#tree bracing and cabling

[livingstyleup]

Emergency Tree Removal Services: Immediate Solutions at Your Service

When trees pose a sudden hazard, our emergency tree removal services offer rapid and reliable solutions. Whether due to storms, accidents, or unexpected risks, our expert team swiftly responds to mitigate dangers. With specialized equipment and skilled professionals, we prioritize safety while efficiently removing hazardous trees. Trust our prompt emergency services for immediate tree removal needs, ensuring your surroundings are secure and risk-free.

[onlinewordworld]

Strengthen Your Trees with Professional Tree Bracing Services by Dynamic Arborist!

Dynamic Arborist is a leading provider of tree bracing services in the Australia. We offer a wide range of tree bracing services, including tree cabling, tree splinting, and tree anchoring. Safeguard the health and beauty of your precious trees with our expert tree removal services. Dynamic Arborist offers reliable support systems to reinforce weak branches and prevent potential hazards. Trust our skilled team to preserve the natural charm of your landscape and ensure the longevity of your trees.

[evergreenltd]

How Tree Cabling and Bracing Can Save Your Mature Trees in Calgary

Mature trees are the guardians of our landscapes. They provide beauty, shade, cleaner air, and even increase property value. But just like us, trees grow old, and with age comes vulnerability. Harsh weather, structural weaknesses, and environmental stress can compromise the safety and health of even the most majestic trees. If you’re lucky enough to have mature trees in your yard in Calgary, you might already know how important it is to care for them properly. One often-overlooked method of preservation is tree cabling and bracing.

In this blog post, we’ll explore why Calgary Tree Cabling and Bracing Services are essential for protecting your mature trees, how the process works, and why you should trust professionals like Evergreen Ltd to help your trees thrive for years to come.

Why Mature Trees Are Worth Saving

Before diving into the how, let's talk about the why.

Environmental Benefits

Mature trees absorb carbon dioxide, filter pollutants, and release oxygen. They provide critical habitats for wildlife and play an important role in urban ecosystems. In Calgary’s ever-evolving cityscape, preserving established trees is a powerful step toward sustainability.

Economic and Aesthetic Value

A mature tree can increase a property’s value by thousands of dollars. Their presence reduces cooling costs in summer, prevents soil erosion, and adds visual appeal that younger trees can't match.

Emotional and Historical Importance

For many homeowners, mature trees carry sentimental value. Whether it’s the tree you planted when you bought your home or one that’s watched your kids grow up, saving it isn’t just about the environment—it’s personal.

Understanding Tree Cabling and Bracing

So, what exactly is tree cabling and bracing?

Cabling and bracing are structural support systems designed to stabilize weak or vulnerable trees, particularly those with:

Co-dominant stems

Cracks in limbs or trunks

Overextended or heavy branches

Storm damage

Trees with weak wood structure (like willows or poplars)

What Is Cabling?

Tree cabling involves installing flexible steel cables between major branches to reduce movement and prevent them from splitting apart. This technique helps redistribute mechanical stress and supports tree limbs during high winds or heavy snowfall—a common issue in Calgary.

What Is Bracing?

Bracing uses threaded steel rods installed through weak or split branches or trunks. Unlike cabling, which offers flexibility, bracing provides rigid support. It’s often used in tandem with cabling for added stability.

Signs Your Tree Needs Cabling or Bracing

Not every tree needs support, but here are some signs that yours might:

Noticeable cracks in limbs or trunk

Multiple large stems growing from a single point (co-dominant leaders)

Large, heavy limbs extending horizontally

Visible leaning or swaying during light winds

History of storm damage

Deadwood or decaying areas

If you’re seeing any of these issues, it’s time to consider Calgary Tree Cabling and Bracing Services.

Why Calgary’s Climate Poses Unique Challenges for Trees

Calgary’s environment is beautiful but demanding. The region is known for its:

Heavy snowfalls that accumulate on limbs, increasing the risk of breakage

Chinooks that create dramatic temperature swings

Windstorms that can tear apart weakened or unbalanced trees

Urban development which causes soil compaction and root disturbances

All these factors increase the stress on mature trees. That’s why preventative structural support is so vital here.

Benefits of Tree Cabling and Bracing

Now that we’ve identified the risks, let’s dive into the many benefits of these services.

1. Prolong Tree Life

Cabling and bracing can dramatically extend the life of a mature tree by preventing structural failures that could otherwise lead to decline or removal.

2. Protect Property and People

Failing limbs can cause serious damage to homes, cars, and even injure people. Proper support mitigates these risks, especially during Calgary’s intense weather conditions.

3. Preserve Aesthetic Integrity

Why chop off a beautiful branch if it can be saved? Bracing and cabling allow you to maintain the natural shape and beauty of your tree without major pruning or removal.

4. Cost-Effective Tree Care

Compared to removing and replacing a mature tree—which can cost thousands—installing a support system is an affordable alternative that protects your investment.

Why Hire Professionals Like Evergreen Ltd?

Tree cabling and bracing are not DIY projects. They require arboricultural knowledge, precision, and specialized equipment. That’s where Evergreen Ltd comes in.

Certified Arborists

Evergreen Ltd employs certified arborists who understand the biological and structural intricacies of trees. They can assess whether your tree needs support and determine the best way to apply it.

Customized Solutions

Not all trees—or problems—are the same. Evergreen Ltd offers tailored Calgary Tree Cabling and Bracing Services that meet the unique needs of each tree and property.

Safety First

Improper cabling can do more harm than good. Evergreen Ltd follows industry safety standards to ensure every tree is treated with care and every installation is safe and effective.

Ongoing Monitoring

Structural support systems aren’t a one-time fix. Trees continue to grow, and cables may need adjustments. Evergreen Ltd offers maintenance and monitoring services to ensure long-term results.

The Process: What to Expect

Here’s what a typical cabling and bracing project looks like with Evergreen Ltd:

Step 1: Initial Tree Assessment

A certified arborist inspects the tree for signs of weakness, damage, and potential hazards. They’ll evaluate the structure, health, and environmental conditions.

Step 2: Recommendation and Quotation

If cabling or bracing is needed, the arborist will explain the plan and provide a quote tailored to your tree’s needs.

Step 3: Installation

Professionals use non-invasive techniques and top-quality materials to install the cables and/or braces, all while minimizing damage to the tree.

Step 4: Follow-Up and Maintenance

Evergreen Ltd schedules follow-up visits to ensure the system is functioning properly and adjusts as the tree grows.

Real-Life Example: Saving a Heritage Elm in Calgary

One Calgary homeowner had a 75-year-old American Elm that began to split down the middle due to co-dominant stems. Instead of removing the tree, they contacted Evergreen Ltd. The team installed a dynamic cabling system between the main trunks and a brace rod through the base. Today, that elm stands tall, strong, and continues to provide shade and charm to the yard.

When Cabling and Bracing Isn’t Enough

In some cases, the damage or decay is too extensive. If a tree poses an imminent threat to safety or is beyond saving, removal might be necessary. However, with timely intervention using cabling and bracing, many trees that seem doomed can be preserved.

Combine Cabling with Other Tree Care Services

Cabling and bracing work best when paired with:

Regular pruning to reduce excess weight

Soil care to enhance root stability

Disease and pest management

Deep root fertilization

Evergreen Ltd offers comprehensive tree care solutions to help you maintain healthy and stable trees for the long haul.

Final Thoughts: Don’t Wait Until It’s Too Late

The loss of a mature tree isn’t just a landscaping concern—it’s a blow to your home, your environment, and your memories. With Calgary’s unpredictable climate, it’s never too early to take preventative action.

Cabling and bracing is one of the most effective ways to preserve your trees and protect your property. Whether your trees are showing signs of stress or you simply want peace of mind, trust the experts.

Trust Evergreen Ltd for Calgary Tree Cabling and Bracing Services

Evergreen Ltd is Calgary’s trusted name in arborist services. With years of experience, a certified team, and a passion for trees, they offer the highest-quality Calgary Tree Cabling and Bracing Services. Their goal? To help your trees live longer, safer, and healthier lives.

Contact Evergreen Ltd today to schedule a consultation and take the first step in safeguarding your urban forest. Because saving a tree today means enjoying it for decades to come.

[burtlesbackhanddragon]

How to Protect Your Trees from Storm Damage

Storms can wreak havoc on your property, and trees are often among the first casualties. High winds, heavy rain, and even snow storms can cause limbs to break, trees to fall, and significant damage to your landscape. However, with the right preventative measures, you can protect your trees from storm damage and keep them healthy and strong through all seasons. Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care Services describes how you can safeguard your trees and your property.

Regular Tree Inspections: Conduct regular inspections to identify weak or damaged branches. Remove any dead or diseased wood to prevent them from becoming hazards during storms.

Regular Tree Pruning: One of the most effective ways to protect your trees from storm damage is through regular pruning. Overgrown branches or dead limbs are more susceptible to breaking in high winds or under the weight of snow. Pruning helps to remove these weak areas and ensures that your tree is structurally sound. Professional arborists like Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care Services can also shape the tree, reducing wind resistance and making it less likely to fall during a storm.

Cabling and Bracing: For trees with multiple trunks or heavy branches, cabling and bracing can offer additional support. These techniques involve installing flexible steel cables and rigid rods in the tree to help redistribute the weight and reduce stress on vulnerable areas. Cabling and bracing can be particularly effective for trees with structural weaknesses or trees located in areas prone to strong winds.

Tree Health and Maintenance: Healthy trees are more resilient to storm damage, so maintaining your tree’s overall health is crucial. Regular watering, mulching, and fertilization provide trees with the nutrients they need to stay strong. Trees that are stressed from poor soil conditions, drought, or disease are more likely to succumb to storm damage. Professional tree care services from Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care can help you monitor the health of your trees and offer recommendations for maintaining their vitality.

Fertilization: Ensure your trees are receiving adequate nutrients to maintain their health and vigor. Regular fertilization can help trees withstand stress from storms.

Staking: If your trees are young or have shallow root systems, consider staking them to provide additional support. However, avoid over-staking, as it can hinder root development.

Assess for Structural Weaknesses:Sometimes, trees may have hidden structural weaknesses that aren't immediately visible. An arborist at Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care Services can assess the condition of your trees and identify potential risks before a storm hits. This assessment might include looking for cracks in the trunk, rotting wood, or poor root structures. Addressing these issues early can prevent costly damage to your property during a storm.

Remove Hazardous Trees: In some cases, removing a tree is the safest option, especially if it poses a significant threat to your home or property. Dead, dying, or severely damaged trees are more likely to fall during a storm, leading to property damage or personal injury. A professional arborist from Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care Services can evaluate whether a tree should be removed and ensure that the removal is done safely and efficiently.

Plan for Future Storms: Being proactive about tree care is key to minimizing storm damage. By scheduling regular inspections and maintenance with a certified arborist like Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care Services, you can keep your trees strong and healthy all year long. Investing in tree care before a storm strikes will not only protect your property but also preserve the beauty and longevity of your landscape.

Protecting your trees from storm damage requires foresight and proper maintenance. Regular pruning, health assessments, and proactive measures like cabling and bracing can significantly reduce the risk of storm-related damage. When in doubt, consult with a professional tree care service like Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care Services to evaluate the health of your trees and recommend the best course of action. Stay ahead of the storm with expert tree care services, and keep your landscape looking its best through every season. Contact Burtles Backhand Dragon Tree Care today at 724-234-5451 or visit https://www.bbdtreecare.com/ to schedule a consultation or service, and let us help you prepare your trees for the fall and winter seasons! Don't wait until it's too late!

#TreeStormDamage #CertifiedArborist #TreeCare #Arborist #BurtlesBackhandDragonTreeCare #Pruning #Trimming #TreeRemoval #EmergencyTreeServices

[mckinneytreetrimmers]

[biblical-chronicles]

Feral

________________________________________________

where Liam wants you quite bad (with the help of some magic dust)

[18+]

________________________________________________

You showed up at the studio mid-afternoon, balancing a bag of sandwiches and a couple of drinks like some kind of clumsy little waitress. You knew Liam had been holed up here with the lads for hours, probably forgetting what food even was. And you — always the fool for him — decided to take pity.

You made it inside easily, the usual mess of tangled cords, battered amps, and half-empty bottles greeting you. The lads waved distractedly, too caught up in whatever strange noise experiment they were brewing. Liam was standing in the middle of it all - pacing, fidgeting, animated like a firecracker.

You didn’t need to be a genius to know that he was most likely on something. Eyes gleaming too bright, moving too fast, talking a mile a minute to no one in particular.

As soon as he caught sight of you though — It was like everything else blurred out.

"Oi!" he practically shouted, dropping whatever battered notebook he was holding. He darted toward you like a man possessed, eyes laser-locked onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

You barely managed to put the food down before he crashed into you, arms snaking around your waist, pulling you tight against him.

"Liam—!" you squeaked, laughing, trying to push at his chest a little because you were very much not alone. "The lads are right there—"

He didn’t seem to care. He just buried his face in your neck, nosing along your skin, breathing you in.

"You smell fuckin' unreal," he muttered, voice thick with need. You could feel how keyed-up he was, practically vibrating in your arms.

"Liam," you hissed, squirming, noticing Bonehead looking over with a smirk before going back to fiddling with a cable.

But Liam was insistent. "Come ‘ere," he mumbled, already tugging at your wrist, leading you toward some barely functional side office in the back. You stumbled after him, half-scolding, half-giggling, because he was a goddamn force of nature like this, no point fighting it.

He kicked the door shut behind you and immediately caged you against it, hands gripping your hips like you might disappear if he didn’t hold you hard enough.

You opened your mouth to say something but it was of no use. Liam was already kissing you, desperate and sloppy, teeth grazing your lip like he couldn’t get enough. You gasped into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair instinctively.

He groaned at that and just ground himself against you, panting against your mouth.

"Liam—!" you tried, breathless, "You’re gonna get us caught—"

"Don't care," he rasped, kissing along your jaw, rough and adoring, fingers bunching your shirt up higher and higher. "Need you. Bloody hell, been thinkin’ ‘bout you all day—"

You whimpered because god help you, when he got like this, you were helpless.

You tugged him closer, nails dragging lightly over the back of his neck, making him shudder. He nipped your ear and laughed when you gasped.

"You’re killing me." you murmured, clinging onto him.

"Says you," he grinned, eyes bright and wicked, "show up lookin’ like this. What’m I meant to do? Behave? Fuck off"

He was all over you again, hands on your hips, mouth at your neck, and you had to brace yourself against the wall, heart hammering like a drum. His breath was hot, his grip tighter than it needed to be. He felt like he was buzzing under your hands.

“Liam,” you whispered, half-laughing, half-pleading, “we need to go home.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed.

“What, now? You serious?”

You smoothed your hands down his chest, calming him with a firm press. “You’ve been climbing me like a tree in a public studio, we can have a better time at home.”

He stared at you for a second. Then huffed through his nose, clearly annoyed you had a point. He still didn’t let go though — not fully. Just slid his fingers through yours, clutching your hand.

“Right,” he muttered, eyes flicking over your face. “I’ll go. But you better not be far behind love.”

You raised your brow. “Behave. We'll get some air.”

“Don’t need fuckin’ air,” he grumbled, already dragging you toward the back door of the studio. “Need you.”

You barely had time to fix your hair and pretend like you hadn't just been ravaged against a studio wall before Liam grabbed your hand again, squeezing your fingers tight like he might combust if he let go.

“C’mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath, voice thick, ragged with impatience. His eyes were still blazing, blown wide and hungry, glued onto you.

You tried keeping a straight face, but you were panting already, skin flushed, still feeling the imprint of him all over you.

Outside, the air was cool, yer it didn’t help much with the heat still licking at your skin.

Liam turned back only once you were properly away from view, grabbing both your hips and backing you up against the nearest building like he couldn’t even think straight. His hands trembled slightly on you.

"Gonna get you back, love," he breathed, voice low, "and then m’gonna—"

He broke off, visibly shuddering, forehead resting against yours.

"Gonna have you on every bloody surface of that flat," he hissed, voice shaking, "again, and again, and again. Gonna fuckin' wreck you, yeah."

You whined, hands grabbing the front of his jacket to steady yourself.

"Please," you gasped, emboldened by the chaos he was promising, "I need it so bad—"

That snapped something in him. He quickly grabbed your hand again, practically dragging you at a run now down the street toward the flat.

The whole way there he kept muttering under his breath like a madman, every few steps stopping to shove you into a doorway or a wall just to bite kisses onto your neck, hands roaming over you, grabbing your arse, lifting your skirt with reckless abandon.

"Gonna make you scream me name again," he whispered into your ear as you stumbled up the steps to the flat, "til everyone on the fuckin' block knows you’re mine."

You could barely get your key into the lock with how badly you were shaking, and Liam wasn’t helping, hands all over you, breath hot against the side of your face, hips pressed against your bum to keep you pinned still.

Finally, the door slammed open, he kicked it shut behind you, didn’t even wait, just pushed you flat up against it, kissing you rough, messy, desperate.

You pulled at his hair, tugged him closer, grinding up against him.

"You need me, Liam?" you panted against his mouth.

"Need you so bad it hurts," he choked, "and m’gonna fuckin’ show you how much, right fuckin' now—"

He suddenly scooped you up then, arms under your thighs, and carried you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss once, staggering and bumping into the walls, both of you laughing breathlessly between frantic mouthfuls of each other.

The second your back hit the mattress, Liam was on you, no hesitation, just wild, frantic movements, shaking hands and burning kisses.

He yanked your shirt up, dragged it clean over your head, tossing it somewhere without a thought. His mouth immediately dropped to your chest, mouthing, kissing, teeth scraping, so desperate he was practically devouring you.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," he panted against your skin, voice trembling. "Mine. M’gonna make you bloody know it tonight."

You gasped, arching up into him, your fingers clawing at his skin, trying to get more, trying to get all of him.

"Liam—" you whimpered, head thrown back.

He just made a noise at that only to then immidiately tear his own shirt off, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. He fumbled with his belt next, cursing under his breath when it got caught, too frantic to manage it smoothly.

You laughed breathlessly, hands slipping down to help, and the second you did he looked down at you, wide eyes, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

"You're gonna kill me," he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You’re the one who started this," you teased, voice wrecked but playful, hips canting up into his.

He let out a ragged laugh and finally shoved his trousers down far enough to free himself.

You barely had time to breathe before he grabbed your thighs, dragging you down the bed toward him.

"Gonna fuck you til you can't bloody walk."

"Good." you gasped, "want it, Liam— need you to—"

You didn’t even finish the sentence. He slid into you with one rough, desperate thrust, both of you crying out, clutching at each other like it was life or death.

The drugs had him absolutely insatiable, every thrust hard, fast, relentless, his hands everywhere, squeezing your hips, grabbing your wrists to pin them above your head, stroking your face almost tenderly only to dig his nails into your thighs a second later.

He was panting into your ear, whispering an endless, filthy stream:

"Fuckin'— look at you, all mine— beautiful— so good for me— screaming for me—"

You were moaning wreckedly, shameless, nails raking down his back, begging him for more even when you had no breath left to beg with.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t see. Just feel him everywhere, feel his hands, his mouth, his cock driving into you deep and perfect and desperate.

When you finally came, it hit so hard you screamed, clinging to him like you might fall through the bed. He fucked you right through it, relentless, chasing his own release, whispering hoarse, broken praise into your neck.

When he finally came, it was with a strangled cry of your name, hips grinding desperately into yours, holding you tight enough to bruise.

And even then, even when he was breathless and trembling all over, he didn’t let go.

He stayed inside you, mouth open against your shoulder, breathing you in like he never wanted to come up for air.

"M'not done yet," he mumbled against your skin, voice wrecked, barely coherent.

You laughed, delirious, stroking his sweaty hair back from his forehead.

"Knew you were a menace," you teased weakly.

He lifted his head just enough to grin at you — a wicked, unrepentant grin — before kissing you again, slow and deep and possessive.

"Still gonna ruin you proper," he muttered.

________________________________________________

I'm back at it again ya lot xx

finally scribbled summat down, hope ya like it !

[skelly-words]

Mermaid Levi <3

I loooooove mermaids (idc that he's technically a merman stfu). This is an x reader, but it's not very romantic.

Also, he has no name in this, so feel free to read it as your fav XD

tags- yandere and monsterish, no smut, drowning, idk what else to tag, levi's a fucking mermaid bro, fear, this could be mild horror idk, i don't think reader has gender yet

wc- 2.4k

Tourists riddle the Pacific coast. Beaches are so crowded in the summertime that it’s unpleasant to go. Most families pop an umbrella up in the sand and camp out all day, and the crowd only begins to thin when the sun dips under the watery horizon. 

But you like to swim alone, turning left– away from the coast and down a dirt road. The back wheels of your car kick up a small cloud of dust in your wake. You bounce up and down in your seat as you navigate the bumps and divots until you can hear the bumper cables in the trunk rattling. The sidestreet isn’t meant to be taken, so it’s seldom maintained. You can tell where it has flooded in the winter, cracking on the surface like a salt flat, and cutting deep grooves across the road’s width.

About a mile down, the road comes to a dead end with a miniscule cul-de-sac to provide parking. The packed earth stretches out to become grass and the sandy shore of a shimmer lagoon. The water passes between green and blue hues as it reflects the splendid sky. But it looks more of a murky emerald in the shade. Most of the lagoon is consumed by reeds and cattails, clustered in the shallow mouth where it feeds into the ocean and up against the waterline. In fact the only break in the wall vegetation is the gap made by a rickety pier.

Algae grows from the pilings, making the legs fuzzy and green below the waterline. The boards are sturdy enough, groaning but not bending as you walk out to deeper water, blue beach bag in hand. The sun is so bright, glaring from above and bouncing light off the sunbleached wood. Squinting over the water, you see that it’s empty.

You like that nobody else comes to this watering hole. It’s only deep enough to swim off the pier’s end, where a neglected kayak tugs at the rope tying it to the endmost piling. It plummets down into a trench of deep blue. A perfect circle with no apparent bottom. The unsettling nature makes most people stick to the beaches. There is always a rumor or two of someone drowning in it, but nobody ever seems to know them. The kayak doesn’t belong to anybody specific anymore, and algae sprouts from the underside. Yet, despite it all, the lagoon is the only place you can feel comfortable, never hesitating to strip down to your swimsuit and smooth sunscreen down your skin. 

Because nobody comes here. You sit on your pile of discarded clothes, dangling your toes in the water. It feels warm, just cooler than the dry summer air. Fall is on the way, but it’s still hot as fuck until sunset. Sweat runs down your spine, tediously over the bump of each vertebrae. You stand up on the pier, toes curling over the edge to brace yourself. 

The water waves. It welcomes you down. You take a breath and push off the plank, head first and with your eyes shut tight. Everything is silent beneath the surface. You can no longer hear the grass rubbing together, wind between wheezing trees. Time seems to stand still while you are submerged, and springs back to life as you pop up to gasp for air.

You swim laps. Around and ‘round the blue hole with your watery shadow following on the mushy bed. One, two, three, four, breathe; you count strokes and inhale just enough for the next four scoops of your arms. The splashing water kicks up behind you sounds like music. Rhythmic and meditative to keep time with your steady count. It’s a familiar song. At a certain point you didn’t need the mental count anymore and your trained muscles do all the work for you. Until your chest hurts and arms burn beneath the mild water. 

You float on your back, gently kicking your legs until you bob dully around the center of the scenic pool. The sun is beaming and your eyes are closed as you relax on your back. To drift in circles with the fluid current. Slight tugs back and forth as the coastal breeze picks over the surface. When it becomes too hot, you swim back to the pier and dry off. It’s not until then that you notice another swimmer. His head is barely above water, facing away from you in the center of the lagoon.

He looks left and right, then turns around to spot you standing at the end of the pier. You don’t know how you hadn’t seen him earlier, swimming in that exact spot just minutes ago. His hair is soaked and plastered to his forehead. The color shines an iridescent, oil-slick purple. But you can’t make out the details of his face until he comes closer, treading water and approaching slowly. Careful not to spook you.

“This yours?” He asks when you’re within earshot. He speaks slowly and the enunciation flicks stiffly off his tongue. 

You squint at his fingers, held just above his eyeline with a glint of silver pinched between them. The stud on your left ear is missing. You silently feel for it before answering.

“I think so.” You kneel down at the pier, then flat on your stomach to reach it. Palm up, skimming the water’s black surface. The shade cast by the creaky boards makes the lagoon look so dark, a stark comparison to the sparkling water under the sun. “Is it shaped like the moon?”

He nods eagerly and comes just close enough to press the stud into your hand.

“Thank you. How’d you even find this?” A disbelieving laugh passes through your lips.

He doesn’t say anything and just smiles at you sheepishly, head tilted down and demure. You take the time to study his face. The bump in his nose, lashes fanned across his cheeks when he squints to look up at you. Strange purple flecks mark a trail down his neck, seemingly embedded in the skin.

“I never saw you get in the water.”

He blushes deeply when you speak directly to him again, but manages to reply this time. “I came from the other side,” he says. Gestures vaguely behind himself and continues, “and you were swimming.”

You scan the rest of the lagoon, but there’s no other break in the dense cattails besides the pier you’re stretched out on.

“I should’ve taken them off before getting in the water. They’re an heirloom.” You take off the other stud and slip them both into the pocket of your discarded jeans.

“Very pretty ‘n shiny.” His eyes gently track the movement of your hands and he inches just a little bit closer. Droplets running off his shoulders as he treads water in the shade of the pier

“That’s why I noticed it.” His nervous gaze quickly flicks away from you. “It would be a shame if the lagoon swallowed it up.” 

His voice has a mesmerizing quality to it now that you’re given a chance to listen. “People lose an incredible amount of objects, like you wouldn’t believe.” It lilts into something enchanting and melancholic, almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Anyway, you looked like you were leaving, so I’ll let you go.”

“No, I was just gonna get back in the water.” You sit up and kick your legs over the splintering edge.

“Wait, don't-”

But you’re already plummeting into the water, barely giving yourself time to inhale before you’ve slipped under. It’s like your senses snap back when the cold water engulfs you, eyes widening as you sink. Bits of algae and sediment hover in your vision, appearing to drift upwards while your body plummets down. And through the layers of gloom, the glittering tail of a massive fish beats back and forth. A fish? Or not, as you see the strange boy dip below the surface. Scales sparsely trail down his sides to encircle his waist and legs. They’re chatoyant, milky-purple, and a few stray higher to decorate his chest and neck. You’re too busy cataloging his abnormalities to notice that he’s reaching for you.

You curse your lack of attentiveness as your oxygen begins to run out. He doesn’t pull you back to the surface. His arm hooks around your waist and drags you towards the soggy waterbed. Your abandoned beach bag is the only proof you were ever there.

Bubbles leave an effervescent trail as you scream. Your nails tear at his bicep in an attempt to loosen his grip, then into craggy ground for something to hold onto. He’s headed for the trench, with your flailing body clutched in a vice-like grip as he dives over the ledge. It’s a steep drop-off. A perfectly round hole-punch shooting straight down. The blue hole is bottomless, approaching black as the dappled beams of light dim above you. Your ears throb at the increase in pressure and your oxygen is gone. It’s finally time for you to inhale a lungful of water and close your eyes.

-

“Can yo…ear m…okay?” Everything sounds far away and your chest feels like it’s being crushed. “Plea…your ey…ook at me.”

Water pours from your mouth, dry heaving as you cough so hard your stomach aches. 

“Please, breathe.”

You have no choice but to listen. Your breath rattles like gravel is shaking in your ribcage, and you lapse into another coughing fit. Everything is wet; the slick rock digging into your spine, the dripping stalactites, and the clammy hand drawing shapes on your stomach. It instantly retreats when you speak.

“Where am I?” You say weakly. The sound may not be audible at all, echoing in your panicked head. Your limbs feel paralyzed. Numb and barely tingling as you try to flex your fingers. It’s too dark to see anything besides the distant ceiling covered in subtly glowing lichen. 

“Where am I?” You repeat firmly. There’s still a grating quality to your voice and you can better hear how strained the sound is when it bounces back to you. “I know you’re in here, you fucking freak!” But even the insult comes out broken and wet.

You want to scream when there’s nothing but silence as an answer, feeling the frustration make your hands shake. Nothing but rock walls surrounds you, scaffolding for the moss and algae growing from shallow crags. The flora are the only sources of feeble light, brightening the cave at its jagged edges. You sit up on the limestone somewhere around the center. Drowned in the inky expanse more so than you were under the water.

The sound of lapping waves comes from your left. You stop breathing to listen. He can’t move without making sound. Droplets splash over the rock as he lifts himself from whatever hole you were towed through. Landing on the ground with a smack.

“I’m so sorry.”

You jump when his voice is so clearly beside you. His apology slips like poison into your ears. So you stay still, frozen in your spot  because his voice is that transfixing.

“You’re sorry?” You croak.

“Mhmm, you weren’t supposed to see me.” He sighs. The expression gurgles slightly in his throat, and you can feel it on the back of your neck. “If I let you leave, I would’ve never seen you again.”

You’re so scared, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. Yet, you can’t move or pull away, just feeling him hover. It’s impossible to tell how close he is in the dark space. The best you can do is remain motionless.

“No, I p-promise I won’t. I’ll be back.” You talk quickly and quietly, as your unresponsive tongue tries to stumble through a sentence. “I can’t come b-back if you don’t let me leave.”

He croons softly. Smooth and eurythmic like a whale call as it glances off the walls. “You’re the only person I get to see, and I don’t even know you.” Melancholy spills out of him, soaking each word through. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You recall beginning to frequent the lagoon last summer. You’ve come dozens of times since then. And you reluctantly start to feel bad for him. An awful tug at your heart, telling you to comfort him and be kind. His beautiful voice becomes more difficult to resist the longer you listen to it.

“I wanna know you, know your name.” He trails tender fingers down your arm, so lightly that goosebumps spring up in a stippled trail.

“So that’s all? Not to kill me and eat me?” You turn to the side, hopefully facing him, though all you can see is darkness.

His hand limply falls away. “N-no, none of that.”

He goes quiet for a minute or two. Drips of water, landing in a nearby pool, count the seconds. It might be night by now. The sky isn’t visible. Not a single crack in the cave ceiling. There isn’t a crossbreeze either. Air so stagnant it gets stuck in your humid lungs. You cough periodically into your elbow.

“But…” He begins again, seeming to pick his words carefully with how slowly he speaks, “Can’t I keep you? Please, since you’re already here.”

His choices make you bristle. Remaining motionless, still, as you realize that your wishes may not matter. The pallid light emitted by the lichen doesn’t illuminate an exit, if one exists. You doubt there’s a way out aside from drowning in an underground tunnel.

“I think you’d better not.” Maybe you can gently convince him. “I-I wouldn’t want to worry my dad. You need to take me back before i miss dinner.”

Again, you’re left waiting for an answer, staring blankly into the shapeless black while he contemplates this fact. Of course you have family waiting for you. He should’ve anticipated this and simply fled instead of snatching you up too. This whole kidnapping is turning out to be a finely complicated mess.

“Yes, but I’d rather not.” He clasps your hand, all pruned up and frozen as you haven’t had the chance to dry. 

You don’t try to take your hand back or get away. There’s not a nearby escape, or weapon to reach for. The damp cave grows colder by the second and you tuck your knees up to your chest. It doesn’t keep you very warm, but it’s the best you can do, dressed in your modest bikini and nothing else. His gelid hands, gently passing yours back and forth between palms, go over each of your digits with the most clinical of care.

When he kisses your knuckles, his lips are cold too.

A/N- should i continue this? lmk <3

[kintsug1kitsune]

deployment

"Circuit, brace for combat."

"Received and deploying, handler."

The circuit, the pilot of their mech, was nestled in the wires of its heartmount; cables hooked into their neural ports, wrapping around their brainstem and invading their nervous system. They hadn't synched yet, but they were prepared.

Fifty meters of white-gold eschatalium, sharp and pseudo-organic in design, artfully painted black to intersperse with the gold, colors of the Empyrean. Two legs on heel-mount feet, stiletto-like greaves for agility; two arms, long and spiked with clawed hands and packed full of the best weaponry humanity could produce. An armored torso with a head atop, sleek and like a knight's helm, massive sharp-toothed jaws that could snap steel girders in half; four camera eyes, diagonally-spaced, with a wreath of decorative red feathers signifying its position: solo work, sovereign from any squadron.

A Mechanical Eden, one of the finest and greatest weapons of the Empyrean. And within, its circuit, a pilot called Killy, short for Killer. They looked over the hardlight screens before them, ensured all systems were green, and hit the button to synch: all at once, a flood of chemicals surged through the wires and into their body. The lovechild of opium, methamphetamine, cannabis, and psilocybin, derived from human spinal fluid and currently smashing a hole in Killy's consciousness.

Their spirit expanded out through their body and into the soul matrix of their Eden; they meshed together, an amalgamate machine consciousness and its pilot, a beautiful union of identity put to one purpose--war.

Hey, pretty. Hello, circuit. Good to be back. Good to have you back.

Through the Eden's eyes--their own eyes, now--they surveyed the beach. They had been dropped down from orbit onto this small island to await orders in case a battle some kilometers away went badly. Through their body's eyes, now just another part in the war machine, they received signals on-screen from the Athame, the Arbiter-class doll overseeing battle on this, the moon of Illulia.

"Witch summoning imminent. Eliminate or contain threat."

Killy didn't hesitate, and their body--as well as their Eden--broke out into a manic grin. It was time for battle.

Massive golden wings unfurled from the Eden's back, spell circles humming to life as ether coursed through them, and Killy was off: maneuvering thrusters ignited and glassed sand underneath as the wings lofted them over the ocean at mach speeds, coming in low over the waves.

Soon the objective was in sight: an island with smoke curling off it, palm trees and underbrush devastated by the fires of war, with a towering metal building up on a mountain at its center.

"Killy," their handler's voice came into their mind through neural connection, "Your target is the Witch of Scripts. It's a master strategist that uses spells to manipulate the mind and body. Any second, it's going to breach and come into reality. Full force permitted. Destroy it."

Killy licked their lips, drooling in anticipation, already wetting their crotch tubes with cum due to the chems. "Received. Affirmative, handler."

It took no seconds for the island in front of Killy to explode.

The corporate tower on the mountain shattered apart in a spray of molten steel and rubble; the Empyrean forces that had been surrounding it were crushed and scattered. Killy could feel Athame sending orders to gather and retreat to the beachhead, and could see combat dolls and infantry fleeing and trying their best to follow the command.

As they kept closing the distance, cresting the ocean, and now flying over the island's beach, they could also see… A swathe of death. Doll parts, drone parts, human corpses still clad in advanced armor, blood and oil everywhere… Killy came to a stop over the ashy, ruined ground and the mountain of bodies.

And there was a girl there. In the middle of it all, far below, there was a girl.

The Eden looked down on her, and she looked far, far up to the Eden. She was wearing some kind of battle-dress, shimmering brilliantly and beautifully in the eternal night.

"Oh, an Eden? Really? My Witch is that big of a deal?" The Innocence smiled up at the mech and pointed her halberd at it. "Well! Not like it matters, it's already here!"

That was true; the Eden looked up and around at the scene. Steel raining from the sky, and a towering cloud of nightmarish, stained glass darkness was erupting from where the corporate building once stood.

Killy looked back down at the Innocence, and opened the Eden's jaw to let a grinding, destructive voice boom from it, "I am going to kill it. Don't get in the way."

"Oh…?" The Innocence pursed her lips. "No you aren't. I'll stop you right here and now!" Suddenly--she jumped up, far up, flying into the air on glittering magical wings, twirling her halberd and drawing seals in the air with witchfire--

The Eden rose an arm to swat her, but she danced aside--the battle began.

Rays of witchfire shot from the Innocence's seals, splashing off the Eden's heavy armor, as Killy swung levers in their cockpit and danced their legs in their sheathes; their eyes dilated, and they grinned fiercely.

The Innocence flew around, arcing through the air while raining beams down on the Eden; the Eden leaped back, gaining distance, and released the support assault guns from its arms. Hardlight bullets rained out of them, pelting the Innocence as she ducked around, whirled through the air, bounced shells off magical barriers and parried them with her weapon.

"I bet you weren't expecting this!" She flew straight at the Eden and drew a seal with her halberd in shining witchfire--the spell resolved, and suddenly, it staggered and stumbled.

In its heartmount, Killy screamed as the connection between themself and their Eden was scrambled, the mesh forcefully torn-at and damaged.

The Innocence plunged in, spear wreathed in flames, and dove at the mech's leg--and exploded through it, a dart of molten force, laughing triumphantly.

Killy screamed again, in further pain, and the Eden shot towards the Innocence to pursue, wheeling a kick at her.

It was fast, unexpected--her eyes got wide as the incoming leg, a tower of hard metal, careened into her and flung her to the ground, scraping across its ashes and rocks and bloodying her form.

At last she came to a stop and looked up, frantic--but Killy wasn't paying attention to her. The Eden was looking towards the column of emanation coming from the mountaintop, where the Witch of Scripts was entering the world.

Killy felt their entire world focus to a single point, and a euphoria surged through them, not only at beating the Innocence but in anticipation of the next step.

They unfurled their wings and took to the sky, up to where the Witch awaited…

[livingstyleup]

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[banjjakz]

once upon a december (things i almost remember); hananene oneshot

On the first day of Christmas My true love sent to me: A partridge in a pear tree The wine glass slips from her left hand and crashes to the floor in an ear-shattering explosion. Dark red liquid – frigid and insidious – seeps between the gaps in her stockings, dyeing her toes crimson from the outside in. She can’t be bothered to cringe at the unpleasant sensation. No, Nene is more preoccupied with dropping the card, clutching her head, and letting out the first wail she’s released since last December.

(Or: Aoi went missing last Christmas, and the chilling bite of the new year rendered her case cold to the touch. This year, on December first, Nene opens an anonymous Christmas card to find a lock of deep purple hair. Terrified, jaded, and freshly incensed, she teams up with the boy next door to track down her best friend before it's too late.)

wc: ~9.7k warnings: horror; psychological thriller; kidnapping; gaslighting; implied drugging; murder mystery; stalking; manipulation; bad end

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

December is the coldest month.

December, for Nene, had not always been cold. December was once filled with warmth and laughter, joy and friction, a vibrant collage of pale golden sun leaking through the bleary overcast sky; beams of light bouncing from snow mound to snow mound in a grand display of merry acrobatics; a fireplace and a hearth and a cornucopia of store-bought curry, leftovers gifted generously by the neighbors, trials and many errors of family recipes lost in the muddled translation of time; cable-knit sweaters; worn leather boots; snowflakes on the tongue like a burst of magic spreading so cold, so rapidly across her body it threatened to burn her alive; and a friend, to join her in this winter wonderland.

December had not always been cold.

Nene, very desperately, tries to remind herself of that fact this year.

It certainly feels colder, but this is admittedly due in large part to her broken radiator. The same radiator she’s been meaning for months now to ask Minamoto Kou from across the street to come and tinker with. She doesn’t know why she keeps forgetting. She should have told him in April, when it first threw in the towel. Should have, should have, should have. Now it is December, and Nene shivers at her own dining table, like she’s seen a ghost. Now, it is December first, and she might as well have, because the ghosts of time’s past are beginning to claw their way from underneath her tissues flushed down the toilet, all her tears buried between threadbare pillowcases. Now, it is December first, and the skeletons in her closet begin to reanimate themselves, cracking their joints stiff from disuse, skulls grinning madly in sadistic preparation.

An anniversary requires fanfare, after all. Twenty-four days until the big event.

How, she thinks, numbly. How has it almost been a year? It’s been simultaneously the longest and yet the shortest expanse of time in her mortal experience of life. Just yesterday she’d been burying her face into Aoi’s neck, red-cheeked with laughter. Eons have passed since she last saw her best friend’s face.

Time works in funny ways when you’re depressed. So does depth perception, apparently; Nene almost brains herself skating across a haphazard patch of ice that runs jagged down her driveway. Her arms windmill, flailing wildly in an attempt to brace what she knows will be an inevitably nasty faceplant. Perfect. An amazing end to a fantastic day at the start of her favorite month of the year. Nene would cry, if she had any tears left to spare.

Someone above must get bored of watching her aimlessly struggle, because she’s able to snag ahold of the mailbox at the last second, effectively steadying her unsightly downfall. Dry, peeling fingers clutch at the hard metal tin with all the force of an animal cornered. It takes her a second to unclench, to exhale, to remember that she is no longer in peril. The tunnel vision fades. Her breathing evens out. The ringing in her ears subsides. She notices the meek red little flag, erect and upturned on the side of the mailbox, valiantly standing tall and bright amidst the grey dreary backdrop.

She hasn’t received mail in months.

Her bills are paid online, for the most part. She doesn’t have any close friends. Her family stopped trying to contact her months ago, when the cherry blossoms began to wilt in the storm drains. Now there are no fruit bearing trees, and Nene lives alone – truly alone – with no one to send her mail. No one she knows of, at least.

That last thought triggers something in the back of her brain, sharp and chilling and alarming all at once, a sensation she has not embraced for months now: self-preservation.

Suddenly anxious, Nene rips open the mouth of the metal box and peers inside. A lone ruby envelope greets her. Before she can think better of it, Nene snatches the thing and hastily fixes her mailbox to fit the lackluster, lonely image she’s more accustomed to: close-holed. Flag down.

She hustles up her front steps, huddled around the strange package like a mother protecting its wounded young. Her neighbors must think her insane, but Nene doesn’t care about that. She hasn’t cared since – well.

The house is cold, and dark. Shadows leap and jump in warm welcome as she meanders her way into the kitchen, flicking the right switch on the first try out of sheer muscle memory. All at once, her line of vision is illuminated in frosty fluorescents, rendering the pale wood and bloodless countertops an even more pallid hue. The dust that collects along the lone windowsill just above the sink unsettles itself at her arrival, motes floating benignly in the air, almost as though waving a shy little welcome home.

Her coat is shouldered to the tile floor. Her heels are kicked off somewhere near. The top two buttons of her work dress are popped open to allow for some breathing room. The bottle of wine she goes to uncork awaits her dutifully from the countertop, where she had uncorked it the day before, and the day before that, and even the day before that one. Tonight’s glass runs a little bit deeper, though. She has a feeling she might need it.

The first thing that strikes her as truly odd is the lack of a return address. She revolves the slim, rectangular envelope in one hand, inspecting it thoroughly from pristinely pressed edge to pristinely pressed edge, and yet she is unable to locate any address beyond her own, which is printed neatly in dark, black ink. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve guessed it had been printed directly on the surface, what with how evenly the characters are spaced from each other. An errant smudge blurs the last zero on her prefecture code, however, and Nene deduces that this was hand-written and hand-mailed – by whom, she’s yet to uncover.

It should disturb her more than it actually does, this piece of mystery mail. A literal scarlet letter resting innocently enough in her lap, its insignia black as night, its arrival marked by the year’s darkest hour. These past eleven months have numbed her, she thinks ruefully. What’s frozen cannot feel.

At worst, it’s a lame little prank from some of the kids on her street. The adults know better than to prod at her, but she’s caught some of the junior high kids messing about on her lawn right around dusk, completely unaware that her dark windows do not denote vacancy. She’s the strange woman in the strange house at the end of the lane, she knows. Tragedy has painted her desolate. Maybe this is a note poking fun at her late age, her living in solace, perhaps even her style of dress, which is just as muted and bland as the rest of her general surroundings.

Maybe it’s an urban legend, placed in her mailbox to frighten her, boldly proclaiming that something terrible will happen in seven days if she doesn’t forward the message immediately.

Maybe the sender was one digit, one character off, and this envelope isn’t even hers to claim in the first place.

Unenthused and fairly exhausted, Nene feels nothing as she unhurriedly splices the red lip with her thumb.

Her immediate reaction is confusion. There is a Christmas card inside. Her family doesn’t celebrate the holiday. She doesn’t have any friends at work, or in her neighborhood that celebrate the holiday.

A prank, she reasons. It’s not a farfetched notion.

As she gingerly pulls the card out of its snug red outfit, she’s greeted with the sight of the Western caricature of a robust, profoundly smiling Santa Claus, who grins up at her from his boisterous perch atop a sleigh wealthy with presents. HO, HO, HO! Read the English characters emblazoned above his head, bright like headlights. She feels caught in their glare.

Yep. Definitely a prank.

Like ripping off a band-aid, Nene flips open the card in one swift, violent motion.

And her heart stutters to a standstill.

All around her, the house freezes in place; the dust-motes shrink back, captivated in disbelief, their once amicable air now petrified with the abrupt shift in the air; the shadows at her feet shrink back in empathy; and even the skeletons in her closet quiet their clamor for a handful of terrible, awful, painstakingly potent seconds.

A lock of hair is tucked gently into the spine of the Christmas card. A lock of hair Nene remembers brushing, braiding, caressing, adorning with clips and bows and ribbons and ties. A lock of hair Nene had watched as a child cascade down from the smooth, scarless expanse of an unblemished ivory neck, all the way down to an impossibly tapered waist, slim and cinched and imprinted on her living room couch, in her kitchen chair, in her bed. A soft lock of hair. A purple lock of hair. A fresh lock of hair.

(It still smells like her shampoo.)

The card is white and red and green and festive, with only the following words written as any kind of explanation:

On the first day of Christmas

My true love sent to me:

A partridge in a pear tree

The wine glass slips from her left hand and crashes to the floor in an ear-shattering explosion. Dark red liquid – frigid and insidious – seeps between the gaps in her stockings, dyeing her toes crimson from the outside in. She can’t be bothered to cringe at the unpleasant sensation.

No, Nene is more preoccupied with dropping the card, clutching her head, and letting out the first wail she’s released since last December.

The “gifts” continue to arrive, after that first fateful day.

Nene, in all her discombobulated panic, scrambled to look up the English text from which the sender was pulling. It was a Christmas carol, apparently. One that went on to detail twelve days of presents sent from a secret admirer to their ‘true love.’ In accordance with the rhyme, Nene received parcels for twelve days – each containing some remnant of the previous day, and a new addition to the mix.

They were all pieces of Aoi.

Locks of hair. Soiled socks. Broken bits of jewelry. The ribbon Nene gifted her as a birthday present two years ago. All of it intimate, all of it freshly pressed into an airtight Ziplock bag – and all of it smelling freshly and distinctly of Aoi. These keepsakes, Nene was convinced, were not coveted posthumously. Despite what the police department decreed, Nene knew eleven months ago what she knows now: Aoi is alive. She must be. She must be.

And her captor isn’t done with her yet.

As the week trickles through her ruddy, cracked, trembling fingers, Nene weighs her options. She could seek legal help once more, but she doesn’t know if she trusts them to do their job right. Not after they’d given up so easily, had let Aoi’s memory fade from their logs and legal books like the final wisps of a fire smudged out. No, she couldn’t go to the police. She couldn’t reach Aoi’s family, hasn’t been able to since the investigation closed out in January and the Akanes minced no words when they voiced their contempt – and their blame – for just who, exactly, was at fault for their daughter’s disappearance.

(“You lived with her,” Mrs. Akane had said, quietly, “and saw nothing?”)

There is nobody else on which Nene can rely, except herself.

She devises her plan on the eve of the twelfth night.

I’ll stay home from work, she reasons. Turn of all the lights. Close all the blinds. Pretend not to be home. And watch the mailbox like a hawk.

Worst comes to worst, the only person who graces her front lawn is a dutiful delivery man. But still, Nene finds that hard to believe; the packages that reach her are pristinely placed with care and precision, arriving on an individual, consistent, and daily basis. Surely the faults of the very human Japanese national mail system would have hit a snag at least once during this entire operation. As such, Nene is led to believe that the culprit is hand-delivering these dark little omens.

And she is going to catch them in the act.

That Friday is a slow one. Nene rises with the sun, or what little of it manages to peer past the caliginous cloud of fog that overcasts the city. She makes her coffee. She settles into her armchair – the one tucked into an obscure corner of the living room, just out of eyeshot from the street beyond her drawn curtains – and she waits. And waits.

And waits.

She is waiting for so long that it surprises her when the sun flirts with the horizon’s edge, dipping his does into dusky twilight. This is usually the time of day when she comes home to a new parcel.

Surely, they haven’t forgotten. It’s the grand finale, after all.

Something is decidedly different, then.

The time, unfortunately, does get the best of her. Despite her best efforts, Nene is powerless to the exhaustion of the week, the fatigue of remaining still and alert for the better part of twelve hours, and the draining anxiety that’s plagued her from the moment she’d received that first card. She’s drifting off before she can catch herself, floating aimlessly, blissfully in a dreamless scape, brought back to the world of the living by an offensive CLANG!

Immediately, Nene jerks awake, rattled.

God dammit. How long had she been out for?

Ears ringing, eyes wide and teary, Nene sits and stews in the silent dark of the house, straining her ears to sus out any more noise. It’s late, judging by the opaque black that coats the living room with a thick, ominous mood. Nobody on her street – not even the spunky kids – are out this late.

Creeeeeak…

The squeal is faint, but telltale. The sound of metal hinges whining in protest. The mouth of her mailbox opening. The mailbox.

Nene, with shaking hands, peels back the curtain just wide enough to peer out of the window.

A dark, shadowy figure is right there on her front lawn. Two arms outstretched into the rusty, tin cage.

Bingo.

She’s on her feet and out the door before she has time to second-guess herself. In that moment, she cannot see the consequences of her actions; rather, what plagues Nene’s mind the most is are the locks of deep amethyst hair, the fingernail cuttings, the socks, the accessories, the used tissues, the empty lipstick tubes, and everything else that has been sent in a boldfaced taunt to provoke Nene into the very same reckless action she has no choice but to take now.

For Aoi, her heart screams as she throws open her front door and barrels into the street, This is for Aoi.

“STOP RIGHT THERE,” exclaims Nene, projection boosted by the copious amounts of adrenaline running rapid like wildfire through her pulsing veins. It is a powerful yell, a wounded shriek, and it startles the hooded figure so badly that they stumble backwards in surprise, catching their footing right underneath the streetlamp. When they look up, the violent yellow lighting is enough to illuminate their face just enough for Nene to make out some key identifying features, but – wait – isn’t that –

“Yugi-san?”

The man across from her giggles nervously. “Hi, Yashiro. I am aware that this looks very bad.”

She blinks. “No shit.”

Yugi Amane, her next-door neighbor. The other black sheep of their strange little cul de sac. She’s spoken to him only briefly in passing, and each time was an oddly pleasant surprise. On one particularly noticeable occasion, he even helped her carry her groceries inside, and let her cry on his shoulder when the gallon of milk she’d lugged all the way from the grocery store did, in fact, burst all over her kitchen floor. He’d been kind. Offered to clean it up, and then fetched her some more the next day.

That was six months ago. They haven’t spoken since.

“Look,” he begins, frazzled, hands in the air as if to show he means no harm, “I’m not the creep you’re looking for. Believe me.”

“The creep I’m looking for?” Asks Nene, wary.

“You know… the… the guy? Who keeps stalking your mailbox?”

All the color drains from Nene’s face in an instant. “How do you know about—”

“I’m your next-door neighbor,” he scoffs, almost offended, “It would be stranger if I hadn’t noticed. He’s there every day, same time, hood up, face mask on. And, let’s be honest, Yashiro, you don’t have very many people over nowadays. Was I so wrong to be suspicious?”

“Excuse me?” Nene feels a vein threaten to burst from her forehead.

Yugi ignores her and barrels on. “So, I tried to catch him in the act tonight! Maybe rough him up a little bit! Teach him a lesson?”

“Teach him a lesson,” echoes Nene, hollowly. She eyes his body up and down. His five-foot-seven, rail-thin body, dwarfed by the egregious amounts of black fabric he’s swaddled himself in to fight against the cold. “You,” she repeats, just to clarify, “were going to teach him a lesson?”

“It’s the least I can do,” says Yugi, suddenly somber. “After all that’s happened.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Not pity. Try ‘basic human decency.’”

“You are so—” Nene stops. Re-centers herself. “Right. It’s too cold out here for all this. Did you… would you want to… I mean—”

His face shouldn’t loom that brightly. Not out here, not in the deep bottomless dark of the December night. He’s all pale skin and round cheeks, elusive like the moon, marked by twin bright points of luminescent amber. They twinkle at her in a dazzlingly spot-on impression of starlight. They wink in and out of sight as they’re scrunched upwards by the force of a sly, boxy grin. They bore into her, chilling her to the bone, shining bright and merry all the while.

“Why, Yashiro, I thought you’d never ask.” The comment hangs in the air for one beat, two beats, until Yugi breaks the tension with a well-timed quip. “I’m freezing my ass off!”

“’Teach him a lesson,” grumbles Nene, already spinning on her heel to lead the odd young man through her front door. “I’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Hm? Did you say something?”

“No, nothing at all.”

Amane – as he’d told her in no uncertain terms to address him as (“it’s not like we’re strangers, now, are we?”) – sits next to her at the dining room table with a troubled look on his face. The large, even spread of dark mahogany has functioned as her drawing board for the past week; laid out in two neat, even rows are every envelope, card, and keepsake she’s received thus far. Amane studies the twelfth card, which arrive in a small box in lieu of the paper manila envelopes Nene had become accustomed to. There was too much of Aoi to contain in a simple slip, this time.

“Hm,” hums the dark-haired boy, lip caught between his teeth as he studies the contents. “And you’re positive all of this is hers?”

Nene jerks back, as if slapped. “How could it not be?”

“What exactly is your plan, Yashiro?”

He’s standing up, now, svelte figure made even slimmer by the all-black sweater and jeans combination that hangs off of him like dripping gloom. Amane begins to circle the table, socked feet thumping gently, quietly, soundlessly against the wooden floorboards. Nene nearly thinks him to be a specter, floating effortlessly through the thick air, making maddening paces around her. “You charged at me with no weapon to defend yourself, no phone to call for help, nothing in your arsenal except eleven months of pent up hurt.”

She wants to get angry. It’s her knee-jerk response nowadays, and the things he is saying are out of line. They’re blunt, they’re insensitive, and—

Worst of all?

They’re true.

Amane’s slow revolution stops right behind the axis of her chair. He can’t see her bitten lip from her, her watering eyes, her hot cheeks. She wonders what he’d say. She sends a silent thanks that she’s shielded from his calculating view.

“I’m not trying to be mean,” murmurs Amane, quietly. Nene can tell he’s being honest. “I’m trying to prepare you.”

“Prepare me?”

Amane steps into her periphery, then, silently urging her to look towards him instead of hiding behind the safe veneer of her hair. “The world can be cruel. You’re no stranger to that, Yashiro. When Akane-san left, it was hard for you. We all saw it. I saw it. I saw you.”

Nene looks up at him.

His voice is strange, affected in a way that Nene would have never thought to expect from her neighbor. The guy who let her cry over spilled milk, smearing her snot and tears all along the crisp lines of his nice button-down shirt. The guy who smiles at her – who has always smiled at her – when she was out and about in the neighborhood. The guy who never crossed the sidewalk when he saw her coming. The guy who never told his kids to stay away from Yashiro-san, the woman with the missing roommate. The woman whom tragedy seems to tail like a hound after its master.

“I saw you,” continues Amane, “and it hurt me to watch you go through something like that.”

He is pale, he is wan, and he is brightly flushed in the middle of her dining room, Sitting on her table. Fiddling nervously with the hem of his worn sweater.

She doesn’t know what to say. The words get caught in her throat, blocked by the lump that grows bigger and bigger with each word that comes tumbling out of Amane’s stupidly perfect lips.

“Let me help you.” His face turns fixed, resolute. “Anything I can do to be of assistance. Whatever you need, I’m here for.”

“But why?”

“I told you, already. It upsets me when you’re upset. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

“And when have you ever ‘seen’ me,” scoffs Nene, but it’s mostly to detract from the tears trickling down her cheeks.

Amane wipes them away with the pad of his thumb so impossibly gently it nearly hurts. “All the time, Yashiro.” His touch grounds her – or, rather, she’s being sucked into it, forced to lean on the first scrap of stability she’s been offered in nearly a calendar year. Where she is weak, and greedy for more, he is kind, and benevolent enough to offer her his comfort.

Surely, there must be a catch. Surely, she’s going to regret this.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nene spots the errant glint of one of Aoi’s favorite bracelets. It rests atop the card for the fifth day, along with a small mountain of her other personal effects, some of which Nene can recount the stories behind. Those earrings are from the boutique in Harajuku we visited on a weekend trip. She’s used that same brand of dental floss for years, now, ever since we were kids. I gave her that hairclip, I bought her that lipstick, I used to clip her nails for her when she was too tired to do it.

The loss hits her anew, driving her face further into the palm of Amane’s hand. He’s cooing something or other, his carefully crafted words spun like candy floss, but they fall upon deaf ears. All Nene can think of are the past twelve days, the past eleven months, the past lifetime she’d taken for granted with her best friend, and the ticking doomsday clock that lies ahead of her, counting down to one of the worst anniversaries Nene has ever had the displeasure of celebrating.

For Aoi. This is for Aoi.

It must be.

It will be.

The dust had nearly settled.

The last of the moving trucks pulled out of the driveway, leaving the two young women to their brand-new, freshly stocked, Real Adult House. This was a first for the both of them – a first that they were delighted – and purposeful – in sharing together.

It was an unseasonably warm autumn afternoon. As such, Aoi thought it appropriate to pour some lemonade into a pair of matching glasses, even while a litter of cardboard boxes crowded every conceivable surface.

“Oh, let’s just relax a minute, Nene. Un-packing can wait until we catch our second wind, hm?”

“I don’t know,” said Nene, taking Aoi’s offered glass all the same. “There’s so much to do…”

“Stop fretting. You’ll get wrinkles.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. Little too late to be worrying about that.”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about anything. We’re finally home. We finally made it. How do you feel, love? Talk to me.”

Nene swirled her lemonade and worried her teeth at the rim, the dull clink reverberating in the otherwise silent house. Her gaze draped lazily over the wooden banisters, the charming dark, earthy tones of the first floor, all of it bathed in the gorgeous amber glow of near-dusk. The windows had a lovely view, but they were rather large – they’d need to buy some curtains.

“The neighborhood is nice. Well groomed.”

Aoi, it seemed, was pleased by this answer. “It’s not the only thing well-groomed around here.”

“That was terrible.”

“I know.”

“…Who is it?”

“One of our neighbors,” Aoi giggled into her lemonade as she took a dainty sip. “I swear, he was ogling me when we were helping the movers. Like he just couldn’t look away!”

They never can, thought Nene, bitterly. “Which one?”

“Across the street. They’re two brothers, I think. The older one has got such a piercing stare. I’m not going to lie, if I didn’t know any better, I’d be a little frightened.”

“I’m sure.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Nene. You’re going to find friends, here, too! And then we’ll settle down and live our happy little lives and be best friends forever. Don’t you think so?”

“… Yeah. That sounds nice, Aoi.”

“Of course it does, it’s our dream! Or don’t you remember?”

“I do, I do.”

“Good. Now, why don’t we go door to door and introduce ourselves? The old-fashioned way!”

Ten days.

They’d had to wait until they both had a day off from work to reconvene. As such, it is now the fifteenth of December, approximately four in the morning, and Nene is parked outside of a non-descript storage facility. She’s far away enough to ward off any suspicion, but close enough to carefully track the movements of each patron passing through the massive revolving door.

“Look alive!”

Amane crows from the passenger seat, shoulder-checking her hard enough that Nene is jolted out of her momentary reverie. “No sleeping on the job, silly.”

“’The job,’” scoffs Nene, “Funny you should mention one of those. There’s no earthly way you’re this awake at four in the morning. What is it that you do again, Amane?”

“Property management out in the banks,” Amane rattles off, dismissively, before leaning forward in his seat. “Ooh, now look who finally decided to show up. Closer, Yashiro, or you’re going to miss him!”

The ‘him’ in question is Minamoto Teru.

Amane asked her to conjure up a list of potential suspects. (“Spare no one. It is, unfortunately, those closest to us who pose the most threat. Y’know?”) So, Nene thought back to simpler times, where she and Aoi would sit and gossip on lazy Sunday afternoons about work, family, and the odd faces around town. One odd face always managed to steadily reoccur in every single one of Aoi’s anecdotes.

The elder Minamoto and his kid brother lived directly across the street from Nene, in one of the more traditionally styled houses on the block. Incense regularly burned out front, and the entirety of their porch was adorned with wind chimes, along with various other little tools and trinkets that she could not for the life of her even begin to decipher the purpose or use of. She’d never been spiritual – neither had Aoi – and so the orthodoxy of the Minamoto household was already rather unsettling.

What really drove the wedge in further was Minamoto’s penchant for staring.

There were many a night where Aoi would complain of a restless sleep, chalked up to the sensation of being watched. Nene – in her thoughtlessly callous manner – dismissed this often as a symptom of Aoi’s inflated ego. What Nene now realizes she’d failed to take into account is the fact that Aoi’s bedroom window peered straight into the second story of the Minamoto abode. The distance between the two houses was not that large; if they wanted to, they could push up the glass and shout to communicate.

Naturally, Minamoto is number one on Nene’s list of persons of interest.

After all, there’s something to be said for handsome, charming men with a seemingly endless knowledge of social niceties. Minamoto had never been anything short of polite to both her and Aoi, but the more that Nene reflects on their past interactions, the less confidence she holds in the sincerity of Minamoto’s respectful manner.

Even now, as she watches him stride through an otherwise empty parking lot, large packing bin held effortlessly on top of his right shoulder, his striking features are hard. Intense. Laser-focused. A far cry from the friendly smile he projects at home.

Beside her, Amane whistles low and long. “He doesn’t look so happy.”

“No,” Nene murmurs, agreeing. “I wonder what’s in the bin?”

“Well, it’s hard to say, but…”

He cuts himself off as they both watch it happen: Minamoto hefts the bin into the bed of his truck, and pays no mind to the shiny, metallic item that slips out from beneath the lid. It winks underneath the moonlight, practically inviting the two voyeurs to come and investigate its properties once Minamoto pulls out of the parking lot and off into the impending rising sun. As soon as he’s gone, they slip out of the car and peel into the parking lot, harping in on the lost effect.

Nene’s breath stutters in her throat as she gets a good look at it.

“Oh my God…”

A phone. The case is floral and pastel colored. Feminine. The most popular model and brand of last year’s winter.

But most importantly: it is Aoi’s phone.

Nene would recognize those scratches on the screen anywhere; she’d been apart of nearly all the stories that accompany them. Everything, down to the worried edge of the case where the design fades away, rubbed one time too many by Aoi’s anxious pinky finger, is familiar to Nene in a way that smarts freshly. It is astounding, how every piece of her best friend lives on so very vividly, even as the woman herself continues to elude Nene’s ever-desperate grasp.

“Is that--?” Asks Amane, but his tone betrays comprehension. Nene’s reaction is enough to confirm his suspicions. She presses the power button and nearly wails when it won’t turn on. She begins to spam it, frantically, her thumb coming to jam the home button as well in a cacophonous roar of clicks. She looks crazed. She knows. Yet she cannot bring herself to let go of the phone; she cannot stop hoping that maybe if she presses harder, or faster, the screen will light up and show her the lockscreen photo of her and Aoi sipping hot cocoa in front of the fireplace, taken just days before the unthinkable happened.

Before she can fall any further into disarray, two gloved hands find purchase on her shoulders. Nene belatedly realizes that she’s been shaking. Violently.

“Yashiro,” croons Amane, with infinite patience. “It’s not going to turn on.”

“I-it has to, it has to, it has to—”

“It won’t,” says Amane, not unkindly. He smooths his hands down her arms and comes to rest directly behind her, warm chest to her hunched back. “Can you feel me breathing?”

Nene nods jerkily.

“Try and copy it. Come on. I know you can do it, there you go. Just like that. You’re doing so well.”

The praise washes over her like a hot sauna over old bones. Just how long has it been, since someone has spoken to her like this? Has touched her gently, with intent, with purpose, with fingers so reverent she feels like she’s being worshipped? Has hugged her close to their beating heart and let her count her breaths to its steady rhythm?

In her rational adult brain, Nene knows that the man behind her is only doing what’s necessary to bring her down from what was gearing up to be a full-blown panic attack.

But in her fantastical, escapist brain – the one that commandeers the reign in times of duress, that whispers sweetly treacherous words? Nene cannot help but to allow herself to fall into the daydream that is being held in the arms of a man who cares for her; who camps out with her at four in the morning on a Saturday; who stands with her in empty, poorly-lit parking lots and sways their conjoined bodies back and forth, side to side, like the benign ebbing and flowing of waves at sea.

When Nene can open her eyes again, she finds that it has begun to snow.

Little flakes drift down to collect on her eyelashes, on the crown of her head, on the tip of her red-dusted nose and cheeks. She resists the sudden, childish urge to stick out her tongue.

“Better?” Whispers Amane. The steam from his breath lingers so closely that she watches as it wafts past her ear and out into the dark expanse of the night. Mutely, Nene nods.

“I told you, I don’t like seeing you upset. I’m going to make sure that this year is better for you. Okay? I promise. You can hold me to it.”

“You barely know me,” says Yashiro, finally regaining some clarity. Although she was present for all of it, finding herself entangled in Amane’s arms is somewhat of a shock, now. She’s speaking to a flickering lamp post in the distance as she continues. “Why are you doing all this, Amane?”

A humorless chuckle leaves his mouth. He breathes it into her hair. “Why do you think?”

The night is cold, the night is dark. Nene takes in a lungful of frigid December air and relishes in the way it burns the back of her throat. It feels like a brand, much in the same way that Amane’s arms do as they snake around her own, ever tightening.

“I’m going out!”

“Where? With who?”

Aoi stopped in her tracks, heels in hand, by the front door. “Aw, is Nene-chan worried about me? I can handle myself, you know.”

“I know,” grumbled Nene, indignantly. The stew she’d been working at for ages gurgled at her lethargically. “Just. Wanted to be safe. That’s all.”

“I will be. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when I’m there and when I’m on my way home.”

“Is there any particular reason why you won’t tell me where you’re going, Aoi?”

Aoi’s face was wry as she finally slipped the last inch of her tiny foot into her gracefully lifted shoes. She looked like a vision – but she always did. That was just her. “You won’t like my answer.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Don’t wait up, okay? I’ll be fine!”

��Ah—Aoi, wait—at least take a jacket! It’s getting colder these days—!”

But she was already out of the door before Nene could finish.

Seven days.

It’s getting harder. Harder to keep up with work, harder to keep up with bills, harder to get out of bed on the weekends to make herself something other than instant meals and refried rice.

This time of year has always been overstimulating for Nene, but now that so much of the holiday season is imprinted in her mind with memories of bereavement, there is very little Nene can experience that doesn’t send her back to a different place in time entirely.

She begins to space out in department stores, in konbinis, in supermarkets, when she spots something that resembles Aoi’s wardrobe a little too closely. When she comes to, she realizes she has no idea how much time has passed, or if she’s someone has tried to speak to her. It’s frightening. It’s numbing. It should be sobering, but the closer the anniversary date looms, the harder Nene finds it to wade through the waking world.

And through it all, of course, is Amane: cooking her dinner when she lets slip she hasn’t had much besides energy drinks and protein bars; picking up groceries when she cannot bear to take another step outside of her house; running errands on her behalf like it’s his civic duty; keeping her company while she knits, or reads, or even as she sleeps, so that she is never alone; and even when he isn’t at her immediate side, he’s just one door down. One knock away. Less than one hundred feet apart from her at all times. Always so close. Always.

Sometimes, he behaves… strangely. Erratically. On these days, Nene will hear him talking to no one in particular in the next room. He is louder, too, and proceeds with a manic edge. He laughs too hard. He laughs at the wrong jokes. Nene considers that she is not the only one with dark secrets, with loss brimming at the core of her being.

In her state of gradually building disarray, Nene finds it especially hard to keep track of her personal belongings. It starts with harmless items, things she can easily replace: her toothbrush; her hair comb; a few pairs of socks; a vial of nail polish. Although she swears she puts them back in their respective places, still they vanish into thin air, without a trace.

“Amane,” she hums, tonelessly, “the next time you go to the store, could you pick up some more floss?”

He snorts, like she’s just told him a funny joke. “Again? We should keep a running tally, at this point.”

Nene sinks down to rest her head on the kitchen table. “I don’t want to hear it, Amane. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” groans Nene, miserably. “It’s like… I don’t know…I’m just sort of. Floating. Through life. You know?”

She peers up at him through her crossed arms and almost chokes on her own gasp. In the dim lighting of the kitchen, there stands two Amanes. The twilight of the late afternoon provides a sinister backdrop for the sight that Nene’s mind cannot even begin to comprehend. The two Amanes are grinning down at her, eyes bright, mouth wide open. And then she blinks, and they merge as one, and suddenly Amane is crouching down to her level, nose on her arm, pupils boring holes into her own.

He stares at her in silence for a few moments. This close, Nene can smell him – neutral, clean, yet faintly metallic. “What would make you feel better?”

“I just want her back,” Nene says, so very quietly. “Getting Aoi back would be the best Christmas present ever.”

Amane, Nene has noticed, for all his enthusiasm and passion for their investigatory activities, doesn’t appreciate it when Nene talks about Aoi. For whatever reason, his face falls flat, his eyes, dull, and the shift in his energy is so sudden it threatens to give her whiplash.

As the sun finally sets, it is just the two of them illuminated by a small table lamp several paces away. Amane is aglow with orange light. It bounces off of his cheekbones sparingly, rapidly. He’s drawn gauntly like this, a vision of nightmare in her mundane little kitchen. Golden eyes half-lidded and simmering with…

“Amane…”

“If that’s what you want,” he says, finally. “I’ll make it happen.”

“You can’t—don’t say something like that. It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to make you laugh.”

“… Promise me, then. Promise we’ll find her for Christmas.”

“I promise, Yashiro.” He hooks their pinkies together with a grim smile. “I promise you’ll get to see her again.”

Minamoto Teru stops by two days later.

He has the audacity to stroll up to her front door, put his dirty hands on her doorbell, and summon her outside where he awaits, a tray of what he announces to be baked goods occupying his right hand.

“Losing a loved one can make the holiday season burdensome. Please remember that you are in all of our thoughts, Yashiro.”

She slams the door in his face.

How dare he? How dare he? How dare he come onto her property and offer her his stupid fucking food and say – that – knowing damn well what he’s done. He is so sick. He is so sick. He is twisted and evil and Nene cannot breathe she is so livid. She rushes upstairs, little feet pounding hard on the wood, and throws herself into her bedroom, slamming the door shut in blind rage.

The collapse onto the floor is natural; her knees fail her and she plummets onto the carpet, fingers scrabbling blindly as she lets out a frustrated sob. The devil is her neighbor and he smiles in her face, invites himself to her house, and speaks of Aoi as if he doesn’t know full and well about her loss.

Delusional with upset, Nene fishes her phone from her pocket and dials the first number in her favorites. She expects the mindless ringing, the numbing dial tone, the familiar error message telling her that her call cannot be completed at this time.

What Nene does not expect, however, is the faint ringtone that wafts through the wall.

No, she thinks, panicked, I must have finally lost it.

Still, Nene crawls slowly, hesitantly, to the opposite wall – the wall which conjoins hers and Aoi’s rooms. As she makes her way nearer, the ringtone grows louder, easier to discern from the rapid pounding of her own overexerted heart. She strains to make heads or tails of it over the pounding in her ears, the rushing of her blood, the adrenaline buzzing through her veins. She crawls, on her hands and knees, unsure of if her feet could even carry her through a moment like this.

There are no thoughts in her mind. She is suspended in disbelief. Pressing her ear against the thin wall, she confirms that yes – that is Aoi’s ringtone. One of the prettier pre-set sounds on her model. Nene would recognize it anywhere. She recognizes it now, with her pulse in her throat.

Her mind is made up in the blink of an eye. Swiftly, silently, Nene rises from her muddled heap on the ground and moves towards her own bedroom door, tactfully twisting the knob and slipping through the miniscule sliver she creates for herself. Before she can think about what, exactly, may greet her, she’s shoving open the door to Aoi’s room and barging in.

The ringing grows louder, louder, and louder, until she hears it in her eardrums, can feel it in the heavy pit of her stomach.

“What are you doing in here, Amane,” breathes Nene.

He’s – here. Sat cross-legged in the middle of the room. Her room. Her phone is in his lap. Turned on. Miraculously functional. And ringing.

(Hadn’t Nene stored it in her dresser, the night they discovered it?)

“What do you mean, Yashiro?”

“Why are you—in here—”

“Didn’t you invite me over today?”

Did she? “Did I?”

“You wanted me to look for clues.”

“Clues…” repeats Nene, dumbly. She brings a hand to her head and massages her temple, as if that’s going to jog her memory. Why can’t she break through the heavy fog permeating her mind, obscuring from her even the most basic of mental passageways?

What had she done all day? Where had she been?

If Minamoto Teru never came by, would Nene have awoken from her stupor?

“The phone…”

“You gave it to me,” Amane reminds her helpfully. “I told you I found a way to unlock it.”

She considers, for a brief moment, arguing. She wants to tell him that she doesn’t remember anything he’s saying. The past twenty days have all been a blur, exacerbated by Amane’s introduction into her otherwise benignly lugubrious existence. Just what is his real motive, here? Why insert himself into her personal affairs after months of watching from afar? What does he know that she doesn’t? The questions swirl inside of her, ready to leap forth in a vitriolic outburst, but one good look at Amane stops her dead in her tracks.

This… is one of his strange days.

The days where he acts like a stranger wearing Amane’s skin. Jerky movements. Pitchy laughter. Shrunken pupils. He smiles innocently up at her, nearly childlike in its simplicity, and chills erupt along the rigid line of the back of her neck.

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry?”

“…Yes.”

“I’ll go make you something!”

“I can help.”

“No,” says not-Amane. “Let me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!”

He brushes past her on his way out of the door, pocketing the cellphone as he descends the stairs.

Nene realizes that she probably should have asked for it back.

The next four days are something out of a nightmare.

Nene is barely lucid for any of it. Bits and fragments of her days find her like bottles drifting aimlessly onto the shores of a deserted beach, with nobody there to properly receive the message.

Amane had to leave for the weekend – something about business and taking care of the properties he manages – and so Nene is left to her own devices in one of the worst states she’s found herself in. She has to call in sick from work. She can’t go out. She can barely make it from the dining room table to her bedroom without some form of setback.

As always, Amane seems to have been prepared for this. He left her packaged meals before he left, encouraging her to eat to her hearts content. He cooks for her all the time. He is very kind to her, even if sometimes Nene is a little frightened by just how far his kindness extends.

The food is good, but her condition gets worse. She doesn’t call an ambulance, because she doesn’t know what she would tell them. I’m sleepy and depressed and obviously dying because of this.

Very quickly, reality begins to blend with her dreamscape. She sees Aoi at the bottom of the stairs during the nighttime hours. She wakes up to a voicemail at three in the morning left by an anonymous caller; when she clicks on it, she hears her best friend’s bloodcurdling shrieks of terror. Minamoto Teru haunts her, stalks her property, prowls around her house like a predator studying its prey. Is that it? Is he mulling over how he’s going to catch his next victim? She refuses to answer the door when he knocks – not even when he shouts that it’s important, not even when he says that she isn’t safe. What does he know? He’s the one who—

She’s in the bathroom, sifting through the cabinets, throwing out decrepit old orange pill bottles. She looks up and Amane is behind her in the mirror. She blinks in surprise and he’s gone again. The back of her neck is still warm. Nene wonders how he always manages to get into her house—

She’s in the garden. Do they have a garden? Aoi always wanted a garden. She’s in the maybe-garden and she’s planting a radish, only it’s not a radish, it is a pale, thin, slender arm with fingernails painted an extravagant lavender hue, and Nene is powerless to do anything other than shovel more dirt onto the appendage until it disappears from sight completely. She tries to dig up the body, but her hands don’t move fast enough. She should have done more—

She’s in her bed, and she’s being jolted awake. Truly awake. Nene tries to scream, but a gloved hand covers her mouth.

Amane is leant over her.

“Yashiro,” he says, gravely, “I found her.”

Wordlessly, she nods, once. Hard. Resolute. She went to bed in her day clothes (time had long since stopped meaning much of anything to her) and so there is little she needs to do to get ready to accompany Amane. Shoes. Coat. It’s dark in the house, what time is it? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, except that she is finally – finally – going to be reunited with Aoi.

Before Nene can get too far out of the door, Amane draws her back in with one arm, bringing them forehead to forehead, nose to nose, breathing in one another’s air. They are so close that Nene feels it when his heartrate picks up as he caresses her cheek.

“I did this for you,” he reminds her. “It’s all for you.”

“I know,” says Nene, lips pressed into his palm. “Thank you, Amane.”

“Always. Come on, let’s go.”

“What day is it today?”

“Christmas,” Amane says from the driver’s seat. “I heard your wish loud and clear.”

Not for the first time that morning, Nene’s gratitude is intermingled with an underlying sense of insecurity. She pushes it down. Amane would never tell anything but the truth, and he’s the only person who cared enough to take Nene seriously and help her find Aoi. If anything, Nene owes Amane more than she could ever possibly give.

Perhaps this is why she doesn’t question him, when he tells her that the way to Aoi is long, and she must rest beforehand.

Perhaps this is why she doesn’t object to taking the bottle of water he hands back to her, with claims of concern for her health.

Perhaps this is why when she wakes up hours later to sand and water surrounding the car, she trusts Amane when he says to get out and follow him.

Perhaps this is why she trails dutifully behind him, slipping through nooks and crannies, hustling through underbrush, scurrying through nature’s back alleys, relying on him to direct their path.

Perhaps this is why, when they come upon the secluded one-story cabin, she clings to him as they enter inside, her fists white knuckled and tense as they dig into the back of his black jacket.

“Is the—” her fearful whisper splits in half right down the middle. “Is Minamoto here?”

Amane is silent for a beat. “No,” he finally says, without turning to look at her. “So this is the perfect time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nene agrees. “It’s really… wow, it’s really normal-looking in here. I can’t believe someone like him can have a cabin out in the banks, all furnished and decorated or whatever, and then he just – does these horrible, awful things. It’s sick. He’s disgusting.”

Again, Amane is silent.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” sniffs Nene, hot on Amane’s heels as he opens some sort of trap door and begins to climb down a concrete ladder. “Scum like him are so good at pretending to be normal, likable. But it’s all a ruse. Just to get close enough to their victims. And then they strike.”

“Strike?”

“Well, sure. They… they take people.”

“How?”

Nene’s brow furrows. This sure is a long way down. Some light would help guide her way. “How? Um, well. I guess he would have lured Aoi in with a false sense of security, right? Made her feel nice, take her out, call her pretty, that sort of thing. And just when she was getting really comfortable, he probably…” Nene chokes. She doesn’t like thinking about this. “… he probably tied her up and threw her in his truck and drove all the way out here. She probably woke up alone – cold, scared, on Christmas. He would have dragged her inside, and down all these stairs, and then he’d… have his way with her.”

“Are you sure?”

Nene nearly stops mid-climb. “Excuse me?”

“Must it be so violent, Yashiro?” Amane must be significantly farther down than her – his voice sounds odd. “Why couldn’t he have knocked her out for it?”

“That’s unrealistic.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. What if she woke up before they got down to – here?”

“What if she followed him willingly?”

“I can’t imagine her doing that. Aoi’s too smart.”

“What if she thought someone was in danger?”

Nene is quickly starting to lose patience with this pointless conversation. “But who, though?”

The moment her feet hit the ground, she’s seized suddenly from behind. Nene struggles in the pitch black darkness, shrieking out for Amane, but her cries for help are rendered defunct with the man himself croons low in her ear:

“You.”

Oh.

Oh.

Her body goes limp with the realization. Her hands poised for attack slacken on his forearms. Her kicking legs sputter out weakly, until they drag lamely on the dirt floor. Her unseeing eyes – glassy, watery with emotion – flutter, stunned.

She cannot speak. She cannot move. All Nene can do is whimper, now properly ensnared in the spider’s web.

“I’d never hurt you though, Yashiro.” Amane’s voice is sing-songy, light and airy, flirtatious and fun as he drags her body through what feels like an endless array of catacombs. “Would never hurt a hair on your pretty little head, hm?”

Oh my god.

“The—the phone, Minamoto—”

“I planted it there, dummy.”

“In his personal storage unit?”

“People really do a terrible job at creating reliable passwords and pins nowadays.”

They take a turn, and there’s distant light up ahead. Nene tries to hone in on it, but it’s multicolored, and focusing on it for too long makes her vision blur. “Why Aoi? If you wanted me, then why did you take her?”

“She was a distraction. She was holding you back.”

“Holding me back from what?”

“Me.”

The light grows nearer. Now that Nene no longer has to strain her eyes to parse out the source, she can recognize that the forceful glimmer is actually—

A Christmas tree.

It illuminates the dank cellar just enough for Nene to look around and take in the chilling sight. A decrepit armchair with a few springs popping out of the seat sits perpendicular to the tree, with some poor excuse of a throw hung over the back of it. Mysterious stains litter the upholstery in a disturbing splatter pattern that she must look away from, if only to preserve her sanity.

The rug is dingy and cheap, if not outright taken right from the dumpster of some overstocked department store. Leaves and brush still cling to its prickly surface. Where the hell did it come from? How did he drag it all the way down here? Is this supposed to be some sick attempt at a heartwarming Christmas scene? Nene feels bile creeping up the back of her throat.

Now that Amane has brought her up close and personal, she makes the mistake of looking underneath the tree.

“Holy fucking Christ.”

“The ‘best Christmas present ever,’ right, Yashiro?” Amane’s voice jolts her back to reality. Nene startles in his arms and he lets her go, watching fondly as she stumbles around like a newborn fawn, collapsing next to the limp hand farthest away from the tree. The purple nail polish is still fresh, still bright; so bright, in fact that Nene can glimpse her own horrified face in the distorted reflection.

“Merry Christmas.”

This can’t be real.

Nene looks up and sees double. The two Amanes are laughing – absurdly, ridiculously – with arms outstretched and cheeks flushed pink. “I got you the best present ever, right? You like it, right? Right?”

“R-Right,” gasps Nene, because what else is there to do?

“December can be warm. December can be bright. I can’t wait to spend all mine with you, Yashiro. I’ll make sure you’re happy. You know I hate it when you’re upset.”

Curled next to the tree, clutching the cold, lifeless hand of her best friend, Nene smiles. It is watery and it is wobbly, but it is a smile and she knows, now, that there is no other option. “Thank you, Amane. I’m r-really happy.”

“Of course.” He crouches down to her level, and brushes the sweaty, tangled hair from in front of her face. “Anything for you. Merry Christmas, Yashiro. I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

An incessant pounding at the door awoke Aoi in the dead of night.

She was not above admitting it – Nene returning home to spend Christmas with her family left Aoi alone in their brand-new house. She felt odd, and a little strange, by herself in such an unfamiliar environment. Hopefully all of the new-neighbor activities she’d participated in would shield her from any misfortune – at least until Nene returned.

She hurried down the stairs with urgency, in fear of some poor soul needing help on Christmas night of all nights.

When she wrenched open the door, she was met with the sight of… their next door neighbor? Yugi Amane, if she remembered correctly. Before she could ask him what on Earth brought him there so late, he began to speak frantically.

“Yashiro is in danger! You’ve got to come, quickly!”

“Danger?” Mused Aoi. “I haven’t heard anything from her.”

“I know.” Amane held up a blinged-out phone, adorned with two charming hamster clip-on charms. “I found this at the end of the street.”

“Oh, God.”

“Please, come with me. And hurry. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“Oh, God, okay, okay. I’m coming.”

And so Aoi went, with no knowledge of what was in store; with no clue that they were not the only new tenants in town, and that in fact Amane moved in one month before they’d settled down, entirely on purpose, after he’d seen the activity in Nene’s bank account and connected the dots to their brand new location. And so Aoi followed him, wholly unaware that if anyone knew where Nene was, it would in fact be Amane, as he did, in fact, know where she was, as he knew where she was all the time.

And so Aoi believed him, crawling willingly into the spider’s web.

Aoi was not a stupid woman. Aoi could not ignore the red flags that waved overhead, announcing the imperfections of such a convenient danger. But if her friend was truly in distress…

For Nene, she thought. This is for Nene.

[evergreenltd]

Ensuring Tree Health and Safety in Calgary- Evergreen Ltd Tree Cabling and Bracing Services

Calgary’s urban landscape is a testament to the harmonious blend of nature and city life. Trees, with their majestic presence, not only enhance the aesthetic appeal of the city but also provide essential environmental benefits. However, maintaining the health and structural integrity of these trees is a complex task that requires specialized knowledge and services. Evergreen Ltd, a premier landscaping company in Calgary, offers comprehensive tree cabling and bracing services to address these needs, ensuring the longevity and safety of Calgary’s trees.

The Importance of Tree Cabling and Bracing

Trees in urban settings often face unique challenges that can compromise their structural stability. Factors such as heavy winds, snow loads, and the natural aging process can lead to weakened limbs and branches. In some cases, trees develop structural defects that make them prone to splitting or breaking. This not only poses a risk to the tree’s health but also to the safety of people and property around it.

Tree cabling and bracing are proactive measures designed to provide additional support to trees, helping them withstand these stresses. Cabling involves installing flexible steel cables between branches to reduce movement and redistribute structural stress. Bracing, on the other hand, uses rigid rods to support weak branches or multiple stems.

Evergreen Ltd: Expertise in Tree Care

Evergreen Ltd is a trusted name in Calgary landscaping and tree care industry. Their team of certified arborists and tree care specialists bring years of experience and a deep understanding of tree biology and biomechanics to their work. Here’s how Evergreen Ltd’s cabling and bracing services stand out:

1. Customized Solutions

Every tree is unique, and so are its needs. Evergreen Ltd conducts thorough assessments of each tree to determine the best course of action. They consider factors such as the tree’s species, age, condition, and the specific structural issues it faces. This personalized approach ensures that the solutions provided are both effective and minimally invasive.

2. Use of High-Quality Materials

The success of tree cabling and bracing largely depends on the quality of materials used. Evergreen Ltd uses only the highest quality cables and braces, ensuring durability and reliability. These materials are designed to withstand Calgary’s harsh weather conditions, providing long-term support to trees.

3. Skilled Installation

Proper installation is critical to the effectiveness of cabling and bracing. Evergreen Ltd’s team is trained in the latest arboricultural techniques and follows industry standards to ensure that the support systems are installed correctly. This expertise minimizes the risk of further damage to the tree and maximizes the benefits of the intervention.

4. Ongoing Monitoring and Maintenance

Tree care doesn’t end with the installation of cables and braces. Evergreen Ltd offers ongoing monitoring and maintenance services to ensure that the support systems remain effective over time. Regular inspections allow their team to adjust or replace the supports as needed, adapting to the tree’s growth and changing conditions.

Beyond Cabling and Bracing: Comprehensive Tree Care

In addition to tree cabling and bracing, Evergreen Ltd provides a wide range of tree care and landscaping services. These include tree disease treatment, pruning, fertilization, and pest management. Their holistic approach to tree care ensures that trees are not only structurally sound but also healthy and vibrant.

Trees are invaluable assets to Calgary’s urban environment, offering beauty, shade, and ecological benefits. However, maintaining their health and structural integrity requires specialized care and expertise. Evergreen Ltd’s tree cabling and bracing services provide crucial support to vulnerable trees, helping them thrive in the face of environmental challenges. With a commitment to quality, customized solutions, and ongoing care, Evergreen Ltd stands out as a leader in tree care and landscaping services in Calgary.

[branchtreeservicebuffalony]

Why Hiring an ISA Certified Arborist Is the Best Choice for Your Trees

Maintaining the health and safety of your trees is no small task—especially in a place like Buffalo, NY, where weather conditions can take a toll on your landscape. Whether you're looking to prune an old oak, remove a dangerous limb, or improve the appearance of your yard, working with a Certified Arborist is one of the smartest investments you can make. But what exactly is an ISA Certified Arborist, and why should you care?

Let’s dive deep into the benefits of hiring a certified expert and why so many homeowners in Western New York trust Branch Specialists Tree Service Buffalo NY for their tree service in Buffalo NY.

What Is an ISA Certified Arborist?

An ISA (International Society of Arboriculture) Certified Arborist is a professional who has passed a rigorous exam covering all aspects of arboriculture—from tree biology and pruning techniques to soil management and pest control. More importantly, they are required to stay updated with continuing education, ensuring they provide the most current, science-backed care for your trees.

This isn’t your average handyman with a chainsaw. A Certified Arborist understands the complex needs of trees and how to keep them healthy, safe, and visually appealing.

Why It Matters in Buffalo, NY

Living in Buffalo means dealing with extreme winters, heavy snowfall, strong winds, and the occasional summer storm. These conditions put extra stress on your trees, increasing the risk of broken limbs, diseases, or even total tree failure. Regular Tree Maintenance in Buffalo NY by a certified expert can help:

Identify weak spots before they become hazards

Prevent disease and pest infestations

Improve the tree’s resilience and lifespan

Enhance property value and curb appeal

In other words, hiring the right professional can save you time, money, and a whole lot of stress down the line.

Key Benefits of Hiring an ISA Certified Arborist

1. Proper Tree Diagnosis

Trees may not talk, but they do show signs when something's wrong. A Certified Arborist is trained to spot subtle signs of disease, decay, or pest infestation that the average person might miss. This allows for early intervention and helps prevent further damage or costly tree removal in Buffalo NY.

2. Safe Tree Removal

Tree removal is often dangerous and should never be a DIY job. A certified professional has the knowledge and equipment to perform the task safely—protecting your home, your family, and surrounding properties. At Branch Specialists Tree Service Buffalo NY, safety is always the top priority.

3. Expert Tree Trimming and Pruning

Proper pruning promotes healthy growth, improves tree structure, and keeps your property looking clean and well-kept. Certified Arborists know the right time and technique for tree trimming, ensuring your tree stays healthy while enhancing its natural beauty.

4. Storm Preparation and Recovery

If you’ve lived in Buffalo long enough, you know how damaging a sudden storm can be. A Certified Arborist can assess the stability of your trees and offer services like cabling, bracing, or strategic trimming to reduce risk. And in the event of a storm, they can help with clean-up and damage control quickly and professionally.

5. Legal and Insurance Compliance

Improper tree work can lead to liability issues, especially if it results in property damage or personal injury. Hiring a Certified Arborist provides peace of mind because they are trained to meet industry safety standards and are usually fully insured.

Common Mistakes Avoided by Hiring an Expert

Topping Trees: A harmful practice often used by inexperienced workers, topping weakens trees and makes them more dangerous.

Improper Cuts: One wrong cut can stress the tree or leave it vulnerable to disease.

Using the Wrong Equipment: Certified Arborists have access to the right tools and gear for the job, reducing risk and increasing efficiency.

These are just a few reasons why homeowners should avoid taking tree care into their own hands—or trusting someone without the right credentials.

How to Know You Need a Certified Arborist

Your tree looks unhealthy or has dead branches

You're planning construction near large trees

You've noticed roots lifting sidewalks or damaging your foundation

You're unsure if a tree should be removed or trimmed

A storm has recently passed and you’re concerned about safety

If any of these sound familiar, it’s time to call in the experts.

Local Expertise You Can Count On

Buffalo residents face unique challenges when it comes to tree care. From icy winters to windstorms off Lake Erie, you need someone who understands the regional environment. Branch Specialists Tree Service Buffalo NY not only offers local knowledge but is also equipped with a team of ISA Certified Arborists who treat your property like their own.

They don’t just do the job—they do it right.

Invest in the Health and Safety of Your Trees

Trees are a valuable part of your home’s ecosystem. They offer shade, reduce energy bills, boost curb appeal, and even improve mental well-being. But like any living thing, they need expert care to thrive.

By hiring a Certified Arborist, you're not just getting a service—you're investing in the long-term health, beauty, and safety of your outdoor space.

Final Thoughts

It might be tempting to cut corners with your tree care, but hiring someone without the proper credentials could lead to long-term damage or safety risks. Instead, choose experience, training, and trust. Choose an ISA Certified Arborist for your next tree project.

Whether you need basic tree service in Buffalo NY, emergency tree removal in Buffalo NY, or routine tree maintenance in Buffalo NY, let the certified pros at Branch Specialists handle it with precision and care.

✅ For More Details or to Schedule a Consultation:

Contact Us:

📍 Visit: www.branchspecialists.com

📧 Email: sales@branchspecialists.com

📱 Phone: +1 (716) 400-0763

🏡 Address: 18 Cottonwood Dr, Buffalo, NY 14221, United States

📍 Google Maps: Click Here

Your trees deserve the best. Let Branch Specialists Tree Service Buffalo NY show you what professional, certified tree care really looks like.

[floridagreentree]

Hurricane Season Tree Preparation: Protecting Your Lakeland Property in 2025

As Florida's hurricane season approaches each year from June through November, preparing your trees becomes one of the most important steps you can take to protect your Lakeland property. At Florida Green Tree, LLC, we've witnessed firsthand the devastating impact that unprepared trees can have during severe weather events, and we've also seen how proper preparation can save homeowners thousands of dollars in storm damage.

In Central Florida, our trees face unique challenges during hurricane season. High winds, heavy rainfall, and saturated soils create the perfect storm for tree failures. A single falling tree can cause catastrophic damage to your home, vehicles, and neighboring properties. More importantly, it can pose serious safety risks to your family and community.

The first line of defense against storm damage is removing potential projectiles before they become dangerous. Dead, diseased, or weakly attached branches are the most likely to fail during high winds. Our certified arborists can identify these problem areas and safely remove them using proper pruning techniques that won't compromise your tree's health.

Not all trees are created equal when it comes to storm resistance. Some species, like shallow-rooted pines or trees with included bark, are more susceptible to failure. During our pre-storm assessments, we evaluate factors such as tree species and age, root system health and stability, previous storm damage or decay, proximity to structures and power lines, and soil conditions and drainage.

For valuable mature trees that show signs of structural weakness, we may recommend support systems such as cabling or bracing. These interventions can help trees withstand moderate storm conditions while preserving their long-term health and value to your property. Strategic tree placement and maintenance around your home can create defensible zones that protect your most important assets.

Even with the best preparation, storm damage can still occur. Florida Green Tree, LLC provides 24/7 emergency response services to help Lakeland residents deal with storm-damaged trees safely and efficiently. Our emergency services include safe removal of trees from structures, clearing blocked driveways and roadways, temporary stabilization of damaged trees, and complete damage assessment and cleanup.

While hurricane preparation requires an upfront investment, it's minimal compared to the potential costs of storm damage. A single tree falling on your home can result in tens of thousands of dollars in repairs, not to mention the disruption to your family's life. Insurance claims, temporary housing costs, and property value impacts make storm preparation one of the smartest investments you can make. Don't wait until hurricane warnings are issued to think about your tree safety. The best time to prepare is during the calm months when our crews can take the time needed to properly assess and address potential problems. Contact Florida Green Tree, LLC today to schedule your pre-season hurricane preparation consultation at https://floridagreentree.com.

[treearborists85]

Tree Arborists

Tree Arborists

Trees play an essential role in the environment and the aesthetic of residential, commercial, and public properties. They offer shade, increase property value, reduce energy costs, and promote cleaner air. However, trees also require specialized care to remain healthy and safe. That’s where tree arborists come in. These professionals are highly trained in the science and art of tree care, ensuring that trees continue to provide their many benefits without becoming hazards. Understanding the role of tree arborists and their wide-ranging expertise helps homeowners, business owners, and municipalities make informed decisions about tree maintenance and preservation.

https://www.asca-consultants.org/page/tree-arborists-near-me

The Role and Expertise of Tree Arborists

Tree arborists are trained specialists dedicated to the care, maintenance, and management of trees. Their work combines knowledge of plant biology, soil science, meteorology, pest control, and even landscape architecture. Whether it’s diagnosing a diseased tree, pruning branches to prevent interference with power lines, or assessing the safety of a storm-damaged tree, arborists are qualified to handle the job.

One of the key areas arborists focus on is tree health. They can identify signs of stress, nutrient deficiencies, pest infestations, and diseases that the average person might overlook. Early detection of these issues can often save a tree that would otherwise need to be removed. Arborists also create care plans tailored to specific species, climates, and soil conditions, offering targeted solutions that promote long-term health and stability.

Why Tree Arborists Matter in Urban Environments

As urban areas expand, the interaction between infrastructure and green spaces becomes increasingly complex. Tree arborists are vital in helping cities maintain this balance. Trees in urban environments face unique challenges, including soil compaction, limited root space, pollution, and damage from construction activities. Arborists mitigate these threats by providing proper maintenance routines, including soil aeration, mulching, and root protection techniques.

In cities, safety is a top priority. Arborists are often called to inspect trees near sidewalks, buildings, and roads to ensure they do not pose a risk to public safety. Dead or diseased limbs, unstable trunks, or improper growth patterns can lead to dangerous situations. Through strategic pruning, cabling, and bracing, arborists can stabilize trees and reduce the likelihood of structural failure.

Tree Pruning and Maintenance

One of the most common services provided by tree arborists is pruning. While it may seem simple, effective pruning requires a deep understanding of tree biology. Incorrect pruning can stress a tree, reduce its lifespan, or create safety hazards. Arborists know where and when to make cuts to encourage healthy growth, improve shape, and eliminate risk.

Pruning is especially important for young trees, as it sets the foundation for future growth and structural integrity. For mature trees, it can rejuvenate declining limbs and reduce the weight of heavy branches, preventing splitting or breakage. Seasonal pruning also plays a role in managing flowering cycles, fruit production, and pest resistance.

Tree Removal and Emergency Services

Although arborists prioritize preservation, there are times when tree removal is necessary. Dead or dying trees, trees that pose immediate safety risks, or those that interfere with construction may need to be removed. Arborists conduct thorough risk assessments before recommending removal and ensure that it is done safely and with minimal impact on the surrounding environment.

Storms, heavy winds, and other natural disasters often lead to tree emergencies. Downed limbs can block roads, damage property, or pose electrocution hazards when they fall on power lines. Arborists are trained in emergency response and can quickly evaluate the situation, remove hazardous debris, and assess the condition of remaining trees.

Tree Planting and Planning

Tree arborists are not just responsible for maintaining existing trees—they are also instrumental in planning and planting new ones. Proper tree selection and placement are crucial to ensuring long-term health and avoiding future conflicts with infrastructure. Arborists consider factors such as soil conditions, sun exposure, wind patterns, and proximity to buildings and utilities when recommending tree species.

Planting the right tree in the right place prevents many of the common problems seen in urban and suburban landscapes. It also contributes to biodiversity, improves stormwater management, and enhances the visual appeal of properties. Arborists can also advise on planting native species, which are more likely to thrive and support local ecosystems.

Tree Risk Assessment and Consulting

Another critical role of tree arborists is evaluating risk. Tree risk assessments involve examining a tree’s structure, health, and location to determine the likelihood of failure and the potential consequences. These assessments are essential for insurance purposes, property management, and legal liability concerns.

Arborists may use advanced tools such as sonic tomography, resistographs, and drone imaging to assess internal decay and structural defects. Their findings help property owners make informed decisions about tree preservation, removal, or treatment. Consulting services also include long-term management plans for large properties or municipalities looking to maintain a healthy urban forest.

Sustainability and Environmental Stewardship

Tree arborists are stewards of the environment. Their work goes beyond individual trees to encompass broader ecological goals. By promoting healthy tree growth, preventing invasive pests, and encouraging biodiversity, arborists contribute to the sustainability of green spaces.

Arborists are often involved in conservation efforts, such as protecting heritage trees, restoring native woodlands, and participating in urban forestry programs. They understand the carbon sequestration value of trees, their role in improving air quality, and their importance in regulating urban temperatures. Their expertise helps build greener, more resilient communities.

Training, Certification, and Ethics

Becoming a tree arborist requires extensive training and a commitment to ethical standards. Many arborists pursue certifications that demonstrate their knowledge and skill. These certifications typically require passing rigorous exams, continuing education, and adherence to a professional code of conduct.

Certified arborists must stay up to date with evolving practices, including integrated pest management, tree biomechanics, and climate adaptation strategies. Their ethical responsibility includes ensuring public safety, promoting tree preservation, and providing honest, evidence-based recommendations.

Tree Arborists and Property Value

Proper tree care has a direct impact on property value. Healthy, well-maintained trees increase curb appeal, reduce cooling costs, and create inviting outdoor spaces. Conversely, neglected trees can become liabilities, leading to costly repairs or insurance claims.

Arborists play a critical role in safeguarding these natural investments. Their knowledge helps preserve trees that have taken decades to mature and ensures that landscapes continue to add value to properties over the long term.

Conclusion

Tree arborists are an indispensable part of responsible land and property management. Their unique expertise blends science, safety, and environmental stewardship to protect one of nature’s most valuable assets—trees. From planting and pruning to emergency response and preservation, arborists help ensure that trees remain safe, healthy, and beautiful for generations to come. Working with a knowledgeable arborist is not only a wise choice for the health of your trees but also an investment in the sustainability and value of your property.

[toronto-tree-removal]

Tree Removal Swansea Toronto | Certified Arborist Services in the West End

Tree Services We Offer in SwanseaWe’re fully equipped for tight backyards, steep terrain, and low-impact removals across Swansea. Our full-service arborist team provides:

🌳 Tree Removal Toronto

✂️ Tree Pruning for shape, safety & sunlight

🪵 Stump Grinding

🧱 Tree Cabling & Bracing

🧾 Arborist Reports for permits

🚨 Emergency Tree Removal after storms

We use compact equipment, rigging systems, and experienced climbers to safely dismantle trees — even when cranes and trucks can’t access the site.

🏘️ Tree Care for Renovations & Laneway Housing in Swansea

Swansea has seen a steady increase in laneway housing, garage conversions, and backyard renovations. These types of property upgrades often require removing trees or obtaining a city permit if trees are too close to planned excavation zones. Whether you’re digging a foundation or installing drainage, having a certified arborist on board early can prevent permit delays and costly resubmissions.

We regularly work with homeowners, contractors, and designers to assess whether a tree needs to be protected, pruned, or removed entirely. Our Arborist Reports are accepted by Toronto Urban Forestry and can be used to support your building permit applications.

🔎 How to Spot Tree Problems Before They Get Worse

Many Swansea homeowners don’t realize a tree is becoming dangerous until it’s too late. But there are signs you can watch for — and catch early with a free inspection:

Cracks or cavities in the trunk

Mushrooms growing at the base (rot)

Sudden leaning or root exposure

Dead limbs near the canopy

Branches overhanging your home or driveway

Visible pests like carpenter ants or borers

We encourage all west-end homeowners to schedule a no-obligation tree health check — especially after storms or when selling a home. We’ll recommend the safest, most cost-effective option: whether it’s a full removal, pruning, or structural support via tree cabling.

📍 Nearby Service Areas We Also Cover

We’re proud to serve homeowners throughout the west end. Nearby areas include:

High Park – for pruning and removals near the park

Roncesvalles – tight-access removals and permits

Bloor West Village – stump removal and urban tree pruning

The Junction – emergency response and hazard removals

Junction Triangle – laneway tree removals and reports

full article here > Tree removal services Swansea Toronto

[livingstyleup]

Strengthen Your Trees with Tree Bracing Services in Ferntree Gully

Is your property in Ferntree Gully graced with majestic trees that are showing signs of instability or weakness? Tree bracing services in Ferntree Gully can be the solution you need to ensure the safety and longevity of your beloved trees. Our experienced arborists will assess your trees' structural integrity and implement bracing and cabling techniques to provide much-needed support, preventing hazardous falls during storms or high winds. Don't wait until it's too late – protect your trees with our professional tree bracing services in Ferntree Gully today. Your trees and your property will thank you for it.