#Memorial Benches Cost

[classicmemorialbenches]

Where can you find a memorial bench?

Classic Benches are handcrafted to order in our workshop in the Lancashire village of Lathom.

A memorial bench should be strong, perfectly proportioned, and built to last. We've created a beautiful collection of benches that have been designed to complement and enhance their surroundings for decades.

[reasonsforhope]

By the time Sue Shusterman turns away from the bench at the overlook and back toward the trailhead, she knows the paddleboarders are out in force 300 yards away on the gleaming blue surface of Chatfield Reservoir.  

She knows the high runoff waters have flooded the roots of Chatfield’s willows and cottonwoods, and that the first spring-green layers of the foothills rise to the west like soft fabric. 

How she acquired these life-affirming memories is at first a mystery, since Shusterman is blind and is heading back toward the parking lot making her usual sweep of the path in front with her ever-present white cane.  

But then a friendly voice emerges from the phone that Shusterman is pointing toward the path from her other hand.

A little to the left to stay on the paved path. Looks like there’s a trail all the way down to the beach, about 75 yards, if you wanted to go. I’ll just be here watching, let me know if you need anything. 

The voice is from a live, trained human guide FaceTiming through Shusterman’s phone camera on the Aira ability-assist app. Sight-impaired people have been using Aira’s guides to make it easier to do anything from navigating an airport to filling out an online job form. Now, all 42 Colorado state parks like Chatfield are geofenced to allow any visitor to use Aira for free to stroll the trails with a helpful set of eyes. 

The Aira guides seemingly effortlessly offer what a blind hiker either needs, or wants. If there’s a dangerous steep drop-off on the right, they warn. If the hiker would rather know if the sneezeweed is in bloom or the sailboats are luffing through a turn, Aira offers that instead.

For Shusterman, trying Aira as an outdoors adventure for the first time, the allure was simple: “Independence.” 

“So she’s doing, I think, a phenomenal job of including the necessary safety things, but the perks of the scenery, too,” Shusterman said, as she paused during a conversation with an Aira guide based in Tulsa, Oklahoma. “She’s doing great.”

State accessibility officials recently announced the expansion of Aira to state parks grounds, after previously providing Aira free for other state-related functions such as navigating a government building or getting help on an online site or filling out forms. Colorado cannot control the cellphone signal, though, so parks officials encourage visitors to try Aira at a familiar or close-in park space before ranging farther afield with it. Popular parks like Staunton or Golden Gate contain pockets where signals are not strong. 

For consumers buying access on their own, Aira costs about $50 for 30 minutes of assistance a month. Private employers and governments often buy package access to Aira and other accessibility apps for all employees to use. State accessibility coordinator Theresa Montano, who is blind and accompanied Shusterman on her Chatfield walk, said Amazon buys access so that sight-impaired shipping center employees can navigate steps to pack orders.

Montano uses Aira at her state job, saying the guides on the app can share her computer screen and help her get through an online task in 30 minutes that might take her four hours without help or through older accessibility tools. 

Adding Aira for state-owned lands was wrapped into the overall $250,000 budget for free Aira use on state property and with state websites. The additional utility is an obvious plus, Montano said. 

“This gives blind people the same opportunity to come and enjoy it by themselves or with their family if they want to, and be independent,” she said...

Shusterman walked away taking more from the big picture experience, rather than any particular scenic detail. 

“For me, it was, you know what, I could go for a walk on this path, and I could feel completely safe, and I would enjoy a nice walk and get some exercise, in an unfamiliar area,” Shusterman said. “It’s definitely a real confidence boost for me.”  

-via The Colorado Sun, June 11, 2024

[gators-aid]

decode (pt. 5) - toji f. x reader

masterlist

part four | part six

you and toji fushiguro have been in an on-again-off-again relationship all throughout high school. over the summer break after graduation, you find out you're pregnant. too bad toji has already skipped town after your last breakup.

tags: fem!reader, americanized setting, non sorcerer universe, 00's setting, reader is megumi's mom, exes to lovers (eventually), their relationship is toxic rn, not beta read we die like toji :(

wc: 2.9k

Present

“Please make your decision quickly. I think the fuckin’ cops are looking for me.” He says. His voice sounds deeper than you remembered. You thought you had imagined it in the diner, or that his change in tone was a consequence of his anger toward his brother, but there was no denying it here. You glaze over that comment about law enforcement apparently searching for him.

He was leaning slightly out the window of his truck, etching toward you so that you could hear him over the sound of the surrounding traffic. You feel Megumi tug on your jacket, so you look down at where he’s tucked in. 

You always knew he looked just like his father, your mind tormented you with that fact every waking moment, but it was hitting you now. Here you had the framework to sit and compare their faces from more than memory alone. 

Needless to say, all of the pictures you had of Toji had been destroyed after you found out he left town. All of the clothes he had given you or left in your room had been donated when you moved out of your mother’s house. You had no physical reminders of his existence aside from the child the two of you shared and the golden angel necklace that sat tucked away at the back of your dresser. It was sitting against the back of the drawer, tucked away in a pair of polka dot socks that you never wore. You couldn’t bring yourself to let go of that one.

“Momma, that man is swearing.” Megumi says in his sweet voice. You grimace. Is this how you wanted your son to meet his father? In response, you rub his back and try to muster a smile. “I know, baby.” You whisper to him. “We can talk about swearing later.” Megumi had taken “Don’t say ‘fuck’, you’re only four” to mean, “anyone that swears, including adults, should be chastised.” You would have to redo that lecture. 

You really, really shouldn’t get in the truck. You should carry on with your life and pretend that all of this never happened. That Toji isn’t in the flesh in front of you, looking more handsome than you had ever remembered. Looking just like his fucking son. So much like his son that it felt like you were being taunted. He could never deny Megumi again once he saw his face. Even people who weren’t close to you could see the resemblance. 

It’s cold, you justify to yourself as you adjust Megumi in your arms and stand up from the bench. We’ll get home quicker, you think as you round the front of his truck towards the passenger side. You’ve run out of excuses by the time you’re opening the door and sliding in his truck. 

There are countless reasons why you shouldn’t have even looked up while you heard him call you. For starters, the fact that he just said law enforcement is allegedly in pursuit. He’s been back in your life for less than an hour and you’re already doing stupid shit.

What the fuck. You keep Megumi tucked into your chest tight as you sit down in the truck. Megumi is facing his father, trying to get a read on the man his mother had broken the rules for. 

“Okay baby,” You had said to Megumi merely weeks prior, “If a stranger asks you to get in the car with them, what do we say?” You ask him, holding his little hand in yours. 

“My momma said no!” He says. The two of you were sitting on your living room floor, with a blanket under you and watching The Little Mermaid on DVD. You had to save costs wherever you could, and those costs did not include cable. After watching Ariel go into Prince Eric’s palace-house within the first couple of hours being a human, you felt it appropriate to give Megumi the kidnapping talk. He takes a bite of the apple you had cut for him earlier. 

“And what if the stranger said, ‘I’ll give you Pokemon cards if you get in the car’?” You ask him. “I don’t even like Pokemon anymore!” He says proudly, in response to the hypothetical stranger. “What? Since when?” You asked, slightly horrified that you weren’t as attuned to your 4-year old’s interests as you thought. “Since the stranger asked me, momma.” He replied simply. 

This exchange must be very odd for Megumi. You had done your best to raise him right. The best that you could with the resources you had. You tried to teach him hard rules. Don’t talk to strangers, wash your hands before you eat, for the love of god please do not stick forks in the outlets. Now the ‘no strangers’ one was out of the window. It would be tough to explain this. Another lecture to redo.

Toji’s got his eyes on the rearview mirror, looking back at the diner. “Jinichi called the cops on me, the fucking asshole,” He mummers that last part to himself. “So where am I taking you?” Blunt and to the point like always. You give him your address before you could even think about it. Megumi’s tugging on you again to indicate he heard that comment, but you’re slightly out of it. 

There’s a big tear that exposes the cushion of the seat you’re on. You had left that there a lifetime ago when you drunkenly stole Toji’s knife and acted out a confrontation between you and a random girl that was hitting on him. That was one of the many nights that ended in laughter instead of tears.

 It smells exactly the same, he still uses the black ice scent for the little tree hanging from his rearview mirror. He’s still got his CD collection strapped to the sun visor on the driver’s side of the truck. It’s grown since the last time you saw it, expanding to the passenger side sun visor as well. There’s still a mysterious dark stain that you don’t feel comfortable speculating on the nature of in the floorboard. Evidently, he never managed to get it out. 

It’s too much. You have to fight to hold back tears. You had told yourself to never give an ounce to this man again. No tears, no anger, nothing. You had broken that in the diner earlier. It would not happen again.

You should have told him to take you to your mom’s house, so he wouldn’t have any kind of access to you or Megumi. Why would you give him your own address? How fucking stupid. 

It’s silent in the truck. You weren’t going to say anything, you might burst into tears if you opened your mouth. You had sat Megumi on your right side, away from Toji. He was pressed in between you in the door so that you wouldn’t have to be any closer to the man than necessary.

 You still don’t know if Toji had gotten a look at him yet. You take a moment to study the man. He’s got both hands on the steering wheel, sitting pin-straight in his seat. His eyes are very pointedly on the road, as if he’s trying not to look over. If the whites on his knuckles were indicative, and after spending years with him, you knew they were, Toji had already figured it out. 

After that call four years ago, you had a lot of time to ponder Toji’s reaction to you telling him about Megumi. Logically, you knew he was doing what he always did. Avoiding it because he didn’t wanna deal with the prospect of it. The same way he cheated on you to try and get you to run like you should have. The same way he used to pick a fight just to see if that would be your final straw. He denied Megumi because he had some weird psychological avoidance issue. 

Emotionally, you couldn’t see it as anything other than him being selfish while you gave your life to your child. Literally, that’s what it was. 

You were too busy looking at him to notice you had pulled into your apartment complex. 

“Um..” He clears his throat. “Which building do I drop you off at?” Drop you off. You scoff out loud. Of course. He finds out the kid really is his, and he’s avoiding us again. 

“The second one.” You say. You don’t know what you expected. For him to immediately pull Gumi into a hug and move in with you within the hour? Yeah fucking right. 

“Mama, can I play with the Christmas tree when we get home?” Megumi had asked you as your apartment came into view. ‘Christmas tree’ was one of his favorite games to play, where he got all the pots and pans from the cabinets and stacked them on top of each other to make a “Christmas tree.” It was a very messy game that required you to rewash all of your dishes when you were done, so it was a rule that he had to ask for permission before playing. The game had started when last year, tips were slow and you were late on your electric bill. You had already asked your mom for help that month, and refused to do it again. This, of course, meant that there was no money for a christmas tree. After Megumi’s December birthday and the one christmas present you could afford, you had to find some way to explain to Megumi why he couldn’t have a tree like the one at grandma’s house. “We have a better one.” You had told him, “One that you can play with all year long.” 

Needless to say you had cried yourself to sleep that night. 

“We’ll see, Megumi.” You say. The truck comes to a stop in front of your building, and without a word you’re grabbing Megumi out of the truck and slamming the door shut. Not a word said to Toji, not even a glance directed his way. 

It had started sprinkling rain on your drive over. This morning, your mom had called you to let you know there was a flood warning for the next city over. You usually didn’t take those entirely too seriously, waving her off when she had asked you to bring Megumi and spend the night at her house. 

The apartment is two stories tall with stairs on the outside, so you hold Megumi’s hand in yours as you slowly traverse up the stairs. He was skilled enough to walk up them on his own, but after an incident where he took a small fall down them, you were slightly paranoid. 

By the time you’re unlocking your apartment door, you notice that you hadn’t yet heard Toji’s truck pull away, so you glance back to see him still sitting there, waiting for you to get inside. For a moment, the two of you lock eyes. You can feel your heart drop as you usher Gumi in the house and close the door behind you. Don’t give him an ounce. 

You hope and pray that that is the last time you will ever have to think about Toji Fushiguro. The last time until Megumi gets old enough to realize his last name is different from yours. The last time until he asks you why all his friends in school have two parents and he only has one. The last time until he gets old enough to ask why you and his dad never made it work. Until you have to hold him as he cries and wonders why Toji never wanted him.

You let Megumi play Christmas Tree so you can lock yourself in the bathroom for a moment to compose yourself. 

By the time you get Megumi bathed, fed, and ready for bed, it’s eight at night, and the rain outside has been pouring heavily for a couple hours. Gojo had texted you to let you know that the tips had been good that day, but you had a feeling he was lying so he could slip a bit of his parent’s money into what he “owed you.” The diner was never busy on the Monday lunch shift. 

You had made spaghetti that night, a common occurrence in your home and something you were grateful Megumi hadn’t gotten tired of yet. Occasionally, you would get the kitchen guys to sneak you a meal in a togo box to offset grocery costs and eat something different every once in a while. Nanami was one of the cooler managers, which was why you were more comfortable asking that Megumi sit in the diner while you worked that day, but he was not one to let free food slide. 

The night was surprisingly peaceful once Megumi was distracted by his toys and tonight’s DVD movie, Toy Story, which Shoko had gotten him for his birthday. You were distracted by cleaning every single pot and pan you had after Megumi was done playing with them.

Once the two of you sat down for dinner, the inevitable questions came, and Megumi had asked you about the encounter with Toji earlier that night. 

“Mommy, why did those two guys at your job,” he took a breath in between his sentences and spaghetti, “start hitting each other, and then why did you got in one of their cars?”

That was a long conversation about how some brothers (you had let that slip), don’t get along, and how you had already known Toji, though you didn’t say from where or why. Thankfully, Megumi was more curious about why brothers and sisters fight than why his mother got into this random man’s truck. You would definitely have to revisit the “stranger danger” talk. 

It’s about 11 at night when you hear a booming knock at your door. It had pulled you out of your “almost-asleep” daze on the couch. You had already put Megumi to bed by then, and were taking a couple hours to yourself before you went to bed too. You prayed the sound hadn’t woken him. 

Whoever it is knocks again, this time harder and faster. Now that you have more mental capacity to process that, someone uninvited is knocking at your door at an inappropriate time of night for a single mother, you dash across your living room to grab the baseball bat you keep by the door. You’ve never had to defend yourself and your son in this capacity, and suddenly the adrenaline kicks in, and you squeeze the wooden slugger to center yourself.

The only light in the room is coming from the TV, playing the play menu of Clueless on repeat. You must have been asleep longer than you thought. Hoping not to be seen through your shadow by the window, you slowly crane your neck up toward the peep-hole of your apartment door. What you see is the last thing you expected.

Of course it’s Toji. Of course he wouldn’t just leave you alone. You’re such a fucking idiot. 

For a second you contemplate on whether or not you should open the door, but when he bangs again, somehow even louder, you fear that he won’t only wake up Megumi, but the entire apartment complex.

You put the bat back down and unlock the door, pulling it open slowly so that he would only be able to see half of your body from the angle he’s positioned at. He has his hand leaning on the doorframe, and his figure is hunched over to the point he has to lift his head to look you in the eyes. When he does, you realize what this is. He’s drunk.

His eyes are bloodshot red and watery. He’s soaked from head to toe, he had clearly walked through the rain from wherever he was coming from, or stood out in it for so long that he was drenched. He had a bottle of vodka in his hand that wasn’t against the doorframe, hanging precariously from his grasp like he would drop it at any moment. You couldn’t see how much was in it from here, but you knew he had to have drank quite a bit for him to be in this state. 

It’s only when he looks you up and down that you realize you’re only in an old t-shirt and underwear. If this were anyone else, you would’ve squirmed under their gaze, maybe ran to go throw something on, but with Toji, as dumb as it sounded, you couldn’t care less. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him.

He says nothing, just looks you up and down again and takes a shot from the bottle. 

“Did you drive here?” He nods. Well that’s not fucking good. 

You wait for him to say something, to explain why he felt entitled to knocking on your door in the middle of the night soaking wet with nothing to say. Or maybe you’re waiting for him to explain why he left you in the first place without saying a word. Maybe you’re waiting for him to explain why he never even felt the need to come check if Megumi was his. You’re waiting for a lot of explanations. But you don’t get a single one.

In a voice that can only best be described as broken, he softly slurs out, “You… you named him Megumi?”

very... very sorry for the wait. that semester ended up kicking my ass. no excuses i am very sorry D;

if you wanna be off the taglist lmk

comment to be added to the taglist

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[nrdmssgs]

Reacting to the reader, accidentally falling asleep on them. (Price, Ghost, Gaz)

Masterlist

Part 1 (Soap, Alex, Konig)

Captain John Price

Platonic

Won't mind, if his old friend takes a quick nap on his shoulder, as long as this old friend tolerates a cigar smoke.

If he was discussing something with the others, and you happened to fall asleep - he'll try to speak quieter to the point, where his low velvety voice turns into a full-fledged asmr session.

But if the talk grows heated and his low menacing rumble wakes you up accidentally - he'll just pull you back on his shoulder. "Sorry, darling, go back to sleep... Now back to you, you d**p sh*t!"

Will unconsciously fidget with your fingers, John can't help it: your skin is so soft - it calms him down to lightly massage and caress your hand while you are napping.

Price finds it endearing, how flustered you got, after you finally woke up and understood, how exactly have you been sleeping all this time. Once again, he has nothing against it, but he will gladly joke about it, just to see you blushing. "Of course, you can spend a considerable amount of money on this orthopedic pillow in the hope that it will help you start sleeping better. Or you can always call one of your old friends - it costs nothing..."

Romantic

John will have to fight the urge to scoop and cradle you, so that you lean against him with your full weigh, enjoying his warmth enveloping you.

Even if he has something to do - his attention will be concentrated on you. Your calm deep breaths, your fingers clasping on his shirt lightly - that is what Price consumes with his every his single fiber. Because after all, it's memories of those things that keep him alive and sane on the battlefield.

Will definitely kiss the top of your head, even if you two are not alone. Multiple times.

It's moments like these, when he remembers to take a pause, look outside the window, remember, that his war is not everything he has - there is life beyond it.

Expect to wake up with his hand on your head, fingers sinking into your hair, a warm smile blooming on his face as he notices you slowly opening your eyes. "Had a nice nap, my love? Now how about I take you somewhere, you could actually sleep properly?"

Simon Ghost Riley

(this one turned out more like a scenario, sorry)

Platonic

Ghost doesn't notice the weight of your head on his lap right away. He's seen you curl up on a bench next to where he was sitting, but you are so small and light in comparison to him, it's hard to register your head leaning against him.

He sits at the table and talks to someone, when it hits him: a strange warmth, spreading in all directions of his body from the place your cheek meet his lap.

Simon makes a little, almost unnoticeable, pause, breathes in and goes on talking.

There's a voice in the back of his head, telling him to find anything, that might resemble a pillow, for you to sleep on. It would be so much better, than his dusty jeans. And you definitely deserve something softer than his lap to rest on.

But there's nothing, that he could offer you right now to replace him. So he settles to sitting as still as he possibly could and covering the edge of the table with his hand in case you wake up and get up abruptly. Little gesture, showing how much he really cares for every squadmate, how much he values their trust.

Back on the base, you notice, some late training hours disappeared from your timetable. Your Lt may never comment on you briefly passing out on his lap, but he never forgot, you needed a bit more time to rest after the last mission.

Romantic

He might be reserved and distant with you in public. Nothing personal, just a professional attitude, a facade, if you want. But here, behind the closed doors of his room, he freezes the very next minute he hears your muffled mumbling as you drifted to sleep on his shoulder.

"Don't go. Not yet."

Simons' heart sinks. He wishes, he didn't know, what were you talking about in your sleep, but he knows. Even in your dreams, on the territory, where you can have anything, you've ever wished for - you ask only for him to stay.

In public, you are always ok with him going on missions without you. You are always collected, supportive and optimistic. But when no one is around, you let yourself cling to Ghost for a brief moment, clasp your fingers around his arm and wordlessly plead 'don't go, don't go, don't go, don't...'

As he brushes hair from your face, you slightly flinch, not waking up.

"Take me, not him."

Simon looks at your face, feeling guilt building up in his chest. He puts his work papers aside, scoops you up and carries you to his bed. There he cradles you, caressing your face till you stop mumbling, descending to deeper sleep.

You wake up the next morning alone, surrounded by his scent, as he left you his shirt. He always does that, when he leaves on a mission without you. Your gaze wanders around, till it stops on your arm. His handwriting, black pen ink, covering your skin. Never before has he done anything like this. You grab your phone and frantically make a few dozens of photos of the inscription, that he left on you. You already know, that you'll make it permanent.

The inscription says "On my way to you"

Kyle Gaz Garrick

Platonic

Kyle is actually the one to ask others to speak quieter, when he realizes, you've fallen asleep on his lap.

Will shoo away Soap, who is ready to attack you and Kyle with a myriad of 'so when's the wedding' jokes.

Gaz is also the one to actually make sure, that there is nothing hard in his pockets and that the no sharp edges of his tactical clothes touch your delicate skin. He is a very good, genuinely caring friend.

In fact, he will protect you from any person, threatening your sleep. He will even convince Ghost to come back to you with new intel or orders just a bit later, or give them to Gaz, so that he can tell you everything later.

If you work together - he will try to help you with paperwork, so that you have more time to sleep between trainings and missions.

Romantic

Kyle has that face of the happiest, most proud man out there. It's you, the one, he has been dreaming about for so long, feeling so relaxed next to him. Not only he has you - he can make you so content, you smile, while napping on his shoulder.

His eyes are glued to your face. Nothing else matters in this very moment. It's impossible to distract him with anything.

Covers you with his jacket, always makes sure that you are warm and comfortable in his hands.

Loves to surprise you with something small, every time it happens and you wake up on his shoulder. If you two were in the park - Gaz will carefully pick a flower and tuck it in your hair. If it happened in a coffee shop - he will quietly order your favorite cupcake and move the plate towards you.

Lives for that smiles appearing on your lips in first moments after you wake up. Peppers your face with kisses. "Morning, sunshine!" (says it even if it's almost midnight, and he is about to drag you to the bedroom in a few minutes)

[lcriedlastnight]

Oscar has been planning on proposing to y/n for a couple of months by now, already bought the ring, tried multiple times to propose to her but every time he felt too scared/ anxious to do it. One time Y/n accidentally finds the ring somewhere in their shared apartment

this is so cute! thanks for the request! ilysmmm. mwah!

tw: fem!reader, swears, scaredy cat oscar, lmk if you want me to add anything.

w/c: 2.2k

the sunlight peered through your window, through the see-through blinds you insisted on buying for yours and oscar's shared room. the way the light hits your resting features makes your man sigh out in bliss. every single morning he has the exact same thoughts when he watched you sleep, 'i need to spend the rest of my life with her'.

it had almost been a eight months since he first had that thought. seven since he acted on it and asked your sister to come with him when he was shopping for a ring. a second opinion does not hurt.

the ring had sat in his drawer for a good few weeks, maybe even a month as oscar contemplated how exactly he wanted to go about proposing. this was one area he was completely clueless for. give him literally anything else and he would be able to rhyme off the answer quicker than he could answer for himself. your favourite food? those cookies with the chocolate inside. your favourite film? the lego batman movie. clothes size? you were a small but in most t-shirts you preferred them in a medium so they were a bit baggier on you. how you would like to be proposed to? no clue. oscar knew deep down that it didn't really matter where he proposed, or even how he did it. he was sure you would say yes in if he proposed halfway through taking a shit. it mattered a whole lot to oscar, he wanted it to be a memory you looked back on with fondness and love.

the first time oscar tried to propose, it was a super traditional and basic way. the boy had booked for you to both head on a cute getaway before the season started back up again in february. you had always talked about wanting to go to greece, so he had booked you both in for two weeks in santorini. oscar carried the ring in his pocket the whole holiday even though he had planned out when he wanted to ask you.

the restaurant you had both just eaten in was probably one of the most expensive buildings you had ever been in. you told oscar so. he laughed in response.

"i think the paddock costs much more than than, love." oscars arm was around your waist as you walked alongside him, you were basically leaning on him at this point too. you snort at his words.

"fine, the most expensive looking building i've ever been in." you reword your sentence. oscar laughs. he swears he has never laughed as much as he had in those two weeks with you. oscar had ended guiding you both up to the top of this hill, you barely even noticed, too busy talking his ear off from the glass of wine you had drank with dinner. you were on holiday, why not?

there was a cute little bench that had fairy lights wrapped around it sitting pretty at the top of the hill, over looking the city and the ocean next to it. oscar encourages you to sit. he knew he had made the right choice to propose here when, a few days after arriving you had told oscar that greece was probably your favourite place in the entire world now.

you sit with your head on your boyfriend's shoulder as you watch the tide from far above. oscar fiddles with the ring in his pocket, nerves beginning to eat away at him. you grow quiet as your eyes twinkle in the moonlight. jesus, you looked like something out of his wildest dreams, oscar was sure of it. your voice breaks the comfortable silence between you both.

"i know this holiday isn't finished yet but i really have had the best time with you osc. i appreciate you doing this for me. you do too much for me, i want to pay you back for it all one day." your voice is a whisper because talking at a normal volume just doesn't feel right in the moment.

oscar's nerves get the best of him as you bare your heart to him. here you were being vulnerable with him and he couldn't even build the courage to ask you to marry him. the driver was so unsure of where the nerves were coming from, he was completely sure you would say yes, he knew you loved him yet his hand slipped out his pocket to move towards your thigh to give it a squeeze. a sweet kiss is pressed to your hair before oscar is whispering back his reply.

"me too, sweet girl. wanna stay here with you, forever." a part of his brain tells him that if he just proposed like he was supposed to then you would be able to do this with him forever and it would be promised. he shakes the thoughts from his head as he tells himself that now wasn't the right time awayways.

you had come back from that holiday, still his girlfriend and your finger still void of a ring.

the second time almost caused him to have a panic attack. this time it was less traditional and more relaxed. it had been almost two months since your trip to greece and the sight of your ring finger being bare sent oscar into a spiral every time he caught a glimpse of where that diamond should be.

you finally had him to yourself after a gruelling triple header. those races had actually given oscar some of the best results of the season so far, but it had taken it's toll on your relationship as you had barely spoken to your emotional support boy. the time zones messing you up, plus the fact that you had way too much school work to finish causing you to be forced (by oscar, himself. it pained him to do it but he knew how important this degree was to you and he was not going to let you throw it away just because you missed him and wanted to watch him drive in circles for an hour and a half for three sundays straight) to stay at home.

oscar was sure you would be waiting for him on the couch in your shared living room, it's your routine at this point. when oscar gets back home, it is the late evening. maybe around dinner time. he hopes you haven't waited on him to eat.

as the australian boy unlocked the door, he looked around the apartment. three weeks without his home comforts (you) had taken its toll on him. it is sort of dark in the hallway leading to the living room, the door to the room laying wide open. oscar can see the back of the couch and the blaring light of the tv. it was bright.

the ring had stayed at the back of his bottom drawer in his bedside table. it was right next to you, right where you slept without him for twenty-one nights without him. oscar was desperate to get his hands on you.

as soon as the threshold was crossed and oscar was in the living room with you, your perfume hit him like a brick wall. the brown eyed boy almost started crying at the smell, he had just missed you that much.

your laying on the couch, asleep. this actually surprised oscar. you were never usually asleep, you were so good at controlling when and where you fell asleep, waking up however... that was a different story altogether.

oscar takes your legs and lifts them up softly to slide in underneath them. he was not going to lay down next to you because he knew for a fact as soon as he fell asleep there would be no waking him up until at least midday tomorrow. you were like that everyday.

oscar admires you for a bit before the urge to propose to you comes creeping back. the desperation of being yours for the rest of his life, reared its ugly head as his eyes follow the swoop of your lashes against your cheeks. he thinks about shaking you awake to do it.

the boy is too deep in thought to realise you've woken up. it's like you can tell when he is in mental distress and you come to save him from himself.

"you're home." you mumble into the air. it is left hanging, not responded to as you sleepily blink yourself awake to finally get a good look at him. he's lovely to look at. as lovely as ever.

"you okay?" you ask him after period of silence that is too loud to bring any comfort.

oscar doubts he is any good for you, so for the second time he chickens out and doesn't propose, although it does send his tired and self conscious mind into a spiral that almost brings on a panic attack. he's quick to assure you he's alright, "just tired after all that flying." is his excuse. you believe him and do not have to try very hard to coax him into bed.

once you both had done your night routines next to each other for the first time in three weeks and oscar was laying practically on top of you, he thought about the ring again. just sitting in his bedside table when it should be on your finger as you brag to everyone you see in the shops that you were getting married to the love of your life. it will happen and oscar will see it, he just has to build the courage, next time for sure.

that had been four months ago. the boy didn't even try to think about attempting to propose to you, it all bearing too heavy still. the longer he took the more he talked himself into the idea of you not wanting to marry him.

so when you find the ring on a tuesday lunch time, it is safe to say oscar is shitting himself. oscar had been laying on his side with his head on your lap on the couch watching some documentary on whether or not the remains some archaeologist had found was really an alien or not. you were listening in as you scrolled through your phone, carding your fingers through his hair. it had popped into the brunette's mind that he had forgotten to order his sisters birthday present, it was sitting in the basket, ready to checkout but you had distracted him by asking him what he would do if you chucked your glass of water in his face. so he asked you to log into his account and get it for him.

"it's asking for your card details, osc. where is it?" you ask, reading out what the phone in your hand was saying. oscar groans at the thought of you leaving him for even a second physically hurting him. "bottom drawer of my bedside, love." oscar mumbles, concentration falling back onto the tv. unknowing he had just told you the location to the item that had been plaguing his mind for the past eight months. the realisation doesn't kick in when he hears your gasp, or when he is rushing through to your room to check in and make sure you are okay. it only hits when he sees you sitting on the floor in front of the piece of furniture, turning around to face him with tears in your eyes and a ring in your hand.

"is this what i think it is?" you ask him, voice shaking. oscar really is dumb because he cannot work out his you are crying with happiness or out of sadness. although he is quick to sit beside you, hands reaching for the ring but you pull it back out of his grasp, waiting for the answer.

"yeah," oscar sighs. "i've tried to propose to you twice now but every time i get too scared and don't. i've been trying to for eight months". oscar gets even more worried than he originally was when he sees your frown. there was no way he had just fucked this up with you.

"i could've been engaged to you for eight months?" you ask, you seem genuinely disappointed by this fact and that is what snapped everything into place in his brain. you wanted to be engaged to him. oscar jumps forward to wrap you into a bone crushing hug that makes your heart skip beats.

"i will marry you oscar." you tell him.

"i'm so sorry i chickened out, i don't know what was wrong with me. i could've been almost married to the most perfect girl in the world. my most perfect girl." oscar murmurs his apology into your hair but you had already forgiven him. way back before he had even apologised.

the light still beams into the room, oscar thinks about buying black-out curtains until he sees the way the morning light hits your eyes just after you have just opened them. although they close again much too quickly for oscars liking.

it is like you can feel oscar's stare because you grab his arm, pulling him closer to you.

"love you osc." you mumble into the pillow. eyes drooping again as your face relaxes. oscar presses a kiss to the side of your head as he whispers "love you even more, pretty.".

[mysticmoaning]

Tension II - rab

Description:

Regulus decides to apologise and you accept in a very gracious way.

Warnings:

Big angst / Use of 'mudblood' / Fingers in V / V Penetration / Virgin!Regulus

A/N:

This is not what I originally planned for this part two, but I guess that can be expected after such a long time between, sorry!!! I hope you enjoy the Big Feelings, Sad Boi Regulus, and Virgin!Regulus. Sorry about the ending, I want to keep this going cause I have some ideas and it was necessary unfortunately.

After your experience on the train, Regulus had become all but non-existent in your life. Your meeting with the muggle-born first years (where he gritted out the speech he left you to write and practically spat on the new wizard and witches' abilities) was the last time you'd seen him, save for the occasional glimpse around Hogwarts.

Whatever. You had better things to do than fool around with such a close-minded prick like him. No matter that the feeling of your own fingers had become a shadow compared to the memory of his scissoring inside you. Fuck...

Stop. You'd get over him eventually. It's not like you liked him, you just...no.

You tried to focus on detangling the knots in your hair as you yanked it out of its bun, wincing at your accidental aggressiveness. It was just your luck that you'd had a quidditch match today. Regulus had been wearing those tight pants under his quidditch robes and your thoughts had drifted towards how difficult it would be to slip your hand down them, costing you a goal.

Lost in the memory, you didn't hear the footsteps until whoever was right behind you. You jumped, having stayed late to have the place to yourself and wondering who the hell had come to disturb you. At the sight of Regulus, you gasped.

"What are you doing here?" You snapped.

He looked ghostly pale, his damp hair combed back and beginning to curl. Noticing his uniform, you realised you were in your bra and underwear, believing everyone to have vacated the showers.

Good. Maybe you could make him squirm.

His eyes flickered down your body before resting on the floor, his cheeks quickly growing red. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and you smirked in understanding as to why. Well, he couldn't deny his attraction to you.

"Why the nerves, Black? Thought you hated me..." You turned to put your brush down on the bench beside you, head quickly swivelling back when you heard him mumble something under his breath. "What?"

He glanced up, eyes catching on your lacy bra before meeting yours. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"I said, I don't hate you."

You stared in disbelief. What was he on about?

"Merlin, you had me fooled." You stood, taking a step towards him with your hands on your hips. "Pushing me away as soon as your fingers left my pussy," his adam's apple bobbed nervously and he glanced away, "Then ignoring me for the past two weeks like nothing even happened. And don't think I didn't understand your nastiness with the muggle-born first years being meant for me."

He looked at you then, eyes flicking between your own. His lips parted and then closed. A pink flash of tongue wet them, the fresh shine giving you thoughts of other ways he could use them.

Fuck, why was it so hard to be around him?

He sighed deeply, ran a hand through his hair, and then sat defeatedly on the bench behind him. You nearly asked if he was alright but held your ground.

"I-" He glanced at you before fixing his gaze on the tile, apparently the only way he could say whatever it was that was bothering him. "I don't hate you. And....and I'm sorry."

You stared at him hard, in shock. Had a Black ever said sorry in their lifetime? Sitting back down was the only response you could muster.

The corner of his mouth quirked like he understood your confusion before quickly resuming its downward position. The wrinkles already forming on either side made it clear he was used to the expression.

"Listen, I...I was embarrassed." He glanced at you quickly before looking away. "I'm....I've never...I had never..."

"You're a virgin?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. What were you hearing right now? You had your suspicions but never in a million years did you think them to be true. Just looking at him, you couldn't process that no one had tried to get close enough to him to get him into bed.

Flashing back over the memory from the train, certain things began to jump out at you. His nervousness. How he thought you were in pain when you threw your head back in pleasure. The way he groaned into your shoulder when you....

"Holy shit, you came!" You didn't mean to practically yell it, your hand flying over your mouth.

His eyes were round saucers as he stared at you, cheeks growing impossibly red.

"Y/N, please..." The shine in his eyes made you freeze. "Please don't tell anyone."

You moved to sit beside him.

"Regulus, why would I tell anyone?" His head was in his hands now. He glanced over at you.

"What do you want?" You furrowed your brow in confusion. He studied your face for a moment. "You're not going to tell..." You shook your head, "So what do you want in return?"

"What?" You couldn't understand his thought process for a moment. Then it clicked. Everyone in his life always wanted something in return for treating him with decency. Nothing came free for him...

You had always been conflicted about Regulus. A shitty family can't totally excuse bad behaviour, but this...Merlin, fitting in with his family was about survival. Sirius had gotten out, sure, but you'd never heard anything about him trying to help Regulus. His only connection to a better, less hateful world had left him behind.

"Regulus," You slide your fingers into his, pulling his hand away from his face and into your lap. He looked at you and then away, obviously waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I don't want anything from you. I'm not going to tell anyone because that's our private business and no one else deserves to know. That's the least you deserve."

He glanced back at you, eyes flickering over the details of your face. His lips silently mimed 'our' and the corners of his mouth started to curve upwards.

You couldn't help it, all the tension from the past two weeks, the anger, and this loaded conversation, wore down your resolve. Plus, you were beginning to think maybe you didn't hate Regulus after all.

You kissed him, his lips just as soft and welcoming as on the train. He involuntarily moaned into your mouth and you smiled.

His fingers, impossibly gentle, ghosted over your exposed thigh. You angled yourself towards him and moved his hand around to your hip. He pulled away with a soft gasp, eyes searching your face.

"I don't know..."

You paused immediately, gripping his hand in yours and holding it chastely away from your body.

"We don't have to do anything, Reg. I want you to be comfortable."

He shook his head quickly, a smile like sunshine lighting his face and making your stomach flip. "No, I want to. Merlin, do I want to..." His thick brows knitted a cloud that cast a shadow over his face. "It's just...since I've never...I don't know how long I'm going to last. I mean, you didn't even touch me last time and..."

He looked to you shyly.

"Hey," You moved his hand back to your hip and his eyes tracked the movement, darkening as his skin made contact with the plump flesh just briefly covered by the band of your underwear. "We all have to start somewhere."

This time, he leaned in to connect your lips. You revelled in this subtle show of confidence and the way he flicked his tongue against yours.

"You're so beautiful," He whispered against your lips, his fingers teasing the edges of your underwear. "I've always thought so."

You pulled away enough to look into his eyes, realising suddenly that they were the deepest of blues, not black like you thought. He stared back, a nervous smile on his lips.

You studied his face. His lashes were thick like his brows, black and shadowy around his eyes. He had pinprick freckles over his nose and on the highest points of his cheeks. The bow of his lips was so perfectly formed you couldn't help but lean in to kiss him again.

He kissed back, more firmly this time. You felt the heat too, the urgency that was beginning to rise between you. His fingers dug into your hip and you sighed into his mouth in response. He took this as a good sign, moving his hand around to palm at your ass. You put your hand over his and squeezed so he'd grab you, not giving him the time to question as you slung one leg over his to straddle him.

He stared at you in awe and you felt the bulge in his pants harden further. You held his face in your hands, fingers spread over his cheeks, and ground your hips into him. His eyes rolled back with his head as he groaned out at the feeling.

"Is this okay?" You confirmed and his hands flew to your hips, gripping tightly.

"Merlin, yes," He just managed to slit his eyes to look at you, pupils blown so you could hardly see the rim of blue around them. You smirked down at him, keeping your eyes locked on his as you began to unzip his pants and pull him out of his boxers. He cursed as you gripped him in your hand, gently beginning to stroke him. "Fuck, I don't know that I'm even going to make it inside you, Y/N."

You laughed as he quirked his lips, smiling apologetically.

Deciding not to tease him any further, you slipped your underwear to the side and ran the head of his cock quickly through your dripping folds. Regulus cried out at the feeling but you swallowed the sound with your mouth, kissing him as you slowly lowered yourself onto him.

You moaned as his considerable girth stretched you out, his own sounds of pleasure already signalling that he was close. Rocking slowly against his hips, you focused on the friction of your clit rubbing against him. He gripped your hips so hard you were sure he'd leave bruises and you knew he was using all of his self control not to cum.

You quickened your pace and he gasped into your mouth. Pulling away, you moved your lips to his ear, giving a soft bite to shell of it. He groaned and his hands moved down to your thighs, still holding on like his life depended on it.

"Let go, Reg. I wanna hear how good it feels." You whispered into his ear. The flutter of your breath on his neck and the words you spoke sent him quickly careening over the edge.

"Fuck, Y/N!" He cried out, his head thrown back as his cock twitched inside of you with each thick stream of cum. You kissed along his exposed neck, slowing your movements as his quick, heavy breaths began to calm.

When he was nearly recovered, he raised his head to look at you, his cheeks flushed. He moved his hand between your bodies and rubbed his thumb over your clit, making you gasp.

"Shit, Reg, you don't-" He caught your lips in his, bucking his hips up gently as he rubbed generous circles on your clit. You moaned into him, his still-hard cock thrusting into you making the fire that already burned in your belly begin to spread.

He started to kiss your exposed chest, sucking at the skin of your breasts. When he began to soften inside you, he quickly replaced himself with the fingers of his other hand, working them faster until you were a cursing mess on top of him.

Momentarily abandoning your clit, he used his free hand to pull down half your bra, latching onto the exposed nipple with his tongue and bringing you to your breaking point.

You cried out his name as you rocked through your orgasm, falling onto him and trying to regain your breath once the waves of pleasure passed.

Finally, you pulled yourself up to look Regulus in the eyes. He smiled softly, cheeks still pink in pleasure.

His brows rose slightly, lips parting to expose a sliver of his perfect, white teeth. You moved off him and he quickly zipped himself up while you fixed your bra.

"So..." He began, nervous once again, his fingers playing with the sleeve of his sweater. "This doesn't mean anything, right?"

You stared at him in disbelief. What? His features began to darken, his eyes trained on the floor again.

"I can't...." He swallowed. "I can't be anything to you. I mean, my parents can't know. No one can know..." He trailed off softly.

"What?" You were growing angry. What did that mean? "God, Regulus, seriously? Since I'm not some close-minded, pureblood scumbag you can't be associated with me? Fuck off."

He stood quickly and moved towards you while you hurried to get dressed.

"Y/N, I can't. You don't understand-"

"I don't understand?"

"No, I've got...responsibilities. You don't-"

He cut himself off with a gasp as you stepped to him and yanked up his sleeve, revealing the offensive black ink branded into his skin. "What don't I understand, Regulus? I think it's perfectly clear. I don't fit into your tiny, fucked up world. You can't play the perfect Death Eater for mommy and daddy and fuck a dirty mudblood at the same time. Does that about sum it up?"

You stormed out before he could answer, ignoring the pain in your chest and the tears beginning to spill over onto your cheeks.

[obsessedbtch]

𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗦

chapter 2

paring: 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝖾𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗇𝗎𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗍!𝗈𝖼

Summary: 𝖵𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖺’𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖴𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇， 𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗒’𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖴𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖭．

Warnings: mention of Paige’s injury and language.

note: 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 ! And it’s kinda short, sorry

𝖣𝖤𝖢𝖤𝖬𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝟧 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟣

𝖬𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽, 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗍

Victoria’s first ever basketball game was about to happen, and hell was she nervous.

She didn’t know a shit about basketball, but she did know something about women, but that definitely didn’t help in this situation.

Regardless abut her nervousness, she was excited, she definitely was excited to see Paige.

The same blonde girl, sky blue eyes and a memorable smile.

She haven’t seen her since the day the instructor gave the first years a tour around the compus, she did hear about her, and damn she was popular. There wasn’t a day that she didn’t hear something about Paige or the women’s basketball team.

She was almost ready, just needed to pack her things in her small bag. She didn’t hace ‘uconn’ clothes to match with her 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖿𝗂𝗍, so she grabbed clothes with the similar representative colors of the university.

Checking once again her makeup and putting on lip gloss.

“𝖦𝗂𝗋𝗅𝗒! 𝖠𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒?” Adriana entered her dorm room and sat down in her bed.

Victoria was in this situation thanks to Adriana. Her cousin was part of media team of the women’s basketball team since her first year and know being in their second year, being the assistance of the sports psychologist of both basketball teams, thanks Adriana had connections to get easier seats to see any basketball game she wanted. Not like Victoria, Adriana went to every game she wanted when she had the opportunity, she knew a little bit about basketball, enough to know what was happening in the court.

Arriving at the arena, people with the colors of their university that were difficult to difference because of the similar colors but UConn kinda stand out because of the husky.

Victoria and Adriana finally got to their seat, right in front of the center line of the court, having a great vision of the court.

Her vision was glued to the only one, Paige Bueckers, recognizing her because of her elegant hair and of the 5 that laid gracefully on the back of her jersey.

Everything was going great, UConn was winning, a 18 point difference.

Nothing was going wrong, she even got her attention to a new player that wasn’t Paige, Nika Mühl. Until 1:13:17 of the game,

Paige was bouncing the ball with her right hand, walking softly to see her options, she tried to run but her left knee kinda made a weird twist, jerking in front and later slipping up again like nothing making Paige kneel down.

Paige stode up again and run like nothing happened until she started hoping on her right leg and she collapsed in front of the UConn team bench area gripping on her left knee tightly.

Victoria and Adriana got up trying to get a better view of Paige but her teammates made a circle around her, making no room to see while a medic kneel down to examine Paige.

2 teammates helped Paige get into a UConn bench and the game still continued.

The game ended, UConn taking the win, but a what cost? One of their best player’s got injured right before the game ended.

The memory of Paige collapsing in the court kept repeating itself automatically and it just made Victoria’s chest tighten making her preoccupation even bigger.

Was Paige good?

Will she ever play again?

The ride back to the dorms was silent, even Adriana was shocked, she knew Paige since her first day of helping the teams therapist and both of them being first years, they would help each other even do their majors had nothing to do.

She still had a practice to assist tomorrow, so she could check on Paige.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖭𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖣𝖺𝗒

Adriana came back with some news. Paige had tore her acl and needed surgery.

Victoria didn’t knew anything about medicine but just hearing that she needed surgery, she knew it was bad.

She didn’t expect that her first ever basketball game will end like that, and seeing her favorite player collapse made it even a worst experience.

It was all a matter of time.

𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾

－𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝖪𝗂𝖽， 𝖳𝖺𝗒𝗅𝗈𝗋 𝖲𝗐𝗂𝖿𝗍

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝖾𝗎𝗋，𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖻𝗒𝖾𝖾

[indyanapolis898]

A Tale of Two Tombstones

bruce wayne x f!reader

Synopsis: Batman needs a break after endless nights of work. He decides to visit his parent's grave as Bruce Wayne, where he's able to open up to his parents and someone else.

The roaring of his motorcycle halted as it pulled into its intended parking spot. The rider slid off the bike, falling heavily onto the dusty ground of the cave in which his headquarters resided. 

A few grunts escaped his lips as he lay idly in the dim lighting of the cavern. Batman moved his gloved hands to his face to remove his dirty cowl, bloodying his gloves in the process. His messy, damp hair covered his forehead; the sweat combined with the blood on his face and head. 

He took a few unsteady breaths, trying to gain his composure. He'd finished another late night of work at the cost of his physical health. His body armor would need serious work and repatching. He blinked a few times, shutting his eyes to sleep for a few minutes.

***

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes, shifting his body, which resulted in a painful shout.

"Hey, easy there," said a concerned Alfred, rushing to the operating table in the surgery room- located in the south wing of Wayne Manor. 

"Where- what-," Bruce breathily mumbled. 

"I found you in the cave after the computer alerted me of your presence. You took a heavy beating. I stitched up most of your wounds, but you've earned some rest, Master Bruce." 

"No. I-" Bruce cut himself off with ragged coughs. Alfred sat the bed up and raised an eyebrow with an I told you so, look. 

"Fine," Bruce finally accepted his fate and lay back on the pillow to rest more.

*** 

Bruce garnered a total of eighteen hours in and out of sleep, healing very slowly from the brutal fight he'd gotten into in a gang-filled subway station. They had tech and brute weapons that Batman hadn't seen before. They were strong enough to plaster him and his suit. The gang was still on the loose. It was plaguing Bruce's weary mind, but he knew he was in no state to get back into crimefighting. 

Sometimes, while laying in bed with his eyes open because his mind wouldn't stop running, Bruce wondered if his thoughts would ever quiet down. The only thing that could help was getting things off his chest. It was a temporary high; however, his ego and insecurity kept him from sharing with Alfred. That's why, with Alfred's permission, Bruce found himself limping to the mansion's garage in a simple gray sweater, black trench coat, and jeans. His hair was messy and unkempt, only kept out of his face with the pair of sunglasses that rested on his forehead.

Bruce entered one of his vehicles, a black SUV with tinted windows, and let his driver take him to the Gotham Graveyard. 

***

After a morning of light showers, the sky had cleared up into a baby blue. Bruce struggled out of the car, leaving the driver to wait on the curb outside the cemetery. It was an empty scene. Rows and rows of headstones sat under a canopy of trees with no people to visit. The graveyard resided in a more rural area of the city, so the memorial area was quiet besides the occasional squawking of birds and the wind rustling the autumn-kissed leaves.

Bruce stepped onto the damp, all-too-familiar grassy path leading to the headstones of his late parents. 

Their monuments were big and overly fancy. The cleaner Alfred hired twenty-six years ago still came every month to polish and clean the headstones. In honor of the Wayne's, a bench sat on the side of the stones, so Bruce sat there, idly taking in the silence. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

Speaking in a tranquil but emotional voice, Bruce began to talk to the air, confessing how he missed them, his beloved mother and father. 

"...and that's why I came. I just needed to talk. I needed to be in your presence again. I believe Alfred still cries over you, Father. He acts strong, as you taught, but deep down, he's like me: broken."

"I wish I could be fully capable of feeling, but all I think about is the injustice and monstrous side of the city. The city that took you two away."

Bruce stared at the ground, trying to focus on the words he was saying when a leaf crunching from behind alerted him to whip around. 

A woman, maybe five foot, stood behind him, wide-eyed and embarrassed. 

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you..." she caught her breath, most likely at the realization of who she was talking to, but regained her train of thought. "My mother... her grave is just behind them," she explained, gesturing to a headstone behind the Wayne's. 

Heather Lycona. 

Bruce resorted to nodding in reply. The woman approached closer to the headstone but stopped, clearly wanting to say something the way her mouth opened and closed. Bruce cocked a brow. He decided to attempt to be conversive. "How?" he nodded his head at her mother's gravestone.

"What?"

"How did she pass?" he tilted his head. She clutched the ends of the scarf she was wearing, a shade of black to contrast the white dress under her jet puffer coat. 

"Oh, um, gang violence. Three months ago, Mom was out at night just trying to get groceries, and, she um..."

Bruce nodded in indication he understood. "Mine as well."

"I know- I mean, I know the story, of course," she awkwardly laughed as a buffer. She looked around and then back at Bruce sitting on the bench. "I'm sorry for intruding on your moment. I-I can come back later."

Bruce shook his head wordlessly. "No, that won't be necessary. I did what I came here to do," he answered raspily. 

"May I sit?" 

Bruce didn't expect the woman to want to be in his presence any longer, yet he wasn't against her sitting with him. Her eyes could tell a story, one that he wanted to hear. His eyes traveled to the open space beside him, barely nodding at it. 

She sat down on the wooden bench, breathing in the mossy air. "There's something about the cemetery that's so peaceful. Everyone says it's scary because it's the resting place for hundreds of people, but I believe it's just a reminder of all the lives that came before us. Everyone is just asleep here, and we sit with them."

Usually, Bruce wouldn't be a fan of the conversation, yet he decided that she was intriguing, a type of thoughtfulness he appreciated. 

He hummed at her words. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced even though she knew very well who he was, leaning back into the bench. 

"Y/N Lycona." 

"Why did you visit today?"

"Sometimes I just enjoy being around her. It's peaceful here."

"I understand."

"What about you? Why did you visit, Mr. Wayne?"

He glanced at her before looking back to the swaying tree branches. "Same as you," he breathed out. He wasn't sure why she was asking him. Not that Bruce believed he was too good to answer questions, but because he'd assume she wouldn't be interested in him. Usually, people were interested in his position. 

"Do you ever feel they were the only people who understood you? I feel like that with Mom."

Bruce nodded, barely moved his gaze to her, then studied her with his signature deadpan expression. Bruce picked up once again on what he'd thought earlier. Y/N seemed warm, like in the right situation, she'd open up. She probably thought a lot. The woman stared off at the trees like he'd been earlier, looking deep in thought. 

"Your mind... is it always running?" 

She quietly sniffled in the chilled air. "Yes. I got approved for the investigative division of the GCPD. I want to help find and eliminate the gangs of Gotham. I don't know what my mother would've wanted me to do for her case, but I know she wanted me to help bring justice to the city. She got me through school for criminal justice. It's what I wanted to do from the start, but it was for the sake of others. Now, it's all for her- for her justice."

"You seem very driven, detective. I hope you do what you set out to do," Bruce stated. 

"If I can contribute to bringing criminals and killers to prison, I'll do what I must. I can't just watch someone turn into the next Heather. Gotham needs change." 

For the first time in a while, Bruce's lips slightly twisted up. "Then we are very alike." 

The two sat in comfortable silence for ten minutes, occasionally making small comments. 

Bruce decided he'd stayed his welcome, opting to stand up suddenly. He nodded down at Y/N. "I give you my best wishes on your assignment. I'll be using my resources to continue assisting the work," he said, his tone void of emotion, but they could both tell he meant it. 

"Good to talk to you, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce is fine," he mumbled audibly, turning to leave. 

"Thank you for understanding. You don't say much," Y/N chuckled, "but I could tell you understood me."

Bruce gave a close-mouthed smirk, walked out the gates, and got in his car. 

"Thank you for your patience, Gerald."

The driver nodded and drove the pair back to the manor. 

Bruce came out of his visit knowing two things: 

First, he'd have to visit the cemetery more often. 

And second, as soon as he could get back his vigilante work, he would thwart every gang he could get his hands on. If it would help fulfill Y/N's goal, he'd devote all his energy to it. 

[wandererlibrarian]

Under The Skin

Spencer Reid/Reader

Touch Starvation｜Soft Spencer Reid｜Friends to Lovers｜Intimacy｜First Kiss｜Comfort｜Romance

Spencer Reid has always avoided physical contact, viewing it as a risk rather than a comfort. But when a deep friendship with you blossoms into something more, he finds himself craving your touch in ways he never thought possible.

Spencer has always disliked physical contact. It isn't just a quirk; it's a deep-seated aversion, as much a part of him as his eidetic memory or his ability to recite entire chapters of obscure literature by heart. He knows the statistics by heart—how many bacteria are transferred in a handshake, how long viruses linger on surfaces, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting host.

But with you,  everything changes. From the moment you first met on that park bench, in the searing heat of an after-school summer, with a bright orange popsicle in your hand, all his fears about germs vanished. You offered him that same gorgeous, bright smile, and when you held out your sticky hand for a shake, he found himself reaching out, forgetting all the studies he'd read, all the statistics he'd memorized.

Your friendship blossomed quickly,  and with it, Spencer's tolerance for touch—but only with you. No one else. That simple, sticky popsicle handshake lit a flame in him he hadn't realized was there. Soon, hand touches became insufficient, hugs left him hungry, and the little kisses on the cheek were too few to satisfy him.

Now, after years of friendship and a breathless confession  from his best friend on his couch during your routine movie night, Spencer wants nothing more than to melt into you—to be part of you. He presses his lips to yours in a less-than-sophisticated, more-than-hungry kiss, his nerves singing with the intensity of his desire.

Between awkward, urgent presses of lips against lips, he whispers how much he appreciates everything about you. His hands roam, caressing, holding, worshipping you while his mouth punctuates every bit of accessible skin with kisses.

Spencer wants to stay like this forever, sharing your warmth, joining your bodies in an endless embrace. He wants to crawl under your skin, make sure nothing—absolutely nothing—ever separates you.

"I love you," he repeats for the umpteenth time, his eyes hazy with envy. "Let me love you, Angel. Please."

Spencer’s breath is shallow, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. He can hardly believe that he’s here, like this, with you. It feels surreal—like something out of a novel he’d read and tucked away in the recesses of his mind, never expecting to live out such a scene himself.

His thoughts swirl, a whirlwind of emotions and fragmented knowledge. He remembers a passage from a psychology book he read years ago, detailing the effects of oxytocin—the so-called "love hormone." It’s responsible for the intense bond between two people, for the way their touch can soothe the most anxious minds. Spencer’s mind, always so busy, is now singularly focused on you. The irony isn’t lost on him—how he, who once avoided touch at all costs, now craves it with a desperation that borders on obsession.

“Did you know,” he begins, his voice soft and tinged with awe, “that the sensation of touch activates the orbitofrontal cortex in the brain? It’s the same area responsible for feelings of reward and pleasure. That’s why it feels so good… to be close to you.”

He’s rambling, he knows, but it’s the only way he can process this flood of emotions. His lips brush against yours again, gently this time, as if to punctuate his words with the truth of them.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he continues, his hands trembling slightly as they explore the familiar yet new territory of your skin. “How someone like me, who’s always been so… detached, could feel so attached. But it makes sense, biologically speaking. There’s a theory that human beings—regardless of their quirks or idiosyncrasies—are wired for connection. Even if it’s just with one person, it’s… it’s vital.”

His voice falters, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, but he forces himself to continue. He needs you to understand, to see that this isn’t just an impulsive reaction. It’s a culmination of years of trust, friendship, and something deeper that he never dared to name until now.

“I’ve read about this. How touch can alleviate fear, how it can communicate what words fail to express. I’ve studied the statistics, analyzed the data, but none of it prepared me for what I feel when I’m with you.”

His words trail off as his hands settle on your face, gently cradling you as if you’re the most precious thing in his world. And to him, you are. 

“You make me feel… safe,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. It’s a vulnerability he rarely shows, but with you, it feels right. “You’ve always made me feel safe, even when I didn’t realize how much I needed that. And now… now I can’t imagine not being with you.”

Spencer presses his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he revels in the closeness. The logical part of his brain, the one that usually dominates, is quieter now, overshadowed by the sheer warmth of being near you. But it’s still there, always there, reminding him of the facts he knows so well—how rare it is to find someone who understands him, someone who accepts every part of him, even the parts he’s never fully understood himself.

“I don’t want this to end,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to lose this… to lose you. Ever.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down to your shoulders, then your back, pulling you closer, needing the reassurance of your physical presence. Every part of him is buzzing with a mix of fear and elation—fear that this might all be a dream, and elation that it isn’t.

“Stay with me,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let’s just… stay like this, for as long as we can.”

In this moment, nothing else matters. Not the germs, not the statistics, not the thousands of facts and figures stored in his mind. It’s just you and him, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing something that transcends logic—a connection that defies all the carefully constructed barriers he’s spent years building.

And for once, Spencer Reid is content to simply feel, without needing to analyze or understand. Because in this, in you, he’s found something more valuable than any book, any theory, or any statistic—a love that’s real, tangible, and infinitely more powerful than anything he’s ever known.

[classicmemorialbenches]

Personalised Memorial Benches

Personalized memorial benches are a unique and meaningful way to honor the memory of a loved one. These benches are typically made from high-quality materials such as wood, metal or stone, and can be customized with engravings, plaques, or other personal touches.

Personalized memorial benches can include the name and dates of the person being remembered, as well as other personal details such as favorite quotes, hobbies, or interests. The engravings or plaques can be created in a variety of materials, including brass, bronze, or stainless steel, to ensure they withstand the elements and maintain their beauty over time.

[steveshairychest]

Steve believes it's over; he believes they've won.

Sure, the town is divided by giant cavernous cracks, but that's not something he can fix with a nail bat. Steve's job is done. There'll be no more jumping through gates and fighting off monsters, no more injuries, and no more deaths.

Because they beat the bad guy.

Steve had watched him burn with his own eyes. He'd watched Nancy fire the shotgun right at Vecna's chest and taken pleasure in his screams as Vecna plummeted to his death. It came with a cost, but they won.

Things were just starting to fall back into place when he realised he was wrong. It starts as a faint sound, almost too quiet to hear over the chatter in his car, but it causes the hair on the back of his neck to stand and his hands to grip the wheel in fear. A quick glance in the rear vision mirror tells him no one else heard it. Mike makes a face at him when he meets Steve's eyes in the mirror and points at the road. "You don't have to keep checking. I swear I'm wearing my seatbelt."

No one notices the slight shake in his voice when he tells them to be quiet. No one notices his panic.

He hears it again when the kids pile out of the car. It's louder this time, almost deafening.

It's the sound of a clock, a grandfather clock.

Max had told him what it sounded like, she'd stared off into the distance and told him it made her heart race, made her so scared she felt sick. She said it sounded drawn out and wrong, like the clock was broken.

Steve hears that exact sound for days. It rings in his ears while he volunteers at the shelter, it deafens him in the middle of a conversation with Robin, it jolts him awake at night and leaves him reaching for the bat beside his bed.

But he doesn't tell anyone.

He doesn't tell anyone when his usual headaches get worse. He doesn't mention the hallucination of Barb he sees in his swimming pool when the kids come over to swim. He doesn't want to worry anyone, not when everything feels so normal, so peaceful.

But he's never been good at hiding secrets.

Especially not from Robin, who clocks him the minute he starts asking if she knows his favourite song and if she has a portable walkman. "But we won. We killed him." She chokes on her own words and they both slowly sink to the ground in a hug that nearly crushes them both. "You can't leave me, Steve. You can't. You can't. It's not fair. We won."

Steve holds her. He holds her so close to his chest and tries not to think about the reality that this might be their last hug. He doesn't have long now. If he were to lift his head from Robin's shoulder, he would be able to see the clock that has permanently wedged itself into the wall of his home.

Robin spends every waking hour with Steve from then on. She's there when he wakes in a cold sweat and she's there the first time Vecna gets him; the first time he feels cold fingers digging through his darkest memories to make him relive them all. He can hear the faint sounds of Robin's screaming as he is forced to relive the first time his father hit him, the first night he spent alone in his house, the first time he had his heart broken, the first time he watched a friend die.

'Dancing in the Dark' by Bruce Springsteen blares loudly in his ears just as Eddie's blood is drying on his clothes and then instead of kneeling in the grimy dirt of the upside down, he's kneeling on his kitchen floor, still in his pyjamas with Robin's arms holding him firmly in place.

"I thought it wasn't going to work." She cries. "You were in the air, Steve. I-I couldn't reach you. I had to climb on the bench -"

"It's okay. It worked. I'm here." He shushes her softly and brings their foreheads together; they're both breathing rapidly and there's tears staining their cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere." The clock chimes almost mockingly in his ears.

––––

Steve never expected to be back here. To be standing under the stormy red sky of the upside down, armed to the teeth with weapons to fight something they thought was already dead. But things haven't exactly been going his way as of late.

The second everyone found out Vecna has his eyes on Steve, they were all piling into multiple cars and fucking climbing down one of the cracks into the upside down.

What if they fail again? What if they go to all this trouble and Vecna snaps Steve like a twig the second they get too close?

Steve secretly wished the others never found out. He wished they were all still up in Hawkins swimming in his pool and laughing so loud it drowned out the clock in his ears. He wished they would listen if he told them to leave him here, to go home and forget about him.

"It wouldn't stop with you." Nancy says to him because she can read him like a fucking book. Steve didn't even have to say anything. She touches his arm gently and offers Steve a comforting smile. "Let us protect you for once."

Steve can see the fear in her eyes, but he doesn't say anything. He nods once and keeps pushing on through the never ending darkness.

They should all know by now that things never go the way they want.

They find Vecna easy enough, the dumb bastard is in the exact same place as last time and no one but Steve seems to think it's a trap. "It's too obvious!" He tells them, but no one is listening. No one ever listens to him in these situations. He can feel Vecna's ice-cold fingers prodding at the back of his mind as they creep through the house.

Instead of Vecna being on his own like they expected, there's something, or rather someone, crouched low to the ground at his feet; a guard dog ready to pounce.

A guard dog that has the same blood matted hair as the boy Steve spent weeks mourning, the same high cheekbones and soft, pouted lips. But it isn't him, it isn't Eddie. The thing at Vecna's feet snarls and reveals two rows of bloody, dagger like teeth and his usual kind, brown eyes are just,,, black. So black, Steve feels like he can see his own terrified face in them.

There's a split second where Steve thinks he's going to wake up. He's going to jolt awake in his bed and be pulled away from this nightmare.

But it never happens.

The last thing Steve hears is the guttural scream that emits from the creature that was once Eddie before he is sucked into Vecna's hold, his feet dangling above the ground as he's slowly lifted into the air.

This is it, he thinks. They came all this way just for him to die right in front of them.

Steve can't see what's going on around him and can barely hear anything over the sound of his younger self screaming. He's trapped in his own fucking head. Hands pat him down and dig around in his pockets for the walkman; the walkman he was supposed to grab out of the car.

He didn't grab it. He fucking left it on the front seat of the car.

Steve didn't even get to say goodbye.

"They don't need you anymore." Vecna's voice rattles through his head. "You're disposable." He's standing before Steve now. They're in his house, standing in the middle of the kitchen as younger Steve watches his parents leave for the millionth time. "Even your parents didn't want you."

He's right. They've been relying on him less and less. The only reason the party is even here is because there's a chance someone else, someone more important, could get caught in Vecna's trap if they don't stop him.

Steve's just collateral. A bump in the road to victory.

Steve stops fighting. He's done.

He takes in a deep breath and waits for the pain, waits for Vecna to finish him off, but the pain never comes. In fact, he can feel himself floating back to the ground, can feel hands grabbing at his arms and legs and pulling him down, down, down.

"Steve, can you hear me? Steve! Steve?" That voice... he never thought he'd hear that voice again. Maybe he was still in his head, maybe this was another sick joke from Vecna. "Hey, big boy, are you with me?"

"Eddie?" And when his vision comes back to him, he's really there. Eddie is cradling Steve in his arms, and if Steve isn't so relieved to see him, he'd be more worried about what happened to the monster he saw just moments ago. Well, he thought it was moments ago. "What happened? Is this real?"

Eddie smiles down at him; just a normal sharp teeth free smile. Steve sits up and reaches out to touch Eddie's face, the face he's seen in his dreams for weeks. The black, soulless eyes he'd stared into earlier are replaced with the kind, brown eyes he'd drowned in the first time they met.

But then he notices something else.

Eddie's skin is scar free. There's not a single scratch on him. There is no evidence he was ripped apart by the bats.

Something's wrong. He looks around, expecting to see Robin or Nancy, just anyone, but they're alone. Sensing his rising panic, Eddie reaches out and gently holds his face, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips.

"It's okay. It's over now, Steve. You can rest."

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep7 Musings - Loustat: The Trial (Spoilers)

Imma split my Loustat musings into 3 parts, cuz there's A LOT to unpack. So I'll do the Ep3/4 & Ep5 revisits in the next posts; this is just general/initial Louis & Lestat stuff I wanted to respond to.

They beat the dog snot outta Louis, omg. They nearly snapped his neck! Louis was barely conscious, ofc his memory's spotty.

I LOVE how they're emphasizing the physicality of the Maker-Fledgling bond, first w/ Lou & Madz, now w/ Les. It's ofc all wrapped up in how much Loustat loves e/o, but its also their blood connection thru Amel. (I wonder how Louis Merrick'ing himself in Ep5 affects his connection to Amel if his heart didn't stop, cuz Armand stopped him from burning too much?)

And I love what Jacob said in the Insider, afterwards.

Fear that Lestat's come to exact revenge; excitement (a frisson of both negative & positive emotions, excited to see Les just cuz of the tension of having not seen him in so long, but also having all his nerves & senses tingling cuz of the tense anticipation & not knowing what to expect--hence: fear); fury cuz this whole mess could've been avoided if Les had told them WHY European vampires should be avoided at all costs; and relief cuz Les's' alive, his husband's ok.

But this time Lou KNOWS he's the real deal, cuz he can FEEL it--"it wasn't NOT his hand." And Dream!Stat jumpscare in Dubai, well well well; I thought Lou'd stopped seeing him on that Parisian bench? 👀

Here we effing go, whatever this French bish has to say better be good 🍿🍿🍿

I HATE HIM YOUR HONOR 🤣 Omfg take ONE thing seriously! Not the Roland-Garros, STFU! XD Lestat going off script got the coven like WTF?!

OML 🍿🍿🍿

Well that's not helpful at all--WHICH ONE!?

Les was asleep for the whole 100 years b4 he went to NOLA--but we KNOW this can't be true, cuz Les met Marius after he left Paris❗ SAM (the vamp) has been mouthing the words to this whole script, so I wonder if that's just what Les was TOLD to say, OR! It's what HE told THE COVEN, so they wouldn't know about TWMBK❗❗

NOT LES DOING A PIROUETTE INTO THE EARTH STAHP OMG 😭

THIS GAY QUEEN CAN'T HELP HIMSELF, I CANNOT

Awoke in 1908 & disembarked in humidified daughter of Paris, NOLA--but Les told Lou he was headed for Saint Louis, Missouri. 👀

"And who did you meet there?" DANG this is TENSE--Loustat finally making eye contact for the first time, Les having to see his husband all beat up & sad; as Claudia languishes in the background, as usual.

Not Louis with the cigar 😭

"The ACCUSED," LOL, Santiago had to catch himself--stay dehumanizing the violent evil Black man whydontcha; we see you. And Lestat had to feed him his own lines after derailing everyone with that homophobic soldier's evisceration.

Omg this sounds like every court case b4 they throw the book at a Black man. And the bored unaffected way the white audience just rolls their eyes & shakes their heads & smokes--they DGAF about Lou; they've already decided he ain't ish--A STONING.

LOUIS FACE. This is EXACTLY how folk in the fandom talk about Lou--and it came back with a vengeance during all that Loumand Maitre/Arun crap, as y'all were QUICK to jump on Lou being an evil pimp, even though your fave Daniel literally said that was just kinky roleplay Armand didn't take seriously when ish got REAL.

I thought y'all were just bartering for the "last bouquet of lilies"!?

Oh great, the coven's making Louis look like a perv predator. 🤦‍♀️ And the visual centering of Lou's dastardly mind-control waves like a halo over sweet innocent victim Lestat's blonde head, I CANNOT.

Omfg Louis face, SAME! If this crocodile-crying liar don't take his To Kill A Mockingbird, Central Park Five lookin arse off that stage! 🤬

Omfg Lestat I'm finna kill you myself. Omg this nonsense is too much; I know Lou, speak up, YES! But also, STFU, Les is actually tryna save your life by tearing your reputation to shreds. 😬🤦‍♀️

I loooove this effect when the coven uses the Mind Gift on them. They effed him up so bad his left eye started hemorrhaging. 😭

Armand don't you look away for an INSTANT, don't you even BLINK! You could've prevented this, EFF ALL Y'ALL in this nasty AF Theatre!

This gaslighting is hitting way too close to the way IRL court cases go when the innocent get the book thrown at them for crimes they didn't commit.

This is so painful to watch, but Sam Reid you better werk; the way he was yelling those lines had me shook, oml.

Les knows he's effed up, but what can he do? His eyes are going red; he's gonna cry. (His contacts look different, I thought they said they were gonna stick with purple eyed Les?) "I offered it to him in the church on the altar: My companionship." And Lou nodding along, cuz that was their wedding! 😭💔

I was wondering how these frames would be used. It's about the Ep3 race riots and vampire loneliness, the night Louis left & Claudia was made. But I love the implications, cuz how could humans know ANYTHING about hows vampires feel--which is SO important when they start lying about everything else that went down with how Claudia was made and how it would affect her as a "defective" vamp.

Even the VAMPIRES don't know how other vampires feel, and the capacity they have for enduring--Armand said it over & over to Louis in Ep3 and Madeleine in Ep6. Lestat came closest in S1 when he commented on Claudia's eternally 14-yr old metabolism & needing to eat more than an normal vamp, but beyond that none of them had a effing clue what Claudia was going through. They don't know REAL loneliness, even with her diaries telling them what she thought, not HOW SHE FELT.

(And I'm reminded of what I said here about Gabrielle telling Lestat what her loneliness felt like. I think "vampire loneliness" is different for every vampire; which is precisely why Gab (and Claudia) was able to walk away from her Maker/son & live alone; while Nicky & Louis went crazy.)

Lestat crying blood tears, daaaaang 😥

Kill this dude (but I stan a Loustat ally, LOLOL).

Imma stop here, cuz I've run out of Tumblr's stupid 30-pics per post, and the Ep3/4 revisit that "took all the pieces of Louis life, defiled them, bent them into a Lestat-shaped effigy" is IMO the JUICIEST part, with the most new meat to chew on.

[annefolklore]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

His favorite color is deep blue

He mainly speaks italian and english but he can also speak french because his mother was French

It brings me to an headcanon that I thought about. I headcanon his mother to be French and after her death, he tried his best to not forget her language because it’s the last thing that connect him to her.

He says his favorite class is Transfiguration, but it’s secretly Muggle Studies because he used to buy muggle things with his mom to see what they were for.

When you’re looking for him, most of the time he’s by the lake on a bench or sat by a tree.

He’s a hatstall because the Sorting hat was hesitating between Slytherin and Ravenclaw

He actually tried being in the quidditch team as a chaser or beater in fourth year, but didn’t like being bossed around by the captain so he quitted

His first crush was Hermione Granger during his third year because he admired her knowledge and how she doesn’t let herself be walked on. His favorite memory about her was how she punched Malfoy in the face

Theodore always thought girls never looked at him, but oh boy he was mistaken…it’s like he’s blind and it took him to accidentally hear his 2 of his friends, Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, joking about how many girls wanted him and how their “son” is growing up fast. He still lightly chuckle when he think about this memory.

Not a headcanon but he hangouts with Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, Mattheo and Enzo. But among them, he prefers being with Pansy and Daphne (he will never say it out loud 💀) because he kinda like how they baby him and tell him all about girls thing. Like I can imagine him randomly being invited to their sleepovers and they put makeup on him, skin care, they gossip ect. He mostly like their inside jokes and how everyone around them is confused. He feels good knowing they’re completely comfortable with him to the point where they change in front of each other because it’s not weird and Pansy says “It’s only weird, if you make it weird”. Outside of the girls, he likes being with Blaise

Talking about his favorite girls, him and the other boys made a pact of protecting the 2 at all cost. None of the girls know about the pact, they just think that as male friends, they act like such by scaring away boys that come near them.

Most people call him Theo, but Pansy and Daphne call him Teddy

HELP I COULD LITERALLY DO A WHOLE POST ABOUT HIM, PANSY AND DAPHNE 😭

But anyways

He’ve always hated his father, Faustus Nott, mostly because he was the one who killed his mom, right in front of him with his fists

He cried after getting the dark mark

He wears rings and got an helix piercing before the seventh year after a drunk evening with Draco, Blaise, Mattheo and Enzo

He’s always making fun of Draco because he cannot run fast to save his life 😭

He’s the one of those that don’t study that often but get good grades

His favorite weather is cloudy/rainy because it finds comfort in them. He loves it the most when it’s pouring outside and he’s in the comfort of his dorm/common room reading a book.

He’s a night owl and goes to sleep at like 3am

His friends and himself are just a big happy family

Theodore is so photogenic!! He doesn’t even know it, but Pansy and Daphne always sneak pictures of him without him knowing and he looks majestic in every single one of them

He swears a lot but not too much yk?

He smokes when he’s preoccupied by something and during Voldemort’s return, he would always have a pack of cigarettes with him

Blaise and him speak in sarcasm most of the time and it’s so funny to watch 😭

I like to think he has a lot of moles/beauty marks on him, especially on his chest

He’s an observer, discreet and pay attention to his surroundings

He’s a good 6 foot 2-3 with long legs and Mattheo always fake-jump with a hand on his heart when he sees him. He calls him slender-man

He has the dead eyes with dark circles under them like he hasn’t slept in a decade

During breakfast he only takes 2 French toast with a cup of either coffee or tea, depends on his mood

His type in girls would be the quiet ones, like him. He likes them shy, maybe a bit nerdy who doesn’t talk a lot. Brunettes, maybe blondes, he doesn’t mind which house she’s in but she must get along well with his friends.

He doesn’t spend much time at his manor anymore, because he wants to avoid his father much as possible. So instead, he basically lives at the Zabini’s, his room is right across Blaise’s. Mrs Zabini loves him as if he was her own and treat him as such. What Theo loves doing is helping her around the house just to hear her say “What a wonderful boy you are!…Take him as an example Blaise!” And how his friends rolls his eyes while doing his best middle finger to Theodore. “Blaise, leave him alone!”

He loves reading, his favorite genres are philosophy because it makes him think and say the same smart sentences to his friends afterwards (especially Mattheo and Draco) even tho they don’t understand a thing he’s saying. He likes the classics, horror and romance (yes I see you coming, he reads smut). When he eventually gets a girlfriend, he does to her the romantic things he have read and say loving things the characters said.

His patronus is an eagle/hawk. No I didn’t do any research, I just can picture him with those kind of bird on his arm yk?🧍🏾‍♀️

He genuinely thought he wasn’t gonna survive the war or be put in Azkaban if he even manages to live. During his seventh year, at night, when everyone was asleep in his dorm, he would write letters to his friends and even wrote his will. He gave his clothes and his things to Blaise. 95% of his money was left for Pansy and Daphne while the rest was for charities and do not be fooled by the 5% because the number still have a lot of zeros in it. He wanted Draco to have his wand, he wanted Mattheo to have his rings because he would catch him looking at them in envy and gave Enzo his owl and books. He wanted to have his portrait in each of his friends’ house so he can visit them whenever he wants.

In a modern Hogwarts, he would listen to Chase Atlantic

He plays the piano and a bit the guitar

He loves poems and write some when he has inspiration, Draco have read one of them when he saw Theo had asleep on it and was curious about what he was writing.

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

Ever since the Upside-down and Vecna and the world going to shit, Steve’s spent a lot of time roaming the bars inside and out of Hawkins. Once he’d finished with his dad’s liquor cabinet and the only liquor store in town stopped selling to him, he started being a regular at multiple establishments.

It was hard, after losing Max and El and Will and others Steve couldn’t think about without ripping open the wounds again. The portals were all closed, but at what cost? The world was technically saved, but Steve’s was a wreck. The metaphorical wounds were still ripped up and bleeding, fresh holes that would never quite stitch themselves over and heal.

His parents never came back, and he couldn’t even blame them, it’s not like he expected to be worth it to them. He was an adult now, on his own, there was no need for them to come back and pick him up. Honestly, he never wanted to see them again, didn’t really even know who they were. Steve had lived with practical strangers his whole life, made a semblance of family from skin and bone, and had it all ripped away from him.

Steve Harrington was always meant to be alone.

So he drank, went back to King Steve’s routes, used the alcohol to ground him while his mind drifted away to heaven or hell or wherever. It didn’t matter, because Steve never remembered the night before. The nightmares melted with the sunrise, the tremors and gasps, and flooding eyes gave way to cotton mouth and hunger in the daylight, and the blinding sun made it easier to forget all the bad things. Easier, but altogether impossible none the less.

So Steve didn’t quite remember how he ended up in the woods behind his house, dead leaves tangled in his hair and a particularly sharp twig shoved into his spine. He groaned against the sunlight blinding him through the branches and dug the stick out from under him, standing up on wobbling legs to trudge back inside. It wasn’t uncommon to find himself on his porch or lying in an old and tattered lounge chair, or even on a park bench some times. He wandered a lot. There was nothing else to do.

He still had money in his trust fund, still had his parents house to stay in, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on his door to put him back together. Eddie was somewhere, in another state or wherever he ran off to. Again, Steve couldn’t blame him, either. Wayne wasn’t here anymore, there was no reason for Eddie to stay after everything. There wasn’t any reason for Steve to stay, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, either.

So he stayed. So he drank. So he blacked out and woke up outside sometimes.

He rested against a tree for a minute, trying to gain his bearings and see past the blinding sunlight, rubbing circles into his eyes until he saw sparks of white behind his eyelids. He was probably a mess, probably looked half dead, hadn’t been able to look into a mirror in months.

Blinking out into his backyard, he could see a bit better now but the world still wobbled on its axis just a bit. It would probably be another half hour until he was sober enough to see straight, but he wasn’t going to stay in the burning sun for that. He trekked across the dead grass of his yard, using passing lawn chairs and tables as crutches to make the distance more bearable, ignored the memories pressing at the edges of his mind and embraced the pain in his head to push the thoughts away.

The house seemed a bit cleaner on the inside than he last remembered, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned, but he couldn’t remember much of anything these days. That was the point, after all.

Steve rounded the hallway into the open arch of the kitchen entry — hoping he had some cereal left in the pantry somewhere, not brave enough to handle the stares and whispers he’d get at the diner or grocery store — when he was roughly slammed against the kitchen wall. His head swam with the abrupt movement, stomach churning uncomfortably. He blinked against the sudden impact, feeling one of his own kitchen knives at his throat; pressing, but not digging, a warning. The knife wobbled slightly before the grip righted, pressing just a bit stronger than before, a threat.

Steve opened his eyes, trying to get his brain back online in his hazy state. Putting the pieces together slowly. Brown hair. Curly. Angry eyes. A set grimace on his lips. Eddie Munson. The last time Eddie Munson had a sharp object to his neck, Steve was pinned to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boat house. Now, pinned to the wall of his own kitchen, Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away, couldn’t fathom what Eddie would be doing here, either.

“Eddie? What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He asked, pushing through the uncomfortable cotton mouth and stale alcohol taste on his tongue.

Eddie just stared at him, the hand fisted into Steve’s shirt tightening. He winced.

“Seriously dude, what are you doing?” Was he still asleep outside? Was he ever outside? What the hell did he drink last night?

Eddie kept staring, glaring, like Steve did something wrong again. Steve always did something wrong, he just couldn’t figure out what. The grip on his shirt tightened again, pinching Steve’s chest and clearing his head just a bit more. Definitely not a dream.

“Who are you?” Eddie growled out, shoving Steve harder into the wall.

Steve blinked. What? That was not the question Steve was expecting. Not that he was expecting any of this, really.

“Who. Are. You?” Eddie repeated.

“Steve. Harring-ton?” Steve replied, following the other man’s cadence, words dripping with confusion.

Eddie’s glare tightened like his grip, knife digging into his throat just a bit more. He was sure his brain should be screaming danger, danger, danger, but the fact that it was Eddie standing in front of him was throwing him way off kilter.

“Seriously, Eddie, what’s going on?” Steve begged, unsure if the confusion muddling his brain was because of the alcohol, lack of any decent nutrition for the past few months, or something else. Did he seriously miss something so big that had Eddie up in arms like this? He couldn’t possibly look so bad he was unrecognizable.

“Is this some kind of trick from Vecna? Hm? What are you?”

“Eddie, man, I seriously have no clue what you’re talking about!” Steve’s voice was gaining a more hysterical edge at this point, but it had no effect on Eddie what-so-ever. “I am so not sober enough for this, just tell me what’s going on!”

“Steve Harrington is dead!” Eddie yelled in his face, “Steve Harrington is dead, so what the fuck are you?”

—

If y’all have world building questions pls ask in the replies because maybe it’ll get me somewhere near a plot. Anyway, please enjoy sad lonely Steve

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Unedited

chapter four: I’m better than ever

Read chapter three here

My masterlist

Song: Landscape with a Fairy by aspidistrafly

Summary: Link and Zelda start to get back on their feet, local problems in Hateno Village start to arise.

Warnings: PTSD, dealing with trauma

Word Count: 3.3k

Authors Note: sorry this took me so long to update! This is unedited so pls be kind haha. I love you all! Also I’m working on getting this uploaded to Ao3!

A few days go by, and Zelda finally starts to feel like herself again. After three days of laying in bed, drinking broth that Link makes for her, and falling into deep, dreary sleeps, she can finally get herself out of bed.

She walks downstairs, not feeling dizzy or nauseous, to find Link passed out against the table. His mouth is slack, and the smallest amount of drool dribbles out onto the cracked wood. His eyelashes are long and thick, and he has an old scar through one of his eyebrows, causing a clean-cut line of no hair. He looks so gentle when he sleeps, soft and peaceful. You would never guess he was the threat he was.

Zelda knew how badly he needed to sleep, he had spent days restless over her. She knew he got some rest here and there, but never enough to really help. She notices his shoulder shake, he isn’t wearing a shirt. She swears he never does at home. It was cold, despite it nearing summertime. Zelda goes to grab one of the wool blankets he keeps on a bench against the wall. Before she carefully drapes it around his shoulders, she examines the scars on his back. It’s littered with cuts and bruises. Some had healed well, and were only suggesting an injury. Others were a pale shade of tissue, some were still red and pink. One even still had his make-do stitches in it. She wondered who did them for him, and what battle caused the injury. Link still had bruises on his side and bicep from the fight with the calamity. They were starting to turn a jaundiced yellow and green, his body slowly healing them. Zelda’s stomach turns at the memories of the beast.

She shakes her head and sighs, placing the blanket over his bare skin and positioning it over his shoulders. Link stirs and his breathing shifts, he closes his mouth, swallowing before continuing his dreams. His hair is out of his hair tie, and it lies loose around his shoulders and face.

His face and look is so alluring, there's something about him that’s so comforting. She could sit with him all day, just with him as he slept, knowing that she’s safe.

She uses the washroom, taking her hair out of the old braid and letting the soft waves fall over her shoulders and cascade down her back. A pit churns in her stomach as she looks at her long hair. Her hair was always a part of her identity. Something she never cut, never damaged. It was beautiful, even after the years of divine wear and tear on it. She never had a choice with her hair. She didn’t get to make hardly any choices for herself. He runs her hands through her hair, sometimes she wished she could just rip it all out. Have a fresh slate.

She changes her clothes after searching for something fresh to wear, she would eventually need some of her own clothes. Zelda does all of this being as quiet as she can be. She doesn’t want to wake the sleeping hero at any cost. She finds an old pair of green pants that hit her at the knees, they’re comfortable, but tight to her skin. She finds the matching blue tank top that goes with it, and pulls it over her head. It feels nice to have some clean clothes on. When Link wakes up, she’ll ask if there’s a clothing store nearby.

The princess starts on breakfast, pulling some bird eggs from the cool inventory and a bit of goat butter. She has no idea what she’s doing, and very quickly realizes that she’s burning the eggs. In a panic, Zelda attempts to fix her mess, but somehow makes it worse. She quietly swears and before she knows it, Link is standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her body and replacing her grip on the skillet with his own calloused hands.

He engulfs himself around her, resting his chin on her shoulder as he pulls the burnt egg away from her. Her heart flutters, skipping a beat. She wonders how he was able to do an act that was so simple, so domestic. Did he think about it the same way she did? She felt safer and warmer in his embrace, wanting to linger there forever, feeling his bare chest against her back, but it's over all too soon. He steps away and fixes her mistake.

“I-I’m so sorry.” Zelda sighs. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothings wrong with you.” Link assures, “Open the windows.” He nods to the glass. Zelda goes to push them open, and they must not have been opened in years because they creak open with a tired groan and dust falls from the frames. Her breaths are quickly followed by coughs after the fact, and she scrunches her nose.

Almost immediately, Link is making a perfect omelet, and it smells wonderful.

“How do you do that?”

“Years of practice.” He smiles. “Grab some plates.” She follows his request again, his voice is still gruff and gravely from his sleep. Zelda places the plates on the table, facing across from each other. Link carries the pan over to the plates, cutting the omelet in half with his spoon and then placing each half on the plates, being sure to give Zelda the bigger piece. Zelda sits after thanking him, and instead of Link sitting across from her, he drags the plate for himself across the table to be next to hers, taking his place right next to her on the bench, legs pressing up against one another. Zelda begs her thoughts not to be too ambitious.

They eat mostly in silence.

“Is there a clothing store nearby?”

Link nods, “Yup, two of ‘em actually.” He looks at her, his eyes still sleepy, “I can go get you some if you like.”

“I would like to go with you, if that’s alright.” Zelda nods.

“Are you feeling well enough?” He asks.

“Mhm,” She hums, “I would really like to get out of this house.”

“What, you don’t like my house?” Link asks, pretending to be hurt.

Zelda giggles, chiding him, “I love your house.” She sighs, those words came so easily. The word ‘love’ lingers in her mind. “Will you teach me how to cook?”

Link laughs, “Oh no you can’t fix that.” He teases her in reference to her antics this morning. She frowns, unamused, and he sighs, “I’ll teach you, but in return I want you to teach me something, too.”

“Anything.” Zelda smiles.

“Teach me how to be brave. Like you.” He asks after a beat.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it… and I’m terrified. All the time I am.” He swallows, scared to open up like this, proving his own point. He glances at the princess who stares at him with her beautiful, green eyes which inspires him to keep going, “I know I’m the courage guy and everything, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of things, like I’m not afraid to beat up monsters or jump headfirst into a well, but I’m filled with this… this dread. Like something bad is going to happen and no matter what I do, I can’t stop it.” He explains, never being this vulnerable with anyone anymore. He used to be with Mipha back in the day, but she was gone because of something Link couldn’t stop.

“Link… courage and bravery are two different things.” Zelda states, taking a risk and placing a dainty hand on his, the touch is electric, they both feel it. “Bravery is the ability to walk into an enemy camp with a decayed weapon and two apples. Courage is the strength to keep fighting when it feels impossible to.” She explains.

Link looks at her, and he realizes how easy it would be to just lean over and kiss her. Her lips are so soft, so pink, so inviting. He glances at them a few times. He decides not to.

“I just… I just don’t want to lose you again.” He pulls his hand away, looking down at the empty plate dejectedly.

“Hey.” She pulls his gaze again, their eyes meeting once more. “You got me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” She reassures him, and then rests her head on his shoulder. They needed one another.

He’s worried sick about her the entire time they’re in town. He can’t quit watching her, and she’s enthralled by the stimulation of the world around her. She almost gets plowed over by a kid running through the street, and she just laughs when it happens, the brightest smile on her face.

She takes a deep breath, feeling the sun on her face. The warmth of early summertime makes her cheeks a soft pink and eyelashes flutter.

“Did you have to bring that with you?” She asks, referencing the legendary sword that was strapped to his back. “It’s safe now, remember?”

Link frowns, “You can never be too-safe.” He just nods and she shrugs.

Zelda takes a hop-like step to the bulletin board posted in town to read the notices. One read that there would be a sale on milk up at the farm the next week, another was basic town hubbub, but one stood out to her. It was written by the hands of someone who isn’t very skilled with penmanship. It was a note asking for books, probably by a child. The note asked that someone would kindly donate a few new books for this young reader, leaving them on the bench outside of the mayor's home. She smiled, this was the type of kid she was.

A completely different note catches Link’s eye.

New monster spotted north-east of town. Killed two cattle. Please be cautious.

Link hums, turning the paper over to see if there’s any more information, but that was it.

“What is it?” Zelda asks.

“A monster. I would guess it's just a Moblin, but the note says it's new.” LInk frowns, perplexed. “I’ve fought every monster in Hyrule ten times over, there are only Moblins and Bokoblins in these parts.”

“Should we be worried?” She asks, her eyes blown-wide. She’s in constant fear of having to go through anything traumatic again.

Link shrugs, “I saw a destroyed fence the other day up there, I should probably go speak with the rancher.” He shoves the note in his back pocket, “Come on, let’s get you some clothes.” He holds his arm out for her to take, something he hasn’t done in a long time. He almost pulls it away in embarrassment but she gladly takes it, smiling at him as she does.

Both of their hearts threatened to burst out of their chests, but they each calmly forced themselves to stay composed.

Link leads her into one of the clothing stores, the door ringing from a bell as they enter. The shop was small, but had plenty of things in stock. Zelda pulls away from his arm sooner than either of them would have liked to start browsing. Link follows three steps behind, where he usually was.

“Link!” A woman smiles from the back of the shop. Ivee walks towards him, cheerful. “You’ve been gone for so long! I thought I heard you were back in town.” She says before wrapping her arms around him and hugging him. Link is a little surprised by it and doesn’t really hug her back.

Link nods with a smile. “I’ll be in town for a while.” He states, being friendly but not too friendly. He and Ivee have some history.

“You? Never.” She giggled, stepping closer to him, she was a bit shorter than him, and had cute brown eyes that sparkled up at him. “You can’t stay put in one place for too long, you'll get bored!” Her body language was flirty, handsy, she thought Link was as handsome as everyone else did.

Zelda is made aware of the situation and tries to keep her cool. There’s no reason to get jealous. “Well you all better give me some work to keep myself busy.” He smiles, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh I would love to.” She sighs and Link awkwardly laughs.

Zelda steps in at that moment, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.” She stands a little closer to Link than she normally does, not quite touching him, but close enough.

“Ivee.” She says to Zelda. “And who are you…”

Zelda takes a harrowing breath, “Who am I?” She asks, her tone increasingly offended, “Who am I?” She asks again laughing at Link, “Well I am the Pri-“ She starts to say and Link interrupts her grabbing her shoulder.

“This is Zelda, she’s from the west. She’ll be staying with me for a while.”

“Oh.” Ivee looks visibly hurt. She then looks at Zelda with a frown, “You know, it’s bad luck to be named Zelda. That’s what the Princess who killed herself a hundred years ago was named.” She sighs, glaring at Zelda. Her gaze softens when she returns to speaking with Link, “If you need any assistance, I’ll just be up here.” She smiles and turns around, “It’s great to have you back in town, Linky. I would love to walk up to the waterfall at Nirvata lake with you again. It was so fun last time.” She winks at him before returning back to her perch.

Links cheeks burn red.

“Rude.” Zelda mutters under her breath. “What in the name of Hylia does she mean by that?…Linky?” Zelda teases, scoffing at him. Link swallows, embarrassed.

He then signs to Zelda, ‘Ivee makes up stories’.

Zelda lifts an eyebrow, not believing it, ‘She’s not very polite’.

Link shakes his head, ‘She’s young. Times are different’. He pulls Zelda into a more secluded corner of the store, not wanting to embarrass anyone, ‘You can’t tell people you’re the Princess’.

‘Why Not?’ Zelda signs back, her expression frustrated and confused, ‘I am, aren’t I? I didn’t kill myself. Do they really believe that?’

Link nods, ‘Some people don’t even believe the Calamity happened’.

“What?” Zelda verbally exclaims.

Link holds his pointer-finger to his lips, hushing her, Conspiracy theorists or something.’ He signs, ‘besides, people won’t believe you if you tell them you’re The Princess’.

‘That’s absurd!’ Zelda angrily signs at him.

Link tries to calm her down, looking at her with his understanding eyes, ‘Until we can get the Zora to confirm for the Hylians that you are The Princess, It’s best to just lay low’.

Zelda frowns, wrapping her arms across her chest. ‘Fine’. She signs back.

Link nods, “Let’s get you some clothes.”

They leave the store with a good collection of items, some shirts and trousers, a hooded cloak, socks and a pair of boots for her. She was still wandering around in her goddess sandals. “Most ladies wear skirts these days, when you’re in town, you should too.” He explains as they walk next door to a nicer, more prestigious shop. Zelda was acutely aware that he did not offer her his arm when they left Ivee’s shop.

“So they’ve regressed?” Zelda asks, back in her day, it was becoming quite popular for women to sport trousers, even in formal situations.

“Very much, yes.” Link nods. “The calamity threw the world back, technology has been put on a complete hold, there have been little-to-no scientific breakthroughs since.” Link explains. It makes Zelda sad.

“That’s a real tragedy.” She frowns, “We were making so much progress.”

“I know.” Link says, “but now everyone just fends for themselves. If there's a famine or illness in a town, it's up to that town to solve it. There was a village in West Hyrule, before the canyon that had survived the Calamity. They were doing pretty well for the first fifty or so years. But then they had a bad plague, and were completely wiped out. There's nothing but a ruin there now.”

Zelda’s heart hurts, “It’s my fault.” She stops in her tracks. Link turns around, looking at her dejected composure. He walks back to her, taking her hand with his.

“Look at me.” He says, but she keeps her gaze set on the dirt road. Link takes his hand and gently lifts her chin to make eye-contact with him. “It’s not your fault. This is not on one person's shoulders.”

“I know but-“

“Zelda.” He stops her, “We can’t change the past. It happened. But we are both still here.” He takes both her hands now, “We survived, so let's look into the future. There’s only up from here.” He reassures her.

Zelda cracks a smile, and she desperately wants to lean in and give him a quick, gentle kiss on his lips. But she doesn’t, because she can’t guarantee he would kiss her back, and she would rather suffer in silence over her desires for him, but stay close, than jeopardize their friendship at all.

“Come on.” He leads her into the store, not letting go of one of her hands until they’re inside.

Zelda leaves with two dresses now, a soft, cotton dress that’s blue, and a white one with green and yellow details on the hem of the fabrics. “Thank you, Link.” She says as they begin their walk back home. “How do you have so much money?”

“Talus.” Link nods, not giving anymore context. Zelda shrugs, catching up with him.

They spent that evening cleaning, Link finally took care of all the junk he stored there, discarding old weapons and starting a burn pile outback to get rid of scraps and wooden bows. Zelda takes a big broom and dusts out all of the cobwebs, sweeping out piles of dirt, and taking care of the sand pile that had accumulated from his treasures found in the desert. She noticed how her heart twinged at the idea of the desert, the idea of Urbosa. She shakes the thought away, focusing on the task.

Dusk falls on them, and Zelda is wiping down the walls with an old rag while Link is sitting up in the rafters, dusting the wooden beams the roof is built on and trying to reach a bird's nest that had been built up there. He straddles a beam, shirtless, barefoot, and dusty.

As he sits up there, he peers down at the girl who kneels twenty feet below him, her long hair tied back into a bun and secured with a stick shoved through the center of it. Her feet bare and dirty, toes poking out from under her bottom as she sat on them. She couldn’t see him looking at her, couldn’t hear how his heart beat twice as fast when he thought about her, wasn’t aware of how his pupils grew at the sight of her.

She hummed, and he could hear it. Humming a song he didn’t know, but felt vaguely familiar, like he knew it in a past life. Link wondered if the past incarnations of the Goddess and the Hero ever loved each other. Surely they did, to some degree. Maybe platonic, or the type of love you have for someone you work alongside and deeply respect. He wondered if any of them ever loved each other the way he wanted to love his Zelda. Did it ever work? Had he been a king in a past life? Did their past selves ever have children? His stomach flutters at the idea of having a family with her.

She must have sensed his gaze because as soon as he begins to fantasize about Zelda having a baby with him, she looks up at him, and smiles. He’s so shocked by her sudden gaze, terrified that she could read his mind and almost loses his balance on the beam, falling his chest onto it and holding on. He smiles back and laughs. Zelda giggles at him.

“How’s the view? Up there?” She stands up and does a silly little dance around herself.

He sighs, and laughs, “the view is perfect!” He shouts down, “A little dusty.” Coughing a bit.

She asks, “Are you alright up there?”

Link smiles, “I’m better than ever.”

—

Chapter five

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 7/34 - pocket bow tie

[Read on AO3]

She looks excited. At least, he thinks she does.

The good news is, she doesn't look like she's about to bolt out the door, and he calls that a win.

They may not be committing themselves to each other in the way a marriage is typically supposed to go, but this is a big commitment all the same. If she changes her mind now, their plans for adoption are as good as gone. The idea of family, as foreign as it has been for the last 26 years of his life.

He’ll admit he’s gotten rather attached to the idea. Perhaps a little too much so, considering how unique their situation is, and how often they've been dealt blow after blow of disappointment.

He looks down at the woman to his left. Any worries he might have had melt away at the sight of her. She's calm, her lips quirked up in a quiet, content smile as they wait to be called into the courtroom. Her shoulder brushes against his arm, and he resists the temptation to touch her, to hold her hand in his, knowing he will have his chance later.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says, having held on to that one all morning. She smiles up at him, looking every bit the blushing bride she is, despite the absence of the big white dress and veil.

"I think Bill was intimidated by how nicely you were dressed," she teases back.

He looks down at his fine-cut suit. "What, this old thing?"

Scully has never been the kind to care how expensive one's clothes were, but even she has to admit that he looks good in Armani. And judging by his smirk, he knows it too.

"Did you have that bow tie stuffed in your pocket all morning, Mulder?" she asks, reaching up to straighten it.

"Had to look nice for our special day," he answers cheesily. "Plus, you told me to ditch the colorful ties. Figured I'd get a head start on the whole 'happy wife, happy life' thing."

Wife. Husband. Those words sound so foreign, and yet, in just a few moments time, they will apply to them.

'Excuse me, table for me and my wife, please.'

'Yes, I'm her husband. That's me.'

The insanity of it all makes him want to laugh.

"Fox Mulder and Dana Scully?" a clerk asks, popping her head out of the courtroom door.

He feels Scully's hand grasp for his, and a thrill runs up his spine. "That's us," she says, stepping forward. He gives her hand a squeeze, following after her like a lost puppy.

Here we go.

Once they’re inside, the judge gestures for them to approach the bench, and they stand side-by-side in the center of the chamber. The dark oak wood is daunting, bringing back memories of not particularly enjoyable times they’ve been in courtrooms.

This time is different, though. The judge is smiling, for one, looking down her thin, half-moon spectacles at them. And, for once, their time in court will serve to unite them, rather than split them apart.

Yes, this would be a very nice change, indeed.

“What a beautiful couple you make,” the older woman speaks, her eyes crinkling in joy. Scully smiles, and Mulder clings a little tighter to her hand. “Are we ready to get started?”

They nod, and Mulder has to focus to keep his knees steady under him. They’re really doing this. He can hardly believe it has come to this point.

“We are gathered here to join Fox and Dana in the blessed union of marriage,” the judge starts, reciting her opening statement to the mostly empty room. One clerk stands by as their witness, a camera in hand to capture their memories of the day, probably with the intent to sell them back to them at an exorbitant price. 

It doesn’t matter. Mulder will pay it anyway, whatever the cost.

“This is not a responsibility to be taken lightly,” she continues. “A marriage ought to be founded on mutual respect, affection, and a desire to see through any challenges that may come your way. If you speak your vows in truth, this union will strengthen your bond, serving as a constant reminder of your unwavering love for one another.”

Mulder swallows, holding fast to the comfortable weight of Scully’s hand in his. The judge’s words only reinforce his belief that this is the right decision, that this is meant to be. Mutual respect, affection, going through life’s challenges… how else would he describe what he and Scully have? What they’ve had for over half a decade?

Unwavering love . He’s got that in spades. He feels it from her too, that fierce loyalty. “Love…” Well, he’d like to think so. At least some form of it.

“Fox,” the judge speaks, calling him to attention. He fumbles for Scully’s other hand, the way he remembers seeing at a friend’s wedding once in Oxford. “Will you take Dana to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Easiest yes in the entire world.

Green eyes meet blue.

“I will,” he says.

“And Dana,” he feels his throat close, choking back a sudden rise of emotion. “Will you take Fox to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, comfort him, honor him, and keep him, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?”

It’s the ‘forsaking all others’ part he feels like Scully shouldn’t be agreeing to, but they’ve talked this over. He still can’t quite believe she picked him. Him! Out of any man she could have.

“I will,” she answers, squeezing his hands once. He nods, and feels—not for the first time—that she’d known exactly what was going through his head. They certainly are spooky like that, sometimes.

“Excellent,” the judge praises. “Now, do you have your own vows, or—”

“The standard is fine,” Scully says, smiling up at Mulder.

“Standard it is,” she says. “Fox, repeat after me. I, Fox, take you Dana.”

“I, Fox, take you, Dana.” He leans in close and adds, for her ears only, “Scully,” with a conspiratorial smile, whispering the name he gave her that first day they met. It’s the only one that feels right coming from his lips, and he needs her to know that this isn’t just for show. This isn’t ‘Fox’ making promises to ‘Dana.’ This is them—Mulder and Scully. It’s real. As real as anything she can prove with her beloved science. 

The judge, oblivious to his unprompted addition, continues. “To be my wife,” she says.

“To be my wife.”

His. He would have a wife, and it would be Scully. His Scully. He runs his thumb over her knuckles in circular strokes, swallowing back emotion. She shudders under the intensity of his gaze.

“To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.”

It feels good to speak these promises aloud. For so long, he’s taken and taken and taken from her, watched her life and her dreams be stolen from her grasp, powerless to stop it. Now he can finally give, starting here and now, with his solemn vow to be there for her in every way the judge described. He hopes she can see the truth in his eyes. How much he means these words, from the bottom of his heart.

Judging by the way her eyes glisten, he’s coming across loud and clear.

Then, it’s her turn, and she looks up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “I, Dana,” she says, smiling coyly in preparation for what they both know comes next. “Take you, Fox.” His name is spoken with a teasing lilt, and it sounds just as unnatural as it always does coming from her mouth. He breathes a laugh, jostling her hands playfully between them. “Mulder,” she whispers, just as he had, and his heart melts. “To be my husband.”

The rest of her vows follow, equal to his, just as they are equal in all things. The weight of what they are promising lands squarely on their shoulders, at once harrowing and freeing. Mulder can hardly believe the ceremony is almost over.

“Now, do you have rings to exchange?”

Scully goes to answer that, no, they don’t, but movement from Mulder stalls her. He fishes something from his pocket, facing her with a shy smile.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he says, dropping a plain silver band in the palm of her hand. She sees his fist clenched around what must be her ring, and tilts her head in fond exasperation, a silent whine of ‘Mulder…’ that he looks forward to hearing every time they exchange gifts. 

The judge waxes poetic (as poetic as city hall can get) about the meaning of rings, their significance in a marriage, symbolism—but Mulder and Scully are barely listening. All they hear is her instruction to place the band on each other’s left ring finger, which they happily do, taking their time to slide it into place. The weight feels heavy, but right, on Mulder’s hand, and Scully’s… Scully’s sparkles just like he’d imagined it would when he picked it out at the jewelry shop.

They won’t be able to wear them in public most of the time—he’d known that from the start—but for now, in this room where everyone is privy to the legal bonds being established between them, they are free to do whatever they wish. 

“Well then,” the judge speaks up, beaming from ear to ear. “Having consented to enter into this union and pledged your vows to each other, by the authority vested in me by the State of Maryland and the circuit courts of Anne Arundel County, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She reaches up and takes off her glasses, setting them down in front of her. “Mr. Mulder, you may kiss your bride.”

Blood rushes to his ears, and for a second all he can hear is the pounding of his heart.

Somehow, in all the weeks they’ve been planning this, he’d never considered this particular part of the ceremony. A startling oversight, considering how thorough he’d been with everything else.

Scully is looking up at him, the only sign of her own internal turmoil being the way she bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He wants to kiss her, oh, does he want to kiss her. But this is where the line between real and fake goes gray. 

‘Is this okay?’ he asks with his eyes, his hands suddenly sweating a fair bit more than they had been before. He gets an almost imperceptible nod in return, and makes up his mind.

It’s chaste, the way his lips first meet hers. His hands land on that place on her back that she thinks of as belonging to him, and he dips down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She turns and catches him with her lips, her hand coming up to lay flat against his chest. It barely lasts more than a few seconds, but it leaves him feeling dizzy nonetheless, breathless. He smiles a lopsided grin.

Of all the ways he imagined their first kiss going, in front of two complete strangers at their wedding was not one of them. 

The air feels awkward when they pull back, not quite able to meet each other’s eyes, but the silence is quickly filled with congratulatory remarks from both the judge and their witness. In an act of boldness, he captures her hand again as they are ushered out of the room, holding tightly to it. As he predicted, their witness-slash-photographer takes Mulder’s money, promising that the prints from their ceremony will be delivered to his address in a month’s time, and he thanks her.

Step one is complete. They have officially started the process that would have them labeled the craziest agents in the FBI.

For once, he doesn’t really mind being the crazy one.

~~~

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