creepers almost ignore your existence. They seem to be running away from something, retreating in masses.

You don't have to wait long in order to witness their source of fear. Heavy footsteps, muffled by the grating friction of metal against metal. A corroded stench invades your lungs and you cough. Whatever is coming has instilled the utmost dread in your very bones. You want to get up and run, until your legs give up and your body collapses of exhaustion, but your limbs are petrified in panic. Your chest constricts and throbs, as if your heart is trashing to escape this prison condemned to unknown doom. 

Finally, the fiend comes into view. A tall, large man wearing a leather apron layered with grime and encrusted blood. His skin is scarred and discolored, and a bulky, dense pyramid structure rests on his broad shoulders, concealing his face. He seems to be dragging along a great knife of sorts, although on closer inspection it looks like a halved pair of oversized scissors. The edge is dulled and has splattered visceral leftovers mattifying its surface. You remember the painting you've seen upstairs. Is this what it is? Your Retribution? 

You lower yourself until your forehead touches the rusty floor. Like an animal awaiting to receive the final blow from its hunter, like a prisoner resigning to his fate under the guillotine. If only matters could be dealt with so simply! Your neck is clawed into a tight hold by the large gloved hand and you're crudely pulled back up so that you can properly face your Punisher. There's a vague grunt coming from underneath his bizarre helmet. 

He carries you to the nearest wall and slams you against it. The great knife drops to the floor with a loud crash, and the other hand, now freed, begins to search your lower clothing. You can feel the seams of the garments tear and snap with no resistance. You want to vocalize a protest, but your throat is crushed under the forceful pressure of his clasp. At best, you can exhale in what sounds like a whispered wail. His apron is nonchalantly flipped to the side and your thigh lifted over his forearm, so that his hand can adjust itself securely under your bottom for support.

Abruptly, a prickling ache crosses your entire body as if you've just been split in two. Tears automatically begin forming in the corner of your eyes and spill down your cheeks and over the pyramid that's now pressing tightly against your quivering form. It's too big and you want to push away, but with each renewed plunge you grow weaker. The small tears and rips that blossom around your abused intimacy turn into bleeding wounds. You want to sleep. 

A creature of pure instinct, serving as a reminder of human perversions and immoral desires. Travesty, corruption, sin. And what about it? Before you know it, a small moan escapes your dried lips. You throw your arms around your captor's shoulders. The sharp edges of the helmet scratch your skin, waking you back into consciousness. Your lower muscles start to relax around the massive member and allow for a smoother glide in and out. The numbness is gradually replaced by pleasant sensations. The throbbing reverberates inside your abdomen and your other leg wraps around the creature's hips, asking for more contact. Once your compliance is confirmed, the hand pinning you by the neck wanders to other parts of your body in starved desperation. Your voice returns and more lewd whines roll out one after another. If only you had a mirror so you could look at yourself in this moment. What shameless expressions are you wearing on your face? You're clinging to your violator in feverish depravity. And in return, the creature responds to your cravings with increased intensity. He seems to resonate with your wishes and stiffens his hold on you with newfound obsession. His thrusts become almost feral, with a certain possessiveness to it. 

As you're about to reach your peaks, your mind once again travels to the painting. You wonder if you'd be hung and framed just like the prisoners behind their executioner. Pleasure mixed with guilt. 

What sin is eroding your entrails? 

[benchmemorialplaques]

New York City

November 2024

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[ode-to-melpomene]

"Everyone's a Critic"

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader Synopsis: Art is in the eye of the beholder... Word Count: 1861 Warnings: None. Art gallery meet cute. A hint of awkwardness and embarrassment!

Jason was used to being overlooked.

In a sea of bodies he often found himself standing still. A lone rock in the middle of a raucous tide that slipped around him, dousing his cold, weathered face with seafoam. It wasn't so bad, being a rock–especially at events like these. Jason stood, like a rock, in the center of a crowd, and watched the crowd part around him.

Why would they look at him? He had mastered the art of appearing smaller than he really was–broad shoulders drawn into a tight hunch, obscuring his height. Eyes to the ground and his back to the wall. Ignore me, his presence seemed to say.

Why would they look at him when Dick fluttered about the crowd with a broad smile, a proverbial halo above his head from the soft, golden light of the venue? Why would they look at him when Tim's cleverness and etiquette outshone his? Why would they look at him when Damian spoke so maturely for his age, or Cass reveled in her most recent ballet performance, or Bruce existed?

Sometimes it was better to be the dead Wayne.

Sometimes.

The venue could have been worse. The Gotham Museum of Art was familiar to him these days, after Cass’s numerous performances and Bruce’s subsequent donations. Jason had lost track long ago of how many grateful galas had been hosted in thanks for his father’s contributions. They even had a plaque posted somewhere for Bruce–or was that Gotham General Hospital? He couldn’t remember at this point.

It was easy to hide in the shadows between the paintings, the spotlights above them only spanning the canvas’s borders. Hide at the edge of the crowd, his head ducked down, shoulders drawn tight- it was what he always did.

Until a tittering couple pressed too close to him, admiring the painting he stood beside. Ivory nails tangled in a suit jacket, heels clicking against the parquet floors. Too loud. Too close. He pushed off the wall as they approached, ignoring the side-cast glances. He felt judged at events like this. He could handle being ignored, or even ostracized. But criticism hurt. He lifted his head for the first time in what felt like ages, taking in the crowd.

There. A quiet spot in front of a broad painting, its oil surface unmarred by the demanding gazes of the gala’s attendees. Jason pushed through the crowd with his head high, watching as the chattering sea parted around him. His long stride carried him through the throng as he fled his once barren spot and approached his newfound haven. His lips parted in a soft exhale at the sight of a bench–he could sit with his back to the crowd and-

Jason’s stride faltered. There was already someone sitting on the bench, a figure with their back to the crowd. How had he not noticed them before?

The spotlight on the art cast a soft glow across your front, blanketed in a warm haze that brightened the dark clothes you wore. A deep-gray blouse fading to black, well-ironed slacks. Jason’s eyes dropped to your shoes–old and worn compared to the rest of the outfit. Tired, and scuffed, the black finish faded with age and wear. A cocktail server on break, it seemed.

When Jason lifted his gaze, he found you already staring. He jumped slightly, blinking once, twice. You smiled softly–it was a bone-tired smile that eased the tension in your brow and smoothed the hard look in your eyes. 

“Sorry, I…” he started, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He rubbed the back of his neck and hunched his shoulders. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not,” you answered quietly. “Did you want somewhere to sit?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

Jason bobbed his head in a half-hearted nod and rounded the bench. He sat at the opposite side, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, eyes fixated on the ground for a moment. After a long pause, he lifted his head to take in the painting in front of him.

It seemed to come to life the longer he took it in. The background bustled with liveliness. Parents talking–maybe arguing, he thought–in a doorway. The preoccupied cat ignoring a mouse that went otherwise unseen. Children’s toys scattered at the edges of the canvas. His eyes roved over the child at the center of the canvas’s foreground, alone on a couch, gaze meeting the viewer. It was a modernized oil painting, vastly different from the Renaissance-like pieces that lined the wall–maybe that was why this piece went ignored throughout the night.

“It doesn’t really fit the theme, but I still like it,” you spoke up. What he first took as timidity now seemed contemplative as he turned to see you gazing up at the painting. “Seems I’m one of the few.” You shrugged, a tender smile across your lips.

Jason took in the muted colors of the background and the quiet intensity of the scene. “It feels very… isolated.” You turned your head sharply to look at him, brows raising in surprise. He quickly looked between you and the painting. “It’s… the kid feels really alone, you know? Like the whole world is-”

“Moving on without him?”

Jason clamped his jaw firmly shut as he tipped his head to meet your gaze. Your eyes sparkled with warmth and excitement, chasing away the exhaustion that once clung to you.

“Moving around him,” Jason answered, holding your intense stare, his brows furrowing slightly. “His parents are just-” he gestured to the painting, “ignoring him, I guess. I mean, he’s alone in the center of the painting, while everything else is distracted. Look, even the wallpaper looks busy, and he’s just… wearing muted clothes and sitting on a gray couch.”

“It’s ivory and phthalo blue.”

“What?”

“The couch. It’s ivory and phthalo blue, and a little bit of brown umber mixed into the shadows. Not gray.” You cocked your head to the side and offered him a crooked, toothy grin. His eyes dropped to your lips before moving back to your eyes. “I… like your interpretation a lot. ‘Moving around him.’ You’re the first person tonight to give it any thought, honestly.”

Jason narrowed his eyes as he studied you, his brows pinched together. His usual scowl sat on his lips, the one that tended to drive people away. Instead, you smiled sweetly and turned your attention back to the canvas. You didn’t stare through him–you stared at him. For once, it didn’t make his skin crawl. It didn’t feel like you were forcibly filling the silence.

“I was hoping for some exposure tonight, really. You know, big Wayne event, good time to show off,” you said with a melodic chuckle that sent goosebumps down his arms. “But no one seems particularly interested in my work. Everyone’s a critic, right? Except you. You get it.”

Jason blinked owlishly as his brain raced to catch up.

“You painted this?”

You hummed in the affirmative, gazing up fondly at your work.

His eyes snapped up at the painting and then back down to you. “I’m sorry, I- I just assumed you-”

“You’re not the only one,” you answered quickly. His shoulders eased. You picked up on his meaning so quickly without an ounce of offense in your tone. “I don’t really care how people do or don’t, in this case, see me. At least one person took the time to look.”

The tension in your shoulders eased with a visible sense of relief. Tonight wasn’t a total loss. Sure, you hadn’t received any commissions, and had been asked to refill someone’s drink one too many times, but there had been some success in the end. It only took one admirer to make hours of labor worthwhile.

“I think it’s beautiful.”

You jerked your head to stare at him, starved for feedback. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I… don’t know much about art–I prefer reading, honestly, but, uh, I think you did a great job with the colors. It does a really good job of framing the kid, y’know?” Jason glanced at you, his cheeks warming at your dazzled expression before looking back at the painting. “He’s muted, so it kind of draws your eyes to the middle instead of the super bright background. It’s like the opposite effect of some of the others.” He gestured over his shoulder at a few of the other paintings. “It definitely gives that… isolated vibe. I just… I guess it makes you wonder how the kid is feeling in all of this. He feels lonely.”

He could feel your heated stare grazing his skin. You weren’t leering at him like some of the others did. He held on to the reverent silence and fought to quell the warm blush that dusted his cheeks.

“You have a nice nose.”

Jason’s face flushed scarlet. He snapped his gaze to yours, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Sorry, I-” His gaze dropped to your lips as they pursed in embarrassment and then parted with a shaky inhale. “I just- sorry, I do some sculpture on the side–not very well, I think, but I’m trying–and, well, I’ve been working on this one piece and I just can’t get the nose right, and you- you’ve got a really nice nose and I was trying to… memorize it… for when I work on it later…”

Jason held your gaze for a long moment. You shifted nervously in your seat at the way he straightened his back and regarded you closely. Your mouth opened and closed, tongue feeling tacky against the roof of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, that was-”

“Do you have a picture of it?”

“Of… what?”

“The sculpture. Can I see it?”

Your eyes widened as you blinked slowly at him, your mind racing to catch up. You tilted your head slightly to the side, staring at him in awe. “Yeah, I… um, I don’t have a picture, but- uh, my studio is only a couple of blocks away. Technically it’s the gallery’s studio-” you gestured widely to the gala venue. “But I use it for some of my projects. You could- do you want-?”

He smiled. The stone-faced, impassive, wall of a man that you had been sitting beside for who knows how long actually smiled a full, toothy grin. The crooked scar that crossed over his cheek and jaw danced with a subtle grace. Crow's feet decorated the corner of his pretty green eyes. You wondered if you could maybe match their shade.

You took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then breathed out a soft sigh. His gaze dipped to your lips at the movement, then back to your eyes.

“Would you… want to come to my studio?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

[keelt9]

Chapter 1

Masterlist 😉

Injury…Again.

Joe isn’t sure if the optimist of the doctors is hardly forced or is a hopeful one, either way, sucks knowing he will be one more time stuck in the bench at the middle of the season, getting hurt in one of the most important games with the season on the line.

Either way, opposite of what people expect he went to the following games for support and to be there for their teammates.

With another win with Jake on the controls, he dares to believe the playoffs are at the reach, at the same time he knows the last games will be crucial.

“Morning Joe.” Officer Lynch greets him as every morning and like every morning he gives a hot coffee. “Thanks.”

Joe smiles, putting his hand on his hoodie. “Free day?��� 

“Guys have an amazing game, it’s a deserved one.” Joe smirks, missing being in the game but focusing on the role he’s playing right now.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Officer Lynch takes a sip of his coffee with a smile in his face. “I'd better go, I still have a few laps before shift over.”

The park is kind of secret. It’s an old park far away from the new ones where you have thousands of things to do; this is kind of classic; just trees, flowers in spring and a lot of places where you can sit and enjoy the view. 

The last places where you can see the clear sky without the big buildings covering it.

Joe believes that is it’s secret, nothing too fancy to talk about.

He’s been visiting this place three days after getting injured, he needed a place away from everything and everyone as Ja'Marr drove him to his house, they found it. Joe is pretty sure that Ja'Marr looks at him like he actually lost his mind when he asked him to leave it there. 

In an old but well cared for park surrounded by old houses, still he agrees, telling him, called if he needs to drive him back home. 

Three weeks later, it became his routine, coming here early in the morning, spending long hours walking, or just sitting loving the peace and calm he feels right there, the anonymity it’s a plus, a golden one.

Sitting in his favorite bench, hidden behind two big trees, where he bets on spring the leafs will help him to be totally aisled of the world.

His calm was interrupted when he heard a curious sound. 

He turns to his left, nothing, to his right, nothing, at the back nothing, in front of him just the sunlight painted the blue sky with a soft yellow. 

He forgot to look under him. 

It’s until the sound intensifies and a small head, with a lot of black dots over it appears under him, smelling his shoes.

Sniffing, that’s what it hears a loud sniffing. 

“Whoa!” Joe exclaims seeing how confident a dalmatian puppy came out and keeps smelling his pants until his knees. “Asking for permission is way too much, huh?” 

The dog raises its eyes and Joe notices a peculiar black dot that covers all the left ear. 

Observing him like he just said the most stupid thing in the world, the dog tilted his head, turning around to sit in front of him, admiring the view.

“Am, hey, are you lost?” Doesn’t turn around. “Your owner is around here?” Nothing. 

He searches to see if he has a collar or something but all he can see it’s a navy blue bandanna around the neck; so he stands up kneeling in front of him quivering for he could get a bite.

“Don’t bite me please.” The dog turns around when see from the corner of the eye a hand approaching him, Joe is pretty sure now, he will get bitten.

Until he doesn't, the dog sniffs his right hand where the cast is, slowly gives him a small lick. 

“Ok, I just…” By the time he tried to move the bandanna the dog definitely stood and jumped backwards. “How do you expect me to call you owner if you don’t let me see if you have a plaque?”

The dog blinked before barking, making Joe jump slightly, but before he could continue with his talk, Officer Lynch came running to the bench founding a funny scene a dog barking to a guy of 6´4 who is sitting in front of him.

He relaxes his shoulders as he scoffs. “Well, you met each other.”

Joe narrows his eyes confused. “I’m trying to find who the owner is so I can call, but she isn’t cooperative at all.”

Officer Lynch approches to the dalmatian patting the head, in totally amenity. “Isn’t a she, is a he.” The dog closes his eyes in every pat. “And his name is Monet, besides people around here know his owner.”

“Then why is he alone?” Joe stands cleaning the back of his pans.”And why I haven't seen before.”

“Oh, Monet has been out a couple of weeks, visiting family, right boy?” Monet barks. “And he isn’t alone, his owner must be somewhere in the park.”

“Is it legal?” Joe asked in disbelief for the fact that such a puppy walks around this place alone.

“Joe, relax.” The officer knew he needed to give him a big explanation for him to be calm. “Monet is been around this place since he has 2 months old, first carried by his owner as they walk around as he grew up, we’ve know him, he’s kind of restless for be sit while his owner is working so he start to wonder around; the first time believe me she has a almost had a heart attack when she couldn't find him.”

So, the owner is a she.

“But slowly they set a routine, since all we work or pass through frequently here, we agreed to give her a hand. Little Monet will go freely around this place and we don't mind keeping an eye on him.”

Now all has sense.

“But of course you didn't know that.” Monet lay on the grass next to the Officer.

“How can he know when it's time to go? I mean she will look out for him all over the place?” Joe scans the puppy, probably around 4-5 months old.

“She whistles.” Officer Lynch smiles. “He hears it and then he will run to find her.”

Joe highly doubts that can be possible for a puppy.

“How do you know he is Monet, could be any other dalmatian?” Why is he so curious?

“This.” The Officer points to the bandanna. “Monet always has a blue or green one. If he doesn't, then he isn't Monet.”

Monet raises his head, to stand fully a second later.

“Time to go Monet.” Officer Lynch said patting his head. “See you tomorrow.”

Monet barks before running and gets lost among the trees.

“See? It's time to leave.” Joe bliks in disbelief, how can hear something?

Officer Lynch receive the call, time to change shifts. “Well, Joe, see you tomorrow too.”

Joe smiles and nods, having more questions than answers for such a puppy.

For 2 weeks, Joe and Monet find each other on the same bench, at the beginning they just barely see each other but by the second week Joe carefully pat his head, still Monet simply ignores him as he keeps seeing the blue sky.

With Christmas around the corner presents are a daily thing.

“What can you give a dog?” Tee turns his head around, for hearing better.

“What?” Trey, even sitting next to Joe is confused for a random question.

They flew backwards from Pittsburgh, with a loss he tried to distract them.

“Yeah, what would you give to a dog?” Joe asked one more time scrolling in his phone about leashes.

Tee sees Trey who shakes his head. “You don't have a dog.”

Trey has a point. “You're a cat boy, too.” Tee has another good point.

“I met a puppy, a cute one, so before Christmas I like to give something.” Joe sees them with weird expressions on their faces. 

“And who is the owner?” Trey asked. “That must help, ask and then give something that the puppy likes.” 

“That's the problem!” Joe says it's frustrating to not know such a basic thing. “I don't know who she is.”

Tee giggles. “What a story! Joey doesn't know a girl but he knows the puppy and the present is for the puppy.”

Joe laughs. “I care about the puppy, not about the owner.”

Trey smiles while putting his headphones on. “I guess a simple dog prize must be enough.”

It sounds simple until he arrives at a pet store and  he sees more than 3 options of snacks.

Joe's confusion must be so evident for the way a boy approached and asked him.

“Do you need help?” A boy in uniform from the store points to the snacks. 

“Yeah, which one of those is the best?” The boy blinks confused for the fact Joe points from side to side of the shelf. 

“Am, it depends, your dog has a special type of diet or something like that?” Joe opened his eyes that even hadn't crossed his mind.

“Diet?” He whispers more to himself but it’s audible for the boy.

“Yeah, sometimes a dog has a certain type of diet and you must be stuck to a special…” Joe tilts his head to the left more and more. “Isn’t your dog, right?” 

Joe giggles. “Not, is not.” 

“Right, in that case, if you don’t mind, why don't you pick a toy, all dogs love toys.” Joe sees the boy who points to the other side of the corridor. 

But he finds equally lost, the squeaky one, the fluffy ones, the hard ones, a frisbee. 

“Maybe the name could give you a clue.” The boy waits next to him.

Joe sighs. “His name is Monet.” 

“Like the painter.” The boys hear another man speak behind them. “A french painter, Claude Monet.” 

He’s on the back shelfs picking a cat toy. “Sorry for the interruption. Big fan Joe.” He shakes hands with Joe. “But that could be the reason.”

The boy gasps. “Oh, we have a fluffy toy with the shape of a paintbrush.” The boy started to look in the basket until he found it.

And it actually is, a fake red paintbrush, any squeaky sound just fluffy and light.

“Perfect, thanks.” Joe said after the toy has a pretty wrapping. 

The boy who helps him and the cashier smiles, for seconds later adding, who dey?

For a week Joe waited but Christmas passed as New Year too and Monte didn't come. Every morning he arrives at the same bench with the toy in his hands and leaves after a couple of hours with the same toy in his hands.

After the last press conference of the season Ja’Marr waits for driving him home, even though he insisted he can already drive, both of them were so stubborn for letting one drive and the other let the other drive.

“Come on Joe! You can show me where you spend your mornings that lately you look so defeated.” Ja'Marr smiles seeing Joe quiver, a second later opening the door of  the passenger seat. 

“Where?” Ja’Marr asked as Joe typed the direction on the screen.

Ja’Marr feels kind of defeated too, just arriving at the place, the same old park for the first time. He side-eye to him, as Joe, still he didn't say anything when they walk inside, Chase clearly surprised of how good care the park is and more surprised by the fact a lot of people say hi to Joe, and he doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all. 

A bark scares Ja’Marr but Joe turns around quickly with a smile on his face. 

Chase simply couldn’t believe a dalmatian running to Joe jumping over him when his best friend patted his chest with his left hand as he stood on his two legs waiting for Joe to pat his head.

For the size Chase calculates he will be 4 probably 6 months old but by the confidence they have it seems that they have already met for a long time. 

“Hey buddy!” Joe keeps patting his head so Ja’Marr actually has to lean to witness that smile.

“He’s a dog.” Joe nods but he keeps seeing Monet running around him. “Joe?”

“His name is…” 

“MONET!” The female voice makes Ja’Marr feel relieved, of course, the owner dog, that’s why he feels so defeated.

“Where are you?!” Joe looked around and he didn’t recognize the voice, so any one of the people working in the park must be.

Monet barks, calling for the girl to find him. After a couple of seconds, a girl with a big jacket and jeans appears with a leash on her hands. 

Probably finding two NFL players here is out of her dreams for the way she stops dry and her cheeks turns in a burning red.

Monet runs back to the girl sitting in front of her. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you.” Joe said, putting his hands on his pockets.

“Oh, am, no…Sorry. I mean.” She takes a deep breath. “I was just scared, Monet runs so fast and normally he doesn’t do that.”

“You didn’t know?” Ja’Marr asks speechless for the way they look as totally strange. 

“No, we don’t.” Joe said sharply and clearly. “Am, Joe.”

“Yes, I know.” The girl smiles and walks closer. “And Ja’Marr, right?”

Chase smirks and nods. “A pleasure.”

Joe sees Monet sitting next to the girl when she stands in front of them. “Monet is such a good boy.”

“I know, that’s why I get scared. He is a good behaved boy.” She put the las over his lapels. “His owner will rip my head if I lose him.”

Wait, she isn’t the owner of Monet.

“You're not the owner?” Ja’Marr reads Joe's mind before he can even speak.

She stands after making sure Monet is comfortable.

“Oh no, I'm Nora, I know her, well…” Nora thinks for a second. “My sister is her best friend.”

Joe is utterly confused, now.

“She's been snowed under with work and she hasn't been able to take out Monet, so I finish early my school duties and offer to take him for a walk.” Monet smells Ja’Marr hands, making him smile. “She told me this is his favourite park. Now I know why.”

The guys couldn't avoid giggling because of the way she opens her eyes and smiles, of course, she's a teenager. 

Her phone starts to sound so she picks up. “Yes, sorry I got distracted…Oh don't worry, we call an Uber…Not worries, he's fine…Bye.”

She saved it in her pocket one more time. “Your mom Monet, time to go home.” She smiles at the boys. “It's been a pleasure, we must go.”

The boys nod and say goodbye observing Monet and the girl going to the entrance as she takes a quick glimpse, unable to believe what her eyes saw. 

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEFEATED FOR THE GIRL MAN!” Chase raises his hands in the air. “For a dog?”

“I bought him a nice present and he disappeared! I was worried something could happen to him.” Joe laughs walking back to the car. “It's just a puppy.”

Ja’Marr shakes his head. “You're one of a kind man, one of the kind.”

Savannah arrives with her sister Nora to Y/N house with a happy Monet running to the studio.

“Hey my love!” Y/N smiles as Monet gets between her legs under the table.

Monet waits for a kiss in the top of his head before running back to the living room.

“God! If this is more dark I could actually believe you're living in a cave.” Savannah said point the switch warning she will light on all the lights bubbles, like it supposed to be.

Y/N takes her glasses and closes her eyes to get used to the light. 

“What time is it?” By the time she opens the soft white light covers all her studio.

Savannah smiles observing the usual mess when she's so much work, Nora appears next to her sister.

“7 pm, have you even eaten?” See the half bag of chips next to her. “That definitely doesn't count.”

Y/N giggles. “I almost finished, one more layer and this is over.” She laid back on her chair observing her computer, laptop, tablet and a lot of pens all over her desk.

“He behaves?” Said moving her eyes to Nora as she picked up a sketch from the floor.

“Yeah, all good. A small mischief but all under control.” Nora mentions remembering the words of her sister.

<Let's keep between us, if Y/N knows we almost lost Monet she will want to do more than rip some heads.>

“Thanks for taking him out, one more day inside of the house and he will go crazy.” Monet barks to his owner. “Or I.”

“What about pasta?!” Savannah screams from the kitchen. “Forget it, I found shrimps.”

Y/N and Nora roll their eyes. 

“Anytime, I mean it.” Nora giggles remembering her unexpected meeting.

“Don't worry, I'm sending this tonight and I'll go back to normal.”

Y/N stands hearing how her back and legs crack due the hours sitting. 

“I need some fresh air too.” They walk to the kitchen. “Besides, you're about to enter your finals.” Y/N shakes her head. “Focus on that.”

“Wise advice, hear her.” Savannah adds as sauté the shrimps. “You almost finished?”

Savannah sees the canva over the sofa. A couple of months ago it was a plain empty canva, now it's a beautiful paint of a garden in autumn, orange leaves and yellow over the floor as a few green keeps on the branches. 

“Yes, a couple of weeks more and it'll be complete.” Y/N said, perking over the stove seeing her dinner.

“You absolutely have gorgeous views there.” Almost drool just thinking at that moment. 

Y/N looks at Monet with narrow eyes, who just sighs and lays his head over his left paw as he gets comfortable in his bed.

[aydracz]

Good Omens Scavenger Hunt in London

Something's up again! Shax visited the Bandstand today to deliver Crowley's mail.

But Crowley was nowhere to be found and so she left the mail behind one of the benches around the Bandstand - together with some amazing art from @drimmsydra and @fuzzywhispersbear !

To find all the treasures, look for an angel among the bench plaques.

Please reblog this post so that it reaches as many fans as possible ❤️

Love you all!