#Memorial Benches Uk

[classicmemorialbenches]

Memorial Bench Inscription Ideas

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

Here are some ideas for memorial bench inscriptions:

Remembered with love and cherished forever.

A life well lived, a heart well loved.

Always in our thoughts, forever in our hearts.

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

Your memory is a treasure we hold in our hearts.

In memory of a beloved

[aneverydaything]

Day 1986, 30 November 2023

[i-like-media]

Some Black History In Classic Doctor Who

Something I've been itching to make a post about as I made my way through classic who! I hope you enjoy ^o^

In the 4th season of Doctor Who (1966), the missing serial "The Smugglers" featured the first black character with a speaking role. This character was named Jamaica and he was played by Elroy Josephs! He was tasked with guarding the captured 1st Doctor, and was later killed for failing to keep guard over him.

Elroy Josephs was born in Jamaica, and besides being an actor he was also a dancer. He became the first black dance lecturer at IM Marsh in Liverpool, which is part of Liverpool John Moores University.

Elroy Josephs is often overlooked for his influence on black British dance and on November 1997, a bench and plaque was unveiled in Elroy's memory at John Moores University.

More about his influence of black dance in Britain can be read here

★

The serial immediately after was called "The Tenth Planet" and this serial featured Earl Cameron as Glyn Williams, the first black astronaut in television (I've seen people say it's actually Nichelle Nichols in Star Trek, since she appeared on Star Trek JUST a month earlier in 1966, though I'd argue the portrayal in Doctor Who is more akin to what we know an astronaut to be. Still, a crazy close call!)

Glyn Williams, alongside another astronaut, discovers the Cyberman home planet Mondas in their rocket. This is the first serial to feature the cybermen, too! Their rocket gets pulled in by Mondas's gravitational pull and they die in an explosion.

Earl Cameron was born in Bermuda, and is well known as the first black actor to take a leading role in a British film! The movie was called "Pool of London" and was released in 1951. It was his performance in this movie that led to him becoming "Britain’s first home-grown, non-American black movie star"!

Earl Cameron passed away in 2020 at the age of 102, making him the 5th Doctor Who cast member to reach his 100th birthday!

★ - ★ - ★

"The Tomb Of The Cybermen (season 5)" and "Terror Of The Autons (season 8)" featured 2 characters, both played by Roy Stewart. Both characters have been criticised for their racist depiction of a black man. In TTOTC, Roy played the character of Toberman, who was a mute servant of an expeditioner and the strongest one of the team. He had no say in any matters and was supposed to be purely muscle. He was partially cyberconverted and sacrificed himself to save everyone.

In TOTA, Roy played the character Tony, a strongman with animal furs also tasked to be brute force. He helped keep the 3rd doctor captive, but was knocked out by Jo Grant.

Born in Jamaica, Roy Stewart came to the UK with the idea to become a doctor, though he ended up changing his mind to start acting. There weren't many black stuntmen out there (they would have white people "black up"). He ended up doing a lot of stunt work and became one of Britain's top black actors/stuntmen! Though, a lot of his earlier work went uncredited.

Roy Stewart also ran a gymnasium in 1954 with a policy allowing people of all races to train together. He also opened a Caribbean restaurant and bar called The Globe in 1960, which he ran until the day he died (2008). The Globe is now one of longest-running nightclubs in London, still with a Caribbean restaurant upstairs.

"Frequented by Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Van Morrison, The Clash and Bob Marley, The Globe became the place to be. Its notoriety was such, that even Mick Jones of The Clash named his album after it and wrote the title song about the nightclub." - The Globe Website

★ - ★ - ★

In season 5 the serial "The Enemy Of The World", Carmen Munroe played the role of Fariah Neguib, a food taster for the powerful politician, Ramón Salamander. She was a food taster by force, and rebelled against Salamander by giving the 2nd Doctor's allies important documents, revealing a black mailing side to the politician. She was shot and died in the arms of the enemy, pridefully refusing to give them information. Though sources are a bit muddy on this (1 sketchy source and the rest is my memory of classic who), Carmen Munroe could very well be the first black woman in Doctor Who. And if not, She is most certainly the first with a prominent speaking role.

Born in Guyana, Carmen Munroe played an instrumental role in the development of black British theatre and representation on tv. She played a good number of leading roles, but is best known for the role of Shirley in British TV sitcom Desmond's. Carmen is also one of the founders of Talawa, the UK's leading black theatre company, which was created in response to the lack of creative opportunities for Black actors and the marginalisation of Black peoples from cultural processes.

Today, Talawa is the primary Black theatre company in the UK, with more than 50 award-winning touring productions from African classics to Oscar Wilde behind it. In total the company has produced more than 80 productions. Our name, Talawa, comes from a Jamaican patois term and means gutsy and strong - Talawa.com

Carmen was also appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE), which is a British order of chivalry, rewarding contributions to the arts and sciences, work with charitable and welfare organizations, and public service outside the civil service.

★ - ★ - ★

Hope you enjoyed reading this bit of Doctor Who/Black History! Please feel free to add to this post with more black history in Doctor Who!

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: goofy guy who loves life (aka our sweet baby boy kostas) showing a girl he likes his hometown and neighborhood, while she is on vacation and sparks fly 😏 (@findingnemosworld )

Word Count: 725 words

(author's note: nemo requests, i deliver 😉)

Ever since she was little, Y/N had always wanted to go to Greece. The culture, landscape, and food enticed her, strengthening her desperation to go to the country. So naturally, when she grew up and could go, the tickets were booked, and she was on her way.

Landing on the runway in Greece was an unforgettable moment for Y/N. All her memories about her childhood and the plans she had made flooded her mind, reminding her of how grateful she was to be there.

She collected her luggage from the airport and headed to her taxi outside. Sliding into the backseat, Y/N stared wistfully out of the window. She was finally here.

However, when she got to her hotel, dropped off her bags, and left again to explore the small city she was staying in, she realised she had no idea what to do or where to go. As she looked around helplessly, she failed to notice the man walking towards her.

“Excuse me, can I help you, I couldn’t help but notice that you look a little lost?”

“Oh- Hi, yeah I am a little lost. I just landed an hour ago and I’m not really sure what to do.” Y/N laughed awkwardly as she stared at the man in front of her.

He had longish brown hair that faded to blonde at the ends and was tied into a small messy bun. His arms were covered with tattoos, and his gold earrings glinted in the sunlight.

“How about I show you around? I’m Konstantinos but everyone calls me Kostas.”

“Really? You’d do that for me? I’m Y/N.”

Kostas smiled, “Pretty name for a pretty girl. And of course, I’ll show you around, it’s no trouble.”

“Do you always flirt with girls you’ve just met?”

“Nope, you’re the first,” Kostas said, winking at her.

Y/N laughed, and the pair set off down the street. They went into shops, walked along the beach, and finally, Kostas showed Y/N the way to the best food truck in town. He ordered them something to eat, and they found an empty bench to sit at.

“So,” Kostas began, “What brings you to Greece?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to come, ever since I was a little girl. Everything about this place just has a certain charm. It’s a bonus that the men here are cute too,” Y/N laughed, staring at Kostas knowingly.

“It’s nice to know that people still appreciate my country, I obviously love it as I grew up here. But it’s refreshing to see others enjoying our culture.”

“Of course! I know I’ve only been here for a day, but I already know I chose the right place to visit. It also helps that I had an incredible tour guide.”

“Well, I can do you one better, how about you let me take you on a date tomorrow? I can show you some more of my favourite places?”

Y/N blushed bright red, “You want to go on a date with me?”

Kostas looked puzzled, “Yes?”

“I mean I’d love to. It’s just, what if it goes well? I have to leave at some point, and I might not be able to afford to come back-”

“You don’t have to worry about that because I don’t live here either.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I work in the UK. I’m a footballer.”

“Are you lying? Is this just you trying to convince me to go on a date with you?”

“No, I promise, look it up!” Kostas insisted.

“I believe you,” Y/N thought for a second, “Okay, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Kostas’ face broke out into a huge grin, “Perfect. I’ll meet you outside your hotel tomorrow at 6?”

Y/N nodded.

The pair cleared away their rubbish and stood up. Kostas walked Y/N back to her hotel and then stopped outside the entrance.

“Thank you for making my first day here so memorable, I appreciate it.”

“No thank you, I’m always eager to show off my home country. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, Goodnight Kostas.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

The pair parted ways, and Y/N headed back into her hotel, a small smile on her face. She knew she was going to love it in Greece, she just didn’t know she’d love it this much.

[pebblethestone]

Fireworks ¹

Words - around 1500

Masterlist / part 2

Summary - You show them a night that you celebrate bonfire night with fireworks in a Morden AU

A/n - really shot stories with characters and how I think they may react to bonfire night, cause I live in the UK and we celebrate it and I went to see the fireworks where I live. Some of the characters might not seem like them that's cause my first time writing some of em. There might be a little of errors in this lol.

Characters - Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale, lae'zel, wyll, karlach, Miathara, halsin.

─────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────────

Astarion

You take Astarion cold hand as you take him towards a bonfire watching people talk and drink as they sit around the warm fire in the cold night Astarion takes a look at your curiosity as to why we're here.

“Have you ever seen fireworks Astarion?” you question him, knowing that there's a chance he's never seen them before, watching as he shakes his head at what you had asked

“No I haven't deary” he says with a reply

“Well I think you'll like em,” you say giving him a small smile

“When will we be seeing there fireworks?” he asks

“Not long they should start at any point now,” you say looking down at your phone to check the time. Hearing a sudden bang in the air looking up seeing as it exploded into a bright light of yellow and reds filling the air, see as Astarion jumps a little

“Asterion don't worry they will cause no harm to you,” you say putting a hand on his arm to comfort him his eyes watch you as you look at the bright colours in the night sky a smile forming on his face seeing how you've brightened up over seeing silly sparks in the sky.

Shadowheart

“What is this point of bonfire night you just watch lights dancing in the sky” your head shadowheart says as she and you are on a walk.

“Come on Shadowheart they're not that bad, they're pretty and colourful,” you say to her frowning a little as she turns to look at you seeing your frown she stops what she is going to say and says something different instead.

“I, know that this is one of your favourite events of the year, and I suppose I should support you with it” she says taking your hand and pulling you closer towards the water's edge so that the both of you get a clear view of the fire words across the water.

As you both take a seat on a bench a loud bang goes off lighting up the sky.

“We should take a phone together as a memory” she says taking out her phone and turning on the camera, as you both turn around so that the fireworks going off will be in the background of both of you in the photo, both of you smiling as she takes the phone.

Sitting back down you both your at the photo and smile and then continue looking at the fireworks as they get set off.

Gale

You and Gale sit outside and talk as you both wait for the fireworks to get set off.

“you know that we can always use magic for fireworks, I can show you,” he says to you with a small smile.

“Can you then, why don't you show me then” you question him as he gives you a look holding his hands together as he focuses on his magic you see little sparks begin as they bigger, he holds his hand a little away as the sparks get bigger turning in to dancing lights of fireworks, as your eyes widen in amazement.

“that's so cool where did you learn how to do that?“ you ask with curiosity as he looks at you.

“ah, a magician never tells,” he says with a smirk as you huff at him.

“Well, I guess that is true then, the fireworks will start soon, are you looking forward to them?” you to ask him

“Yes, I am looking forward to them,” he says looking down towards you.

Lae'zel

You and lae'zel walk around the crowd to find a good place to watch the fireworks you both walk past children holding sparkles as they wave them around the sparks moving down the stick.

“What are these things they are waving about, is it even safe for them to have” you hear Lae'zel say next to you.

“they're sparklers, here give me a minute, I'll be right back,” you say, as you weave through people looking for someone willing to give you sparkles so you can show Lae'zel how much fun they can be as you come across some on giving them our a smile forming on your face as you go up to them and ask for 2 as they give them to you, saying thank you before taking back off to find lae'zel, that she's not too far away.

“Here. Take it Lae'zel ” you say handing her one as soon as you get back to her, as she takes it out of your hand.

“And how do you light them up” she ask.

“With fire her hold it out” you say as you summon a little bit of your fire to start hers off her eyes widen a little watching as the sparks fly off, you lighting your own one

Wyll

“A dance, for a night like this?” Wyll asks you as you sit next to the bonfire for warmth, eyes moving towards the outstretched hand he's offering you.

“With pressure,” you say taking his hand a smile forming on your face, as he pulls you up from your seat and takes you towards the bonfire.

“am not great at dancing, and you know that wyll” You stay to him as the moth of you move slowly with a slow dance around the bonfire.

“Just follow my lead and you'll be more than fine,” he says with a smile as you follow his steps the both of you slowly dance around it as you start to get better you start to go a bit faster

“The fireworks are about to start soon shall we go and take a seat to watch them?” you ask

“we shall, I've been to many events this one by far is the best with you,” he says with a cheeky smile.

(Welp the only type of dancing that I know how to do is Kayleigh dancing, but kinda wish to learn more types of traditional dancing)

Karlach

“Karlach come on let's hurry up,” you say grabbing her hand as you both walk through a forest to get to the bonfire you stop for a moment to grab some good-looking sticks.

“Why are you picking up sticks?” you hear Karlach ask making you smile a little.

“It's a surprise for later on, let's get going,” you say as you both carry on walking together, till you get to the bonfire.

Once you got to the bonfire, you turn your head to look at Karlach as she seems to enjoy the atmosphere of the night as she's distracted you take out a packet of big marshmallows and open it taking a couple out and put them on to the clean sticks that you had found, your eyes Turing back to Karlach as she just looks at you with curiosity.

“here, take it” you say handing her one of the sticks with the marshmallow on it.

“And what are we going to do with this exactly?” she questions as you pull her a little closer to the bonfire you hold out the stick towards it holding it over the fire to roast it rotating it ever so slowly.

“We're roasting marshmallows, one of my favourite things to do,” you say as she starts to copy what you're doing as the marshmallows start to turn a little brown

“And we're almost done,” you say as you remove yours from the flame. Moving it closer to your face as you feel how warm it is so you can touch it. You take it off the stick and eat it, Karlach doing the same as her face lights up.

“This is so good! We should do this all the time” she says loudly giving off a little laugh of joy.

Miathara

The both of you stayed at home, not wanting to go out in the cold weather and snuggle up on the couch and watch horror programs till midnight.

Halsin

You and Halsin are both sitting next to the bonfire as you both sit together your head resting on his shoulder his head resting on yours as you watch the warm fire dance.

“a lovely night for an event like this my heart,” Halsin says staying where he is.

“Mm, it is quite nice” you reply watching everyone chat amongst themselves and laughs fill the air.

“Are you looking forward to the fireworks, my heart?” he asks looking over towards you.

“yes very much, I used to watch them every year with my family,” you say as you stay leaning on him, smiling a bit. As you both sit there waiting for them to be set off you hear a sound turn into a bang as the sky lights up with greens, reds and oranges, watching the pretty colours, turning to look at Halsin watching them as you lean up towards him giving him a little peck on the cheek as he smiles softly at you.

[ancuninfiles]

Lithium [REVISED, REVISING & ONGOING]

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

12.3k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: On an aimless journey, Ronnie (Durge) would do anything to fix her violent paroxysms after having woken up in the hospital in London, UK with a bandage around her head and nobody willing to answer her questions. Five years had passed, and she'd gained one friend: Jenevelle or DJ Shadowheart on Friday nights.

However, on this particular Friday night, Ronnie spotted a handsome man with piercing eyes, wearing a suit, and sticking out like a sore thumb because of it amongst the sweaty crowd of party-goers.

—𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮?

After meeting Astarion's boss in a rather unfortunate way, Ronnie is forced to contemplate the morality of murder.

Astarion's words echoed in her memory. “𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.”

Does Astarion truly only want Ronnie for her ability to maim and kill, or is there something else he sees in her—something... 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 he feels when he's with her?

Sex. Drugs. Violence. Yet, amongst it all... .·:*¨𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦¨*:·. ꒦꒷♡꒷꒦ 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 💔 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Tags: smut, spanking, probably bad BDSM etiquette, vaginal fingering, drugs, alternate universe-modern setting, mildly dubious consent, manipulation, praise kink, soft dom Astarion, self-harm, suicidal ideation

MASTERLIST (Other works)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (recommended)

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Beginning notes PLEASE READ: I've revised this chapter a lot, and for some reason, Google Docs glitched out and made the spacing all weird and added spaces before some of the punctuation, among other issues. There are similar issues with Chapter 4 unfortunately, and I don't have the energy to go through it all to fix it at this point in my life. Also, a lot of the time I won't notice mistakes until after I post. And since the Tumblr app doesn't allow me to select all in the same way that AO3 does on mobile, the Tumblr versions of my works will often go weeks without being fixed. Whereas they are often all fixed within a couple days on AO3.

Additionally, the spacing on Tumblr when I copy and paste from Google Docs is especially horrid. It doesn't even transfer properly.

With all that being said, please... just read on AO3. I have a hyperlink in pink up there. <3

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

꧁꧂

The scariest part about going crazy is that it feels the same as sanity—indistinguishable from one's most lucid moments.

Insanity disguises itself as a higher state of intelligibility like you're seeing things for what they truly were all along.

Everything has always been there, hiding around the corner. Waiting.

Until one day, it shows its ugly, powdered face, and you say “That's my cherished friend”.

Because that's what it looks like.

Like a nudge in the right direction.

꧁꧂

 “And how long have you been having these—outbursts ?”

The woman sat with her back to the patient bench, facing a clunky-looking outdated computer. Off-putting artificial fluorescent lamps lit the room with a blue-white and buzzing aura.

“For as long as I can remember?” Ronnie stated her answer like a question. She was annoyed, recalling the litany of times she had given this same answer to this same question.

The doctor turned her head just enough to see Ronnie in her periphery. “Which is?”

—Since the ‘accident’.

“Five years.”

The doctor turned to her monitor. “Right...” she said, typing away at her off-white keyboard. “Do you know what a panic attack is?”

 “No—not really...”

The doctor spun in her chair to face Ronnie. “It sounds like you’re experiencing high levels of anxiety. A lot of women deal with these kinds of things before menstruation.” She sat with her legs crossed and her fingers laced properly on her lap.

—Could this really just be caused by my fucking period?

Ronnie tensed, putting all her weight into her palms that pushed on the ripped pleather bed, causing the “sanitary” sheet to crumple beneath her. “What can I do to fix it?” she asked.

The doctor turned back to her computer, resuming her typing. “I'll write you a couple of prescriptions. One is for daily use. It's a mood stabiliser—it goes without saying what that will do. The other is for you to take when you feel a panic attack coming on—if things become… unbearable again.”

—I'll try anything.

“Thanks.” She watched as her doctor printed two pages from her oversized printer, signed both at the bottom, and handed the stacked sheets to her. Ronnie took the sheets, pondering the words on the paper, but they meant nothing to her. She wasn't sure if she'd ever seen so many X's and Z's in one place before—at least, not that she could remember.

—As long as they help, that's all I care about.

꧁꧂

Friday night: the busiest night of the week for a pub downtown—bad for the feet, but good for the tips; which Ronnie needed all she could get.

She entered the pseudo-rustic facility, walking briskly past the young people—people her age who sat at tables lit by purple neon lights reading “The Forage ”—some, regulars, some, not. Her inky black bob bounced with every hasty step she took towards the back.

She whizzed through the kitchen with her core tensed and her leather bag at her side, containing all she needed for work, plus her clothes for the weekly afterparty at Jen’s house.

It was five-fifty, and she was combing her hair and retouching her concealer, blending it out before setting it with a cheap, prickly stipple brush and pressed powder.

She scooped her breasts, positioning them just right in her black, long-sleeved scoop-neck top. Her shirt was cheap and thin; you could see her black lace bra through it at certain angles and lights. Shabby as it was, she enjoyed the sense of stability it brought, hugging tightly from her wrists to her hips—keeping everything in.

Rushing, she slipped on her tight, black zip-up skirt that ended mid-thigh over top of some cheap translucent nylon tights. Now, her body was almost entirely covered in snug fabric. It felt right—like she could be in front of strangers and they'd truly take her for a normal woman.

Ronnie called it “pretending to be a person”. She saw herself as less than a person—less than a dog, or cattle, even—only driven to go on by a primal impulse to stay alive.

She held her breath, shoulders back, sucked in her tongue, feet together, tensed her core, and peered at her reflection. Her demeanour reminded her of an overflowed water balloon, impending violent eruption. But she knew others would only see the stoic and well-mannered young woman serving their drinks.

She checked her phone and saw “ 5:58 pm ” before Jenevelle barged into the changing room. Ronnie watched her in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ears and buttoned on a velvet choker, about an inch thick.

“ Fucks sake—I was almost late. Vic said if I'm late one more time, I get the boot,” Jenevelle vented as she hooked her bag on one of the designated employee hangers. She quickly pulled out her deodorant, applied it, then tucked it away and took the hair tie off her wrist. Holding the tie between her teeth, she gathered her dark brown hair into a high ponytail, tying it all together in one big wavy updo.

“Well then, don’t be late, Jen. I need you,” Ronnie exclaimed. “I’m heading to the floor, see you out there.” She flashed Jen a sheepish smile in the mirror before heading out.

“See you,” Jenevelle replied, wiping her messy undereye makeup away with her fingers, stretching her skin carelessly.

On her way to the bar, Ronnie grabbed a shot glass of cheap vodka that had been made for her and left on the edge of the kitchen counter.

She downed the shot as she walked, wincing and wiping her lips before placing the glass on another, much further countertop, closer to her destination.

“Thanks, Dammon,” she said, waving a hand in the air, hoping he heard her.

“Always,” Dammon, a cook, responded.

She opened the two kitchen doors, which flung closed behind her as she processed her surroundings—holding her breath.

An analogue clock above the entrance read six o'clock on the dot. The bar was already full, and the other staff shot past her, clocking out just as she arrived. 

Ronnie felt a sharp smack on her bum, making her squeak as Jen flew by.

“ Ha—what’re you waiting for? Let's go!” Jen said, whipping her long dark updo over her shoulders as she aligned several cups in a row and began making drinks for the regulars.

Ronnie bit her inner cheek and subtly smirked as she stepped up to the customers on the other side of the bar, beginning to take orders.

As if it were all just a game of pretend.

꧁꧂

As always, the night dragged interminably—Ronnie's stomach was a tangled knot from another gruelling shift filled with forced smiles and flattery. She was already tipsy, but she couldn't wait to be properly drunk at Jen's place—where she wasn't expected to talk to others. While she enjoyed socialising, her unpredictable outbursts made it perilous and useless.

Clocking out, she began getting ready with Jen in the changing room. Reading her phone, it said " 1:07 am " unaccompanied by any notifications.

“Tonight's going to be fucked up,” said Jen as she reapplied her eyeliner and blended it out with her finger. “And I mean that in a good way.”

“I know,” Ronnie responded with little social energy to spare. She switched into a different long-sleeved black top, this time with a straight neckline and shoulderless sleeves, exposing her décolleté—one of the few parts of her body free of lacerations. “Are you DJing again tonight?” she asked, trying to make conversation—hoping Jen wouldn't see through her facade of effortlessness.

“Fuck yeah, I am. DJ Shadowheart is going to rock your world,” Jen replied, fastening her hair into a perfect braid.

Ronnie changed into a long, black velvet skirt with slits on either side, exposing her nylon-covered legs. She stepped into her onyx lace-up combat boots, tying the laces taut all the way up her ankles. Finally, she ran her fingers under her choker, aligning it properly on her throat—a finishing touch to her “costume”.

Because that's what it was, in a sense—a costume. It wasn't like she was really a cute, London bartender with slightly pallid under-eyes with contrastingly healthy, plump, pink lips. What she really was would scare most away. Rightfully so.

Sighing, she stared at her reflection in the crappy changing room lighting. She could see a myriad of scars at different stages of healing, peeking through her tights. As usual, she hoped Jen's dark, foggy, RGB-filled abode would suffice for further camouflage.

She was tired of wearing black, but it was easier to hide bloodstains in black clothes. If the meds worked, she would buy herself a yellow summer dress in celebration. Though, of course, it would have to have long sleeves. 

Damn. Long. Sleeves… forever.

Without thinking, she sighed through her nose.

She didn't realise she'd been biting her lip hard enough to break skin until the metallic flavour leaked onto her tongue. She drank in the taste, uncaring of the small wound caused by her teeth.

Sometimes she felt like she deserved all the pain of her wounds. Although they didn't feel self-inflicted, it had been her hand holding the weapon when she'd blacked out and slashed away. 

It was her own fault.

Recalling that the pharmacist had suggested taking her first dose at night, she rifled through her bag to acquire her medication. Reading the bottle, it said “LITHIUM CARBONATE—PRIADEL 600MG,” words that wouldn't mean anything if her disorder persisted.

“Yoh—what are those? Can I have one?” Jen asked, reaching eagerly.

“What? No. These are to help fix my paroxysms.” Ronnie sheltered her bottle, holding it protectively to her chest. “Get your own pharmaceuticals to abuse.” Ronnie wasn't even sure if these pills would be any fun. She hoped.

“Agh—your paroxysms,” she mocked, “Fine. I'm sure someone will bring Ket or something tonight, anyways.” She sat up and swiped down the wrinkles on her outfit. “Ready?”

Ronnie dumped her medication on her hand, tempering until there was only one in her palm. She eyed the pink and white capsule sceptically before popping it in her mouth and drinking from her metal water bottle, washing it down.

She felt the hard plastic-like bead travel down her oesophagus and hoped it would signify the end of her blackouts.

“Now I am.”

꧁꧂

Jen fussed with the lock to her rundown home with garbage bags and recycling bins filled with empties adorning the patio. “ Hells—Sorry, Ronnie. Vic said she would fix this thing months ago.”

The house was two stories and detached, residing in one of the sketchier bits of the city's outskirts. Jenevelle shared it with a handful of flatmates; Nocturne or “Nox” being the only notable one, as she and Jen had a history—they’d been friends since grade school. The music could already be heard from outside, vibrating the door Jen desperately tried to open.

“ Agh—work, dammit!” she whined, stomping her foot before the door clicked and opened a crack.

Peering through the doorway was the famed Nocturne, wearing a genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Good morning, fellow hooligans. Welcome to the House of Grief,” she spoke before laughing theatrically.

Jen pulled her key out of the infamous lock with one good yank, her frown quickly fading. “How do you do?” She asked with a faux-posh accent, entering and dropping her keys on the small table next to the door. “Holding down the fort, I presume?”

“I've got a playlist going, but everyone's been waiting for you,” Nox replied.

“Of course they have,” she said, dramatically throwing her head back in mock horror. “My poor patrons, they simply cannot get enough.”

Ronnie hung her long leather jacket and satchel on the coat stand before following Jen toward the basement.

They ventured through a sea of semi-strangers that stood on the steps and beyond, drinking joyously, nodding off, or tripping on other illicit substances. The music was numbingly loud, with deep wubs filling the humid air. There were intricate, makeshift lights strobing in every direction and colour, creating an overall disorienting atmosphere.

Ronnie enjoyed feeling disoriented. She could pretend to not exist—as if her body had rotted in the soil and she was merely a spirit floating in a current.

Plainly, she wanted to die, and being disoriented felt like dying—or at least that's what she thought it might feel like.

Just to die for a little bit…

She liked to imagine the worms eating her decaying flesh—how it would tickle her lifeless, grey corpse as they'd burrow holes into her skin. They would consume her until she was nothing. 

What a pleasant thought…

Ronnie held her breath as she walked down the stairs with a straightened back, sucking in her tongue with her chin down as she critically scanned the room.

A man standing cavalierly in the corner, whom she'd never seen before, caught her eye. He stuck out like a sore thumb with his swanky attire and proper demeanour.

He wore a fitted white suit with a red button-up shirt beneath his overcoat. His hair was curly and perfectly groomed, with a moon-like hue. His eyes were piercing and his jaw, sharp—he was intriguingly attractive. He leaned against the wall, scanning the room just as Ronnie had before his eyes met hers.

He didn't seem any more interested in her than he was in the rest of the room, but the extended eye contact felt… awkward. Ronnie wanted to look away but was still trying to figure out what his deal was. 

—Is he a narc? Who even brought him?

“I'm out, Ronnie. The people need me,” Jen yelled, cupping her hand over Ronnie’s ear. She waltzed toward the table covered in wires, mixers, and a laptop.

Ronnie had looked away to focus on what Jen was saying. When her gaze flicked back up, the man was gone.

—Odd...

Two young men ran past her, down the stairs she stood at the base of, bumping into her carelessly and chanting phrases like, “Brah, we're gonna miss her,” and “You got offerings?” making Ronnie giggle to herself.

Ronnie swam through the crowd gathering around DJ Shadowheart as they plopped miscellaneous drugs into a jar labelled “ Tips ”.

Jen wore headphones, covering a single ear while she stood, bumping and working away on her laptop. She always transitioned Nox's playlist into her own mix seamlessly, and Ronnie was curious what she'd play first; though, she was almost positive that it'd be some dark shit—this, she knew.

The lights flashed in tandem with the music as Jen fussed with the knobs of her mixer. She pulled a microphone to her lips, with the cord wrapped around her wrist. “Welcome to the House of fucking Grief. Tips, always appreciated. Jar's on the table. Go digging and Ronnie will cut you, although half of you would probably love that,” she joked.

Ronnie covered her face in shame. She was grateful that Jen was the one who knew the sordid details of her unnamed disorder, but it bugged her slightly when Jen made light of it. 

She hated being this way. It was why she'd been trying so hard to fix it. But she knew Jen's jab was playful—she didn't intend any harm.

At last, Jen's mix was on, beginning with a repetitive house beat featuring a kick drum and a woman's voice.

“Noise flies high.”

The beat continued, and it was a surprisingly peppier beat than usual, but Ronnie knew she was just easing everyone into her domain.

“No one there to see it.”

The beat switched to something darker, and everyone cheered, jostling Ronnie as she stood at the front, shoulder to shoulder with the other partygoers.

She grinned, closing her eyes and leaning into the numb feeling that was predictably creeping up on her.

“Noise flies high.”

She was entranced, deeply inhaling as she closed her eyes and allowed the sounds to penetrate her very being.

“No one there to see it.”

Her head was clear. She felt… transient.

She allowed her body to move freely to the music—letting the rhythm breathe in and out of her. She only wished she were higher, or more drunk. She wanted to dissolve entirely.

She knew she was allowed to pick from the tip jar, at least, but as she reached for it she was overcome with an odd and intense thirst.

Her lips and mouth were dry—her abdomen hurt. She retracted her hand from the jar and instead, made her way to the food and drink table. She filled a red solo cup with water from a jug containing chopped lemons, limes, and ice cubes.

Leaning against the table, she shut her eyes and chugged the entire thing in one go—wiping her lips with the hand that held the empty cup. When she opened her eyes, she saw two dress shoes on the ground in front of her—someone was standing in front of her. 

It was the well-dressed man, holding out a hand to shake with a too-perfect smile plastered on his face.

She eyed him quizzically. He looked like a combination between a real estate agent and a male model. His hair was perfectly groomed and his hands were large with clean nails. 

She hesitantly reached for his expectant hand, and he gripped hers firmly, shaking it as if it were a job interview.

And he pulled her towards him and—over the music—spoke loudly into her ear. “You know Shadowheart?”

The sudden closeness should've been uncomfortable, she should've let go—pulled away immediately and ignored him for the rest of the night. But something in her caused her to grip him tighter, as if it were a competition. 

He smelled amazing—fresh, in stark contrast to all the other blokes at Jen's place. He didn't even smell like spliff or booze—which defaulted as neutral and inoffensive smells to Ronnie, anyways.

“Why? Are you trying to sell me something?” she questioned, only partially joking. It was more likely that he wanted in her pants. Most of the men who frequented Jen’s parties had tried already, to no avail. She would've been open to their advances if it wasn't for her disorder. She learned her lesson with Alfira, and she would not make the same mistake again.

Pulling back, he smiled, seemingly entertained. “Perhaps a dance,” he said in her ear again.

—What? A dance? What is this, a fucking ball?

She was sure now that he wanted in her pants. Normally she would've rejected him already, but tonight felt different. 

—The meds, she rationalised. 

She wanted to believe that.

“Why not,” Ronnie agreed, shrugging. 

Her hounding in the “tip jar” would have to wait.

She placed her empty cup on the table and he guided her through the crowd by her hand. His skin was cold, causing Ronnie to assume he was on stimulants, which would explain why he seemed notably less fucked up than the rest of the room.

She gulped as he boldly brought her body taut to his, grabbing her waist as she gazed up at him. His face was mere inches from hers, and she was stubborn, not looking away as his eyes burned into hers. He led their dance, swaying her hips side to side with a firm grasp.

He moved with her, as if he were a piper and she was a cobra—utterly hypnotised by his domineering aura.

She disconnected from him, only to spin and place her bottom against him. She swore she could feel him growl before she threw her head back to his chest, regaining eye contact, peering up at him playfully. 

Even for a bloke who wanted to get laid, he was being awfully intrepid.

The song slowly changed into something much more industrial. Ronnie was actually having fun, although she knew she wouldn't be getting anything off the dance floor—it was too risky. Not with what happened with Alfira—Ronnie had been strictly celibate since then.

She was distracted—enjoying herself. Something not numb. It felt wrong. His touch felt so right, it was sickening. 

Sickening... criminal, even.

The song slowed, and he spun her around to face him once again, but Ronnie felt pressure in her bladder.

—Fuck.

She needed to go to the loo.

But it was the perfect out. She didn't even have to lie.

“I'll be right back,” she said, panicked.

His cool expression melted away as his brows canted up. “I'll come with you,” he suggested, not letting go of her hand as she turned away.

He looked so... sincere.

The pain in her lower abdomen was becoming difficult to ignore, so she nodded, leading him up the stairs. 

Although she was rushing, she didn't want to use the communal toilet. Gods—it was an awful, wretched place… she'd rather piss in Jen's bath than spend a second in that piss-riddled loo.

So she dragged him up another flight of stairs to Jen's en suite lavatory.

She just needed to piss so bad.

She grasped his arms and propped him up against the wall outside of the lavatory door. “Stay here,” she said, closing the door between them.

She hurried to the toilet, haphazardly pulling down her black lace panties along with her tights and skirt, exposing the chunky mismatched scars that covered her legs.

She fretted as she peed, staring at her lacerations. Some were a centimetre thick and nearly seventeen centimetres long—she'd measured them before. It was a shame that she couldn't go to get stitched up anymore at the hospital, lest she want another unpaid, sticky-sock vacation that she simply couldn't afford to take.

She finished her business, wiping, flushing, and pulling up her bottoms. She washed her hands and dried them on Jen's plush towel. There were toiletries all over the sink counter, dusty and unorganised, but anything beat that awful communal loo.

Stepping out of the lavatory, she saw the stranger leaning coolly against the wall, just where she had placed him. His gaze shot up to her, and he grinned roguishly.

“Miss me, darling?” he asked.

Ronnie didn't respond; she only giggled at his remark, but he squared up to her, tilting her head up with a knuckle.

That stopped her laughter.

“It seems as though I have you all to myself,” he purred, his gaze fixed on hers.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Ronnie's heart began beating like a rabbit's—she'd been so focused on relieving herself that she hadn't taken in the fact that she brought this very handsome man to Jen's very private bedroom. 

And now they were very isolated—too isolated. He wasn't safe with her like this. 

She had to leave—she had to…

Her eyes flicked to the unmade bed in the centre of the room.

He spun her and pinned her against the wall—where she'd placed him earlier. When he groped at her waist, their noses grazed against one another. Closing her eyes, she could feel his minty breath on her lips. This was dangerous—stupidly dangerous.

Warmth pooled in her abdomen as his lips brushed against hers, searching for their shape. 

His hips stacked with hers, his body pressed against her like jam on toast. And then she was feeling the smoothness of his lips on her—how they melded together and became something else altogether.

Lips, not for talking, not for screaming, but for pleasure—a shared pleasure. An experiment.

Just a taste.

He was surprisingly gentle—he took his time, and she revelled in the feeling, letting it wash over her like waterfall mist.

He caressed her cheek with his thumb as he broke their kiss. “More?” he whispered.

And she felt like she needed it like air.

At the same time,  everything within her was screaming—every alarm was signalling for her to stop. He was too kind, too beautiful, too… willing. 

The image in her mind—his blood on her hands, his corpse lying lifeless beneath her—it could all become too real if she went forward with this.

She made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “I can't,” she reluctantly responded; although she wanted nothing more than to stay in the sanctuary of his arms.

“Hmm—you have a partner already?” he prodded.

The way his eyes sparkled.

“No,” she paused, “Trust me, I want to. It’s just—” I'm afraid I'll try to kill you, she didn't say.

He backed off, giving her space and waiting for her response. His eyes were doe-like and his perfect lips formed a barely perceptible pout.

His expression was ruinous. It was already difficult enough that he was strikingly attractive, and handsy but gentlemanly in the same irresistible package. But... the way he wanted her—his disappointment was palpable.

—These meds are supposed to help—supposed to fix me.

She couldn't have it but she wanted it she wanted it she wanted it she wanted it.

She couldn’t have it but she—agh! “You know what? Fuck it,” was the last thing she said before their lips smashed together in a ravenous and desperate joining. It seemed to surprise him at first—his head craning back for a moment—but he quickly settled into the kiss, and it promptly grew reciprocal, hot and fervent. 

Biting her bottom lip, he groaned as he hoisted her around his waist like a belt. He leaned into her kiss, fighting for and easily gaining dominance because Ronnie was becoming more and more pliant with every touch and movement. 

She found herself surrendering to this man so easily, as if he were an antidote to her tension.

He was so strong—he did most of the work, holding her by and squeezing her bum cheeks as he walked her across the room, towards the entrance. 

His kiss ventured to her cheek, and then down to her neck where he buried his face and pulled her skin into his lips, causing Ronnie to shiver.

Once at the door, he closed it with his foot, the knob clicking shut. They ventured towards that bed in the middle of the room, his lips disconnected from her throat with a pop before he threw her onto the messy bed.

She bounced as she descended, instinctively drawing her knees closer to her shoulders—her arms stretched and draped above her head. 

With the middle of her double-slitted skirt cascading between her legs, he quickly unlaced one of her boots. But—

—Shit… Ronnie's heart skipped a beat

—But the lighting. 

Her scars would be so visible with the bedside lamp on.

“Can we—uh—turn the light off?” she asked breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows and attempting a smile for the sake of politeness.

The bloke almost made her forget she had scars in the first place.

After pulling her first boot off and placing it on the floor, he paused, staring blankly at Ronnie who was probably making the dumbest face ever.

—Is it really that odd of a request? she questioned, her jaw clenching in regret.

But he said, “Of course,” and nodded curtly, snuffing the flames of her tension.

She did not want to fuck this up.

He unlaced her other shoe with ease, neatly plopping it next to the other one.

He pulled his own shoes off and crawled up the bed to reach the lamp, clicking it off. Now, the only light in the room was the moonlight spilling through the window beside the bed. It wasn't completely dark, but dark enough to conceal some of her slashes.

It would have to do.

He climbed atop her, the mattress creaking as it sunk in on either side of her lying body. Her eyes were still adjusting to the light when she watched him mount her—his knee, parting her legs. 

He didn't waste time hovering over her—he immediately dipped down, kissing a trail from her lips to her collared neck. He breathed and sucked and licked around her choker, pulling it to the side to cover more surface area as he laced his fingers through her hair.

Ronnie shivered, her breath hitching as the hair on the back of her neck stood. His body loomed over her, and his touch lingered on her skin like an echo.

His hold on her was frantic and possessive, but delicate. His grip on her ribcage reminded her of how one might hold a kitten to stop it from squirming out of its bath. Although, she didn't squirm, and her chest heaved breathlessly. 

His fingers pressed into her side and his thumb rubbed the front of her torso so... tenderly. He switched to the other side of her neck, nudging her head over with a grab at her scalp. This time, he kissed throughout the space between her choker—pulled aside—and her shoulder.

The way he kissed—devoured her—made it easy to imagine she was normal. She didn't need more alcohol, she was feeling drunk enough on him.

Her tension was melting away, bit by bit, as her body relaxed and limpened—all from the way he was working her.

The hand that was holding her ribcage snaked lower, under her waistband. He let up his kissing, nudging her head to face him. His eyes searched for hers, and he released her hair. 

His preening eyes felt too... personal—affectionate. 

The only sound in the room was her heavy breaths and the vibration of the music in the basement that leaked through the vents. 

His hand ventured down her skirt, with his palm just below her belly button. He watched her as his hand moved lower, lower, until he was able to slip a finger through her folds and onto her clit.

Ronnie gasped and squirmed—she was incredibly sensitive. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good. It was like his fingerprint sent a shock through her body—it'd been too long since she'd been touched, she assumed.

She bit her lip, as the shock quickly faded into something wild and captivating as she caught her breath.

And he watched her—watched her as he slid his finger in.

And she watched him as he did it. She didn't know what his eyes were searching for in hers, but his pupils were wide—blown out like black holes as they flicked from her left to right eye, back and forth. Her heart raced under his gaze... or maybe it was the way his finger hooked into her, pressing into that one spot.

When her lips parted, his examining eyes fell there.

A small smile, barely there.

He was watching her to gauge her reaction.

She reached for his arm—the one bearing the inserted digit—and squeezed at his bicep as she tried to gain control of her breathing.

It was dumb—he had barely moved, yet she was wiggling and gasping for air like a lust-sick virgin. She was almost embarrassed, but the pressure he applied on her clit pulled her from any coherence.

He held still with the one digit inside her, unmoving. It was all too much and not enough at the same time. 

He chuckled darkly, throwing his head back. “Do you want more, darling ?” he rasped.

Isn't that what comes next? Ronnie hardly expected they would just lie there like that. If she were honest with herself, she wasn't opposed either way—content to let him soak his finger inside of her for as long as he pleased—but if he was offering, she was curious. She wanted to know what more of him felt like.

But she felt shy. Her words caught in her throat.

“Hm?” he prodded.

She squeezed his arm again as she said, “Yes... please,” then she bit on her bruised bottom lip. She had to—to suppress her fucking nerves. It was times like these that she cursed people's inability to read minds. 

He clicked his tongue. “ Oh—you are a naughty girl. You can do better than that, I think.”

—Naughty?  

She sighed.

“I think you have too much confidence in me,” she admitted before she could catch herself. He flustered her. Her cheeks were burning red.

He laughed again. “You're not so shy, I don't think.” Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “You want this, don't you?”

She heard something in his voice—like his smile had gone. Almost akin to fear.

But still, it was just... something.

And she wanted this. Wants this—to the point of madness.

“Mhm,” she managed, the tips of her fingers scrubbing softly, reassuringly at his arm. 

“Then I want you to tell me precisely what you need.” 

That felt intimate. 

She felt stupid—she'd forgotten how intimate intimacy was. She was beginning to think her new meds were causing her to hallucinate this entire situation—it felt too good to be true. 

Were they having a simple shag or was he trying to court her? Why was he being so attentive? 

Because random men who want to shag are inattentive and selfish—that's what Jen told her. She thought it might be quick—over by now, even. But he was talking to her—checking in, instigating and teasing. 

He was playing a game.

And two could play at that.

So she squirmed, pushing her pelvis into him, but he hissed and pulled back.

“Bad girl. Use your words or I'll have to punish you,” he breathed, forced to apply more pressure with his palm on her clit to hold her in place.

—Punish me?

“Hm. How’d you punish me?” Good. Make him do the talking.

“However you like it best, my dear,” he purred, “I could always flip you over and spank you until your bum is red and swollen.”

A splendid idea... for some reason. 

She bit her lip, unbiddenly clenching around his torturous finger. 

“Or, I could fill your pretty mouth with my cock, so deeply you won't be able to breathe.” 

—Ever again? Wonderful. Splendid. Magnificent idea.

But was that fair? How far was he willing to take it?

Surely not far enough. But it would be fun to pretend—there was freedom in the idea of dying. 

“You're really going to make me choose?” she asked, intentionally wiggling around.

He bared his teeth, pulling out of her and placing his elbow into the mattress beside her. “ Tuttut—so what'll it be?” he asked.

He was really going to make her choose.

Ronnie felt a stroke of bravery run through her, and she took advantage of it. “Spank me,” she spat, her face blushing despite her shit-eating grin.

Growling, he sat up and flipped her in one quick movement before yanking her onto his lap and blithely pulling down her lower garments to expose her bottom, fully. She could barely process what'd just happened, it'd all gone so fast. 

She was excited, and so was he judging by his hardness that prodded at her stomach.

His back rested on the creaky wooden headboard as he readied himself, sitting in the middle of the large bed.

She was unsure about how the previous eye contact had made her feel, but she wished she could see his face now that she was flipped and on display. She tried to look back, but it was difficult to crane her neck that much, so she gave up, folding her arms to rest her cheek on. Capitualing, she closed her eyes, smelling Jen's lavender laundry detergent on the sheets.

“You're such a naughty thing—how fun,” he crooned before landing a resounding smack on her lower cheeks and rubbing it out, tenderly.

Ronnie flinched when he smacked, but she hadn’t expected the petting. It was... nice—cooling.

*Smack *

She squeezed her eyes shut. That one hurt more than the last, but she felt her clit throb. She wanted this... She was loving this. Why was she loving this?

He repeated the same soft caressing of her bum, easing the residual pain away.

“How many do you think is fair? I'd say ten, at least. Ten should be enough to teach you to listen—like a good girl,” he rasped.

*Smack*

Ronnie bit back a moan, realising she wouldn't be opposed to more than ten hits as he rubbed away the soreness.

“Mhm,” she hummed, glad to say less.

*Smack*

This time, she whimpered, as the spanks were becoming more and more painful.

“Shh—you are doing so well. Only six more,” he cooed, reassuringly while thoughtfully massaging her bottom cheek.

*Smack*

Ronnie attempted to stifle her grunt by biting her lip. Her bottom stung, but, somehow, a wave of calm was washing over her as a result of her circumstance. She felt quite comfortable like this. She didn't want it to end.

However, jovial boyish conversation could be heard emanating from the main floor, and it occurred to Ronnie that they could also be heard…

She had to face these nameless blokes every week, and the last thing she wanted was for them to know that she'd received penance in the master bedroom.

She gritted her teeth and sighed. “Wait!” she said—she hated that she had to.

He halted with his hand, in mid-air.

“They'll hear us,” she whispered loudly, coming to her elbows and shifting to face him slightly. 

He huffed, slumping over with an impish smirk, his hair falling around his face. “Will you come to my place?” he murmured.

“Wha—right now?” She shifted to her elbows.

“Yes,” he paused, “no pressure—of course,” he added, lifting his head.

She'd never left Jen's afterparties with anyone before, always opting to sleep in the spandrel every Friday night, away from any potential victims.

But tonight was different; she had just started taking these new meds and...

—They're supposed to fix me.

...

“Sure,” she said, rolling onto her back—onto his shins before lifting herself off him.

“Excellent. I'll get us a taxi.” He pulled out his phone, the light illuminating his chiselled facial features as he leaned back on the headboard. 

The outline of his erection through his pants was barely visible in the shitty lighting. But gods, he must’ve wanted to get it wet, with the way it strained against the unrelentingly taut fabric of his formal trousers.

She wanted to wrap her lips around it, right then and there, but it'd have to wait.

She pulled up her bottoms and crawled over him to click on the lamp, the cheap mattress squeaking as she went.

“It'll be here in two minutes.” He tucked his phone away in his pocket and then gripped her, hugging her to his body tightly.

Ronnie let out a puff of air with his hands under her arms. It was almost juvenile, the way he grabbed her like a toddler with their teddy. 

They'd only just met.

—We just met...

  —Just. Met.

꧁꧂

Their taxi approached, and it looked to be a new Bentley of some sort. She should've guessed that the suited man would order the more expensive hackney, and she hoped that he wouldn't ask her to split the bill. 

She didn't have the money, that was for sure.

They stood closely, side by side on the pavement as the tyres made wet sounds, kicking up the rainfall. Ronnie had merely slipped her unlaced boots on, and she'd nicked her bag and coat from the overflowing hanger to carry over her arm.

The man stood with his hands in his pockets, not making conversation, which Ronnie was grateful for as she'd been told that she tends to say “off-putting” things that made others uncomfortable, anyway.

The silence was peaceful.

When the taxi rolled up, he glanced at her. She'd been staring at him.

—Shit.

She'd been fucking staring at him.

But he was unphased, opening the back door for her, and she awkwardly shimmied into the far seat after murmuring her thanks.

The car smelt fresh, and the seats were unscathed white leather, unlike the bench at the doctor’s office. She placed her items down and clicked on her seatbelt, retrieving her phone from her satchel.

The elven man sat beside her and shut the door, and they set off, out of the derelicts and towards a location—unknown to herself.

Ronnie tensed with excitement as she braced herself for her impromptu adventure.

꧁꧂

The taxi had that “new car” scent to it. Every window was tinted and the driver didn't say anything. Nobody really said anything. 

The AC was cranked perhaps a bit too high, causing goosebumps to form on Ronnie. The tinted windows had bits of rain droplets on them that were blowing back with the vehicle’s speed.

The car was so clean, it felt wrong to wear her boots in it—even on the floor-mats. There were fresh tissues and water bottles in the compartments attached to the backs of the front seats. 

The stereo was on, but only a notch or two.

And her phone read “3:16 am ”, and again, it bore no notifications. 

As always…

She unlocked her phone with her thumbprint and opened her messenger app, where the visible messages were primarily two-factor authentication texts. At the top of the screen was Jen's contact: 🖤Jenevelle🖤.

Opening Jen's messages, she wrote, “New meds, new me. I'm getting laid tonight;)”

She locked her phone screen and gazed out the window as they entered the motorway.

“Shadowheart's your friend?” the man prodded.

Ronnie looked to her lap, where her black phone screen lay. “Yeah—my only one, at that.”

He pursed his lips to the side. “Hm—you’re an introvert, then?”

“I guess you could say that. Jen says it’s because I'm a Capricorn or something like that.” She snickered, girlishly.

Her phone vibrated as the screen lit up. Jen had texted her, saying: “Wat? Girl im too fucked up for this... Call meeee”

Ronnie felt a pang of nervousness at Jen's response, as she hadn't expected it to be negative. She unlocked her phone and promptly called Jen.

The phone only rang once before she picked up.

“Hello?” said Jen.

“Hey, what's up?” Ronnie tried to sound extra calm so as to not further stress Jen out.

“Who did you leave with?”

“Um—the guy wearing the white suit.”

“What ? What's his name?” she interrogated.

Ronnie pulled her phone from her ear and looked at the man beside her. “What's your name?”

“You don't know his name?!” she yelled, causing Ronnie to flinch and prompting her to click her volume down several notches.

He smiled, seemingly entertained by the interaction. “Astarion,” he answered, bowing his head ever so slightly.

“I know it now.” Ronnie tried to diffuse the situation.

“Out with it, then.”

Ronnie took in deep breath through her nose, straightening her back as the air filled her lungs. “His name's Astarion.”

“I haven't a bloody clue who that is, Ron,” she paused, “Here—send me your location and please stay safe!” she pleaded.

“Fine. You know, I'm not the one you have to worry about, though,” Ronnie murmured, hoping Astarion wouldn't catch her meaning.

“You're not invincible.”

Ronnie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a stirring of guilt within herself. Jen was the only person who cared if she lived or died; not even Ronnie cared all that much. She was a stain on society, anyway.

“Love you,” Ronnie said.

“Love you too. Location, please. And have a good night,” Jen responded, her intonation softening.

“Yes. You too. Bye.” Ronnie hung up and sorted through her apps to share her location with Jen before locking her screen.

She threw her head back and looked out the car window once more, watching other cars drive by on the freeway, only sparsely in the late hours of the night.

She could feel his eyes on her. She liked it.

꧁꧂

The silence of the ride made Ronnie sleepy. She was relaxed until Astarion had placed his large hand on her inner thigh. That made her heart race, but she tried to play it cool.

They pulled up a long driveway to a rather large gated estate. The arched driveway was cobblestone, and it housed multiple expensive cars of different makes and models. Within the driveway arch was a fountain, lit from beneath the water.

The house itself was more of a castle than a mansion. It was likely a home that had been kept in his family for a long time, or perhaps he just happened to be a millionaire who liked going to parties in the slums.

Unlikely.

It was obvious that he had money, though she wondered why he would choose to spend his Friday night in a shabby house when he lived among such opulence.

He released her thigh only when the car stopped. Thanking the driver, he got out and Ronnie gathered her things as he walked around to her side.

He opened her door and led her by the hand to the entrance of his abode. It was weird, how he scanned his thumbprint for entry. She'd never seen that tech used on a house lock before. 

Upon their entry, she caught a whiff of the scent of a blown-out candle. It was eerily silent.

The floor was marble—real marble, not the laminate fake shit they had at The Forage. The place looked fairly modern, which contrasted with its vintage exterior.

The warm lights were dim, and Ronnie couldn't help but scan the swanky space, taking everything in as they removed their shoes. It looked nearly vacant, with everything useful surely tucked away into designated areas.

Astarion took her boots and placed them in a closet before hooking her arm and walking with her. Ronnie started to think that she might stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this, but she was grateful that nobody else seemed to live there.

—Maybe this is how he felt in Jen’s flat...

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice reverberating slightly in the big, empty home.

Ronnie looked at him to see a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Uh—no. Thank you.”

He was hot, so it didn't really matter if he was secretly an asshole. It wasn't like they would be seeing each other again, anyways. 

“Perfect,” he said, keeping them on track, down a corridor near the entrance.

He led her to a large, dark room with white furniture and a neat duvet-covered king-sized canopy bed in the middle. Due to the lack of illumination, Ronnie couldn’t see everything yet, but she noticed that the room had no windows—surprising, considering the overall open concept of the home thus far.

Astarion spun her to face him, making Ronnie’s breath hitch as he planted his lips on her like he'd done before; except this time, he wasn't so gentle. Gripping her scalp, he tilted her head into the kiss and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. His tongue entered her and his free hand grabbed blithely at her bum.

Despite—or because of—the violence, she immediately became malleable, her hands finding purchase wherever they could on his body.

He popped off the kiss when he felt like it. “Now—where were we?” he purred, his fingers through her hair as he guided her eyes to his—a smile like the devil's tugging at his lips.

“You were punishing me.” She didn't mean for that to come out so breathy, and… desperate. 

“Good girl—you listen awfully well,” he cooed, peering down at Ronnie as he nudged the door closed behind them.

Now, the room was pitch black.

It'd suck if he was secretly an asshole, because she could get used to this.

With the lights off like this, he couldn't see her scars. But then, as a consequence, she also couldn't see him properly, which felt like a significant injustice.

Ronnie squeaked when he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, and her eyes were still adjusting to the dark. Deeply from his chest came a laugh as he stalked to the bed, his arm around the backs of her thighs.

She bounced when he dropped her on the ample bed, and the fresh smell of linens puffed out from under her like a cloud.

He flipped her onto her stomach, and the smell only intensified. Cold hands under her waistband made her gasp, and he pulled everything down—over the mound of her bum, past her knees, and off her feet—leaving the cool trail of his fingertips behind.

It felt relieving to be stripped—comfortable.

Again, he flipped her, and then tore her shirt in half before she could think—the sound of tearing fabric like an alarm bell in her mind.

“Hey! That was expensive,” she protested, pouting.

“Hush—I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, his words like balm.

He positioned himself in front of her, coaxing her knees apart as her feet hung off the bed. She hiked up her knees as he loomed over her like a dark angel, silhouetted only by the dimmest atmospheric light.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she observed as he placed his hands on her knees, swaying them gently, toying with them. A lithe finger slid the edge of her shirt down her arms before sneaking behind her back to unclasp her bra. That same hand eased beneath the centre, parting it from her breasts with deliberate care, allowing her skin to breathe.

His hips were so close to hers, she wished he would just come a little closer, and then she could feel how hard he was directly on her heat. 

But no—he was purposefully maintaining a level of separation, due to her earlier antics.

“Sit up,” he said like an order, the low timbre of his voice rattling her core.

So she obeyed, her feet dangling off the bed as she gazed up at him like he was a god—her face just inches from his chest. When he ripped the back of her shirt in two, her palms sank into the bed, sensing the untouchable air he exuded, like art in a museum—meant to be admired but never handled.

She raised her arms for him to pull her shirt—now two scraps of fabric—off her completely, followed by her bra.

The only article of clothing that remained was her choker.

He urged her backwards with a slow and subjugating hand to her sternum—all the way to the duvet, where her body had already left its print.

When her knees rose once more, he pressed them together and shifted them to the side, wordlessly guiding her to turn around again.

She complied with his unspoken command, rolling back onto her stomach. The bed dipped beside her, followed by a firm tug at her legs and the unmistakable brush of his trousers against the front of her thighs.

She let out a puff of air when he did that, getting comfortable in her spot on his lap.

No sooner had she settled than a firm hand delivered a sharp smack to her bum, making her flinch and let out a rough, startled moan. Her arms tensed, fists gripping the blanket until her knuckles turned white.

After the sting of his wrath, a low, mischievous chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Do you remember how many, darling?”

She did… but she wasn't about to tell him that.

“No. I’ve forgotten. But I’m terribly sorry,” she pouted, playfully wiggling her hips.

“Seems we’ll have to start all over then, won’t we?” His fingers traced slow, soothing circles across her stinging skin, drawing a shiver from her.

“Keep count.”

Another demand.

The comforting touch disappeared, leaving the air heavy with anticipation as his hand hovered, poised to strike once more.

*Smack*

She whined through gritted teeth. “One.”

Only when the count slipped from her lips did his hand smooth over the ache, easing it away. 

He granted her just a breath of respite before striking again. This time, she buried her face in the plush of the blanket, teeth sinking into her lip as she braced herself for the next.

*Smack*

She inhaled sharply, then let the breath out in a slow sigh, her grip on the duvet easing. This time, she didn’t count—counting only hastened the end.

He clicked his tongue. “Lost count already? Pity.”

*Smack*

By now, her skin was surely swollen beneath his relentless touch, both tender and numb. The burn blurred into something strange, like fabric clinging too tight to damp skin.

“I suppose I'll just have to keep going until you beg me to stop,” he rasped.

*Smack*

Ronnie whimpered into the sheets, her breath catching as she braced for the next blow, choosing to lose herself in the pain rather than count each strike. The anticipation crawled up her spine, mingling with the growing heat that settled deep in her abdomen. Every sound—every soft creak of the bed, every ruffle of fabric—seemed to amplify the tension, drawing it out until the air itself felt thick.

He didn't rush; each stroke was measured, designed to keep her on the edge. The room filled with the steady rhythm of his hand meeting her skin, the sensation a blend of searing heat and numbing pleasure that spread across her body like a fever. Time became irrelevant as she surrendered to the moment, her thoughts dissolving into the primal, instinctual need for more.

Her bum throbbed, raw and swollen, yet the pain was intoxicating, intertwining with the dizzying pleasure that clouded her mind.

However, a wave of thirst surged through her, insistent and unignorable—drying her mouth and twisting at her insides. 

She needed a drink. Now.

“Wait!” she cried just before his hand landed on her bottom with vehemence—a whine squeezing out of her throat, unbidden.

“Poor thing’s had enough?” He clicked his tongue again. “You can plead better than that, I think.”

Despite her parched throat, she found a smirk and let out a breathless laugh, playing along with his game. "Please, please, please," she pleaded, her voice honeyed and theatrical. "I swear, I'll be so good."

“Hmm…” he mused, a slight pause as if weighing the words. “You’re quite the brat, aren’t you—but I’ll allow it,” he murmured, fingers brushing over her tender skin, the touch sharp with lingering soreness. “Just this once.”

That made her want to say “fuck it” to the water and stay right where she was.

“Come here,” he beckoned.

She hesitated, her brow furrowed as she pushed up on her elbows, twisting to face him. He was… patting his chest. 

A cuddle? After all that? she wondered, eyes narrowing with scepticism, but a half-smile tugged at her lips.

Still cautious, she shifted onto his lap, the ache in her tender skin drawing a wince as she gingerly settled herself. Uncertain where to place her hands, she let them hover, awkward and unsure, until his arms encircled her, pulling her in close. His chin came to rest atop her head, a solid weight that grounded her.

She felt small in his embrace, but in a way that made her feel precious. Delicate—like a little bird.

But she knew better than to believe that.

She breathed in, his expensive cologne caressing the bottom of her lungs. When she exhaled, she nestled deeper into his hold, melting into the odd comfort.

And he held her tighter.

…

The embrace was strange—unexpected, but not unwelcome. It wrapped her in a warmth she didn't know she craved. A quiet solace.

She didn't want it to end.

Then, a tickle on her cheek. A droplet of water traced a path down her knee, reminiscent of the persistent leak back in her basement flat. Her nose began to clog, and a pressure bloomed behind her eyes.

And then the thirst-pains hit again.

Shit.

“Can I have water, please?” she asked, the words almost reluctant.

“Er—of course. Just wait right here.” His voice was smooth, but the patronising scratch he gave her head felt anything but. He cradled her as if she were something delicate, then gently placed her back on the bed beside him.

And then… the hollowness came—a gaping void that opened wide within her. 

An abyss that swallowed everything warm and left only a cold longing for something she didn't have.

Had it always been there?

He stood with his back to Ronnie, his hand fumbling with the buckle of his belt. As he adjusted his erection, his movements were quick and impersonal, a moment of practicality that held no lingering warmth. Without a glance behind, he exited, letting the amber light from the hallway spill in briefly before sealing it away with the quiet click of the door.

She lay back on the puffy bed, scooting towards the pillows and getting comfortable on her side. Scrunching her knees toward her chest, she began to nod off.

Between the discomforting thirst and the drowsiness, she was beginning to regret tuning out all that the pharmacist said. She hadn't cared to hear about the side effects, so long as the meds worked.

An unidentifiable amount of time passed while she dozed off, until she felt herself become heavy and unable to move. She allowed her eyes to close as she drifted to sleep, with no need to count sheep.

꧁꧂

The darkness had come swiftly, pressing down on her as she drifted into an uneasy slumber. But it didn’t last. The sheets beneath her began to crumple, a disorienting sensation of movement pulling her from the fragile edges of sleep. The weight on her chest was familiar but wrong—too heavy, too urgent.

Astarion? No...

Her body stiffened as she inhaled, panic seizing her chest. Whoever was atop her didn’t carry Astarion’s scent—none of his familiar notes of brandy and herbs, none of that cold sweetness. Instead, the air was tinged with something sharp, unfamiliar, and it sent a spike of terror through her core.

Her heart hammered wildly, breath turning shallow and frantic as she tried to twist free. But a hand clamped down on her throat, crushing her attempts with a cruel force. The back of her head collided with the headboard, stars bursting in her vision, and pain radiated from the impact.

She clawed weakly at the arm restraining her, eyes wide and desperate as she tried to make out the features of the figure looming above. Pale skin. Sleek, black hair, slicked back. His expression was twisted with sadistic glee as he tightened his grip, cutting off her air with practiced precision.

Her vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges, growing larger, darker. The burn in her throat was unbearable, rising bile threatening to choke her as consciousness slipped through her fingers. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Then, nothing.

Everything went silent—the world fading away to an endless void. The pain was gone, the terror evaporated, replaced by an eerie, all-consuming peace. She was weightless, adrift in a space that felt infinite, yet crushingly finite, her sense of self dissolving into the quiet.

There was no fear here, no urgency—just an overwhelming stillness. It swallowed her whole, and she welcomed it, letting the emptiness fold over her like a shroud. She was nothing, and everything, at once. A single breath lost in the vastness.

Who am I?

꧁꧂

The shadows fled, replaced by a searing brightness that pierced her senses. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze that clouded her vision, but the blinding light only sharpened the chaotic scene before her—flecks of crimson splattered across stark white sheets, a grotesque contrast that twisted her gut.

“What did you do?” a venomous voice hissed from behind her, raw and accusing.

Ronnie twisted her head, heart racing as she saw Astarion in the doorway, his fingers clenched around the doorknob with the same force he’d used to grip her before. His expression was unreadable, a mask of icy rage that sent a chill down her spine.

Disoriented, she whipped her head back to the figure beneath her. She was straddling a man dressed in black. His face, bright red and contorted, was framed by slicked-back hair—so disturbingly similar to—

…

Reality crashed over her, jagged and brutal. The man beneath her was a blood-soaked ruin, dark red rivers flowing from the hollowed pits where his eyes should have been. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, suffocating her as the truth clawed at her mind.

Her hands trembled as she brought them into view, drenched in sticky, warm vermillion, the blood clinging to her skin from her fingertips to her elbows. The once pristine white sheets were soaked, a scarlet sea pooling around her knees, the liquid thick and viscous, clinging to her as if trying to drag her under.

She thought she heard someone begin to scream, until a cool hand covered her mouth, and she realised it was her as he silenced her with a gentle but firm pressure. The scent of fresh herbs washed over her, grounding her in the present as the voice above whispered in her ear.

“Shh—it's okay, you're okay,” came the soft, measured tones of Astarion, his voice a balm against her rising panic.

He removed his hand, but before she could protest, he lifted her effortlessly by the shoulders, pulling her away from the grisly scene. Her heels dragged against the bed sheets as he carried her, painting the white sheets like a brush dipped in the most vile ink. 

Her body trembled with shock and confusion—the world, simultaneously blurring and sharpening around her.

He carried her through a dimly lit corridor, the cold air biting at her bare skin. When they reached a lavish bathroom, he set her gently on an ornate red couch, its velvet cushions pressing into her damp skin. She curled into herself, knees drawn to her chest, watching in silence as Astarion moved with frantic purpose, his bloodied white jacket discarded on the floor.

“What’s going on?” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, lost in the echoing emptiness that filled her mind.

Astarion didn’t answer immediately, too focused on adjusting the bath’s temperature. But she could feel his tension, the way his movements were just a touch too quick, too precise. The water ran, the sound mingling with the faint drip of blood still clinging to the skin beside her ear. The room filled with humidity, the warmth doing little to chase away the cold knot of burgeoning numbness tightening in her chest.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm running you a bath,” he said, staring into the porcelain tub and feigning kindness as best he could. He dumped what looked like salts into the bath and swished his fingers through it, mixing it like a cauldron.

Ronnie was exhausted, and detached. Her hands clung to her thighs, clammy against her skin, though she dared not peer at them. She felt cold, faint, and incredibly… parched.

“Can I have water, please?”

Astarion leaned heavily on the edge of the bath, his forearms braced as his head drooped forward, a low, bitter laugh escaping him. “Apologies—seems I’ve forgotten my manners.”

He shot upright, his movements quick, almost jittery, as he grabbed a mouthwash cup from the sink. Filling it with water, he approached her in long, hurried strides, his unease barely concealed beneath a veneer of forced composure.

He knelt down, offering her the cup, but she thought twice before grabbing it, the memory of blood still fresh on her hands. Her fingers twitched, but her hands remained motionless, the pleas for help dying on her tongue. She was painfully thirsty but frozen in place, her mouth parting uselessly. Instead, she watched his face, her brows knitting together in silent desperation.

He sighed, rolling his eyes—his dissent mingling with that strange, almost begrudging tenderness. As he brought the cup to her lips, she let her head tilt back, allowing the cool water flow past her flakey lips. The relief came in satisfying waves, spreading through her and quelling the ache of her thirst pains. She was grateful but embarrassed—no longer able to afford the cost of dignity.

When the cup was emptied, he set it aside, and she pressed her lips together, savouring the last trace of moisture that clung to them. 

Without a word, he scooped her up, cradling her as one might a muddy dog, and carried her to the full clawfoot tub. The water sloshed around her as he lowered her in, his silence heavy with an unspoken burden. With methodical precision, he rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a soft, white sponge, and began to scrub at the grime on her arms.

She gasped softly at the sight of the filthy water swirling around her, thick with the residue of sin. It was too much, the sharp contrast between the ichor and his careful hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the lower half of her face slip beneath the surface like a crocodile, hoping to disappear, even if just for a moment. He worked on her body with an almost clinical detachment, as if she were one of those shiny, expensive cars at the front of the mansion.

The floral scent of the soaps and salts masked most of the stench of pungent, sour iron. He washed her arms, one by one, balancing the haste in his movements with a gentleness that felt… honest. The sponge was abandoned, discarded in favour of his bare hands, which brushed over her face with the same tepid warmth as the water. His thumbs traced beneath her eyes, and through her brows, banishing the last traces of blood there.

When his hand slipped beneath the water, nearing her lips, she instinctively tilted her chin upward, allowing him a clearer view, though her eyes remained closed. His thumb ghosted over her lips, lingering at the corner of her mouth before his fingers threaded into the damp hair behind her ear. For a moment, his palm rested on her cheek, his thumb scrubbing her cheekbone…

In a way that was reminiscent of… a caress?

His thumb paused, pressing softly against her cheekbone as if caught in a thought. The warmth of his hand tethered her to the present, even as her mind floated somewhere distant, far from the reality she was avoiding. There was a hesitation in his touch—both tender and almost… assessing… as though she were something rare or special.

But she wasn’t. Not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that was safe.

The warmth of the water suddenly contrasted with the cold detachment settling in her chest. A part of her wanted to retreat further into the numbness, but the pressure of his thumb, the subtle way it circled against her skin, kept her there, half-lost and half-aware.

He lingered long enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze, and when she finally opened her eyes, his brows were knit, as if inspecting her with a morbid curiosity. It was fleeting, but enough to stir a flicker of confusion before he pulled his hand away, looking at it as he flicked the water off, his expression guarded as he reached for the shampoo.

Her eyelids closed again as she dipped her hair into the water, soaking it and lifting it out once satisfied. She heard the wet sounds of his hands lathering the shampoo, and then she felt them on her head, massaging and working at her hair.

His movements slowed, becoming more intentional, kneading at her scalp with his fingertips. Through the overtones of stress, it almost seemed like he was… enjoying himself? 

It was a good distraction, his tenderness.

He urged her head back with a finger to her chin, rinsing her hair, the water sloshing in and out of her ears.

Taking his time, he nudged her head up, squeezing the excess water out of her hair before brushing what must've been conditioner through it, then rinsing her again.

He didn't have to do that.

With a click, the water began to lower around her, leaving her cold and shivering once again. Slowly, she opened her wet eyelashes, wiggling her tingling toes and the fingers that hugged her legs, feebly wishing the water would come back and hold her again.

Around the tub was a faded ring of crimson—remnants of her mess. A rivulet of the same diluted blood sluiced from her towards the drain. But her hands were clean… 

She was clean.

A hand infiltrated her vision—Astarion’s offered hand. Her eyes traced up it, taking in the faint blue veins beneath his pale skin. Though his sleeves were rolled up, they were still damp and stained slightly with diluted, bloody bathwater. He simply nodded when her eyes landed on his face, where it seemed as though every muscle was subtly tensed.

She grabbed his hand with moisture-wrinkled fingers, and he hoisted her to her feet. Naked and trembling, she stood like a scrappy dog caught in the rain. Yet somehow she felt invulnerable, as if her mind had disconnected from the fear that should have been there.

Still gripping Astarion’s hand for balance, she stepped out of the tub, the plush bathmat absorbing the last of her warmth. He patted her dry, starting with her hair, scrunching it with the towel before moving down to her calves. She risked a glance at the top of his head, noting how his hair seemed immaculate from every angle, despite everything they’d endured that night.

Before he could catch her, she turned her gaze to the painting on the wall. It depicted a woman in slumber, her body draped in quilts, limbs spilling off the bed as if gravity had drawn her into a restless dream. Her expression was nearly serene, but tinged with sorrow—like a nightmare plagued her.

Ronnie wondered what that nightmare might be about.

When he finished, he retrieved a light blue robe from a drawer and slipped it over her shoulders, dressing her as she continued to stare at the painting, waiting for something to end; though that something was elusive—just out of reach.

With a quiet click, he opened the door and gestured her out of the bathroom. The dim lighting of the main room greeted them, casting diffused shadows across the cold floor beneath her pale feet. It was as if all the blood hadn’t just washed off of her, but drained out of her as she followed Astarion’s lead.

“Come, sit,” he whispered, guiding her to a sofa.

She followed him, sinking into the cushions and curling her legs up to her chest, retreating into herself as he moved away, his departure causing that empty feeling to return.

But even as she withdrew, she could still see him flitting about, a white blur over the back of the couch. He moved frantically, like a squirrel gathering nuts in autumn, his urgency mismatched with her dull detachment.

When he crouched, she lost sight of him, but the sound of familiar rattling filled the quiet. He rose, his figure cutting through the haze, holding her metallic water bottle and scrutinizing a pill bottle in his other hand as he walked back towards her.

He sat beside her, shaking five pills into his palm before offering her the bottle of water.

“Drink all of this,” he demanded. The words carried a quiet intensity that brooked no argument. She complied, unscrewing the lid with trembling hands and chugging the water in several gulps.

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand as he held out the pills in offering.

“Put these under your tongue.”

Ronnie stared at the pills, their small blue shapes ominous in his palm. Even through her fog, the quantity concerned her; these were the pills her doctor had prescribed for emergencies only. Panic attacks.

“Trust me,” he added, nudging the pills toward her, his voice softening as if trying to coax her back from the brink.

She sighed, surrendering to his insistence, and placed the pills under her tongue. The slight chemical flavour bit into the edges of her awareness, but it was tolerable enough.

His hand found her cheek, a tender caress that felt out of place against the tension in his gaze. “Good girl,” he murmured, though the words seemed disconnected from the wild look in his eyes.

His expression was tight, eyes faintly wide with a flicker of something close to panic. Sweat beaded at his brow, and he watched her intently, as if making sure she did everything right, as if the success of this moment hinged on her compliance.

“What’s your address?” he asked, pulling out his phone with a swipe of his thumb.

She mumbled the street name and number, barely aware of what she was saying as he typed it in. Then, almost as an afterthought, he produced a pair of Bluetooth headphones from his pocket, hastily slipping them into her ears.

Slow, soothing meditation music filled the space between them, and he guided her back into the cushions, pressing gently on her shoulders until she reclined. She clutched the fluffy robe tighter around herself, eyes fluttering closed as she tried to rest, to slip away from everything for a while.

The minutes passed in a hazy blur, the music lulling her into a fragile state of calm. But then she felt herself being jostled, the vibrations pulling her back from the edge. A sound, muffled by the ambient beat, echoed in her ears—a car door slamming shut.

꧁꧂

She slowly stirred awake, stretching her arms above her head as she yawned. On her bedside table lay her phone, plugged into its charger. She grabbed it and looked at the time—13:54.

—Fuck, work starts in four hours.

She rose from bed, noting she was dressed in her own pyjamas, then slipped on her fuzzy slippers and shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

Her gaze drifted to the orange bucket that caught the water leaking from her drooping, mouldy ceiling. To her surprise, it wasn’t even a quarter full—normally, it would be brimming by this time of day.

Emptying the leak bucket each morning had become part of her routine—a small ritual that, for her, symbolised a fresh start.

She slumped onto her hand-me-down sofa, the rough polymer fabric clinging to the stale stench of smoke from previous owners. The front of the armrests were frayed, threads tugged loose, evidence of a cat’s claws.

As she settled in, something caught her eye—a folded piece of paper lying on the coffee table. Frowning in curiosity, she picked it up.

All it said was “Sorry” in the neatest cursive she’d ever seen, written in red ink.

Her eyes widened as realisation dawned, and the paper slipped from her trembling fingers.

She needed to call Jen. 

꧁꧂

Read Chapter 2 >>

꧁꧂

Notes: OOF that was a doozy. If you made it to the end, I love you.

[matataku-hoshi]

Groundhog Day at the Old Vic, London 2023

*dusts off the old blog* It's certainly been a minute, hasn't it! Still here, still a huge GHD fan. In the intervening years, I got to see productions at San Francisco Playhouse and at the Paramount Theatre in Aurora, IL. (I also got married and went through a bunch of other life stuff, but that's neither here nor there). But then it was announced that Groudhog Day would be returning to the Old Vic in 2023 with Andy Karl, and my husband and I used that as an excuse to finally do that UK trip we'd been talking about for years.

Tumblr user colemckenzies did a great post outlining some of the changes between Broadway and 2023 Old Vic. I wanted to further elaborate on some additional changes I noticed. Obviously spoilers to follow:

In “There Will Be Sun”, the first chorus of “Tomorrow spring will come and then there will be blue skies my friend” is cut. It goes straight from “If not tomorrow then tomorrow or tomorrow there will be sun” to “Oh if I could I’d will these clouds away my love”

While obviously the revolves are gone (look at me picking up British-isms 😄), the bedroom set gets wheeled in every loop. They keep the trick from Broadway where this is always done counter-clockwise until the loop finally breaks.

As previously mentioned, there’s a wonderful lyric change in Day One. “Their dumb superstitions and vacuous chat, their total unawareness of the fact their trapped, perhaps you don't miss it if you don't know you lack it, I'm sure there was a pack of xanax in this jacket'

I adore this because of the foreshadowing, and how Phil thinks he’s singing about the townsfolk when he’s really singing about himself.

Dialogue change in 2023 when Phil runs into Jonathan:

Jonathan: “Off to the see the groundhog?”

Phil: “Why, isn’t there a tractor pull or a cow-tipping contest?”

Jonathan, looks confused: “I don’t think that’s today.”

When Rita introduces  to Phil on Day One and reminds him of the flood story, Phil takes a second before recalling, groans, and goes, "Oh, the intern? They didn't even send me a real producer." After which Rita corrects him that she's a real producer now, albeit an associate producer. 

On Day 2 when the sheriff drops his gun, Phil asks "How do you have a permit???"

At the end of Day 2, Rita sings “I mean he acts kind of asshole-ish still. I think he might be mentally ill.” While it’s on the cast recording and the early previews bootleg, I could have sworn it was cut in the final Broadway version. Regardless, it’s restored in the 2023 version.

Phil’s “Help me~~~~” at the end of Day 3 is cut.

In Philandering, they cut the line where Phil "proposes" to Nancy (which I prefer - no one is that stupid, and they make the point later that Nancy is more than a caricature)

Also in Philandering, you can hear the chorus singing, “Gonna party like it’s no tomorrow~~~” in the party scene (formerly the orgy scene). Phil also gets 10 pizzas delivered to his room.

Phil is less aggressive when he confesses his “love” to Rita in One Day. 

On Broadway, they sit down directly on the stage, and Phil leans sideways to Rita to confess. As he gets more desperate, he starts to position himself over her and tries to take her hand, after which she slaps him.

In 2023, they’re sitting on a bench together. Phil tries to take her hand, and she pulls away and slaps him. Still creepy, but much less heading in the direction of sexual assault.

Either way Phil totally deserves to get slapped. I’ve talked to a few people who have said they could never root for Phil because of this scene (which is a fair critique). The 2023 version IMO makes the same point without so much portraying Phil as a potential sexual predator. 

Right before Phil smashes the alarm clock at the end of One Day, he yells “Make it stop!” (“Somebody make it stop”? Memory is a fickle thing)

When Phil kills himself with the gun before Hope, it's more explicit that he stole the gun off of the sheriff with his faulty holster.

I don't remember if this is new, but when Phil wakes up at the beginning of Hope, he touches the side of his head where he shot himself and even though he knows that the day will always reset, he still looks a little surprised and it's heartbreaking. 

For the third death/revival in Hope (where Phil climbs the ladder):

Broadway: Phil reappears in bed

Old Vic 2023: Phil reappears on the scene of the broadcast, fully dressed

As noted, lots of changes to If I Had My Time Again. 

Cast recording: "The thing with these revolving rides / they're only fun because you know they're going to end"

Broadway (as of early in previews): "I was completely dead inside / But today I'm like 85%"

London 2023: We're back to the cast recording lyrics.

IMO the orchestration and lyric changes are for the better. I adored this song on the cast recording, but in the August Wilson theater it frequently felt swallowed up.

With the emphasis on just Phil and Rita, it’s a much more intimate song, which is what the scene needs IMO.

I also love Rita’s new lyric “Go to all the parties that I missed / Kiss all the boys I was too afraid to kiss”, because then it’s Rita fulfilling her “time again” when she kisses Phil during Seeing You.

After "If I Had My Time Again", Phil eats a carton of Ben & Jerry's while discussing the almanac with Rita. I love the implication that he’s eaten all of this junk food before, but he’s trying it again with her.

Dialogue change after "If I Had My Time Again" 

Phil: "You know, Larry, we never really talk."

Broadway Larry: "Sometimes I think you don't notice that I'm there."

London 2023 Larry: "Well you never brought me donuts before."

Not a change, but I was sitting close enough one night to see the stock photos they use for Ned’s wallet pictures of his kids, and I realized that “little Mary” is just a baby. It really hit home that Ned has probably just lost his wife in the last year or two, and he’s trying to raise five very young kids on his own.

In the Broadway/cast recording versions of "Philanthropy", you can hear some melodic callbacks to earlier songs. In the London 2023 version, the chorus actually sings lines like, "I'm not sure what the point is / But this point is it don't matter" and "If I had my time again I would not do it all the same"

There's no pause of silence before "Seeing You" starts

After Phil and Rita run off into the snow at the end of Seeing You, the couples left dancing are Nancy/Larry, Debbie/Fred, and then Mrs. Lancaster dances alone in the snow in joyous wonder. I love this bit, becuase it feels like all the different ways you can find a new meaning of love (Nancy/Larry, the couple just discovering each other, Debbie/Fred, who have moved into a new phase of their relationship, and then Mrs. Lancaster, who even as an old woman can revel in the beauty of the snow)

In 2023 when Phil takes Rita to see the sunrise, he makes her cover her eyes, and then unveil them once the full sunrise is in view. It’s very sweet.

Anyway, I love this show, and I love talking about this show, so please feel free to hit me up! I may post more general thoughts, etc. if anyone is interested.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 26 - Meet

I couldn’t leave them like that over Christmas could I?

Yet again it got too long so I’ve split it into two little ones (meaning I’ve now ended up with 3 chapters from what was meant to be one… this is why planning is futile 😂). Will post one now and one later then take a little break for Christmas fic consumption!

(What went before)

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“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

He wasn’t sure how long they had stood like that as she wept her heart out into his chest and apologised over and over and over again. Sometimes in English, sometimes in what he guessed must be Polish. A few of his own tears ran into her hair as he kept repeating the same reassurance, hoping at some point she would hear and believe him.

Every time she said it, it was like a punch to his stomach. He struggled not to beg her to stop, not to try to reason her out of it, even knowing that pure logic had never really helped him deal with this either.

Even so, he couldn’t bear to be the reason for her being in pain. He was a fool, he should have seen it. He’d been so distracted by dealing with his own misplaced guilt and confusion after their meeting that he hadn’t considered that she could be too…

Sure, he’d been worried for her, concerned that the occasions they had met again could had triggered bad memories, nightmares, flashbacks even. A resurgence of those four consonants that trip off the tongue and disguise a world of agony. She’d acknowledged as much in the middle of a sleepless UK night while he sent messages by glorious daylight from his favourite viewpoint up on the volcano.

But this? He hadn’t realised guilt had been ripping her soul apart too.

He screwed up his face in frustration - it was so unnecessary. The signs were there. If he’d realised, he could have fixed it sooner. Maybe said something to reassure her…

After a while the irony that he was feeling guilty for her feeling guilty did begin to nudge at him and he rolled his eyes at himself. Perhaps they were as bad as each other.

Time passed and the heavy shuddering sobs phased into sniffles with the occasional hiccup. He kept his hold light, resisting the urge to bear hug her like he would a brother. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and mumbled another apology, but different this time. He let go and cast about for something to break the awkwardness of the moment, picked up the abandoned bag of coffee beans and did his best Parker impression:

“Perhaps a nice cup of ill-advisedly strong caffeine, m’lady?”

She snorted a little, rolling her eyes at the dodgy British accent then gave him a watery smile before nodding her head towards the grinder on the bench behind him.

“I’ll just go and fetch the… thing. I might need a second to… um, finish wrapping it.”

She had disappeared through a door before he could reply and he let out a long breath, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. That had been… unexpected. But hopefully positive. He hoped he’d helped. He dreaded to think how long she’d been holding all that back. Again, he worried for how alone she was and felt that increasingly familiar rush of gratitude for the closeness of his own family.

He poured beans into the grinder and set the coffee machine going before looking around. Although compact, her space was warm and cheerful. No particular decorative theme but for a handful of random objects in the same shade of blue as the streak in her hair - his mind made a list without any particular input from him - the tablecloth, a cushion, an abstract painting, a carved figure of a bird. Even the doorframes. Did that count as one or four things? Oh and a picture frame over there.

Unable to contain his curiosity, he walked over to examine a wall full of photos and identified what must be her sister and grown up nieces. The resemblance to her sister was uncanny, although the age gap looked to be similar to his and Alan’s, the nieces almost closer in age to their aunt than their mother was.

The one in the blue frame was of Estera herself with an… impressively large dog, and another showed her looking delighted at the finish line of the London marathon. There was a school staff photo from which she smiled proudly and he spotted her in the back row of a gi-wearing group with very serious expressions.

He was drawn to a slightly crumpled and stained photograph in a plain silver frame which showed, he realised with a jolt, her at about the age she’d been when they’d first met, grinning broadly with her arms over the shoulders of two smiling people he guessed were her parents. She was somehow the perfect blend of the two faces.

She must have been carrying it as she escaped her homeland. Unthinkingly, he reached out a hand and rested the tip of his finger on the top of her tiny photographic head. Then jumped and retracted his arm as she re-entered the room hugging something silvery to her chest.

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She’d actually wrapped the present a week ago, but needed a moment to compose herself. She went to the little sink in the corner and splashed water on her face before burying it in a towel and trying to will away the residual hiccuppy spasms.

She supposed she should be embarrassed… at some point she probably would be. At the moment she had no idea what she felt apart from shaky and exhausted. With a shiver she realised the last person to have held her like that would have been her father… as she stood in the hallway of their family home and he’d promised they’d see her soon. Her sister had never really been a huggy one, that had always been Estera until… well, until she wasn’t. She’d had difficulty with that kind of proximity to other people for a long time.

She heard the sound of the coffee grinder from the kitchen - he hadn’t taken the opportunity to run away yet then. Not that she thought he would. He might wish he could, but he was too decent, too caring to do that. At least she could give him the gift now and then if she had made it too weird he could just not come back. Although again, somehow, she knew he would. She suddenly realised she had no idea how long she’d been and hurriedly fetched the parcel from the cupboard and headed back into the living room.

He leapt back from her parents’ picture looking guilty.

“Ah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to… err I was just… there are some great photos here and I…”

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His excuses petered out and there was a moment where both of them froze, Estera looking at him appraisingly. She appeared to come to some kind of decision and walked towards him. Taking hold of his hand, which was still hovering awkwardly in the air, she placed it back against the photograph.

“Scott, meet Andrzej and Ewa. Mama, Tata, this is my friend Scott.” She tilted her head and added quietly “Mówiłem ci o nim”.

“It’s an honour to meet you both.” Scott did his best to keep his voice steady.

She released his hand and blushed as he looked over at her.

“I’m sorry, that was probably… odd. I still talk to them sometimes. A lot of the time? Um. So…”

“Not odd at all. Here…” Scott swiped through his comm to the image he had bookmarked and projected it as a hologram. It showed the last full family photo they’d taken from which his mom and dad laughed, so full of life, surrounded by their five boys.

“Meet Lucy and Jeff. I… talk to them every day too.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “It’s not enough, though, is it?”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

His hand shook a little as he held it up and the hologram flickered. She placed her hand underneath his and took a little of the weight of his arm as she studied the photograph. The most striking thing at first glance was how very much the father in the photo resembled the man standing next to her. She didn’t mention it. She doubted she would be the first, or that he’d really want to hear it again. She looked instead at his mother, Lucy, the warmth and kindness in her expression almost radiating from the picture. That was familiar too.

“I’m pleased to meet you.” she whispered.

“She’d have liked you.”

He said it so quietly, Estera wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly, or what he meant by it so she remained quiet for a moment before her thoughts accidentally spilled out of her mouth again:

“Wherever they are they must be so very proud of you.”

His breath hitched and his shoulders tensed. Ok, there was something going on there.

“Maybe. I hope so.” He sounded so unsure, it made her heart hurt.

“Well I would be. You’re a good man, kind, friendly, fun and an excellent listener.” She paused and he looked at her in overt surprise.

“And I guess even the dad jokes are pretty good, you know, once you get over the shock of them being so bad.”

That made him smile. Actually it was more of a smirk:

“I knew it.”

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[aimeedaisies]

The Princess Royal’s Official Engagements in September 2023

02/09 The King and Queen, Princess Anne and Sir Tim attended the Braemar Gathering at the Princess Royal and Duke of Fife Memorial Park. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

03/09 (not counted) The King, Queen, Princess Anne, Sir Tim, PM Rishi Sunak and Akshata Murphy attended the Divine Service at Crathie Kirk Church. ⛪️🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

06/09 (unofficial) Princess Anne, along with the Prince and Princess of Wales recorded a special episode of the Good, the Bad and the Rugby, with Mike Tindall, James Haskell and Alex Payne at Windsor Castle. 🏉

07/09 As President of the Riding for the Disabled Association, visited Digswell Place Group, Digswell Place Stables, Welwyn Garden City, to mark its 50th Anniversary. 🐎

As President of UK Fashion and Textile Association, visited MAES London Womenswear Manufacturer. 👗

Sir Tim represented Princess Anne at a Service of Thanksgiving for Sir Matthew Farrer (former Solicitor to the Late Queen) at St Magnus-The-Martyr Church in London. ⛪️

As Patron of the South Georgia Heritage Trust Princess Anne and Sir Tim, attended the Return of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Quest Crow’s Nest Service at All Hallows by the Tower, followed by a Dinner at Trinity House. 🗺️🍽️

08/09 Participated in a Meeting via video link in her role of Chairman of the International Olympic Committee Members Election Commission. 🎥💻

11/09 At Gatcombe Park;

Presented The Princess Royal Award and Royal Dairy Innovation Award. 🏆

Held a Management Team Meeting for the Chaffinch Trust. 💼

Held a Management Team Meeting for Give Them a Sporting Chance. 🏏

12/09 As Patron of the Boston Stump Restoration and Development Appeal, visited completed restoration work at St Botolph's Church in Boston, Lincolnshire. ⛪️

As Patron of Magpas Air Ambulance Capital Campaign, opened a new Air Base at Alconbury Weald. 🚁

As Patron of Maritime UK, attended the London International Shipping Week Tenth Anniversary Reception at Mansion House. 🚢

13/09 In Northern Ireland Princess Anne;

Attended the Department for Business and Trade’s Northern Ireland Business Summit at the International Conference Centre Belfast. 💼

As Patron of the International Sheep Dog Society, lattended the World Sheep Dog Trials at Gill Hall Estate, Dromore. 🐑🐶

Unveiled a Royal British Legion Community Bench in Dromore Square, Dromore. 🌹

Attended the Department for Business and Trade’s Northern Ireland Business Summit Reception at Hillsborough Castle. 👔🇮🇪

14/09 Attended the British Equine Veterinary Association 2023 Congress at the International Convention Centre in Birmingham. 🩺🐴

As Patron of the Butler Trust visited Stonnall Road Approved Premises in Walsall. 🏠

Opened the Firefly Woods at Dorothy House Hospice, Winsley House. She unveiled a firefly dedicated to her late parents. 💡

15/09 As Patron of the Restorative Justice Council, opened the Restorative Justice Council Inaugural Northern Ireland Conference in Belfast, Northern Ireland. 🇮🇪⚖️

As Chancellor of the University of the Highlands and Islands, attended the North, West and Hebrides Annual Graduation Ceremony and Celebration of Success and Achievement at St Peter’s and St Andrew’s Church, Thurso. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🎓

18/09 The Princess Royal, As Guardian of Give Them A Sporting Chance, visited the Rivertime Boat Trust at the River and Rowing Museum in Henley on Thames. 🦽🚣‍♀️

As Patron of the National Transport Trust, attended the Annual Awards Ceremony at Fawley Hill Transport Museum, Henley-on-Thames. 🚂🥇

19/09 Visited the Our Cow Molly icecream parlour and dairy farm at Cliffe House Farm, Dungworth, Sheffield. 🍦🐮

Launched the Ethel Trust Community Barge PEARL at Victoria Quays and attended a Reception at the Quays Hotel Sheffield. 🚤

As Patron of the Royal College of Midwives, visited Doncaster Royal Infirmary Women’s and Children’s Hospital. 👶🤰

20/09 As Patron of Police Treatment Centres, visited the St Andrews Centre in Harrogate. 👮‍♀️

Visited Claro Enterprises Community Workshop, Harrogate, to mark its 30th anniversary. 🎂

Visited Woods of Harrogate Limited Fine Linens Company in Harrogate. 🧖‍♀️

Visited Hollybank Trust Care Centre, in Mirfield, to mark its 70th Anniversary. 🩺

21/09 Visited Jaguar Land Rover Halewood Vehicle Plant to mark the 60th anniversary of its opening in Liverpool. 🚙

As President of the British Olympic Association, attended an Executive Board Meeting in London W1. 💼

22/09 With Sir Tim opened the Aberdeen South Harbour Expansion Project at the Port of Aberdeen. ⛴️

26/09 Held an Investiture ceremony at Windsor Castle. 🎖️

Opened the renovated Old War Office Building, Whitehall in London. 🏢

Attended the Royal Warrant Holders Association’s President’s Reception at Westminster Abbey. 📑🍾

As Patron of Mercy Ships International, attended a 45th Anniversary Dinner onboard The Elizabethan, sailing on the River Thames. 🛥️🍽️

27/09 Held two Investiture ceremonies at Windsor Castle. 🎖️

As President of World Horse Welfare, attended a Reception at Hyde Park Barracks, Knightsbridge, London. 🐎

As Patron of Opportunity International UK, attended a Dinner at Evercore in London. 🌍

28/09 As President of the UK Fashion and Textile Association, attended the Sustainability in UK Textiles Conference at Drapers’ Hall, London. 👗

As Founders’ Patron and President, of the Benenden School & Society, attended the Centenary Global Conference “Inspiring Future Female Leaders”, opened the Seniors’ Courtyard, launched “Benenden 100” Centenary Book and attended the Benenden Society Reception at Benenden School in Kent. 🏫

29/09 Attended the Rededication Service of Southport War Memorial. 🫡

Total official engagements for Anne in July: 47

2023 total so far: 353

Total official engagements accompanied by Tim in July: 5

2023 total so far: 75

[buttclench-ryugazaki]

i'm not really huge on roleswap tgaa AUs because i rarely find them more compelling than what we got in canon (but if you enjoy them don't let me, a faceless rando and a complete stranger, stop you from making or enjoying them). that being said, susato could have traded places with ryunosuke and the game's main plot would be the same

kazuma's memory remains the emotional core and the driving force if susato is the perspective character, because she idolizes and idealizes kazuma as much as ryunosuke does. she has a personal connection to the professor case through her father, but she's just as in the dark about it as ryunosuke so we don't lose the "unwittingly dragged into this 10-year-long conspiracy oh my god this is WAY more than i bargained for" angle. and to reiterate what every single tgaa player has observed, that she was already studying law to be kazuma's assistant makes her the better qualified choice to do the study tour in kazuma's stead. of course her personal journey would look different from ryunosuke's (think about susato, say, expanding her knowledge and mastery of the law knowing she can't effectively use it back in japan when she returns one day, at least not as herself) but it's kind of perfect that it would begin the same way as his: she would be doing it for kazuma. and then eventually, for herself and the truth

(ignore the implausibility of a sixteen year old japanese girl practicing law in victorian london because 1) the canon events are also completely absurd 2) it's ace attorney 3) although women were not allowed to practice law in the uk until 1919 tgaa takes so many historical liberties already 4) i don't imagine women were allowed to be judicial assistants standing at the defense bench either? 5) it's ace attorney 6) if susato being a woman is a barrier we know she can convincingly crossdress, and it's not like londoners would be able to tell 7) it's fucking ace attorney)

[classicmemorialbenches]

How do I find out the manufacturer of furniture?

There are a few ways to find out the manufacturer of furniture in the UK :

Check for labels or markings on the furniture itself: Many manufacturers will label their products with their name or logo or with other identifying information such as a model or serial number.

Check the original packaging or paperwork: If you still have the original packaging or any paperwork that came with the furniture, it may contain information about the manufacturer.

Search online: You can search for the furniture by name or description on search engines or online marketplaces.

Contact the retailer: If you purchased the furniture from a retailer, they may be able to provide you with information on the manufacturer.

Use a furniture registry: There are online furniture registries that allow you to register your furniture and track its history, which may include information on the manufacturer.

If none of these methods work, you can also try contacting a furniture expert or appraiser, who may be able to help you identify the manufacturer based on the design, materials, and other characteristics of the furniture.

[apolloabrams]

THE BASICS

name: apollo edward abrams birthdate and age: 1st august 1980 (40) birthplace: london, uk gender and pronouns: cis male, he/him nationality: greek/english power: fire breath

THE APPEARANCE

height: 6'/1.83m hair color: brown, plenty of white hairs eye color: brown (left), white and blind (right) scars: severe burn scars mostly on his right side, they begin on his upper thighs and spread up his torso, down his arms and all the way to his neck and jaw, with a few spots on his face as well tattoos: icarus falling on his left ribcage

THE BACKGROUND

home: lived between london, athens and los angeles family: elias abrams (father), talia watkinson-abrams (mother), -name tbd- (husband) occupation: heir to the abrams shipping company, model, life enjoyer languages: bilingual english/greek, fluent french

FULL BIOGRAPHY

tw drugs, eating disorders, motor accident

They say you were born with a smile that could change the world, but honestly, why would you want it changed? The only son and sole heir of the empire that is your father’s company, going back almost a century of Greek shipowning tradition, your future and fortune is set for life. Your last name carries billions, but your parents still parade you around like you are their most prized possession- they name you after the god of the sun, and shining comes naturally to you.

Your father teaches you that money is power. Your mother, who everyone says you take after, shows you that looks can be just as disarming. You learn that charm is like gasoline in the fire that genetics graced you with, so by the time you hit adulthood you can recite Shakespeare from memory just as easily as you can bench press double your weight, and just as perfectly.

Because perfect is all you allow yourself to be. You worship your beauty like a god, a wrathful and granting and punishing one. Every hour at the gym, every calorie counted, every classic book reread to the point of revulsion, it’s seemingly worth it when you see your face on the cover of the most renowned magazines, when the public eye praises the young man you’ve become in issue after issue, post after post. 

Even when you start to slip up, break under the weight, your innate sense of damage control is in constant overdrive. You make yourself throw up every time you get too drunk, you only buy the best quality of drugs, your bodyguards are of the highest training to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself and your family by doing something stupid like accidentally overdosing.

You marry your first wife because your parents tell you you should. You marry the second one because your parents tell you you shouldn’t. You marry your husband out of love, the only person whose eyes you can look into and admire the color instead of using them as a mirror. He teaches you to enjoy things without worrying you are being constantly watched, buys you books that you don’t have to memorize, makes you dance and sing out of tune and tempo for once.

And then your life changes overnight. You can’t tell whose fault it was, you don’t even remember the minutes leading up to it anymore, but one moment you are on your motorcycle going home, the next there is fire, the next there is darkness. You wake up weeks later in a hospital in Switzerland, covered in bandages and tubes, burns embracing your thighs and torso, licking their way up to your neck and part of your face like branches of a hideous tree. One eye left white and unmoving. In a great irony, your award winning smile remains unscathed, as does the tattoo of falling Icarus on your ribcage, still there to remind you what happens when you fly too close to the sun.

You have to learn to walk again, those muscles you have worked so hard on left somewhere on that ICU bed. You have to learn to talk, your voice deep and uneven after the tube leaves your vocal cords. And amidst all that, you are alone. It’s only doctors and nurses and physiotherapists who refuse to answer your questions and you wonder if it’s so easy to be forgotten when you stop being perfect. 

The answer never comes. You wake up on the cruise ship and for a moment you wonder if it was all a bad dream. But you catch your reflection in the mirror and you see that whatever ‘before’ was, the bad found its way to ‘after’ just fine. Everything is new and unknown, and you are almost scared by how liberating it all feels.

HEADCANONS

A very possible scenario in his head is that he died from his injuries and the island is some sort of purgatory or afterlife.

He is trying to keep up the charming laid back persona that comes instinctively to him, but he is deeply insecure and scared that people will see right through his facade and judge him.

Even though the last few months of his time before the island were spent in a hospital/rehabilitation center, which was a rather humbling experience, he is still deeply spoiled and materialistic and misses his private jet and fancy wine cellar more than he would ever admit.

He is wearing a lot of turtlenecks in an effort to hide as much of his skin as possible, but probably won't be able to keep it up for much longer.

[andsoshetypes]

Nostalgia is the ghost following me these days, on the bus I cry realising the days here are numbered.

The house on the corner will become a forgotten memory, those trips to the park, familiar streets. All of this is ending.

I think of growing up with green space, drinking fountains in public spaces and more toilets and benches than we could use.

I think of this place and am filled with anger.

In my lifetime the UK has become so hostile to community and humanity. Programs are being cut, education is breaking and the health system is beyond overwhelmed and overworked. All because of greed.

We don't need to have a life like this, there is no rational reason for the levels of suffering and poverty that people are facing, not just in the uk, all across the world. Humanity deserves better.

[justanotherstory]

Y.J.H.D

Sooo..long time no see huuhhh!! ..well I was quite busy with some school stuff and exams uk.. #studentlifestruggles (also I was out of ideas :)) anyways “Rukawat ke liye khed hai.." and maybe main ab aur"consistent" ho jaau!!

I have quite a few stories which I thought I'll write about..my maths board exam day, Teachers' day'23 with my lovely seniors..and my first open mic!! But but but ....since I am lazzy and have this very unnecessary amount of chull..I'll talk about something else today.

Today let's talk about the cult, the classic..GenZ ke "yeh hamare zamane ki movie hai" wala movie everyone's favourite YJHD!!!..Who doesn't like this movie!!??? Everyone one has their own learnings and memories from Yeh Jawaani hai deewani..The movie which gave us Bunny..the movie that taught us "kabhi kabhi kuch paane ke liye kahi se nikalna bhi zaroori hai".. I mean you already know how beautiful that movie is..

Yeah so, just like everyone, even I have my own interpretation of this movie.. and I will  share that today ig(although no one asked for it). After watching the movie(which was during the lockdown)I wondered about the origin story of Bunny, Aditi, Avi and Naina Talwar!!..like how someone named Kabir Thappar became Bunny?  "Woh sab dost bane kaise!!!???" And soo many more questions...so I decided to write up the answers to all these questions in a way I wish them to be..

Okay so imagine the story like this...

Its the first day of first grade everyone's just looking up at the new faces all around and the little kids are just fighting for the first bench..and then enters the "heartbeat" .. the one who will be unknowingly responsible for all the classroom madness, Kabir already shouting and giggling and waves to Avinash, who has already saved a seat for him.. and after talking a bit about how they spent their holidays. They see a girl fighting on the very first day with a boy who took her pencil.And then arrives the teacher who is already up for a challenge in her head. She then observes a quite girl sitting at the corner seat looking out of the window.. So she asks the "warrior kinda girl"-Aditi to sit with this dandelion-kid ,Naina and in her head Aditi is singing up for a punishment coz sitting with Naina is like sitting with a bronze statue who she knows will hardly talk to her and then Bunny convinces Avi to sit near the window at a vacant seat behind these girlies..

But that one fine day, when Kabir pulled Aditi's chair and she fell down and everyone laughed , she shouts at Kabir and is just about to cry when she yells "main tumhari teacher ko complain krungi !!" and this marks the beginning of a cold war between Aditi and Kabir.  Everytime Kabir would find ways to tease Aditi and she would also fight him back. Their banters were a constant source of entertainment for the whole classroom. They acted as the most obidient students in front of the teachers but as soon as they left, during the break time, the classroom would turn into a wrestling ring where they fought with Avi being the refree. Avi was their mediator , woh best friend bhale hi Kabir ka ho, pr Aditi se dosti bhi pakki thi and Naina, Naina would just remain quiet and look at all that choas  and long for such friends. The always fighting duo didn't have any hate for each other rather when put together they would make the strongest team.. Months went by... and Kabir became "Bunny" soon after the day of their second grade picnic when he boasted to Aditi saying "agar darr lage na ..toh mera hath pakad lena.."and then daar bhi laga aur haath bhi pakda.. Kabir ne ... Aditi ka kyunki woh ek bunny se daar gya tha ...and hence Bunny. But its not like Aditi wasn't given a name she was called "magnet " why you may ask.. coz the other magnet was Avi! Weird right..ik..even Aditi felt the same when se got to know about the "other magnet" years later..

Samay ka pahiyaa ghumta gaya.. Naina, Aditi, Avi, Bunny grew upp.. Now the warriors weren't fighting all the time rather they became best of friends and now Avi , Bunny and Aditi became a trio.. Naina and Avi also became good friends since Naina was the one who always helped Avi cheat in exams. Soo yeah you may say that exams were the reasons they became friends but it wasn't the only reason for their friendship although the movie plot showed Naina had feelings for Bunny , but with Avi she felt like home. With Avi she felt like she has escaped from all her life problems all the maddness and all the sufferings" ek sukoon tha uski baaton mei.." I am not trying to ship them together but its just that a best friend like Avi is what we all need .Later on maybe Naina and Avi lost connection maybe their this friendship didn't last long and maybe Naina didn't even try to hold him back as her friends leaving her alone wasn't something new for her and she was so tired of trying that she started blaming herself and then became more silent.. and maybe that's why the movie didn't highlighted Naina and Avi's friendship much.

Few years later,Bunny and Aditi slowly drifted away..something happened between Avi , Bunny and Aditi maybe something so extreme that none of them had imagined.  What could have happened? Maybe Bunny shattered Aditi's trust . Friendship with Bunny was her super power but when suddenly someone snatched that away, she could never trust anyone like that again. Avi tried again  and again to bring them closer but naah the scar was soo deep that won't heal easily although it seemed that everything was sorted but it wasn't the trust that had gone never came back and that's why when in the movie she  sends the video invite to Kabir she is a bit hesitant and nervous and didn't even expected him to be their at their big day.

But heyy, everything did sort between all four of them as we move towards the end in the movie right!!? And after the movie ends they all lived their happily ever after.. together all 6 of them Naina-Bunny, Aditi-Tarun and Avi- ? Avi with??? Well some mysteries are better left unsolved..

Hope you enjoyed this blog and plan to rewatch the whole movie now:)

This was just another story.

And this is me,

Singing Off <<33

[quintessbrit]

The Prince of Wales' Patronages, Charities and Affiliations

(Page 1 of 2, showing 1-20)

Automobile Association - Honorary Life Member

Club for drivers, providing insurance and other motoring services.

British Trust for Ornithology - Patron

Promotes bird conservation through volunteer-based surveys of national bird life.

Centrepoint - Patron

National charity providing accommodation and support for socially excluded, homeless young people.

Child Bereavement UK - Royal Patron

Offer support to children and families who have been bereaved.

English Schools Swimming Association - Patron

Encourage school children to learn to swim and compete at several levels - for their school, their district, and their country.

Fauna & Flora International - Patron

International conservation body promoting sustainable conservation and biodiversity.

Fields in Trust - Patron

Organisation seeking to protect and improve playing fields and other recreational spaces in the UK.

Gloucestershire County Cricket Club - Honorary Member

Henry van Straubenzee Memorial Fund - Joint Patron

Aims to lift children out of poverty through education. Funds are directed to projects in south-east region of Uganda.

The Honourable Society of the Middle Temple - Royal Master of the Bench

Middle Temple is one of the four Inns of Court which have the exclusive right to Call students to the Bar. The education and training of advocates lie at the heart of the Inn, but we are also a professional society for our membership worldwide; and we maintain a heritage estate in central London housing chambers from which barristers practise.

Irish Guards - Colonel

Infantry regiment of the Foot Guards of the British Army.

London's Air Ambulance Charity - Patron

London’s Air Ambulance is the charity that delivers an advanced trauma team to London’s most seriously injured patients. Using a helicopter from 08:00 to sunset, and rapid response cars at night or in adverse weather situations, London’s Air Ambulance brings the hospital to the patient when time is critical. The Duke of Cambridge is Patron of London's Air Ambulance during 2019 for its 30th Anniversary year.

Metropolitan & City Police Orphans Fund - Patron

The Orphans Fund began in 1870 as an Orphanage, which makes it the oldest police charity in the world. In 2020 we will be celebrating our 150th anniversary. The Orphanage closed in 1937 and the modern charity began, which makes 2017 our 80th anniversary.

Mountain Rescue Council England & Wales - Patron

The national co-ordinating body for volunteer search and rescue teams in England and Wales.

National Emergencies Trust (NET) - Patron

In the event of a domestic disaster the National Emergencies Trust will launch a public appeal and then work with charitable bodies to distribute funds to support survivors.

NHS Charities Together - Patron

NHS Charities Together is the membership organisation for more than 240 of the NHS charities across the U.K. It provides a forum for nationwide campaigns; specialist advice and guidance; bespoke events and training opportunities.

Royal African Society - Patron

Aims to strengthen links between Africa and Britain and encourage understanding of Africa.

Royal Air Force Coningsby - Honorary Air Commandant

Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons of Glasgow - Honorary Fellow

Aims to advance good medical practice among doctors, surgeons and dentists.

[Information from royal.uk - websites linked when possible]

[effectsdatabase]

Last week's top 20 videos (2022, week 39)

Top 20 videos last week (September 25 - October 1)

BEETRONICS Swarm and Boss re-202 space echo (Pedal Unboxing) (by JHS Pedals)

The First Ever PRS Pedals! - Are They Any Good? (by AndertonsMusic)

Mythos Pedals Cestus Treble Booster Demo (by Mythos Pedals)

Shift Line Stages + Twin MkIIIS | Sound examples with Artem Khrustalev (by Shift Line)

Four pedals into the Kuro T120 - JPTR FX Warlow, EQD Acapulco Gold, Boss HM-2, Boss FZ-2. (by We As A Company)

OD/Boost Pedals Compared | J Rockett Archer | J Rockett Archer Rockaway | Hermida Zen Drive (by Psionic Audio)

The Power of DI Boxes | Chairmen of the Boards, Episode 25 (by Vertex)

seppuku memory loss - heterodyne (by Seppuku FX)

INTERVIEW l Walrus nous dévoile ses secrets (by Tone Factory)

Fairfield Circuitry Barbershop V1 Teardown! See what's inside! (by Gray Bench Electronics)

Fender The Pinwheel (by Pedal Experiments)

Catalinbread : RAH | Hiwatt Amp in A Box | Bass | theoandhispedals (by Amateur Effects Reviews)

JAM pedals | Potent pedal pairings for the Clavinet (by JAM Pedals)

PRS Launches Its First Pedal Line: Mary Cries, Horsemeat, and Wind Through The Trees | Tone Report (by reverbmarket)

60 Second Demo, @MatthewsEffects Surgeon. (by Pedalboards Of Doom)

Big Brand Budget DISTORTION BATTLE! - JHS vs. Fender vs. Gibson (Maestro) (by 60 Cycle Hum)

Strymon blueSky Reverberator V2 (by Mike Hermans)

Boss Xtortion with a 7 String ? (by Cameron Johnson)

No Whammy Bar? NO PROBLEM! - Get Whammy, Divebomb & Trem Effects With The Digitech Whammy Ricochet! (by Nevada Music UK)

PRS Horsemeat, Mary Cries & Wind Through the Trees Demos | First Look (by Premier Guitar)

Overviews of the previous weeks: https://www.effectsdatabase.com/video/weekly

from Effects Database https://bit.ly/3EiG5Y3