#wooden memorial plaques

[classicmemorialbenches]

How do I get a bench in memory of someone UK?

To get the best memorial bench in memory of someone in the UK, you can follow these steps:

Research bench suppliers: Look for suppliers who specialize in memorial benches and have a good reputation. Check their reviews, ratings, and previous projects.

Choose a material: There are different materials used for memorial benches, such as wood, metal, and stone. Choose a material that will suit the location and the purpose of the bench.

Select a design: You can select a design that is unique and meaningful to the person you are memorializing. You can customize the bench with an inscription, a plaque, or a carving.

Check the regulations: There may be regulations on the type of bench, the size, and the materials used. You will need to check these with the landowner and the local council.

Consider the location: Think about where you want to place the bench. It could be a park, a garden, or any other public place. Consider the surroundings and the view.

Get a quote: Contact the supplier and get a quote for the bench and its installation. Make sure to ask about any additional costs, such as delivery and maintenance.

Arrange the installation: Once you have chosen the bench and agreed on the price, you can arrange for its installation. Make sure to coordinate with the landowner and the local council.

By following these steps, you can get the best memorial bench in memory of someone in the UK. Remember to choose a design and a location that will honor the person's memory and bring comfort to those who visit the bench.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

Buck stumbles on a wedding planning folder on Tommy's computer and has all sorts of feelings about it

This was such an adorable prompt! I loved writing this. Thank you!

*****

The second Tommy left the house, Buck pulled pulled out Tommy's laptop. He'd mentioned in passing the night before that his grandmother would make him meatloaf when he visited her. He'd had such a fond look on his face when he recalled the memory that Buck immediately knew he was going to make it for him. He'd opened the laptop with the intent on looking up some recipes to surpises him, and as the screen lit up, he saw the folder that that Tommy had left open.

The folder was untitled, and had multiple other folders inside it. 'Taxes', 'insurance', various car manuals littered the screen. But there was one folder that caught Bucks interest immediately.

'Wedding'

Buck stared at the unopened folder. Tommy had told him he had never been married. Maybe it was photographs from someone else's wedding? His finger hovered over the track pad. It would be wrong to open it, right? It would feel like violating Tommy's privacy. Something inside Buck was curious, though. He double clicked, and the folder opened.

It was filled with photographs but they weren't of somebodies wedding. Well, technically, they were, but they were random images of different peoples weddings, alongside stock photos of flowers, table arrangements, decor.. it was Pinterest for the luddite. Buck smiled.

He clicked on the first photo - a simple, rustic looking, 3 tiered wedding cake with cream frosting - and began scrolling across. An antique wooden table decorated with lit pillar candles of differing sizes, a male model in a black fitted suit that made Bucks mouth water at the thought of Tommy wearing, two men stood at an alter with vines of purple and white flowers hanging down above them, a collage of different coloured orchids, a tungsten wedding band..

Tommy, to the outside world, was very squared away. He was well versed in keeping himself together and rarely, if ever, let himself slip. It was one of the reasons Buck felt so unbelievably lucky that he got to see a side of Tommy that nobody else saw. He saw Tommy giggle like a kid in bed late at night over something ridiculous Buck had said. He got to see him with food spilled down his shirt, or his face when he comes apart when Buck touches him in the way that he likes, or when he's sick and hasn't showered for 3 days because he can't get off the couch without wanting to vomit.

However, Tommy did struggle sometimes with being open about his needs. Buck had learned that Tommy had spent so many years having only himself to rely on. It was hard for him to admit his needs or even his wants. But, over the almost year they'd been together, he had begun opening up more and trusting that Evan wasn't going to see him any differently. He wasn't going to think he was less of a man or less attractive. That Evan loved him, and taking care of Tommy's needs was something that he wanted to do.

Still, knowing that Tommy had this collection of ideas filled Buck with more love for him. Tommy was a romantic, Buck knew that, and he'd seen it many times. The man's favourite move was 'Love, Actually' for Gods sake. But even after almost a year, Tommy's softness still wondrously surprised him.

Buck continued to scroll through the images. More random decor - the overarching theme was very rustic. Lots of wood and flowers. Then, an image slid onto the screen that made his smile even bigger.

It was a photograph of Buck. It was taken at the medal ceremony after the famous cruise ship rescue. He was holding the wooden plaque with a big grin on his face. The next photograph was him again. This one, he was in his everyday blues, playing pool at the station, laughing at something. He continued - a selfie he'd sent Tommy from his kitchen where he was covered in flour while making cookies for Christopher's school bake sale, a selfie of the two of them Buck had taken in bed, where Tommy was fast sleep with his face nuzzled into Evans neck, a picture Hen had taken of the two of them smiling proudly with their medals around their necks, and then a photograph of Evan leaning against the fence of Tommy's deck, looking out at the ocean. Buck hadn't seen it before. The shirt he was wearing he'd only bought two weeks ago, so it was recent.

He clicked across to the last image in the folder, and his heart damn near burst out of his chest. It was a receipt from a jewellery store. For a tungsten band.

Buck shut the laptop, quickly placing it on the coffee table. He'd bought a ring. Tommy had bought a ring.

The first feeling that coursed through him was terror. They were 2 weeks away from their first anniversary. It was too soon. Buck was supposed to be impulsive one - Tommy was the calm, patient, and methodical one. But was it impulsive? A year is a long time to some people. Cap and Athena dated, got engaged, and married all in less than a year, so comparatively, it wasn't that short a time span.

The second thing he felt, which he tried to keep down, was excitement. He would be lying if he said he hadn't allowed the words 'Evan Kinard' to flicker through his minds eyes occasionally. It always created little flutters of warmth deep in his belly. This time, he couldn't stop the images of Tommy standing in front of him, placing that ring on his finger. Those flutters in his stomach raced up to his heart, expanding it to a size that was probably not safe.

The third feeling, the deepest and most all-encompassing, was love. And unfathomable amount of love that he didn't think was possible for a human heart to withstand. He loved Tommy - that had been obvious by the second month of their relationship - but in this moment, it suddenly occurred to him that this wasn't just any love - it was the love. Tommy was it. Tommy was his soul mate. Tommy was the sun, the moon, and every single star in the universe. He made Buck see colours he couldn't see with anybody else, sounds and sights that no gadget or gizmo would be able to detect.

And he wanted to marry Evan.

Once the shock of it all began to disapate, it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't supposed to know about this. He opened the laptop again and clicked out of the folder before putting the laptop back where it was.

Tommy was going to be back from the grocery store any minute. All he had to do was figure out how the hell he was going to act completely normal around Tommy and not go full Buck. He heard the front door opening and he took a big, centering breath before leaving to couch to meet his future husband at the door.

[imtryingbuck]

Epilogue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky comes from a well respected family, he falls in love with a girl who prefers the simple things in life. Follow their journey through the years.

Word count: 1,042

Warnings: angst, heavy use of pet names. fluff. swearing.

A/N: No description of reader other than she has curly hair.

A/N: The love and support throughout this series has been incredible! Thank you to each and every one of you, you’re amazing💞

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

A few years after her parents passing away the family were back in the church saying their goodbyes to their uncles and aunts, one by one.

On Georgia’s eighteenth birthday Y/n gave her the metal tin containing the wooden animal toys Grace had given her when she was a child. Georgia though eighteen loved them. Loved the fact that she had something of Y/n’s when she was child.

Now that Natalia had turned eighteen Georgia handed her the metal tin, telling her the same thing Y/n had told her.

Natalia smiling at the thought of handing it down to her daughter that was still growing in her stomach, knowing one day that she’ll be passing it down to her daughter and she’ll continue the tradition.

In the years that followed Georgia had expanded the number of buildings of Grace and Bunny’s Haven, each building having a memorial plaque dedicated to her grandmother she never met, her mom and dad. And even after all the years that passed without her parents being there, people would put flowers in front of the plaque, Georgia even caught a few people saying thank you to Y/n for giving them their freedom back.

“Georgia, come on we’re going to be late” Sammy says from the doorway, looking at his sister as she gets up from her seat.

“Just give me a second, just need to put this folder away”

“New people?”

“Yeah, Billy said they’d be here next week.”

Sammy nods and takes her bag for her, holding the door open they make their way outside where a sleek black car awaits them. Opening the car door for her he mumbles under his breath about how it wouldn’t kill her to say thank you which she sticks her tongue out at him.

Throughout the car ride Georgia’s knee starts to bounce up and down, going over her speech in her head she flinches slightly when she feels Sammy take her hand in his, squeezing lightly.

“It’s going to be fine”

“I hope so”

As the car pulls up to the gate Sammy shakes Georgia’s hand to gain her attention she looks up and gasps. The turn out was bigger than they expected.

Today was the unveiling of the bronze statue of Y/n and Grace hand in hand, Georgia had found a photo of her mom and grandmother when she was cleaning out her childhood home with her brothers, she spoke with her brothers about getting a sculpture to make a statue. It had taken a few years to do it, the sculpture told them that he wanted to take his time as it was a personal project. Georgia’s eyes widened when he told her his name, told her that Y/n had taken him, his sister and dad in. Robbie.

The statue stood tall and proudly with a large cloth covering it in front of the administration building.

“Thank you to all those that came out today, it truly means the world to me and my family. Today we mark twenty years since my parents passed away, and two days ago we celebrated forty five years of Grace and Bunny’s Haven opening, and today we are here to unveil the statue dedicated to my beautiful mom and grandmother who are the whole reason why there are now twenty seven havens darted around not only America but in other countries. My mom had a dream of creating a safe place, a sanctuary for those who were in need, my brothers and I have continued to expand her dream. Our children and now grandchildren are following in our footsteps.”

Georgia pauses when a round of applause begins. “Robbie here has created the statue we are here to unveil today, he didn’t tell me until afterwards that he was here when he was a child with his sister and father, I remembered him remembered running around playing tag with him and the other children, and I remember him being the master of hide and seek” again she pauses as everyone laughs.

“Before the rain comes and ruins our day, boys come on” Jamie, Stevie and Sammy move forward to stand next to Georgia, Natalia starts to a countdown that everyone joins in with, when they get to one the proud children of Y/n and Bucky pull down the cloth, revealing the perfect bronze statue of their mom as a child and their grandmother who they had never met but heard stories about.

The statue stood tall and proudly. Georgia couldn’t take her eyes off it no matter how hard she tried. Well no one could really.

It was beautiful.

“Thank you Robbie, thank you for everyone who came out today, thank you for your donations and support it means the world to us. There are some refreshments available inside, please enjoy the day. Thank you”

After having photos taken by a local photographer who worked for the newspaper, they all head inside. People sharing stories about being there when they were children, telling them how lucky they were to have been able to come to a place where no judgements were made, lucky that someone took the chance on them and helped them.

“You’re going to catch a cold you know?” Billy says making Georgia jump.

“D-do you think she’s proud of us?”

“Of course she is, so is your dad darling” Wrapping his arms around her he pulls his wife into his side, looking up at the statue of his mother in law he smiles softly.

“They’d be proud of all of us Georgie, I just know it” Jamie speaks as he walks over with his brothers.

All five of them stand in the pouring rain arm in arm staring at the statue. None of them knowing that the figures of Y/n, Bucky, Grace are standing behind them in the same stance as them.

Jamie was right. They were proud of all of their children, proud of their accomplishments, proud to call them their children.

As Georgia, Billy, Jamie, Stevie and Sammy head back inside Y/n and Bucky take one last look of their children and smile at each other before returning back to their family who was waiting on them on the other side, hand in hand.

<Previous

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[hanalulugguk]

You've been gone 10 years, and it's made you bitter

Part of Sweet - a Gojo Satoru mini series

One

Note: As incredible as his mind is, gege deeply hurt me with chapter 236, this came to mind after reading it when i felt like gojo satoru, strongest sorcerer, was robbed. So this my personal characterization of him <3

Warnings: none for this chapter

unedited

Even though the distance was grand, you could still hear the loud cheers and screams coming from the training courts at the compl;et other side of the school upon entering the school premise after venturing up the long path to the top of the mountain. You take the peaceful walk from the gate to the inside of the building. 

You take your time walking the halls, looking around and stepping into random old classrooms that you remember having spent hours in during your late teens. Navigating your way to the principal's office to the best your memory can serve you. You almost walk past it, the name change throwing you off. You take a deep breath  before knocking against the wooden door, you hear a faint ‘come in’ before you pull the door open. The yellow lighting of the room is dim, and poor. You notice before you step inside that it’s different than you remember it. 

There was no longer a desk at the far end of the room by the window, there was no longer an absurd looking orange couch pushed to the far right of the room with 2 ugly looking metal chairs on either side of it. It’s entirely empty. Once you step inside though you do notice the water cooler in the corner of the room. 

“You’re early,” yaga almost freaks you out from his position in the far end of the room, in the least dim lit area of the room. “Did i interrupt nap time? Why is it so dark here?” you make your way over to where yaga was seated. 

“I can see your sense of humour is yet to waver,” he doesn’t look up from the stuffed doll in his hand, continuing to delicately stuff more cotton into the small opening, needle and thread placed neatly on the mat in front of him along with other doll skin. 

“It never will, and you know it” you jab back as you take a seat next to him, you still cannot see his face fully, but you can see the corner of his lip lift. You sit in silence as he tries to thread the needle to sew the last bit back, after a few minutes of him obviously struggling you grab them from his hand, threading it for him before ripping it from the rool and tying it to secure it. He doesn’t protest when you take the neon green bear from his lap and start to sew the last bit as he watches you. 

“How was your trip here?” you shrug in response. “Same as always, long and tiresome. Next time you ask me to come, I expect to be pulled up on a trolley. These stairs never get easier.” he lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes trained on your working hands. 

“How was europe?” he asks further, “sorcery work is much less busy anywhere outside of japan. Not much to take care of there. It was good.” you hold the bear up once you’re done before turning it for yaga to see, he offers a small smile as he takes it from you. 

“Nice to have you back,”

“It’s only for a month, don’t get too used to it, don’t want any weeping when i’m leaving. “ you joke and he nods, “i know, that was the deal, only a month.” he agrees with you as he places the bear onto the mat at his knees. “I’m not used to the plaque with your name on it,  almost missed your office, or play room. Why’d you empty it so much?” you ask looking around again at all the empty space from when you were still here, walking these halls as if they were your own, which to some extent is true. 

“Felt better, more calm.” he explains as he follows your line of vision, zeroing in on the small photo frame hung up right next to the wall, the one of all of you when you were still in your first year. shoko , satoru, suguru and you as you stand with big smiles around yaga, a cake in his hand and a rainbow polka dot party hat on his head. 

You hum in response to him, “i can get that.” your voice is low, quiet, as the two of you longer on the photo for a little while longer. “So when am i to meet the students?” you ask looking back at yaga who stands with a huff, “now if you’d like.” he looks down at where you remain seated. 

“They’re in the training court with gojo.” you pull your lips into a thin line before offering him a big smile. “Sure.” he extends his hand to you and you gladly take it as he helps you up. 

The two of you step into the hall, you trailing the smallest bit behind yaga, you savor the silence, knowing that although it had been years since you’ve seen each other, you’d prefer to skip the aspect of catching up on what is unnecessary to share, and he knows, so he doesn’t push. As you get closer to the exit leading to the training courts, the chaos gets louder and louder. 

“Are they anything like us?” you ask as you step out into the sun, taking a quick skip to catch up to his pace where you had stalled.  “no one could compare to the lot of you. Worst class i had ever taught.” although it may seem harsh, you can sense the fondness in his tone, and you know, with him saying it that he cherished you. All 4 of you. You shrink into yourself for a second as you grin at his words.

“YA, megumi! You can do better than that, don’t let a girl beat you.” you hear him before you see him. As the two of you round the benches you catch sight of the source of chaos. The students were posed in 2 groups of threes. Two pairs in combat formation with an orange ping pong on each of their heads whilst one spectated each pair. You note the panda but don’t ask any questions. Satoru was seated on the bright green grass, both legs spread in front of him, wide open as he leaned back on his palm, his back in your direction. 

“Why is it that every time i come you are layed back whilst all of your students do the work?” yaga asks satoru who didn’t bother turning around, his sight loud as you catch the motion of him reaching to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The students all stopped their training seeing hearing principle yaga’s entrance.

“Well i learned from the best obviously.” gojo responds back nonchalantly as you stop right behind satoru, yaga right next to you. “And since when do you spectat? Has your trust me hindered that much?” he asks leaning his head back to look at, who he thought would be yaga, but instead the top of his head bumps your knees, gazing up at you with pure boredom before his eyes, slowly, widen upon contact. You offer him a smile as yaga speaks up again. 

“I’ve come to introduce someone,” the students whispers, if they would be called that, reach you as you break eye contact with satoru to meet their eyes. They tredge carefully, you’re not sure if it’s yaga’s presence or your foreign one. 

“Due to recent events, and some doubts in your training,” he takes a quick glance at satoru who doesn’t quip up with anything in return, “i’ve brought on some temporary help to grow your abilities in a more reliable way. This is y/n one of the only 5 special grade sorcerers. I believe she’d be great at teaching you something useful.”  

You give a moderately big smile as you offer a small bow to the students, few bow back whilst the rest either give a small wave or nothing at all. You do notice though the boy with bright pink hair and his enthusiastic wave following his bow. “Hello,” he blushes at the personal attention you provide him, placing his hand over his mouth. 

Out of your peripheral you notice satoru shift before getting up, standing so tall above you he almost entirely blocks the sun. you tone out what yaga continues to say to the students as you glance up at the man towering above you, his glasses were now off, held in his hand as he looks you over, eyes scanning your entire figure. His eyes meet yours again, and it’s almost like he’s staring you down. You stare back, just as intense small smile toying at your lips. 

“Hey,” you whisper, and he takes a few seconds longer than you expect to respond. “Hey,” it’s quieter than yours, almost like he’s distracted. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” you muse and he scoffs, “kind what happens when you take off right after graduation.” you ignore the sarcasm in his voice. “Kinda what happens when you don’t reach out when you know exactly where i was.” you retort and so he doesn’t respond, just turning to face his students, but you notice the pout he sports before he turns. Very mature on his end. 

“You’ll be attending with her alongside your classes with gojo sensei this month. She’ll help you with everything you need to know regarding special grade curses and how to fight them as sorceres of your grade.”

“That’s possible?” the girl with short orange hair asks, hand placed on her hip as she spares you an unsure glance before looking back at principle yaga. “It is if you learn it from me,” you respond, voice softer to try and not come off as cocky. “Some of the ideals at jujutsu are a little, hmm, outdated, straying away from those ideals are sometimes helpful.” you explain and even though she doesn’t respond, the way her face contorts you could tell she was a little more open to it. 

“You’ll start lessons from tomorrow.” yaga points out before, all in one motion, turns to leave the training court. You watch as he walks away with a frown, “well he hasn’t changed a bit,” you mutter at his lack of regard to you. 

“Hmm, you’d think he’d treat his favourites a little better than the rest of us,” the slight biting tone in gojo’s voice is unharmful, you can tell. “Hmm, you’d think you’d have matured past your teenage years,” you bite back and he yet again scoffs as you roll your eyes as if you were irritated at his attitude but the smile you have tells otherwise.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, 11 am sharp please.” you give a small wave to the group of students, before turning to gojo one last time. “You too satoru,” you nudge him lightly with your shoulder ut he doesn’t budge, obviously. 

–

It’s past 8pm when there’s a sudden knock at your dorm room, you slip your bookmark between the pages you were on as you place the book on your night stand before slipping your feet into your slippers. Another knock sounds and you can almost feel who the impatient visitor is. You opt to not respond as you wrap your hand around the food handle and twist it open. You briefly meet eyes with gojo before he slips into your room, waiting for no invitation to come in. 

You furrow your brows as you remain where you stood, door lightly ajar, handle still in your hand as your twist your neck to look back at gojo, white shirt and black plaid pyjama bottoms clad as he is halfway to your bed. “Am i on your property?”

“What?” he turns to ask, he’s not wearing anything over his eyes, and even in the dimly light room, his iris glow even brighter than the small bedside lamp you have on. You nod your head towards the door, he huffs before slipping his foot back into his slipper before stepping back outside the entrance to your room. He stood before you, eyes fixed on the cieling as he obviously throws an inner tantrum.

“Can i come in?” he mumbles and you wait a beat for him to continue, when he doesn’t you help him. “Please,”

“Please,” he repeats almost before you’re done, and you open the door fully, he wastes no time in stepping inside again, making his way to your bed, kicking his slippers off before face planting onto the mattress. 

“Oh please, treat my room as your own.” you mumble and he kicks his foot once to help him sit up on your bed as you make your way to your bed, sitting where you were, back against the headboard. He shifts in his spot to turn and face you. “What are you doing here?” he asks blankly as you pick your book back up, collecting your knees up to your chest and pulling the covers onto your legs to cover them. 

“Do you still only listen to yourself when you talk?” you ask placing your book in your lap and looking over at gojo. His face is hard, his breathing mildly laboured, like his heart is beating faster than usual. His brows are furrowed enough to form creases on his forehead as his eyes pierce into yours. 

He doesn’t grant you an answer, you pull you lips in a tight line whilst letting out a sigh, “i’m here to help. Yaga wanted me to come around for a bit, says the sudden surge of special grade curses was worrying him.”

“I’m capable of managing my students.” he fights back making you place your book aside, “no one said you can’t. I’m only here to help.” you explain, voice soft. You can tell he’s feeling a plethora of emotions right now, quite possibly since this morning and it’s been brewing since. 

His brows cease a bit, un-creasing only slightly as he averts his gaze to the crumbled sheets beneath him. Picking at the stray thread in his pant leg. You grant him silence, a chance to bring up what’s actually bothering. You watch him, his slow blinks, his ever changing expression as he seems to be turning things over in his head, the way he starts picking at his palm aggressively, that’s when you intervene. 

You reach over to place your hand over his fidgeting one, he stops instantly. “Don’t,” you say, slowly removing his hand and taking a quick look at his palm. 

“You didn’t reach out.” he points out and you hum, rubbing your thumb over the slightly pink skin of his palm. “Neither did you,” you respond back and he retreats his hand back from yours, tucking them under his crossed legs. 

“I’ve always told you wasn’t planning on staying around.” you point out and he huffs, “though that would’ve changed, after everything,” you know what he’s referring to. 

“Nothing would have changed that. You know it.” you’re not mean, he can tell you’re only being honest. “You’ve been gone 10 years.” he points out and you smirk lightly, “and it’s made you bitter.” 

“I’m not bitter,” he defends, straightening his back as you raise your brows. “Upset?” you ask and he scrunches his face up, “no,” he defends once again, eyes boring into yours. “Hmm, what about yearning? Did you yearn for me satoru?” a light blush raises to his cheeks as he tsks in fake annoyance before getting off the bed as you gloat at his frustration, your grin reaching your eyes as you realise gojo is still as easy to affect as he used to be.

You watch as he paces around slowly, looking at all the things you had laid out from your unpacking. “Why didn’t you put anything up? The walls look boring?” he asks as he scans the bare walls of the room.

“I’m not staying long, there’s no need.” you lean back against the headboard as you watch him observe the space, curious as always. “How long are you staying?” 

“You really don’t listen huh?” you mock and he ignores as he picks up the small matrioshka doll on the vanity, opening it as if he doesn’t know what he’ll find in it. 

“A month,” you respond after a few moments of silence, he turns to you, staring you down once again. “Just a month?” he asks and you offer a small smile as you hum in response. He doesn’t follow up, instead busying himself with placing the matrioshka doll down to look through your bottles of serums and moisturizers you laid out.

And again, you give him his moment, as he mindlessly rolls the bottles around looking between them as if he was memorizing them, before speaking up again. 

“I missed you too,” he scoffs but doesn’t turn around. “I never said i missed you,” he mutters, voice low as he places the bottle down and turns to you. “You don’t need to say it. I can feel it.” you tease and he doesn’t sass you. His feet bringing him to the side of the bed you were at as he stands above you. 

You look up at him as he simply stood, staring at you. His hand twitches at his side before he reaches up to twirl a small strand of hair between his fingers, you don’t stop or question him. His thumb caresses right under your jaw as he takes a quick glance at your lips. “Are you still mean?” he asks and it doesn’t take you more than a second to register what he means. “Yes.” you respond making him huff aggressively before stomping his way to your door. you‘re in a fit of laughter as you are left staring at the door he slammed on his way out of your room.

You shake your head as your laughter dies down, you place your book on your nightstand, too worn out to continue reading, and turn your light off before slipping under the cover. Unable to remove the smile off your face from seeing one of the people closest to you after so many years.

pending; chapter 2

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[dee-writes-smut]

Mismatched Eyes Of Fire (Chapter Two)

SUMMARY It's your first day at UA, everyone you've met has seemed genuine (with the exception of Bakugo), though one person stands out against the rest, a boy with a similar fire in his eyes that you had seen in Tenko.

CONTENT WARNINGS death, depictions of homeless children, mentions of abuse, loss, memorial shrines, and grief. For the sake of the series (and my conscience), all characters are aged up while still following the plot of MHA. In other words, think of UA as a college rather a high school.

AUTHORS NOTE three consistent updates in a row?! Look at me go, guys!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Eraserhead was eerily quiet as he led you through the halls of the school you could now call home. The hallways were a labyrinth of polished floors and sleek walls adorned with inspiring posters of pro heroes. As you followed, you couldn't help but notice the grandeur of UA: high ceilings, bright lighting, and a sense of history embedded in the very walls. The hallways buzzed with energy, the chatter of students mingling with the occasional announcement over the PA system. You walked up several steps and took even more turns before arriving at a pair of grand wooden doors with a small plaque that read "Principal Nezu."

Before opening the door, Eraserhead introduced himself as Mr. Aizawa and asked that you address him as such unless out on missions. You readily agreed, feeling a wave of gratitude toward your new teacher for sticking his neck out to help you find better sleep arrangements than the cold, dirty concrete you had been sleeping on.

Aizawa had you wait outside Principal Nezu’s office for what felt like hours as he shared your situation behind closed doors. The minutes dragged on, feeling like an eternity as you rocked back and forth on your feet, growing more anxious about the whole housing ordeal. Yes, you were now a student at UA, but the school’s dorms were for general studies students and definitely cost more than you could ever dream to afford. You stared at the polished wooden door, tracing the intricate patterns in the wood grain with your eyes, trying to calm your nerves. The soft hum of voices behind the door was barely audible, adding to your anxiety as you waited.

When the doors finally swung open, Aizawa was accompanied by the mousy principal walking elegantly at his side. Nezu, though small in stature, exuded an air of authority and intelligence that was palpable. He looked you over contemplatively, taking stock of your body language and your tattered appearance with a simple hum and a nod toward Aizawa.

"I can see now what you are talking about," the principal said, his voice soft, unwavering, and detached, which you found more unsettling than comforting. "Excuse my manners, dear," he chuckled hauntingly. "My name is Nezu. I run this academy, and it has been brought to my attention that you have nowhere to stay comfortably while you are with us, is that correct?"

You immediately nodded, a harsh blush reddening your cheeks and neck. "Yes, sir," you managed to choke out, bowing respectfully.

"No need to be embarrassed. Do you mind if I ask some questions, out of personal curiosity?" Nezu wondered, Aizawa sending him a confused look.

"Of course," you stammered in response, looking between the two men (?).

"Do you have any family?" Nezu’s question was delivered as gently as the intellectual rodent could manage.

"No," you responded quickly, your throat burning with the need to weep at the reminder of your loss, of Tenko.

"Why are you here? What is it you wish to achieve in our hero academy?" Nezu continued, his black eyes gleaming with curiosity. When you let out a shaky breath, he immediately took a breath to reign himself in. "My apologies, I am used to having a good read on the people I meet, but you seem to be an enigma. I hope I didn’t offend you."

"No!" you responded quickly. "You didn’t, it’s just a sore subject," you paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I raised myself on the streets since I lost both my parents before I could remember them. I guess that loneliness and feeling of invisibility pushed me to want to be a hero. I want to help people feel seen, if that makes sense," you chuckled bashfully, rubbing your neck.

"Thank you for indulging me," the principal responded somewhat cheerily, waving a paw at Aizawa who was still standing at his side. "Mr. Aizawa will show you to your room. Also, I am personally going to pay for your tuition."

"I couldn’t," you immediately declined, your head spinning at his offer. "Having free board is enough. Seriously, I will get a job or something and pay it myself."

"Nonsense," Nezu smiled—or at least that’s what you thought he was doing. "Consider it a donation made in good faith. You will be a welcome star in our hero course this year. I don’t want you to worry about anything except for your training," Nezu nodded at Aizawa before giving you one last curious look and returning to his office. You thanked him hesitantly before the heavy doors closed.

"This way," Aizawa huffed, encouraging you to follow him back down the way you came.

The dorms at UA were gorgeous, towering buildings with each class’s numbers on them. Aizawa led you to one furthest from the rest of the dorms, the lettering above the building reading 1-A. It was the only building in the area aside from an identical building reading 1-B standing tall just opposite 1-A, separated by a wide cement walkway. The buildings looked newly constructed, with large windows that let in ample sunlight, making them look warm and inviting. The exterior was modern, with sleek lines and a blend of concrete and glass that gave it a sophisticated yet welcoming appearance.

As you approached the doors of the dorms, Aizawa stopped you. "Your room is the only complete one at the moment, fifth floor on the right in the middle. Also, here is a meal card. Just show it at the cafeteria when you get food, and you should have no trouble there."

"Thank you," you stammered in awe, taking the license-sized card colored in blue with the classic gold UA lettering on the front and a barcode on the back.

"The communal showers should be operating as well as the kitchen. If you find any issues, my room is on the first floor past the living room on the left," he added, opening the doors for both of you to enter. The lobby of the dorm was spacious and modern, with comfortable-looking furniture arranged around a large television. The walls were adorned with motivational posters and bulletin boards filled with various notices and announcements. There was a large communal area with plush couches, a few tables for studying or eating, and a game area complete with a pool table and several arcade machines.

"You should get your uniform sometime tonight or early tomorrow morning before classes start. As far as your hero costume goes, just submit your idea with any specifications to me before the week is up, and we’ll have the support department get it done for you."

"Sir, I don’t know what to say, this is all—I’m grateful," you breathed, desperately trying to keep your composure.

"All that we ask in return is that you do your best, plus ultra and all that," he rolled his eyes at himself, seemingly irritated that the school's moto had made its way past his lips. Rather than cringe, you were filled with a new sense of determination. You would not let these opportunities pass you by, and you would show everyone that all the effort and money they had put into you wasn’t in vain. You would earn every cent back by becoming the best.

"I will, sir," you bowed with a determined gleam in your eyes, causing your teacher’s lip to curl into an almost imperceptible smile—something you doubted happened often.

As Aizawa left, you took a moment to absorb your surroundings. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with stainless steel appliances and a large island for communal cooking. You took the elevator up to the fifth floor, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. Your room was at the middle of the hall, just as Aizawa had described. When you opened the door, you were greeted by a simple but cozy space with a bed, a desk, and a small window overlooking the campus. The room was sparsely furnished but had a warmth to it, with soft lighting and neutral tones that made it feel welcoming. A small dresser was tucked into the corner, and a bookshelf stood next to the desk, waiting to be filled with your belongings.

Setting your backpack down, you took a deep breath. This was your new beginning. You had a place to stay, food to eat, and the opportunity to become a hero. For Tenko, and for yourself, you would give it everything you had.

Your uniform had arrived just like Aizawa said, with a note reminding you to submit your hero costume design by the end of the week. The uniform fit perfectly, a stark contrast to the ill-fitting clothes you'd been wearing. It felt strange to be in something so clean and well-tailored, almost like stepping into a new identity. You'd spent several nights working on your hero costume design, carefully considering every detail, particularly the need for ear protection. When you finally handed it to Aizawa, you made sure to emphasize this requirement.

Aizawa nodded, taking the paper from you. Then, he handed you some cash. "From Nezu. He said to go buy some new clothes with it, preferably ones that fit."

Your face flushed red at the comment as you glanced down at your too-short pants and too-tight top. "Thank you, sir," you responded meekly, taking the money without complaint. By this point, you understood that it was no use arguing with the principal about money or anything else he had provided for your comfort. With a grunt, Aizawa left you to your thoughts, walking back to his room in the complex.

Today was your first day of classes, your first opportunity to prove yourself. You hadn’t had time to go out and buy new clothes yet, between studying and preparing, so you were thankful for the mandatory uniforms. As you got ready, you marveled at the difference consistent showers, access to clean water, and regular meals had made. You felt rejuvenated, less tired, and it showed. The dirt streaks and stains were gone, your calloused hands were softer, and your body had filled out enough to hide your ribs. You were beyond grateful for the opportunities you had been given, the space to prepare for the next big step in your life. This was going to change the course of your life forever, and there was no going back.

You had a feeling that these small acts of care were influenced by Tenko beyond the grave. For some reason, being here, achieving both your dreams, made you feel close to him, more connected. It felt nice; you felt seen again, a feeling that only Tenko had ever been able to give you. On top of that, you had asked Aizawa if you could set up a memorial shrine for your long-lost friend, and he had given you no resistance. Now that you had the means, you could remember Tenko properly. Every night before bed, you would light a censer and share your day with your friend, hoping he could hear your call and share in some of your light the same way you shared in his.

As you walked through the dormitory halls, you noticed how the early morning sun filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow on everything it touched. The hallways were still quiet, with only a few students up and about, but there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air. You made your way to the common area, where a few students were already gathering, most likely checking out newly finished dorms, their nervous chatter filling the space. Some of them glanced at you curiously, but you were too focused on your thoughts to pay them much attention.

Standing at the entrance of your classroom, 1-A, you took a deep breath and stepped inside. The room was spacious and filled with state-of-the-art equipment. The desks were arranged in a semi-circle, ensuring everyone had a good view of the front where a large digital board displayed today's date and the UA logo. You took a seat near the middle, trying to find a balance between being too close to the front and not wanting to be too far back.

As more students trickled in, you noticed a few familiar faces from the entrance exam. Kirishima, the boy who had saved you from being crushed by the robot, waved enthusiastically at you before taking a seat nearby. You smiled and waved back, feeling a bit more at ease knowing you had at least one friendly face in the class. The chatter around you grew louder, filled with excitement and anticipation for what the day would bring.

Finally, the door opened, and Aizawa walked in, his usual tired expression in place. He set his things down on the desk at the front of the room and scanned the class, his gaze stopping momentarily on you. You straightened up, meeting his eyes with determination.

"Welcome to your first day at UA High School," he began, his voice firm but quieting the room instantly. "I am Mr. Aizawa, your homeroom teacher. We have a lot to cover, so let's get started."

By the time lunch rolled around, you were pretty familiar with most of your classmates. Mina, the fluffy pink-haired girl who had talked your ear off before the entrance exam, was still a ball of energy. When she noticed you seated next to Kirishima, she squealed, skipping over to you to start a conversation, with the rest of her group following along. Mina's exuberance was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile as she animatedly introduced her friends.

Hagakure, the invisible girl, nearly matched Mina’s enthusiasm. Her cheerful voice was easy to recognize, and she greeted you warmly. Ochaco introduced herself as Uraraka with a sweet smile and a polite bow, her presence gentle and kind. Jiro gave you a bored once-over before turning back to her conversation with a girl named Yaoyorozu, who introduced herself with a composed and confident demeanor. Yaoyorozu's authoritative aura suggested she would make a good leader.

Finally, a small girl named Asui waved hello, her expression wise and calm. She insisted on being called Tsu, and you were happy to oblige. Her serene demeanor was a calming influence amidst the lively group.

During a break between subjects, you met Shoji, Sato, and Koda. They were all kindhearted and easy to talk to when they did speak. Shoji's multi-armed form was imposing yet gentle, Sato's muscular build was contrasted by his soft-spoken nature, and Koda's connection with animals was endearing.

Ojiro introduced himself after you almost tripped over his tail. He chuckled, catching you by your arm with a crooked smile and a soft apology. His calm and composed demeanor made you feel at ease.

Kirishima introduced you to Kaminari, whom you had started to hope for a friendship with. Kaminari was actually really funny, but it seemed he was more focused on cracking jokes and making friends than on learning. You liked Kaminari, but you preferred Kirishima's grounded nature. Kirishima was just as kind as the day you met him at the entrance exam.

You introduced yourself to Tokoyami, who was hiding in a dark corner of the classroom, looking grossed out by something the short purple-haired guy had said. Tokoyami's brooding presence was intriguing, and you found his straightforwardness refreshing. Soon after, you had the displeasure of running into Mineta, the short purple-haired guy. You quickly understood why Tokoyami had made a weird face; Mineta was a perv.

You recognized Iida as the kid who asked the only question at the entrance exam. Turns out he wasn’t stuck up; he was just very particular about rules and guidelines. At least he seemed dedicated to his education, and you thought he could make a good leader if he learned to be more accepting of others' faults. Sero was talking with Iida at the time, so you were introduced to him as well. Sero's laid-back attitude was a nice contrast to Iida's strictness.

Aoyama was just sitting at his desk "sparkling," so you didn’t really have the opportunity to talk to him, but at least he was better than Bakugo, who was straight up unapproachable. In fact, Bakugo tried to yell at you when he bumped shoulders with you on the way to his desk, which led to the only acceptable response: you getting right back in his face and calling him out.

"You’re the one who ran into me!" you scoffed, sending an apologetic look toward the group of girls you were mingling with. They all stood stock still in shock at your response. The entire classroom had gone silent, seemingly holding their breaths for Bakugo's reaction.

"Weren’t you the idiot that was the closest to my score?" he huffed, glaring at you.

"Yes," you said confidently, throwing daggers with your eyes in his direction. Bakugo seemed unfazed, just as you were of him.

"You better get ready, I’ll kill you on the mats later!" Bakugo yelled, a sinister smile curving his lips as small licks of orange crackled from his palms. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the pathetic threat.

"We’ll see," you hummed before turning back to your conversation as if nothing had happened. Being ignored seemed to only piss Bakugo off more, but he held his tongue and sat down.

That led you to now, walking through the lunch line at the cafeteria, gathering your food card in hand as you paid for your mapo tofu and a side of rice. The aroma of the spicy tofu dish made your stomach growl in anticipation. You had run into a green-haired kid when initially getting into line. He was one of the students you hadn’t had a chance to meet before class started. His name was Midoriya, and he was incredibly sweet and friendly. The two of you chatted up a storm while in line, sharing your mutual excitement about being at UA and your dreams of becoming heroes. Midoriya's enthusiasm and genuine kindness made you feel even more welcome at UA, and you were grateful to have met someone who shared your passion for heroism.

As you made your way through the bustling cafeteria, the aroma of various dishes wafting through the air, you balanced your tray carefully. The cafeteria was abuzz with the lively chatter of students, the clatter of utensils, and the hum of excitement as everyone shared their morning experiences.

You navigated through the maze of tables, searching for an empty spot, when you suddenly collided with someone, causing your tray to wobble precariously. Your mapo tofu and rice threatened to spill over the edges as you quickly tried to steady it.

"I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, looking up to see who you'd run into. Standing before you was a tall boy with strikingly mismatched features. His hair was split down the middle, one side white as snow and the other a deep crimson red. His eyes mirrored this dichotomy, one a cool, icy blue and the other a warm, fiery gray. There was something about his eyes that reminded you so clearly of Tenko, that same fire you thought, though it was also entirely different. This boys fire perplexed you, sure it held plenty of anger and hatred, but it seemed a lot softer than Tenko’s, more controlled.

"It's fine," he responded calmly, his voice steady and composed. His expression was stoic, almost indifferent, but his eyes held a depth that hinted at a complicated past. "I should have been more careful."

You felt a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck. "No, really, it's my fault. I wasn't paying attention."

The boy studied you for a moment, his gaze intense yet not unkind. "I'm Shoto Todoroki," he introduced himself, his voice devoid of any irritation.

You gave a small, nervous smile, introducing yourself as well. "Nice to meet you, Todoroki."

Todoroki nodded slightly, his eyes flicking to your tray. "You might want to find a seat before your lunch ends up on the floor."

You laughed softly, the tension easing a bit. "Good point. Do you have a seat already?"

He glanced around the cafeteria, then shook his head. "No, I don't. You can join me if you'd like."

Surprised by the offer, you nodded eagerly. "Sure, that would be great."

The two of you found an empty table near a window, the natural light casting a soft glow over your meals. As you settled down, you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. Todoroki's presence was imposing yet strangely comforting.

"So, you're in Class 1-A too?" you asked, trying to make conversation as you began eating your mapo tofu.

"Yes," he replied simply, taking a bite of his own lunch. "I saw you during the entrance exam. Your quirk is… interesting."

You chuckled lightly, a bit embarrassed by the attention. "Thanks. It's called Dissonance. I can influence actions and thoughts with my singing."

Todoroki raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That's a powerful ability. Have you been training with it for long?"

You nodded, grateful for the interest. "Yeah, I've had to learn to control it and not overuse it. It can be pretty dangerous if I'm not careful."

He seemed to ponder this for a moment, then nodded. "It's important to know your limits. My quirk has its own challenges too."

You glanced at him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, you decided to ask. "What about your quirk? It's pretty unique too, right? Though I don’t remeber ever seeing you at the entrance exam."

Todoroki's expression remained neutral, but you could see a flicker of something—perhaps hesitation or discomfort. "I got in through recommendation, I only saw you that day because I happened to step into the analysis room when you were using your quirk. As far as my quirk goes, I have control over both fire and ice," he explained, his tone even. "But I only use my ice side."

You tilted your head, sensing there was more to the story, but you decided not to press. "That's impressive. It must be difficult to balance both elements."

"It can be," he admitted, his gaze distant for a moment before returning to you. "But it's something I have to learn to manage."

The conversation flowed more easily after that, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying Todoroki's company. Despite his initial aloofness, there was a quiet strength and determination about him that you respected. As you finished your lunch, you felt a sense of camaraderie with him, a shared understanding of the challenges you both faced in mastering your quirks and pursuing your dreams at UA.

[verdemoun]

Oh my god what anout Branwen. Kieran loved Branwen with all his heart what does he do when he realises his horse isn’t there with him?

i love branwen so much

Mary-Beth kept all the gang's horses after their owners died. Originally she only kept Branwen, in Kieran's memory, and he was the horse she rode out of Beaver Hollow when she decided to flee.

But due to how iconic most of the gangs horses were, she accidentally picked up all the lost souls over the course of the years post-VDLs. As they passed away of old age as spoiled, lazy paddock pals, they were all buried at Shady Belle.

With Shady Belle being converted into a historic site as the home of America's most influential female writer, the gang obviously went to visit because how could they not want to celebrate Mary-Beth successfully escaping the VDL curse and finding peace and happiness while living an extraordinary long life.

In the garden, along with a much nicer headstone for Kieran than the original wooden cross (which is... very, very uncomfortable for the gang to see), there are small plaques throughout the garden beds that list off the horses buried there. Specifically Branwen (near Kieran's grave), Silver Dollar, Maggie, Ennis and Baylock.

In what was once Mary-Beth's study, there is a small famed photograph of a mature, effervescently beautiful 40 year old Mary-Beth in obviously expensive but functional farm attire opposed to the gowns she was known for, standing with a much older, fat, happy Branwen with grey flecks around his eyes.

Kieran cried tears of joy and relief when he saw it. Even with the terror of being held and tortured by the O'Driscolls, he was still worried about Branwen because Branwen had always tried to find him when they were separated and he was terrified Branwen would be left lost, confused and upset standing beside his mutilated corpse.

Sean managed to steal said photo. Lenny proceeded to make a copy and return it before they got into proper trouble but Kieran keeps it on his bookshelf next to all his copies of Mary-Beth's books.

Seeing how difficult of a time Kieran was having adjusting to modern era as well, and in general ptsd-autism combo, Arthur painted a horse figurine to look exactly like Branwen. Absolutely no one is allowed to touch it.

On particularly bad days, Kieran will pay the entry fee for a tour of the historic Shady Belle just to sit in the garden where Branwen is buried for the peace of knowing where he is and that Branwen was as happy and spoiled as he deserved to be his entire life. Branwen technically outlived Kieran, making it to an estimated 32 whereas Kieran was in his 20s.

[preservationofnormalcy]

(Happy Halloween! I'm doing a rare OOC note at the beginning that this one is darker than other interviews, so a content warning for descriptions of gore, body horror, and alcohol/alcoholism.) [I am in the darkly lit reception area of Office Security, known by the rest of the Office as O-Sec. It’s late, and most employees have gone home for the night. Most of the lights are off, but along one wall there is a spot of quiet activity. This wall is covered in neatly ordered brass plates, bearing names and dates. This is a memorial. Plates above some columns list broad date ranges, and others list specific dates or events. One larger section that stands out is labeled “Operation Deep Whisper”, which seems to have taken place in the 1970s. 

Several people in work clothes are working along one section of the wall, furthest to the right - the most recent. A series of plates, larger and more ornate than the others with a photo attached, are being taken off the wall. One worker takes down the last plate - an african-american woman smiles at me over his shoulder as he does, and I see the name Agent Pearlgate before the plate is slid with the others into a wooden crate.]

K] Damn shame.

M] Security Director Knight?

K] Affirmative.

[I’m not startled by his presence, despite his sudden appearance. A middle aged, tall caucasian man, salt and pepper hair over a simple dress uniform. I know this man has more clearance than most people in the Office, but his clothes are unassuming. An undershirt and tie, a name tag and badge the only things betraying his rank. His stature is tall and proud, confident, but the only thing that would truly stand out in a crowd of military men would be his mask. A strange mask, black and sleek with vents on either side. His voice is not affected by it, a low, gravely, world-weary tone that sounds like it should be coming from the mouth of an action movie star. It’s almost too perfect. Knight nods, then pauses and jerks his head down a dark hallway.

Motion activated lights precede us as we walk down the hallway, Knight’s hands grasped together behind his back. They shut back off as we pass, giving the sense of a spot of light moving through the darkness.] 

K] Heard I was being interrogated. 

[The half-joke is obvious despite his tone, giving me a wry look back over his shoulder.]

M] A couple simple questions, Director. 

K] That’s what they all say. 

M] Including what the “damn shame” was about. Why take down a memorial?

K] I can’t answer that. Directive 61722.

[His tone was serious, and I know better than to pry. We enter his office, and it’s about what I expected - sparsely furnished with serious-minded furniture, plaques and medals adorning the walls, models and weapons mounted on stands sitting on bookshelves. The part of his office that stood out was the lighting. The office was very dark, with only one light on directly above his desk. It’s by that light I was able to make out shapes on the walls. When he sits at the desk, the light reminds me of an interrogation room light, a solid conical beam from the lamp above him, illuminating his arms but leaving his face in shadow. Silently, he pulls a bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk, filling one shot glass and hovering the bottle meaningfully over the second one, looking to me.]

M] Just a sip. 

K] You driving?

M] I’m a lightweight, Director. 

[He relented, pouring a tiny amount into the bottom of the second glass and corking the bottle.] 

K] So…what’re your questions?

M] I’m conducting my observations based on posters I see in my site tours, and I saw yours. The…ontophage one.

K] Nasty little assholes.

M] What?

[He leans back, and in the shadows I can see him pull his mask away from his face, drink, and replace it.]

K] The ‘phages. Nasty little assholes. Feral, mindless as far as we can tell. One of the most annoying things we deal with, and that’s saying something. We lost whole sites to them, before we started scrutinizing a lot of our “lost item” cases. Now it’s just a matter of recon and elimination. Ever seen a shotgun shell loaded with ‘phagebuck? Hell of a thing. 

M] Usually I’d ask what your department does, but I think in this case it’s pretty obvious. 

K] There’s things that go bump in the night, ma’am. And O-Sec bumps back. 

M] I wouldn’t think that many supernatural things could be dealt with like that.

K] Comes with the territory. One of the professors could explain it better, but if you exist in realspace, you take up some of the traits of realspace. Like a vulnerability to bullets.

M] It’s that simple? 

K] Not really ever that simple. Sometimes you have to dress it up a little. Silver bullets, cross-tipped hollow points, phagebuck, tindalosian powder, magebore, chronojacketed rounds. Hell, I’ve done fieldwork in flintlocks. But for the most part… It’s like getting invited to your friend’s house as a kid. Some families take their shoes off at the door, and you have to play along. They come here, something about our reality makes them play along, at least partially. 

[Knight pauses.]

K] We face a lot of different shit, ma’am. Shit I don’t even want to think about. The guys in the button up shirts do a damn fine job with Plan A. Diplomacy, problem solving, the whole deal. Compassion, that’s what the Office is about. But sometimes they need us. We’re here to be Plan B, Plan C if need be.

[I take a small sip of the drink.]

M] I guess that answers a lot of my questions. Every org needs security. I guess it’s just a question of how efficient, and that may be beyond me. My superiors will want to see your records from Los Angeles.

K] That may pose a problem.

M] The Directive.

K] Mm-hmm.

[There’s a moment of heavy silence, and Knight breaks it by leaning on the table.]

K] You wanna know what I think happened?

M] Seems like it might be above my clearance. Not above yours, though. So why is it what you think happened, and not what you know?

[Another pause. I can sense Knight narrowing his eyes.]

K] The names out there. That’s what happened. Omega Hand. Agent Fairweather, Agent Scratch, Agent Pea—th’rest…

[He sighed, putting his glass on the desk. It only now occurred to me that he might have been drinking before. Why else was he here so late? This last glass was only the icing on the cake.]

K] I was supposed to be there, you know. In LA. But I got…I was scared.

M] Of…of what?

K] …1991. On assignment in Alaska. There was this…cult. Necromancy, but they were…organized. We don’t get that a lot. Usually just whackos trying shit in their basement, too suspicious to be organized, but there they were. Threatening a ZU-class normality collapse. Managed a guerilla army one hundred strong, living and arming up in the cold up there. We weren’t…prepared for it. We even had backup from the RCOE guys, but it wasn’t enough. Picked us off one by one, sewed us back together again. My buddy Akers, he…he came back and he had these...knives on his hands…walking on shredded femurs bolted to stilts. I was the only survivor. Almost wasn’t. They brought me to their leader, this…this corpse. Wasn’t even animated. Just a corpse, rotting and bloated and…one of ‘em touched me. My face.

[He reached up to his mask, pulling it free. In the cone of light, I can see his lower face - everything from his nose down is desiccated, rotting. Sewn up skin but bone white teeth, a smell like rot and formaldehyde roiling across the table. I choke on my vomit, and as he speaks again, he slurs from the holes in his cheeks.]

K] Every time I die, I come back. And every time I come back, I leave a little more on the other side. Every damn time there’s less of me. And I got scared.

[He places the mask back on. I am forcing myself not to vomit, unable to look at him. He seems nonchalant, looking at the bottle of alcohol again.]

K] Damndest thing….I can still taste the booze just fine.

[arcriotwrites]

~𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓱~

Bucky Barnes x Reader

WARNINGS: Angst and discussion of Bucky's/Reader's trauma, descriptions of death, themes of depression, swearing

Tags:

#buckybarnes #thewintersoldier #death #trauma #fanfic #xreader #tangst #revival #first post #love #mypoorbaby:( #Ijustwannahughim

Author’s Note:

This is my first post to this account! I haven’t written this type of stuff in a while so I apologize if I am a bit rusty. I love Bucky so much and wanna hug him so bad so I wrote about doing that to ease my delusions. I hope you enjoy! (Please ignore the grammar errors, it is 11:30pm when I am posting this)

Word Count: 2.1K

Your eyes can't seem to tear away from the security monitor, your gaze specifically on the silver glint you can see from the dim desk light he sits at. You lean back in your chair, letting out a deep sigh, your hand running over your face.

He shouldn't be allowed to do this. To just forget.

Your thoughts seem to drift as you feel frustration rake your body, your mind starting to cloud in anger. He was a criminal, an assassin, a killer and yet Shield just lets him run around like a commoner. Your anger seems to drift into logical thinking as it often did, your memory flipping back to all of the files you read on The Winter Soldier. After the corruption of Shield and the publication of Hydra's files due to The Black Widow during the destruction of Project Insight, you found yourself spending many late nights pouring yourself over the files on The Winter Soldier. Your colleagues didn't like to talk about him whenever you brought him up, almost treating him as if he's Bloody Mary, like saying his name would summon him. Though despite what he has done and the destruction he has caused, he always intrigued you. So much so you became his personal watcher. Security cameras and microphones were put up in his apartment before he relocated himself their permanently, making it so that his every move was watched without his knowledge.

You feel yourself drift back to reality, not knowing when you decided to get up from your desk. You find yourself walking out of the newly built Shield headquarters, turning to look at the building as you exit the doors. After the corruption, they immediately started rebuilding.

Time doesn't stop for them I guess.

The thought passes through your mind as you slide into your car, dropping your computer bag into the bag seat with a soft thud. You let out a deep sigh as you sit there, debating whether you were really going to do this or not. As you turn the key, the car engine roaring to life, you route your GPS to a certain Brooklyn apartment.

Pulling up to the building felt so strange. Sure you had driven by before and watched it nearly 24/7 but parking your car outside seemed like a bad idea. A shiver runs down your spine as anxiety settles in your stomach, feeling as though your heart jumped to your throat. You release a deep breath as you step out of your car, wrapping the jacket you had on around you tighter. As you approach the main entrance, your hands shake when reaching for the brass door handle.

When you enter the building, it was exactly as you expected. Single apartments on either side of you dictated by A and B, a staircase in the middle of the hallway that went up 5 floors, even the mirror hanging above the small table in the main hall seemed to be exactly where you expected it. The familiarity of the building brings a small sense of comfort to you it fully sinks in what you are about to do. Your footsteps seem to echo as you climb the stairs to the 4th floor, knowing he resided in apartment 4B. When you reach the 4th floor, you can feel the anxiety creeping up again, feeling as though you were going to be sick. You quickly take note of your exit routes before walking to the door with the brass plaque on it that read '4B'.

You take a deep breath before knocking against the wooden door, swallowing hard as you try to find what to say.

"Mr.Barnes? I um- I know you don't like visitors especially if it is unannounced but I just- I feel like we need to talk."

You speak, your voice coming out softer than you had wanted it, making you wonder whether he even heard you. You can hear his heavy footsteps approaching the door and stop just as he reaches it. After a few seconds of silence, you clear your throat.

"I'm going to be honest with you. I came here to try and figure out what happened. I have been angry for so long and I'm positive my anger is based in confusion and so I came looking for answers. I have been trying to figure it out on my own but it's never a good enough answer, you are my last resort."

Your voice slowly becomes a whisper as you ramble, not noticing just how much you were saying until it was already said. You hear a deep sigh on the other side of the door. When he speaks his voice comes out gruff and raspy, as though he hadn't spoken in years.

"You with Shield?"

His question has you sighing in defeat, expecting this to be the end of the conversation as you respond.

"I am but they aren’t aware that I am here right now. I came here strictly on my own business and accord."

Your response is hopeful as if trying to prove to him that he isn't your assignment. That he isn't your mission. You hear his footsteps and then the door of the lock squeaking open. The sound of the doorknob turning causes you to swallow hard, understanding that you were about to walk into his domain.

As he opens the door, your eyes fall to him, your lips parting slightly in shock. You had expected to see a man full fo hatred, covered in wounds and bruises. You had expected to see a killer open that door. Yet standing in front of you was a man. His hair was brown and to his shoulders, dark circles rested beneath his crystal blue eyes, a black hat was placed on his head, shadowing his face partially. He looked tired, maybe even burnt out. His appearance made you almost feel bad for him. You notice a glove covering his left hand, that same hand motions for you to come inside and for some reason, you do.

As you step inside, you look around the apartment. Newspaper covers the windows, the floor was worn, a small kitchen to your right and a mattress on the floor to your right, no sheets on it. You would’ve thought Hydra would set up their best soldier better before they got taken down. He stands next to the kitchen counter, examining you. As your gaze falls back to him, a shiver runs down your spine at the look in his eyes. It wasn’t predatory or dangerous, his eyes were full of curiosity and nervousness.

“You wanted to talk?” He asks, clearing his throat as if trying to remind you why you were here. Your attention snaps back to the task at hand.

“Yes. I um- I…” You trail off, feeling words die in your throat. How could you explain this to him without sounding weird?

“I have looked over your files, I know your history.” You notice him tense up as you speak, his jaw clenching and his posture straightening slightly. You continue;

“I’m not here to hurt you or pry too much but there are so many questions I have that I can’t get answers to except from you. I um- I had a brother. His name was Cody. He was the funniest guy you’d ever meet, he would tell stupid dad jokes and make sure everyone had a good time everywhere he went.” A dry laugh escapes your throat as you feel your chest tighten, the words coming to you easier now as you speak about someone so close to you. “He went to towns outside of what was Sokovia to help build hospitals after the Avengers destroyed the country. I went to visit him for the summer, taking time off work to go help him do this amazing service. When I got there, his project advisor said he hadn’t seen him so I went looking for him in the hospital he was working on at the time. I found him in the basement, shot in the chest and once in the back of the head. He was slouched against the wall opposite the door, sitting in his own blood. His eyes were still open…” As you describe the scene you had walked into, the memory floods back like a dam breaking. Tears well up in your eyes as your gaze drops to the floor, not wanting him to see you this emotionally vulnerable. You notice his stance has relaxed, his face dropping as you speak. He knows what’s coming, waiting for you to say it.

“He was assassinated by The Winter Soldier. The shots were so precise, I knew that’s who it had to be. No one would make it two clean shots. I knew how Hydra trained their soldiers. I contacted Shield to find out if my brother was in Hydra’s files and if I could bypass the encryption to see them. I was able to. He was listed as a false suspect.” The words choke out, your voice cracking as a son takes your body, placing a hand on the counter in front of you to hold yourself up.

“He wasn’t even a threat, Hydra misidentified him as their next target. He was killed for no fucking reason. He didn’t deserve that. He was doing such good work, hell he was doing better work than I could ever do at Shield.” You scoff out the last sentence, sniffle and wiping your face with your sleeve. Your gaze rises to the ceiling, as if trying to get the tears to stop. Your lips quiver as you try to calm down, seemingly unable to stop the cries that make your whole body quiver. You don't want to look at him, knowing you would fully breakdown, your knees threatening to give out. You hear him clear his throat, the sound coming out like choking. You blink quickly, bringing your hand up and wiping your eyes with your jacket sleeve. You sniffle, trying desperately to gather yourself before continuing.

"I'm not here to try and condemn you, I simply just want answers..." You hesitate as you speak, your voice coming out broken and soft, your tone shifting to be almost pleading with him. You slowly lift your gaze from the floor, your eyes landing on him. He stands on the opposite side of the counter from you, his hands resting on the wooden top. His head is bowed, his hair falling like a curtain in front of his face. You take a few deep breaths as you try to compose yourself. When you speak, your voice comes out more even;

"I just want to know if you remember him."

You watch as he slowly lifts his head. His voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper.

"I remember them all. It was like I was screaming to get out but I couldn't. It's like I was a witness to my own crimes that I couldn't stop." His voice breaks as he speaks. You notice the tears that fall down his cheeks, his eyes seeming to glaze over in pure grief. In those few sentences, your entire perspective shatters. The man before you wasn't a killer, Hydra made him that way. They scrambled his brain and controlled him like robot. He was nothing but a tool for them. You watch as he breaks down, beginning to pace circles in the small kitchen, trying to control his breathing. Your breathing begins to pick up and without thinking, you walk around to the other side of the counter, now invading his space even further.

"I'm so sorry..." He chokes out, his voice hoarse as he looks at you, his cheeks wet with tears. Almost like an instinct you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in to a tight embrace. Sobs rake his body as he practically collapses into you. You had been so stuck in your own grief and anger that you hadn't stopped to think about all that he has dealt with. Sure, his trauma doesn't diminish the loss he caused you as The Winter Soldier, but it gave you a new perspective as to how broken he is about it too. You find yourself running your fingers through his hair trying to soothe him. Tears run down your cheeks as you stand there, holding the shattered man in your arms. You feel his metal arm wrap around the small of your back, his other one wrapping around your shoulders, trying to pull you closer to him. His face is buried into your shoulder as you speak, your voice just above a whisper;

"I forgive you."

[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Unlocked

Part 7: Birthdays and… Balloons?

Part 6: As Does the Sun Shine

pairing: Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: mention of female and male anatomy, dark thoughts, again this is a slow burn book so Leon won’t be dark this early on and the smuttier parts will be more later on as their relationship starts to become more, i really want this to be played out as a book rather than just a few parts <3

Coffee, now cold, sitting in the plastic cup on Leon's desk. He'd forced down about one third of it, before he couldn't withstand the bitterness. His eyes closed tight as he took his last sip, forcing the black coffee down his throat with a repressed gag. Was the illusion of fitting in really worth the vile taste that bit at his taste buds? His fingers placed the cup back down, a soft thud coming from the wooden desk as the paper cup met its surface. How did anyone drink this? His nose scrunched at the memory of the earthy flavor. A steamed bean that tasted as a strong as it smelt, nauseating. His eyes moved from his cubicle, looking to the other officers. Some were kicked back, black boots atop their desk as their arms folded behind their heads, chatting mindlessly about whatever thought slid across their mind. Leon hadn't truly gotten too close to most of his colleagues, yet. He did, however, like Lieutenant Branagh. The man was always so stern, but Leon found a way into his more kind moments. Weaseled his way into the Lieutenant's close circle of officers.

  His eyelids drooped, falling back to the pile of papers before him, feeling the overbearing weight of the files before him. He couldn't focus, his mind was already wavering from one thing to another and soon all the inked words looked like blurs. His fingers dug into his eyes, wiping away the imaginary film that blocked his pupils from distinguishing letter from letter. He pressed his lips together, his body ached for something, he wasn't sure what it wanted but he couldn't just sit here anymore. Standing up, his hand brushing down the blue material of his uniform shirt, straightening out the still, slightly, stiff fabric. He hadn't worn this one in as much as he had the others, it was still crisp. It was even a bit itchy as Leon bit back a groan.

  A mere stroll, he was simply trying to stretch his legs. The dull ache in his legs needed to be coaxed out as he passed by the same dark oak door. His eyes on the plaque that hung, face level, in front of him. 'Coroner's Office'. He'd been growing familiar with the office, the cold feeling it gave off as he heard shuffling on the other side of the door. He didn't want to seem clingy, despite his already near adhesive behavior towards her. He was like a piece of gum that didn't want to be scraped from her shoe. He clung to any piece of her his sticky mind could reach, be it a look here or there, an offer to take her to work or pick her up coffee, an uninvited trip to her apartment and a soft touch after his hand slammed a mug into the back of her head.

  He wondered if she remembered, did she know he was there and she was just too nervous to say anything? Surly not, he wondered if, without his direction, she already assumed it was a dream. If not, he'd slide in her comfort show, one that showed home invasions often, he had sat down to watch a few episodes after their talk that night, her little ramble about how she always came home on weekends and binged the seasons she'd seen already, far too many times. He liked to watch her ramble, going on about a detective who was brainy and wise, how much she thought the character was similar to him and then to if he ever wanted to go higher into the criminal justice system. He could listen to her prattle for ages and never become tired of hearing her voice. He was an addict for her, Leon never thought himself the kind to be over come by an addiction. He didn't smoke cigarettes and maybe sometimes he over indulged into the bottle on occasion, but to say he was addicted, that would mean he needed a substance. His substance was her.

  "You gonna day dream all day, Kennedy?", he heard a mellow voice from behind him, breaking his thoughts away from the girl just on the other side of the door. "You know, you still have reports to turn in.", Lieutenant Marvin Branagh, the African American man stood behind him as Leon tilted his head to look behind him. "Yes, Lieutenant. I was just stretching my legs before i finished them up, sir.", always the good boy, always the yes man. Leon made sure he gave respect where it was due and Branagh deserved respect for how well he treated the officers in RPD. "I'm just pulling your leg, you've got plenty of time.", the man laughed, placing his hand on his khaki clad hip. "I was looking for you. I wanted to invite you to my little girl's birthday. She's turning 5, I'm inviting the whole precinct.", Leon could see how much Marvin was excited for this birthday party. "The sun's shining for once and i think my little girl wants to have a pool party. Bring yourself and a plus one...", Branagh's eyes narrowed, a knowing smirk crossing his lips. "Maybe that little assistant girl?", Leon's cheeks lit up as his lips turned down. "Why would you assume-", he started to raise his hand to wave off what the Lieutenant suggested. "Don't act like you haven't brought her to work and taken her home the past two days. I know what you're doing, I was young once.", Marvin knew Leon was trying to charm the girl. "Bring her, it's tomorrow at 3pm. Bring a swimsuit and an appetite. My wife makes the best potato salad and i'm going to throw some meat onto the grill.", with that and another knowing look, Marvin walked away from the younger officer. "I better see her there.", he called over his shoulder, voice bounding off the walls and echoing. Leon winced, silently praying she hadn't heard the Lieutenant through the door.

 

"A birthday party, for Lieutenant Branagh's daughter?", she looked up at Leon, tapping a file onto her desk, her other hand holding a paper clip ready to slide it onto the papers once they fell into place. "I'd love to go with you.", her eyes crinkled as the corner of her mouth quirked up. A shocked breath fell from Leon's lips, it's not like he truly expected a no, but she hadn't been too familiar with the other officers. He knew she was shy and even a little anxious, she didn't even order for herself at the coffee place this morning. Leon noticed she was fidgeting and seemed a little more nervous than in the car and opted to order for her.

  "Maybe we can stop by and pick her up a gift and some balloons. I know i loved balloons when i was a kid.", she slid her chair back, placing the file into an open file cabinet, before pushing it closed and twisting the key to lock it back. Upon hearing his silence, she turned to look over her shoulder, "So, that's a no to balloons?", she asked, wondering if his lack of answer was due to the floating, helium filled rubber. "We'll definitely get balloons, so long as i don't have to fill them up.", his head was slightly tilted, giving him an extra air of innocence. "Ballons it is then.", she chuckled, looking at his slightly obvious stare. "You gonna blink any time soon?", she was bold, for once. Leaning onto her elbow as she slid her chair back to its respective spot.

 

   He didn't want to blink, not for a second as he watched her slide, the slight bump over the rolling mat that was placed under her desk made her breasts bounce slightly, causing his eyes to divert to the movement. Her breasts looked so soft, the shirt cut off the rest of his view. Her valley between her mounds tempted him to bury his head between them, pressing kisses to the flesh. Yeah... sorry-", he shook his head, eyes flickering up to the window, golden rays of sunshine bounced into the room. "It looks like a pretty day today, I hope it stays that way for tomorrow.", he cleared his throat, hand pulling at the collar of his shirt. "I'm sure it will.", she glanced over to where he was looking, small particles of dust flew through the rays of sunshine, causing a peaceful look to takeover the usually dark office.

"It's a pool party, did i mention that?", his voice broke the calm silence. Her eyes snapping up to him, her hands reaching for the next file. "No, but that sounds great.", great to her, he got to see her in a bathing suit and his dick nearly twitched to life at the thought. He got to see her in a, hopefully, sexy, yet modest bathing suit. Although, so did all the other officers who'd be there. That thought, in and of itself, made him sick. Who were they to look at what was his? He liked that she stayed away in the office, away from his coworkers, but what when other officers realized just how sweet and naive- pretty, she was? Would she like all that attention on her very womanly figure or would she be shy and try to cover herself up? "Yeah, sounds great to me too.", he hummed, his lips pushed together as he gazed back at the window.

  "I can pick you up for the party?", a few moments later, it seemed he was always the one to break the silence, but he had to hear her more. "Are you sure, Leon?", she squinted her eyes, he was always picking her up, it felt like she didn't even need a car anymore. "I'm sure, i've been to the Lieutenant's home before, i know the way and it saves you the chance of getting lost on the way. It's on the outskirts of Raccoon.", he moved back over, stepping to the side and sitting in the chair his butt has become so close with. The red upholstery welcomed his back like an old friend. "Only if you're sure.", she gave him a look of uncertainty; she felt bad he was always going out of his way to do things for her or come see her. "I can give you some gas money.", she had a soft twinkle in her eyes when she looked back up at him. His hand waved her off, dismissively, before she even finished the word 'gas'. "No, i'm offering to take you.", he really put some effort behind saying 'offering', "if you really want to pay me back for taking you... let me come by your place again. I really enjoyed our little tea party.", a smirk pulled at his lips, slightly teasing her about their first night together- their only night together that she was aware of.

  "How about-", she leaned over the desk; his eyes getting a clear shot down her shirt before he looked back up at those doe eyes of hers. "after that party, you and i go back to mine and we can have a movie night? We can order pizza in and maybe even get a few beers- if you drink that is.", she offered, leaning back in her chair as it squeaked with her weight. Leon's finger pressed to his clef chin, eyes dancing as he hummed. "Let me see...", he looked down at his watch, which had nothing to do with anything. "i've got a pretty busy schedule...", his tone was playful but muted. She couldn't help but laugh, even if she got turned down, his overtly dramatic show was just too cute. "but-", he lifted his finger, then pointed it at her. "I think I can make some time to spend with a pretty girl like you.", it was his turn to be bold. Her cheeks nearly felt like he'd struck a match near them, her eyes as wide as saucers as she stared at him. He called her a pretty girl, she thought he'd said it before it this time. With his very obvious flirting, it made her feel warm and tingly. "Well... I think we have a movie date-", the word date slipped her lips before she even registered the underlying intention to the word. Mentally, he was kicking his feet in joy, screaming that she was finally his, well... as much of his as a first date goes. He wanted to do it better, some place fancy and escort her to a nice restaurant, maybe take her to the botanical gardens but this would do. They'd have plenty of time for those nicer dates later. He'd be in her home once more, this time in a welcomed way.

 

  "Oh, Leon.",  she spoke up softly. "I had this really weird dream.", she shuffled, her hands going under her butt to keep her skirt down as she adjusted herself in the office chair. He could sense she was nervous to talk about this 'dream.' he had a feeling he knew what was coming next and he could feel his pulse start to quicken. "Oh, really? Do you want to tell me about it?", he leaned into her, his head now passing the edge of her desk. "Unless, of course, you're not comfortable. I just-", he was going to tell her that it's okay- "No, it was about you.", maybe, her inviting him to come back over had subconsciously struck a nerve in her. "You were in my kitchen and-", she bit back her next words, her lip pulled between her teeth. "It's so silly, i don't even know why i'm telling you.", she felt ashamed to have dreamt something like this and to tell him at that. She felt foolish. "It's okay.", his voice was calm, feigning ignorance as he knew what she was about to say and he could see the guilt she felt from thinking it was him, to which it was, but she didn't need to know that. Her hands played with her skirt seam as she looked up at him. "You were just there and i came home to you in my kitchen. You... grabbed me and it scared me, really bad.", she couldn't even look at him, her eyes zeroed in on a pencil holder.

  "I'd never hurt you, bunny.", there's that nickname, that nickname made from her naive, idiotic nature. To her it sounded so reassuring and kind, understanding even. To anyone who knew the boiling thoughts that rose to his mind at any slight moment, it sounded like a lie, a manipulation used to bring her comfort in a trying time that he, himself, had caused her. "I'd never, ever, hurt you, bunny.", his head tilted, almost like he was hurt that she would think such thing.

   Maybe, just maybe, he was too good at this. That pretty, sweet boy was a wolf in sheep clothing, comforting his prey. "I know.", she let out a sigh mixed with a scoff, "maybe i need to lay off that stupid crime show.", she let out a airy laugh, her eyes finally meeting his. "I trust you, Leon.", oh, what a mistake she had made, those words nearly knocked Leon into an orgasmic state of mind. She trusted him. How, she would come to regret that decision. Her trust lay in the open palm of a man who was slowly changing, his frontal lobe near a rework. He'd never been this way before, but his body was slowly cresting that thin line between love and obsession, that clarity and delusion.

  "You won't regret it, my sweet little bunny."

[birgittesilverbae]

wooden floors, walls, and windowsills

On the first anniversary of her parents' deaths, Mary rouses Bea with the sun, hand gentle on her shoulder as she shakes her awake. Her shirt is sodden with sweat and Mary kisses her forehead before shuffling her off to the bathroom. 

Upon her return she's greeted with their usual weekend spread, tailored over the year into a melange of American and British and Spanish breakfast traditions. She's quiet, pensive, as she surveys the food, the two plates set out either side of the kitchen table. 

Mary follows her gaze, gets out ahead of the question. "Just gonna be you and me this morning, kiddo. Shannon got called into work, but she should be back tonight."

"Will we have to take the motorcycle, then?"

Mary's face softens. "No, Bea, I got her to leave the van for us."

"I'm not scared," she clarifies, mouth set.

"I know you're not. I didn't particularly want to take it today either."

They make it to Malaga just as the central market opens, picking out the fixings for a picnic lunch, as always going for Bea's cherished favourites and one new thing to try, before making their way to a florist stall. Mary stands back as Beatrice goes up on her tiptoes to smell blossoms, hands twisting anxiously behind her back until the vendor assures her she can touch and then so very gently stroking a careful finger along the arches of petals. They come away with paired bouquets of lilies and a sprig of baby's breath tucked behind Bea's ear. (She waits until they're back in the van to carefully remove it, to hand it to Mary and rub at the back of her ear as Mary presses it gently between the pages of a sketchbook Shannon had forgotten in the footwell of the passenger seat.) 

"Are you ready?" Mary asks softly, hand on the key in the ignition. 

Bea takes a deep, shuddering breath, then another. Her jaw firms, resolution clear in the line of it. "I'm ready," she confirms, and her voice only wavers slightly.

There are no graves for Bea to visit, the bodies returned to England in the wake of the upheaval of Bea's life. But Mary had been desperate with Vincent in the aftermath, to find a way to give Bea something present and physical she could stand before, to find a way to give her some modicum of closure. And so Bea approaches the plaques erected in the memorial garden of Malaga's largest cemetery and kneels to lay her bouquets atop them. 

The sight opens up a crater in Mary's chest, a sinkhole, but she hangs back, giving Bea the space to make her own choices on how to grieve.

When Bea rises she searches immediately for Mary, presses her tear-damp face into the side of Mary's chest when she raises an arm for her to slip beneath. They stand there awhile as noon approaches and the air grows warmer around them.

Finally, Bea pulls back, takes hold of Mary's hand. "I'm ready," she says, breathless, her fingers tight around Mary's. 

"Okay." They amble back through the garden, bask in the brief moments of shade afforded by pockets of trees. Bea's grip grows loose, like she's expecting Mary to pull away from her, priming herself for it, and Mary tightens her own grasp, squeezes a gentle three pulse Beat that Beatrice echoes back. (It's a practised 'I love you' on Mary's part, though she's never quite sure whether Beatrice's response carries the same meaning, or if she simply finds comfort in the pattern of it.)

"Do you want to have lunch at the beach or a park?" It's habit, now, to present options that both end with Beatrice eating, to avoid her freezing when presented with far too much choice, to ensure she ends up fueled. 

"The beach, please."

Beatrice stands calf-deep in the surf, water rushing up every so often over knobbly knees, as Mary lays a blanket out for them, pokes at the contents of the soft-sided cooler. Mary gives her ten minutes, watching her head rise and her shoulders settle, before she calls her back up the sand. 

Beatrice sits primly at the edge of the blanket, waits for her legs to dry in the sun before dusting them free of sand and shifting closer in towards Mary. She busies herself unpacking the cooler as Mary slices the barra de pan, then hesitates over the jar of tapenade. 

"Just one bite," Mary reminds her, poking an elbow into her side. "Just to try it."

Bea smiles small and sweet as she nods. She unscrews the lid and takes the knife from Mary, spreads a dab across the end of a piece of bread. She chews, swallows, sits silently for a moment before her nose crinkles and she shakes her head.

Mary laughs gently. "Which part of it?" she asks, retrieving Bea's battered notebook from her tote bag and passing it over to her.

Bea slides the pen from where it's hooked through the ring binding, traces her thumb across the pod racer sticker stuck to the front cover. "I don't like the texture," she says after a moment, flipping her notebook open to the dog-eared page, propping it on her knees, and carefully adding a new entry beneath fideuà (four stars out of five, would prefer longer noodles). 

"And if it had been blended smooth?"

Bea wedges the end of the pen between her lips, catches herself, tugs it free. "Too salty and meaty," she adds, and "if it had just been olives I think it'd have been okay."

Mary nods, tucks the information away in the back of her head for later use, and produces a tub of olives from the cooler. 

"Kalamata?" Bea asks, snapping her notebook shut and tucking it carefully back in the tote.

"Kalamata," Mary confirms, and Bea's pleased little noise makes her grin.

They return to Antequera late that afternoon, wind-chapped and worn tired, to find Shannon napping on the couch. Bea takes note of this as they begin to unpack the cooler in the kitchen, tries her best to keep her movements quiet. But Mary shoos her out into the living room with a wink, a murmured "go show her the shells you found."

Shannon greets Bea's cannonball leap onto the couch at her side with equal enthusiasm, schools her face well enough that her wince sneaks past Bea's notice. Mary doesn't miss it, though, and checks the ice pack stash in the freezer, finds the rib wrap missing. She stews in her worry, wipes the kitchen down top to bottom as she listens to Bea ramble on about tide pools and the hermit crab they'd found using a plastic cap as a shell and did Shannon know how hermit crabs traded shells? Had she seen the conga line of exchange?

"Bea?" Mary calls out when she can't stand it any longer, the not-knowing, the mask Shannon's donned so easily in an attempt to protect Bea on this of all days. 

"Yes?" 

Mary ducks her head into the living room, where Bea is pressed tight to Shannon's right arm, the day's treasures cupped safely in her palms. "Can you go ask Maria if we can borrow some tomatoes? We didn't pick any up this morning."

"It's not borrowing if–"

"Yeah, yeah," Mary interrupts, rolling her eyes. "'It's not borrowing if we don't return the same ones'. Get your shoes on, Little Miss Semantics."

She waits until Bea's footsteps have started down the stairs to cross the living room, to tug Shannon's shirt from the waistband of her sweatpants. Shannon lets it happen, head lolling back against the couch cushions as Mary strips away the ice pack to expose patchy purple bruising stretching across her left side. 

"Just cracked," she says softly, laying a hand over Mary's. It's only then that Mary realizes hers are trembling. "They're just cracked, that's all."

"You can't let her–"

"I know. Get that back in the freezer before she comes back up, would you?" 

But Mary can't move, her hand lingering over the splotches marring Shannon's skin. Can't help but skate her thumb along their margins, can't help but remember her own hands covered in blood.

"Mary," Shannon urges, pushing at Mary's wrist, pulling at the hem of her own shirt, "they're just cracked. I'm okay, but Bea won't be if she finds out." 

"Okay. Okay." Still, she ducks in to capture Shannon's mouth with her own, pours every shred of emotion into it like in doing so she can anchor her here to this couch. Pulls back, breath shaking, forehead pressed to Shannon's. "She's going to catch on if you don't stop wincing," she says quietly.

"I didn't say it doesn't hurt," Shannon mock-grumbles, but she nods all the same. "I'll do my best."

After dinner, when Shannon's drifted off to sleep again and Mary stands at the sink scrubbing dishes, Bea pauses in the middle of drying off a plate and glances back over her shoulder.

"Is she okay?"

"Shannon?" Mary asks, fighting to keep her voice level. "Why wouldn't she be?"

Bea fixes her with a withering stare. "Don't lie to me, Mary. I'm not a child," she replies sharply, all of nine years old and four and a half feet tall.

Mary lets the pan in her hands drop, braces her palms against the bottom of the sink. "You are, Beatrice. No matter how quickly life has tried to make you grow up." 

"Is she okay?" Bea repeats, the knife's edge of her voice going dull with worry. 

"She will be," Mary ventures, but Bea crosses her arms, arches an eyebrow, all but taps her foot. "She hurt her ribs, but not badly."

"Just her ribs?" Bea presses.

"Just her ribs. She'll be back to normal in a month or so."

Bea worries her bottom lip between her teeth, darts another look towards the living room. "Just a month?"

"Give or take a couple of weeks." Mary bumps her hip against Bea's. "Plenty of time for you to get her to apply all the stickers to that new lego kit for you."

Bea doesn't crack even the tiniest smile at that, though. Instead, she bites her lip bloody as they finish up the dishes, then lingers in the doorway when Mary takes up residence on the couch, leaving space between herself and Shannon's side. 

Mary pats the cushion, gestures Bea over with a jerk of her chin. Bea settles tentatively in the empty space, staples herself to Mary's side. Shannon's still disturbed by the motion, yawning herself awake, reaching a hand to Bea's shoulder with a quiet "Hey, Bea."

"Can I see?" Bea asks, gesturing at Shannon's side.

Shannon meets Mary's eyes over Bea's head and Mary shrugs. "Perceptive kid," she says in explanation, and Shannon sighs.

"Yeah, Bea, you can see." She pulls up her shirt again and Bea leans forward, hovers her fingers over the bruises.

"This one looks kind of like a sea urchin," she says quietly, and Mary leans forward to watch her trace curling fingers of bruising. 

"It kinda does," she agrees, and Bea flashes a soft smile at her.

"They eat their own homes into rock faces," she continues, eyes fixed on Shannon's side. "They take reef rock and devour it and make shelters for themselves in places they'd be unsafe otherwise."

Mary smoothes her hand down over Bea's back. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Can you really eat them even though they eat rocks?"

Mary laughs at the helpless glance Shannon shoots her. "They're a pretty good protein source," she confirms, "and you don't eat the digestive tract. Do you want to add them to the list?"

"Please and thank you," she says, pulling Shannon's shirt back down for her. 

"Where do the crabs you saw today live?" Shannon asks, slinging an arm around Bea's shoulders.

Bea shifts carefully in towards her, rests her head against the front of Shannon's shoulder. "The bigger ones make burrows in the silt," she explains, "but there are some pea crabs in the Alboran Sea that live inside oyster shells." 

As Bea delves into her recent fixation on sea creatures and the homes they find for themselves, prompted every so often by Shannon, the stricture in Mary's chest loosens just the smallest fraction. She drops a fleeting kiss on the back of Shannon's hand where it rests on Bea's shoulder, plants another on the side of Bea's head, and lets herself settle into the quiet rhythm of Beatrice's voice.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hi hello— *Drops this and runs away.*

On days like these, peace of mind is a rare thing to find when you are constantly swamped with injuries and unending fights. 

Be it physical or mental.

Brandon was in quiet gratitude he could enjoy such a peaceful and quiet day such as this, and spend it with the people he holds near and dear to his heart. Enjoying the vices of humanity, without the usual dehumanization he was so used to facing since the day he had officially joined Millennion as a sweeper. He wonders how you are doing, how Maria is. 

Its a silent, contemplative thought. But he is allowed to think of these things, right?

‘Hopefully’, he thinks to himself as he enters the apartment complex of where you lived, Brandon hadn’t informed you that he was allowed time off from his work, so he hopes to make this a pleasant surprise for you. The wafty smell of home filled his senses, the way the hallways looked, even down to the wooden flooring. It felt odd, to be thinking about such a thing. 

Brandon looked around, reaching the floor your apartment was at. He was trying his best to recall your door number in the sea of information his mind had collected over the past few weeks, rather peculiar however. His body should’ve been so far exhausted and worn out, but it isn’t at all, it was bursting with the necessary energy needed for him to come forth and reach out to you. Brandon heat was far too used to being a puppet, his morals demoralizing with each and every mission given to him by the burning red hand of the devil. He doesn’t mind though, if it meant he could keep being here with his loved ones. 

His eyes waver for a few more moments, until it finally lands on a golden plaque branded with 219. Your apartment number, that was it, he sighed a breath of relief that he no longer had to look and stepped forward until he reached the door. 

His hand was left hanging in the air for the minute or two, airing out hesitance at seeing your face. You weren’t exactly aware of his line of work, what he does with his own two hands. Maybe he was foolish, maybe he was blind, thinking of ways to see through his own obstacles. Heavy shoulders wrought bear, as if it were a pendulum swaying onto the answer of his fate. Why was he standing here at all? 

Brandon sighs, heavy it may be, but pushes through and knocks against the door. 

Rap! Rap! Rap!

He waits, waiting to see if he needs to make the motions again to be heard the second time around. Brandon puts his hands into his pockets after fiddling with the lapel of his jacket, re-adjusting himself as if that would dictate his appearance any more. He is left in silence, and wonders a little longer. 

“One second, sorry!” The voice finally echoes out, your voice. 

Against the shadows, one could see the reclusive man smiling as he heard your voice. Brandon didn’t find his mind running rampant with worry, not unsure of himself anymore. It was as if when it came to you, everything calmed down and he didn’t have to worry about anything at all. The door creaks, hinges working to the bone of its ever thinning strength as you had revealed yourself from behind the wooden door. Those dimpled cheeks denting your perfect skin, that smile that brings him elation, no worry was there. 

“Brandon, I thought you were working today?” You asked, inviting him in with one simple gesture. He obliges, walking through the doorway. Contentment fills his soul, seeing your lovely home decorated by those hands of yours. Brandon wants to burn it into his memory as if this could be the last day he ever sees this home of yours. 

“Had the day off.” He simply says, looking around once more. Then he sat down on the couch, knowing you would’ve also invited him to sit down as well. You nod in understanding, humming as you brought over some food you already had cooking on the stove. The stove was old and weary, but it was still very reliable, you weren’t at all affluent to afford a better one. Your steps resound in quiet homeness, it was wonderful. 

You hold out a plate of the food to him, waiting for him to decline or accept. 

He takes it, and accepts it with a nod of gratitude at your immediate hospitality. Brandon is envious, he feels. But he doesn’t need to worry about anything at all, nothing bad happens here. “Thank you.” He grins, soft – but it is there. 

You shook your head, “No thanks needed, we are friends after all.” That was simply the truth, and nothing more. He wished that wasn’t the only thing that had branded this relationship, Brandon relents with a quiet sigh. His hand hovers over the utensil, long enough that you spot it. Sounds of assimilated leather tickle the stapes of his ears, causing him to look up. 

You were leaned over, hands on your knees as you observed him with a concerned glance. Brandon wasn’t a man of conversations, actions were more than enough for him to speak out about the way he had cared for the ones he held very dear to his heart. 

Silence hangs in the air. 

“Brandon.” You say, your tone felt like a stab. Brandon wished he didn’t have to hear that, he sincerely wished that this was just a normal visit. 

You stood up, walking over to him. Your hand cupping the cheek of his jaw, the warmth of your touch sears into his skin. Brandon stifles a gasp, trying to remain contemplative and hopeful, as if he were just off from his normal everyday 9 to 5 job. That is not the case, it never is the case. Brandon wished for normal circumstances. 

Your lips thinned, burrowing the theme of pity. You crouched down, “What happened?” You asked finally, nothing about this was normal. 

His demeanor, the way he changed after he got his supposed job. The day he told you that he had gotten a job at the pier, you congratulated him of course. But no job like that gives a man such a haunted look in his eyes. His heart burns, trying to play something inhuman tore at his kindness. Brandon liked being kind, he liked being with his friends and loved ones. 

So why was he dehumanizing himself for something that would only tear him apart in the end? He wondered that everyday. 

For being born?

That was always something he wondered the most about his midlife crises, nothing has an answer. Humans always try to go out and search for something to their dilemma, that is simply something unattainable to one’s way of life. That was something that had made them so imperfect, so human.

So why did Brandon deny himself of this? 

Simply because it was the look on your face, that was something he never wanted to see.

Because of him, decisions he made to put this on himself alone. 

“You know it’s okay to feel, even with the things you were forced to resort to.” You murmur, now picking his hands up. They were large, yet they felt small in the warmth similar to that of a parent. Hotness brims his eyes, Brandon wonders again.

Why are you so kind?

Even within a dilemma, kindness can be what makes someone so human.

“You are human Brandon, no need to play the devil.”

[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

[sexysilverstrider]

SGAO | Unrequited Destiny 3

   Love comes in many forms.

   For some, it is air, filling their lungs as their necessity to live. For some, it is water, quenching them of their thirst. For some, it is solid, giving them a sense of comfort once it’s felt and held.

   For some, it is wind, gusting right at one’s face which leaves them gasping.

   “Thank you.”

   His breathing hitched again at the memory.

   Arceus, what was he doing, he wondered? The incident was many hours ago and it still lingered in his mind. After the whole battle, amazement left him perfectly still as Carmine’s final Pokémon limped on the ground. The other Pokémon on the field—a bipedal grass-type feline—gave a graceful bow before cocking his head in victory.

   While he heard his sister’s annoyed grunts, his eyes reverted to the other person.

   Pupils dilated at such a sight.

   Like her Pokémon, she stood tall, one hand on her hip while the back of her left hand wiped away sweat from under her chin. Bright sunlight allowed her sunglasses to gleam dazzlingly, and once again, the tilt of her head allowed her eyes to finally be seen from behind such dark glasses. A smirk tugged the corner of her mouth, exuding powerful confidence which matched the power of her own team.

   The battle was shamefully one-sided, something the siblings quickly realized the moment Carmine initiated it.

   Kieran never doubted his sister’s battling prowess. She was top in her class, after all. While not being one of the Blackberry Academy Elite Four members, she still held her title as one of the most menacing trainers in school. Only a fool would want to battle her hoping that they would come out unscathed.

   It would seem that Carmine now was at the shorter end of the stick.

   Watching her, watching the magnificent stranger, Kieran knew he had a long, long, long way to go.

   And yet…

   The gap should’ve made him upset. He was slightly upset.

   However, the very fact that he was able to talk to her somewhat alleviated the sorrow that supposed to gloom within.

------------------------------

   It was long day.

   At least, that’s what Aoi felt.

   After the sudden battle—and obvious victory—the owner of a community centre nearby came by and apologized for the whole ordeal. It seemed that he was one of the staffs in charge of the excursion program, specifically for the accommodation section. Even though Aoi didn’t mind it, it seemed that the old man still needed to scold Carmine for her rude actions. It was a few minutes of witnessing the pitiful scolding session that Aoi had to chime in and tell him about the poor sick classmate.

   Once that was settled, she and the other Naranja students were introduced to their new, temporary living quarters. The building was quaint and cute, made out of sturdy, dark brown wood and white smooth bricks. The building was placed a few distances away from the town’s gate, enabling guests and citizens to use it with ease. A plaque was perched on top of the entrance, and it took her a few minutes to translate the meaning in her head.

   ‘Mossui Town Center’ was what it said in white paint on a thick wooden plate. Aoi was glad she took Japanese Language class as part of her curricular credits.

   As they entered the place, Aoi could practically hear her schoolmates gasp in glee at the surrounding.

  The place was just as welcoming, quiet and adorned with beautiful traditional decorations. The entryway was not crowded at all, and all were required to take off their shoes and placed them inside a shelf. On her left, she could see a plate of yellow, glutinous rice shaped like a Chingling. It was a complimentary welcome treat, and the girl loved every bite of it. On her right, she could see some magazines and brochures that highlighted the beauty of Kitakami. Aoi would remember to take some and read later.

   It had some modernized applications here and there as well like a huge TV on a wall in the public room they could use. There was even a public kitchen for them which consisted of an electric stove and oven, and this honestly gave Aoi a huge sense of relief; the last thing she wanted was to impress everyone with her ability to burn things by accident.

   After registering their names, Aoi was given a code to the girl’s dorm. She was also told that her Pokémon were allowed out of their balls and into the building, assuming that they were at most 200cm tall. Her Pokémon must have had heard the receptionist’s words, for the next thing Aoi knew, Yuan had immediately popped out of his Pokéball and stretched shamelessly.

   A sigh and a shake of her head was given while the nice old lady on the other side of the counter laughed at the Meowscarada’s antics.

   Finally, she found her bed and made peace with it. Dropping her luggage by the side, Aoi plumped on the bed with arms spread open.

   Fatigue wrapped her entire body.

    “Man…” One arm draped across her eyes—

   Thunk.

   “Ack…!” Forgetting that she still had her sunglasses on, Aoi took them off and placed it on the side. Again, she draped one arm across her closed eyes. The light weight eased some of her headaches. Finally, after 13 long, long hours, she finally had the chance to just melt in place.

   As if the flight alone wasn’t strenuous enough, the hour-long bus ride almost took her out if not for the phone calls with her mom and friends. Her body still held on, filled with plane food and her fifth water bottle of the day. Once arrived at the bus stop, the summer heat almost plummeted right through her tanned skin. It was times like that that she was glad she wore her sunglasses, but her skin didn’t appreciate the blaring heat.

   And then her schoolmate got nauseous. And she was asked to go to the nearest town for help.

   Aoi didn’t mind helping. Truly, she didn’t. But a lie was lie if she admitted that she was more than happy to assist.

   And of course, how could she forget the warmest welcome in the world? In truth, she didn’t expect any animosity from anyone really, especially from the other side of the world. As famous as she was, she was never one to appreciate having rivals or enemies. In fact, Aoi would find and fix the issue at the first sight of dispute. She knew there would be people who hated losing, so she always found a way to cheer them up after a battle with her. She knew there would be people who felt jealous after seeing her score high in her class, so she always found a way to have some study sessions with other classmates.

   She knew there would be people who despised her fame and luck, so she would always, always remember to be humble and supportive.

   But in those cases, Aoi would have found the reason in order to seek the solution. But with whatever that happened this morning, bafflement clouded her judgement. Even though the battle was set and everyone else had resolved the misunderstanding, a part of her felt uneasy at the cold introduction she had with Carmine.

   She should apologize and talk to the girl tomorrow.

   “Ugh…” Right after her body healed from the jetlag.

   Suddenly, a bright red light zoomed out of her bag.

   ‘I’m hungry.’

   “Oof—Yuan!” Gasping at the feel of something heavier on her stomach, Aoi swung her right arm and glared at the perpetrator.

   No guilt. Not a single flicker of shame even in the Meowscarada’s eyes. ‘Feed me!’ he meowed, nuzzling his face on her stomach. ‘It’s so tiring being in the Pokéball for many hours and I deserve a reward too for doing super well in battle today.’ Again and again, he complained, whines and meows bumping against the walls of the dorm room. Big paws placed on either side of her hips, Yuan tucked his chin on her stomach and gave her the biggest, saddest, most pitiful stare.

   No matter the evolution, the sight alone always pierced an arrow through her heart.

   “Get off me, you big kittycat.” Laughing at his antics, Aoi lightly pushed him away. The action clearly was a mistake, for the next thing she knew, her waist was wrapped in a tight hug. “A-Ah, Yuan!”

   The starter was relentless. And frankly, just as stubborn as her.

   ‘Feed meeee!’ Again, he meowed, louder than the last time. If anyone heard him, one would assume he was being tortured in the worst way possible.

   In a way, he knew he was.

   “Okay, okay!” Realizing what he wanted, Aoi continuously patted his fluffy head. “I’m getting up! I’m getting up!” Legs kicking in the air, the girl tried to sit up. Even though the Meowscarada was almost as heavy as her, the Pokémon was a spoiled feline through and through as if he was still a Sprigatito. Aoi sometimes wondered where she went wrong with raising him.

   Eating up his victory, Yuan straddled her and raised his arms. ‘Yay!’ he cheered, fangs flashing devilishly. Hopping off the bed in a graceful manner, he snatched her backpack. One arm was folded behind his back. With one foot positioned backwards, the starter bowed charmingly and handed her the bag.

   With a lazy frown, Aoi stared blankly at him. Black eyes then darted to the shaking bag. She knew she was minutes away before having her whole team burst out and cause chaos.

   Another sigh. Though this time, it was accompanied with a loving smile.

------------------------------

   “Thank you, ma’am!” Smile ever charming, she paid the old lady and took a few plastic bags of snacks. Knowing Yuan was hopping on the balls of his paws, Aoi took out the small packet of Pokétreats and gave it to him. Without a single moment of hesitance, she watched as he took the packet, tore it, and popped the biscuits into his mouth. A huge purr vibrated from the starter, and this only made her smile wider—

   “Ah!”

   Black eyes widened at the familiar noise. She turned around, eyes blinked in surprise at the person in question. “Oh!” Joy widened her smile. Though it was a small town, she honestly didn’t expect to meet someone she just met today.

   And in Kieran’s case?

   His whole body froze. 20 minutes ago, he decided to take a stroll around the town to clear his mind and maybe get some of his favourite candies. Never in his life would he expect to bump into the one person who had been on his mind all day. “I—” Oh Arceus, what would he do? What would he say? The squeak of his voice was enough to burn heat into his cheeks. Was his hair okay? Was his clothes okay? If he knew he was going to see her in town—

   What the hell was he thinking? Of course he was going to see in town! It was a small town, goddammit!

   “You’re…Kiki, right?”

   Kieran wondered if the earth could open up and swallow him right now.

   “I’m—!” Another squeak. Damn it! “My—name is Kieran, actually.” Voice timid and soft, Kieran held a deep breath and forced his gaze to fall on her. She stood a few steps away, so he was thankful for that. “Kiki is… Well, my sister and grandparents usually call me that.”

   “Oh!” One hand cupped her mouth. “Sorry, didn’t mean to call you that.” One hand still holding the plastic bags of snacks, Aoi rubbed the side of her neck. “It’s just that I heard your sister call you that.” A chuckle slipped between her shy smile. “So, I figured it was your name.”

   God, her laugh was beautiful.

   “It’s okay.” His heart still raced. His cheeks still flushed. But bliss radiated within him. Being given a chance to talk to her was truly a blessing of the day. “Ah, right!” Remembering what happened this morning, a quick sense of guilt and dread seeped in. “I’m really sorry about my sister today!” Hands on his thighs, Kieran bowed. “She’s usually not like that. Well, I mean she is usually like that, but she’s actually really kind!”

  Eyes widened in aghast of his sister’s actions, Kieran stayed in position. It wasn’t until he heard her laughter again that a small gasp exhaled out of him.

   He truly loved hearing that sound.

   “Hey, no worries.”

   Utterly relieved that she forgave her, Kieran sighed in relief and stood up straight—

   “Wah!” Only to shout in shock at the sudden, close distance between them.

   “Whoah!” Surprised at the scream, Aoi slid one foot backward. “Sorry, sorry!” Hands were raised and waved across her chest. “I didn’t mean to startle you! I just…” She didn’t hear him well, so a few steps wouldn’t hurt. She didn’t expect the boy to be quite jittery.

   “No, no!” Ah, he was making a fool of himself. “It’s not you.” It’s him. It’s always him. Taking a deep breath and standing up straight, Kieran held the strap of his satchel. “I didn’t expect you to come closer.” A dumbfounded laughter broke through his quivered smile. Maybe, if he prayed hard enough, the earth would open up and swallow him.

   While a hurricane of flustered emotions broke inside him, amusement tickled her cheeks.

   She felt bad for seeing how cute he looked.

   She should feel worse for wanting to tread further. “I can’t hear your voice if I can’t come closer, you know?” Hands behind her back, she tipped her head to the side. Her voice softened, quieted, lulled a melodious tone that tickled through her lips. “Besides, how am I going to know you if I can’t approach you?”

   Ba-bump!

   Aoi wondered if her tactic worked.

   She didn’t realize that it worked a little too well.

   “O-Oh!” He wondered if the sun was extra hot today. “You… You want to know me?” It was the first time someone ever approached him to get to know him. Usually, people saw him as Carmine’s little brother. He rarely spoke in class. He rarely interacted with anybody. The only ‘friends’ he made was through Carmine herself. And even then, he’d rather have his sister around if they were hanging out.

   So, to hear, to see that someone wanted to get to know him…though embarrassment burned to the tip of his ears, joy also sparkled in his eyes.

   His beautiful, beautiful yellow eyes.

   Aoi felt hypnotized by them.

   “Yeah!” The answer was immediate, almost too sudden. Blinking back her senses, Aoi nodded happily. “I think we got off at a weird start this morning so let’s try again, shall we?” Coughing away the awkward feeling, she stretched out her right hand towards him. “I’m Aoi. A student in Naranja Academy in Paldea. Nice to meet you!” A bright smile tickled her cheeks, skin dusted pink that further complimented her beautiful skin.

   A few heartbeats lingered by. Bafflement remained at her outstretched hand. “Hah…” A single gasp blurted out. A single smile widened beautifully. “I’m Kieran.” Finally, with pursed lips, he shook her hand.

    Her hand was warm.

   “I’m—” Remembering to look at the girl, Kieran met her delighted gaze. “I’m a student in Blueberry Academy and I happen to live and grow up in Kitakami.” His grip on her tightened lightly—he felt her hand squeeze back.

   Another surprise flicker behind black sunglasses. “Oh, that’s so cool!” Caught in her glee, Aoi accidentally tugged him a bit forward.

   The action made his breathing hitch.

   “If you don’t mind, I’d love to know the place more!” Black eyes glistened like stars as she brought his hand upwards. Both hands now cupped his, letting it linger right between one excited girl and one stupefied boy.

   Aoi was considered a cool and charming student back in her school. Rarely did people see her fluster or break a sweat. It was one of the many traits that caught anyone’s attention whenever they saw her. In truth, while Nemoma was obviously famous for being overzealous in anything battling, Aoi was also an ecstatic trainer especially when it comes to travelling.  

   And like one of her best friends, her excitement sometimes clouded her rationality.

   Swirls formed inside his eyes at the distance. At the touch. Kieran wondered if this was culture shock. He wondered if this was something city folk would do.

   Either way, a whine clogged his throat.

   Realizing her actions after the fifth blink, Aoi quickly straightened her back and let go. “Sorry!” Hands were back to being raised; this time positioned on either side of her head. Unfortunately, the plastic bags were released out of surprise. Fortunately, Yuan was swift enough to snatch them before they splatter pitifully onto the ground.

   “Oh shit!” Making a fool of herself was also one of Aoi’s charms. “Thanks, Yuan!” Palms pressed together; she bowed her head at the sighing Meowscarada.

   Seeing such a scene, a part of Kieran felt utterly relieved—utterly smitten—that she was just like any silly human being.

   Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

   The hand holding the satchel—one that rested close to his screaming heart—tightened.

   “Sorry.” She wondered how many apologies had been blurted out of her today. “I like travelling a lot. So, to know you’re from here is super exciting.” One finger lightly grazed her warm cheek.

   Cute. She was cute.

   Trembling lips held a smile. “Well then…” Yellow eyes met a pair of hidden blacks. “I’m—I’m glad.” Manic heart pounded inside his chest. “I—” Mouth parted open. Invitation died in between baited breath. He would love to show her around. He would love to talk to her more. Even though they just met hours ago and was now having a proper conversation together, he would love to get to know more about her.

   Eyes darted to the curious Meowscarada next to her.

   Memories of her battling techniques reeled in his mind. It made his heart race quicker. It made his breathing flow faster.

   He would love to have a battle with her.

   Alas, the many desires died down. Feeling defeated at his pitiful nature, Kieran brought his right hand up. His thumb jutted up; teeth then lightly nibbled at the nail.

   Who was he to have all that?

   Gloom dulled the shine in a pair of yellow irises.

   ‘Can we go?’

   Suddenly, a meow snapped him from his trance. Immediately, his hand dropped back to the strap of his satchel. Kieran looked forward, right at the Magician Pokémon who was now tugging her arm.

   ‘It’s getting hot and I’m pretty sure the rest are hungry too,’ Yuan cooed, head lowered to nuzzle his cheek against hers. One arm holding what his trainer had purchased, he wrapped one paw on her left arm. Dazzling pink eyes stared at Aoi. Given the girl’s short stature, Yuan was almost a few centimetres taller than her. This of course was wonderful news to the grass starter, as he was able to take advantage of his bipedal status and tall height to persuade Aoi to do whatever he wanted.

   Sometimes, it worked. Most times, it didn’t.

   ‘If we stay any longer, I’m pretty sure Koraidon and Siamang would love to pop out and rummage through the stalls.’ A husky purr lulled between sharp fangs. A lovely smile curled his mouth.

   Even though his words were nothing but sounds to the humans, Aoi sometimes could put two and two together.

  “Alright, alright.” A soft laugh escaped her. Patting the Pokémon’s fluffy arm, she looked at Kieran. “I gotta go but it was nice meeting you!” Hand now mindlessly patting her spoiled starter, an excited smile graced her lips. “The orientation is tomorrow morning, right? Hope I get to see you and Carmine then!”

   Not a hint of malice. Not a hint of provocation.

   Sincere. Genuine.

   That was for him.

   Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump!

   “Mhm…” A single nod.  A tighter hold. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aoi.”

   Waving goodbye, Aoi walked past him. Kieran only watched as she disappeared from his line of sight.

   One minutes. Two minutes. Three.

   Finally, after what felt like holding his breath for far too long, a long, long sigh escaped him. One hand rested on his chest, fingers lightly pressing against his shirt and jacket to feel the rapid beat of his heart. His cheeks still felt warm. His head still felt dizzy.

   Was this normal, he wondered? He’d never had someone approach him on their own volition, so to have that sort of interaction truly left a mark on him.

   “I’m Aoi!” Her voice as lovely.

   “How am I going to know you if I can’t approach you?” Her words were sweeter than candy.

   Stupor left him exhaling a defeated chuckle.

   Doubt still rooted deep within him, piercing his heart, expanding inside his brain. While her actions, her words, seemed genuine, Kieran pondered if it was all just a ploy.

   She barely knew him. Why would she want to in the first place?

   A sharp inhale. A shocked gasp.

   Shaking his head slightly, Kieran spun his heel and headed towards a stall. The more he thought about it, the more it hurt. He would rather be drowned in candies. Who knows? Maybe he would get nauseous tomorrow and wouldn’t be able to see the one person who was stirring such doubt inside him?

   He stopped.

   Then again, the idea of not seeing Aoi also twisted a painful ache in his chest.

   “Man…” Yellow eyes dulled. Pupils, black and almost slitted, stared at the ground.

   Her smile still played in his mind.

   Clutching his satchel harder, Kieran took a deep breath and pressed forward.

------------------------------

   They say that Pokémon have sharper senses than any human. Even if they’re not a psychic-type, Pokémon typically were more aware of their surroundings and emotions, be it from themselves or humans.

   And this was the truth when Yuan sensed something foreboding in the new kid.

   As they walked arm in arm, he looked behind. The boy was nowhere in sight, thankfully. As much as he was right about his teammates being hungry too, at least they were more patient and sensible than his spoiled self.

   But no. That wasn’t the reason he had to bring Aoi away.

   He saw the frightful gloom in his eyes. He sensed the dismal expressions on his face.

   Yuan had had many experiences where he had to shoo away Aoi’s potential mates. While Aoi herself was smart enough to not let anyone in inside her heart, the Meowscarada was always one step ahead to ensure his trainer’s happiness. Aoi didn’t like anyone hating her after all.

   “Yuan, you okay, buddy?”

   Her voice brought him back to the present. ‘Yes!’ Quickly, he replied with a soft purr. Again, he gently bumped his fuzzy cheek against hers.

   A smile grew wider to hear her ticklish laugh.

   “Come on, let’s go see what’s for dinner tonight!” Unaware of the Pokémon’s thoughts—or words for that matter—Aoi tugged him towards the community centre.  

   As they walked, Yuan took one last protective peek behind them.

[peeetlovers]

What should you do if your dog dies of natural causes?

Losing a beloved dog is one of the most heartbreaking experiences for any pet owner. As you navigate through this difficult time, choosing to bury your dog at home can provide a sense of closeness and allow for a personal and heartfelt farewell. However, there are several important factors to consider to ensure that the burial is conducted safely, legally, and respectfully. Here are the key points to pay attention to when burying your dog.

1. Check Local Laws and Regulations

Before proceeding with a home burial, it's crucial to verify local laws and regulations. Some municipalities have specific rules regarding pet burials, such as restrictions on home burials, required burial depths, or mandates for certain types of containers. Contact your local health department or municipal office to obtain the necessary information and ensure you comply with local ordinances.

2. Choose an Appropriate Location

Selecting the right location for your dog's final resting place is essential. Choose a peaceful and secluded spot on your property that is unlikely to be disturbed in the future. Avoid areas near water sources, gardens, or places with high foot traffic. Ensure the chosen location is not prone to flooding, which could expose the grave and cause distress.

3. Digging the Grave

The grave should be deep enough to prevent other animals from disturbing the remains. A depth of at least 3 to 4 feet is recommended. The grave should also be wide and long enough to accommodate your dog comfortably. Use a sturdy shovel, and take your time to dig the grave properly, ensuring it is secure and respectful.

4. Consider a Burial Container

Using a burial container such as a biodegradable coffin or a shroud can provide added protection and dignity. Biodegradable options are environmentally friendly and will decompose naturally over time. Make sure the container is appropriately sized for your dog and that it aligns with any local regulations.

5. Handle Your Dog with Care

Gently place your dog in the chosen burial container or directly into the grave. Handle their body with respect and love, allowing yourself time for a final goodbye. This moment can be very emotional, and it's important to approach it with care and tenderness.

6. Mark the Grave

Marking the grave is a personal choice that can help you remember the burial site. Options include a simple wooden marker, a stone, or a personalized plaque. Some pet owners choose to plant a tree or flowers at the site as a living memorial. Ensure that the marker is durable and weather-resistant if you plan to visit the site regularly.

7. Consider the Surrounding Environment

Be mindful of the surrounding environment when choosing the burial site. Avoid areas that may be developed or altered in the future. Ensure that the site is not close to any underground utilities or pipes. This foresight will help prevent future disturbances to your pet's resting place.

8. Prepare Emotionally and Practically

The process of burying your dog can be emotionally taxing. Consider enlisting the help of family members or friends for both emotional support and practical assistance. Taking the time to prepare mentally for this process can help you manage your emotions and ensure that the burial is conducted with the dignity your pet deserves.

9. Think About Future Considerations

Consider how you might want to memorialize your dog in the future. Some pet owners create a small garden around the burial site or add a bench for quiet reflection. Planning for these additions can provide ongoing comfort and a special place to remember your beloved pet.

10. Seek Professional Help if Needed

If you find the process too overwhelming or if local regulations are complex, consider seeking professional help. Pet burial services can handle the logistics and legalities, ensuring that your pet's burial is conducted appropriately. These services often provide options for memorials and can guide you through the entire process with compassion.

Burying your dog at home can be a deeply personal and meaningful way to say goodbye. By paying attention to local laws, choosing an appropriate location, handling the burial with care, and considering future memorials, you can create a respectful and lasting tribute to your beloved pet. This process, though challenging, can provide comfort and a sense of closure during a difficult time. Always remember to seek support and take care of your emotional well-being as you navigate through this profound loss.

[asnowfern]

Til Forever Falls Apart - Chapter 3

Summary: The great kingdom of Ye was not always held captive by Hybern and their three suns. Up until over a year ago, the kingdom still teemed with life but the invaders came with their unholy deal with the heavens and entrapped their lives in an endless cycle of heat waves and forest fires. Faced with the ultimatum to either fight or perish with the world, Feyre agreed to be a spy within the Moonstone Palace. There were just two people she had to look out for: Raven, her ally and fellow spy that she was to assist in the rebellion efforts, and Prince Rhysand, the cruel prince that betrayed their country.

A Chang E/Moon Goddess inspired tale🎑

Read on AO3 | Master List

A/N: LNY might be over but the story is still progressing well! ☀️☀️☀️ Once again, the biggest hug and thanks to my lovely betas, @reverie-tales and @witch-and-her-witcher for the never-ending kind words and encouragement! I love the both of you!💕💕💕

Chapter 3: We are the wolves that swallow the sun

Rally the people. We strike three nights after the wolf swallows the sun. 

It was a folded parchment that opened up to less than the size of her palm. The curve of the scrawl was decisive, almost dismissive in the enormity of its content.

Feyre’s eyes darted around, stormy blue searching for any evidence of the spy’s presence in her room. Even though she knew, as always, that there would be none to be found. He knew how to avoid suspicion in more ways than one, as she had bitterly learnt.  

She carefully folded back the note, fingers idly tracing along the crease line of the paper. She tucked it deep within the lapels of her plain dark robes, her hand stilling in the robes that she still wore to sleep out of habit. Even though there was no real need to wear them anymore. Not when there were no more night jaunts around the mountain.

A familiar knot twisted in her stomach, sending acidic bile up her throat at the memory of the public execution of the guard. Bloodied beyond recognition, stepping into the gallows with his sister. Even from her spot far into the crowd, the crystal clear sight of streaming tears and terrified eyes would forever haunt her. 

It’s time you accepted the new reality we live in.

Licking dry lips, Feyre swallowed heavily. She hastily extracted her hand and pushed aside crimson stained guilt. She redirected her focus back to devising a way to deliver the message — even as the memory of wide, teary eyes that turned glassy and vacant continued to weigh heavily on her mind long after.

***

The content of the note remained a flowing stream in Feyre’s brain for days, blue grey eyes traced the words she had memorised by heart, eroding and reshaping until it was the only thought.

Rally. 

Strike.

There was one word missing — as if just a mere mention could curse the entire operation. A word that would have Feyre’s heart beating wildly. The start of an end. 

Revolution. 

She lowered her gaze to the ground immediately, not wanting to catch the eye of any wandering patrolling soldier for an unnatural display of jubilance. 

Feyre fixated her stare at the hem of rough fabric on the gatekeeper. Her hand peeped out with a slightest glimpse of a fair wrist as she passed the man a simple wooden plaque, the dips and grooves etched into its surface denoting her exit pass and her lowly status as a palace maid. She pocketed it a couple of seconds later, her mouth locked in a tight polite smile.

The door creaked open in protest, streaming in harsh light so bright Feyre bit back a hiss. She winced, attempting to adapt to the change in environment. 

The gentle creep of orange lanterns were eclipsed by the blazing assault beams of the four suns that presided over Ye. The cool flow of the mountain air overtaken by the oppressing heat waves.

The umbrella spread open over her with a crack. She pulled the brim of her straw hat over her eyes, fingers tugging on the soft cloth covering her face until nothing but silvery blue pupils were all that could be seen. She soon felt the familiar heat radiating off the cracked ground through her slippers. Her lungs tightened, the heavy air no longer something they were accustomed to. 

Feyre followed the cracked path out of the mountain, cloaked in the anonymity of the working class. She huffed through the fabric now sticking uncomfortably to her face. Despite it all, a pressure loosened in her chest, facial muscles relaxing as lips curled upwards when the sight of her beloved city came into view.

Her brows furrowed as she walked through its streets. A knot twisted in her belly. People were hunched below straw mats, forcing their bodies to shrink under the paltry cover. Their most treasured possession, the gourd shaped clay bottle, clipped at the belt closed to them. The stink of despondency ruled the air.

How had things gotten so bad in a mere number of weeks? 

Feyre took a turn into the alley of master crafts and ducked into the shelter of the upscale tailor. She blinked twice, pupils dilating in adjustment. Her head swivelled around, taking in the rolls and rolls of silk of various shades and beautiful patterns. 

To her left, behind the counter, someone cleared their throat, drawing her attention. She whipped her head towards the sound, only to be greeted by an unexpected but definitely welcomed face. 

Dark brown hair, a freckle splashed nose, and chocolate eyes that glint in warning as he greeted her, “Welcome, miss. Are you picking up an order?” Play along. 

Feyre didn’t hesitate to retrieve a note from her sleeves, unfolding it on the dark surface of mahogany and said in a no-nonsense manner, “Yes, I’m picking up a order from the Moonstone palace on behalf of Lady Amarantha.” 

Jurian picked up the paper, humming in feigned satisfaction as he scanned through the contents. “Ah, yes.” He disappeared underneath the countertop, “We expected you days ago.”

She pressed her lips into a line, brows knitted. She had only received the order earlier this morning. What was he driving at?

She racked her brain, replying only after a few belated seconds in what she had hoped to be a humourous and harmless manner, “The order might have gotten detoured along the way. Lady Amarantha has been awfully preoccupied recently,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste, “especially with Prince Rhysand.” 

His head popped back up, the muscular triceps of his arms flexing through the loose material of his sleeves to place a large box on the counter with a gentle thud. 

He asked lightly as he carefully took out the elegant folded robes, “Prince Rhysand, huh? I heard they are close.” 

Feyre swallowed back a grimace at the convergence of two of the most feared people under the mountain. “Yeah, they seem to have gotten even closer since the escape of the two prisoners.”  

She looked pointedly at the rebel leader who levelled a stern look at her. Don’t go there. 

She raised a brow. Make me. 

He tutted and lifted his hand away from the paper wrapping to rest it dramatically on his chest, “Terrible incident that was. The city was on lockdown for days. Practically every house was raided.” 

Her heart picked up a beat, her saliva turning tacky as she forced out evenly, “Was anyone taken in for questioning?” 

Blue grey eyes told a different story, shining desperately. My sisters?

Jurian’s face softened in understanding. “There was some rough housing at the Archerons just as there were at a few other homes but nobody was hurt and the soldiers always left soon after.” 

Her eyes squeezed tightly in relief and she exhaled with a shuddering breath. “I’m glad.” 

He stacked the last of the wrapped clothes and pushed it towards her across the table, flashing her a warm, reassuring smile. “Here’s the order for Lady Amarantha. Always a pleasure doing business with the palace.”

She took the package from him, subtly sliding the note from Raven into his waiting palm underneath. “Likewise, mister.” 

With a final nod at the not-quite shopkeeper, Feyre inhaled deeply before stepping back out of the shop, her eyes narrowed into slits to direct her sight at the sandy floor and avoid the blinding light. It was only when the signature crack of a horse carriage sounded from behind in warning that she made to shuffle to the side, her head raised slightly and noticed the young child squatting in the middle, playing and tossing around little stones. 

Her limbs surged forward, her mind propelling her with blinders, nothing but a single thought: get the girl out of the way. 

The package slipped through her arms as they wrapped around the kid, yanking her snugly into her middle and rolling them away from the path. The carriage didn’t even slow, the gust of wind it generated as it passed them shoved her back, her feet shuffling to maintain balance, her grip tightening around the scruffy girl. 

A rock dropped in her stomach and anchored her damningly into an ocean’s floor when she let the kid down with a gentle smile and glanced back out onto the road. She ran over to her fallen trampled package, fingers trembled as she gingerly pulled the fabric out. She traced lines down the torn material for the fitted dresses, her body shivered in anticipation. 

And to think she had been so careful to avoid the “Amarantha orientation.”

***

Feyre couldn’t help the pathetic whimper that escaped her as a cracking whip inflicted liquid fire ran down her back. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her nails digging deeply into her own arms, drawing blood — an ant bite compared to the agony growing in her back. Her body flinched at the sound of the next crack, in awful anticipation of the next stroke to split tender skin. 

A silky drawl pulled her away from the all-consuming pain, “Oh, Amarantha. I didn’t realise you had other activities going on.” 

She unwittingly lifted her head just an inch. Just enough for blue grey eyes to meet violet. Just enough that she caught a glimpse of icy fury that overtook violet eyes and flashed dangerously. She didn’t question what her pain-addled brain might or might not have concocted. With her petite frame still keeled over where she remained prostrated to the lady of the palace, her lips shaped into a silent desperate plea. Help. 

The redheaded lady surveyed her long nails with cool detachment, the gold and turquoise detailing of her acrylic nail extension glittered in the interior light. Her pitiless black gaze lit up in amusement. “Rhysand,” she purred, “Please, join me. We have just started.” 

The prince blinked and the gleam in his eyes dissolved into indifference. The smooth hem of the prince’s robe swished past Feyre, his slow yet graceful movements were a blessed reprieve. He settled into the armchair next to Amarantha, raising his hand to summon a plate of delicate confectioneries.

Dread coiled within her, there was no help to be found. She shifted her gaze back to the cold, hard rock floors.

The guard next to her raised his punishing device and sent it flying towards her once more. The strike on her already torn back rendered her unable to hold back pained cries. Not that it mattered to the two nobles carrying out casual conversation, the sound of their chatter rising above its tortured counterpart.

“Oh, the clumsy thing,” the lady tutted, condescension and disdain leaking with every word, “she had the nerve to tear up my newly tailored dresses. Imagine that! One of them is worth at least a year of her salary.” Her cruel smile could be heard rather than seen, “A whip for every month’s pay seemed to be the most logical exchange.” 

There was a crunch of nuts with the cool reply. “Indeed, it’s so hard to find good help these days.” 

Tears rolled down her face the next time the thick leathered coil hit her back. 

“I’m bored,” There was a shuffling of heavy fabric falling to the ground as the prince proclaimed with heavy intent,  “Amarantha, finish up and come find me after. We have affairs to discuss.” 

The Hybern official lifted a hand to command the guard, “Hold.” Picking up the folded paper fan from the outstretched hand of one of her attending ladies, she flicked it open, covering a portion of their faces as she whispered into Prince Rhysand’s ear. 

Prince Rhysand gave a brief nod before he walked away from Lady Amarantha, his lips curled in disgust for a brief second.  

It was with sweet merciful relief that Amarantha ended the punishment without any further strikes and let Feyre get dragged back to her room. Her will folded in an instant as she draped herself over her bed, the entirety of her front pressed into its firm surface. She allowed her heavy eyelids to fall closed and the darkness to swallow her whole.

***

She drifted in and out of consciousness, eyelids at a constant flutter. At first, alternating between quiet bliss and scorching burn. But even that small mercy was taken away as the torment started to seep in like water through dense soil.  

Night had fallen and held her room in its dark grasp when she next opened her eyes. Feyre rounded her back to prop herself on her elbows, groaning as her muscles screamed in protest at the movement. Shakily, she reached for the pitcher of water on the table. 

Unreliable muscles gave way and sent her crashing towards the ground, only to be stopped by strong arms that wound carefully around her — holding her front firmly while avoiding pressure on her back. 

“Careful there,” he murmured. 

Her traitorous heart stuttered at the familiar baritone voice. “Raven?”

The spy didn’t reply, opting to lift her gently back on the bed. He slid the stiff pillow beneath her armpits, rolled up towels just below her breasts and beneath her waist so that the entirety of her back was elevated. 

“I am going to cut your clothes open now.” Raven announced flatly, the signature clicks of scissors bounced around the room. 

“W-wait,” she weakly protested even as the scissors smoothly slid along the length of the fabric. The slicing stopped immediately. 

With a different type of heat blossoming over her cheeks, she remained silent, acutely aware of the large hand that still remained at her side. 

“Feyre? Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?” He asked in audible alarm. 

“Feyre?” He repeated in slight bemusement when he realised she hadn’t said anything. 

Feyre huffed despite the pain it sent spiralling through her, embarrassed by her reaction, “Just do what you have to.” 

The spy emitted a sigh as if the sight of the red marks splashed across her back pained him just as much as it did her, and the scissors glided along her back once again. She whimpered as he peeled the sticky cotton away from the coagulated wound. His hands never shook or wavered, a quiet but gentle strength that applied salve and wrapped clean bandages around her torso. The double agent murmured soft apologies and soothing encouragement whenever she hissed at the contact. 

“Thank you,” she muttered in relief after her wounds had been wrapped up, the pain now much more muted beneath snug bandaged covers. 

“Shhh, I’m not done.” A mild amusement laced through his voice. 

She stiffened for a moment when thick fingers began to skillfully release the multiple pins holding her hair up and send matted curls cascading down her sides. A splash of water and a warm towel began wiping her hair, careful fingers skillfully teasing out the knots. 

Feyre felt a tension in her release with each untangled knot. The next sound that escaped her mouth was no longer a whimper or a hiss but a content sigh. 

“Relax,” the spy murmured, his hand sliding skillfully through tresses to rub at her neck. 

Feyre did the opposite, stiffening at the sensation. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything.” He cut in sharply, “but I want to. So just keep quiet and relax.” 

Raven was quick to stifle any further noise of protest climbing up her throat, moving skilled fingers to press into the corded muscle of her neck and elicit another relieved breath.

She should still be mad, still angry. At him for manipulating her, at her own naivety to assume her actions would have no consequences. 

But just for tonight where her back was torn apart and comforting hands combed through tangled curls and glided smoothly over tired neck and shoulders, she couldn’t find the strength to pick up the anger and resentment. She found herself melting into the pillow instead, helpless against the ministrations. 

“I’m still upset,” she grumbled, the tone petulant even to her. 

“So be angry with me,” he agreed easily, his fingers in a constant motion, weaving locks into a simple braid, “I did what needed to be done but it didn't get easier. Or maybe, it shouldn’t get easier.” The last tortured word was a drop into the ocean, a self-reminder perhaps. Or a secret confession?  She wasn’t sure.

Feyre expected the seasoned spy to make his move after his fingers made a parting reluctant caress and secured her hair into an easy braid, but he remained still, a hovering presence. 

She twisted slightly, hissing at the movement, and asserted quietly, “There is always another way. It’s up to us to find it.” 

The demonic mask jerked away, the moment shattered, splintered glass falling down. Raven said harshly, “There is no more us. You should leave the palace. Take your sisters and head west to the Illyrian camps. You’ll be safe there.” 

“Leave?” She asked, her mind unwittingly drawing up the contents of the note once more. “And you?” 

“The plans are already set in motion.” He drew himself to full height, brushing his hands along the neat lines in the front of his robes. “You should leave while you can.”

Her lips pursed into a line at the dismissive tone. “You’re not answering me.”

“There is nothing else for you to do here.”

Despite the burn that each move revived, she pushed herself off the bed to sit upright to meet the black mask head on. She challenged, echoing his words, “And when the wolf swallows the suns? Is that the day the tide turns? Where we take back what we are owed?” 

“The palace will be a bloodbath, Feyre. Until Cassian and Azriel succeed in taking over the city and storming the palace, this place will be nothing more than a battlefield. It’s not,” he shot out, full of agitation, before taking a breath as if he needed the moment to collect himself, “it’s not what you signed up for.”

Feyre snapped.

“I signed up to fight against Hybern, to drive them back to whatever hellhole they spawned from! Exactly what I’ve been doing since the day they conquered Ye!” She jabbed a long index finger at him, chest heaving. “So don’t treat me like a child.”

She held his gaze unwaveringly. “I can help. Let me stay and fight with you.” 

The beat stretched between them, then the mask sucked in a breath.

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

***

The bandages loosened and dropped into its usual mess at her waist, tacky with the hours old salve. She gathered it aside and stood in front of her desk. Using her handheld mirror sat in the heart of her outstretched palm, she bent her knees in varying degrees trying to catch a glimpse of the status of her back in the letter-sized mirror propped on her table. 

The criss-crossed lines had scabbed over with significantly less red inflammation. The skin was tight, the telltale healing itch crawling like ants around her back. 

It had been mere days, all too fast for her to have recovered so much, and there was no doubt in Feyre’s mind that this was largely due to the salve stored in the shallow cylindrical container fancier than anything in this room. A healing salve that exceeded the capabilities of anything one could find on the open market. 

She tried not to dwell on it: the salve or the man who first applied it on her. 

After awkwardly but gingerly wiping down her back, she refreshed the wound with a fresh application of balm and a new set of bandages. Shrugging on her robes and neatly tying the knots of the cord around her waist, Feyre noted her much improved back mobility and left the room. 

Servants were typically allowed no more than two days of bedrest after receiving a corporal punishment. However, the work responsibilities would unofficially be lighter for at least a week — a sort of solidarity amongst the peasants who were nothing more than cogs in the machine. 

It was with this privilege that Feyre could have the luxury to squat over the wash area, relishing the refreshing sensation of cool water travelling from the bamboo tubes to her opened palms to her cheeks, in the middle of the afternoon. 

She hummed contently as she raised the water pooled in her palms to her lips. The thud of the bamboo tubes swinging from one to another with the weight of the travelling liquid was a warm rounded noise, pleasant to the ears. 

Then a spark of movement from her peripheral ensnared her attention. A snaking manoeuvre in the corner of the cavern that felt distinctly familiar. 

She maintained the minute distance between her mouth and her palms, her face hidden by her hands. Subconsciously, the maid crouched lower so that she remained out of sight, her frame hidden behind the water conveyance system. Stormy blue eyes tracked the action until they widened as she registered the all too recognisable cut of aristocratic lines on beautiful brown skin.

While still dressed in dark silks, the robes he wore today clung to his body, fitted to give its wearer better mobility. The prince had a bow slung over his chest, a quiver of arrows was secured around his shoulders. Shrewd violet eyes gave the space one last look over before he slipped away. 

It was none of her business, really. As a wearer of the crown, the heaven blessed royal could behave in any way he wanted and nobody would or could question him for it. 

Still, this meant nothing to Feyre as her palms relaxed to let clear water splash back into the large receptacle and she followed after the prince. Keeping a healthy distance between the both of them, she curved herself and melted into the shadows of the dips and divots of the rocky surface that she now knew intimately.

Rhysand led her through a long tunnel that Feyre vaguely recalled wound to the upper caves out of the mountain. Up and up they climbed. So single minded in her focus to escape notice that she pushed away other thoughts, including the nagging feeling that she was missing something important.

Then she spotted Rhysand slide a dark shimmering cloth over his eyes, drew back the bow and sent an arrow flying towards the blinding sun. The image was a striking blow in her mind. 

Raven?

Rhysand?

Raven.

Rhysand.

Could Rhysand be Raven?

With the prince’s face obscured, even by nothing more than the flimsy fabric, there was no denying her gut that demanded her to recall the same muscular silhouette, the same way he moved through the tunnels earlier, the same wordless power he commanded. 

But it couldn’t be, could it?  

Even as self-preservation demanded her to stay hidden, Feyre felt her limbs stretched to reach out to the prince (or spy?) as he collapsed onto his knees, arms visibly shaking in effort to get back up on his feet. 

A pressure closed around her throat as she saw how the tremors ran through his body when he pulled back the bow once more, lightning blue crackling around him. She breathed with him only when the second arrow speared through the sky once more, now in a different direction. 

Lightning split down the sky through the prince and the bow clankered against the ground, taking its archer with it. 

To hell with it.

Feyre moved frantically, muscles acting on their own accord, too late to halt his crash to the ground.

“Rhysand!” She cried out, decorum thrown off the cliff edge they were on, shaking his spasming body into her lap. 

A low groan escaped him, eyelids fluttered beneath the clothed surface. “Feyre?” 

Her stomach lurched at the distinctly familiar lilt. “I’m here.” 

Rhysand closed an iron grip around her arm and despite her sputters, continued to tug on her sleeve sharply in a bid to pull himself up. He explained in between pants, “All three suns need to be down or all of this will be for nothing.” 

His now upright chest rose and fell rapidly, his body still racked with spasms. He barely managed to draw back the bowstring when more lightning blue sparked from the bow and into his body. A guttural growl escaped his throat, muscle feathering at his jaw. 

“You can’t,” she whispered in dreaded realisation, watching as more sizzling energy swirled around him, a sickening singe of smoke filled the air. 

Sure enough, the bow clankered against the ground once more, next to the unconscious prince. 

Her heart thundered, pounding drum beats in her ears. But gently, gingerly, Feyre pried the bow from his hands and untied the sash from his face. His brows were creased, frantic micromovements of eyeballs fluttered long, dark lashes and bellied his distress. 

She shifted her gaze to the weapon, fingers tracing lightly over the archaic symbols etched into the hard yew surface of its limbs. 

Drawing the final arrow that laid on the ground, she darkened her world under shimmering fabric, astounded at how it transformed into the sparkling outlines of the suns above. 

With a shuddering breath, Feyre released the bowstring and sent the third arrow spiralling towards the sky. 

A/N: Soooo the cat's out of the bag👀

[hellsite-plays-house-of-danger]

You chose to inspect the statue of the man on the horse

The horseman is a dashing, bearded Civil War soldier, his bronze face stoic. He holds out a cavalry sabre toward the brooding sky. The sword's edge glints in the weak sunlight that penetrates the thickening clouds above. The sword looks almost new.

At the base of the statue is a plaque that proclaims this as a memorial to Henry Marsden. The plaque reads:

Henry Marsden, born 1839, died 1887. General in the Union Army during the Civil War. Severely wounded at the Battle of Shiloh in 1862. Appointed warden of Hedge Brook Prison in 1880.

To your left is the entrance to a hedge maze. To your right is a graying picket fence with a rickety wooden gate. You can see two stone angel statues and beyond them, a cemetery.

OPTIONAL CHALLENGE: Search the monument's base

CHALLENGE TYPE: PERCEPTION

WIN: Gain a new story choice.

LOSE: Raise Danger Meter by one.

OPTIONAL CHALLENGE: Climb the statue to examine the sabre

CHALLENGE TYPE: CLIMBING

WIN: Gain a new item.

LOSE: Raise Danger Meter by two. You may try again.

Current inventory:

POCKETKNIFE:+1 on die roll for fighting type challenges.

BOTTLE OF WATER: Discard at any time to lower Danger Meter by three, do this by sending an ask saying that you used it.