#..went so HARD to the point they HAD to use it as wallpaper for their desktop | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scenteddelusion5 · 2 months

Note

can you write a zestial x reader where the reader is an angel and they have a secret relationship but the seraphim found out and b an ned her from heaven

A Daring Creature -Part 1

Zestial x angel fem reader

Note: AHHH!!! I LOVE this!! Also why don't we have yellow text colours! I also had to take a LOT of liberties writing Zestial because we don't know much about him.

Warning: inacurate middle English

Word count: 1880

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Zestial was more than 400 years old, he lost the real count a LONG time ago. What he would never lose count of was how long he'd known her. To be fair it wasn't all THAT long ago, only 42 years ago, but he swore to himself he'd never forget that day.

He was hiding out in his mansion on his territory during extermination day when he heard a loud pang outside. Something must've hit the ground very hard, if it was a sinner they would probably already be dead by this point and if it was an exterminator, he didn't want to cross paths with them. So instead he hid deeper, in the basement of his mansion.

The day went on without a hitch and Zestial could leave his manor again to check what happened. While he was exploring his garden, he found a strange creature had crashed into the path, having destroyed the beautiful tiles. She had giant white wings and a yellow halo above her head. small wounds and bruises adorned her body with golden blood flowing out of them, they were, however, healing quickly. She wasn't dead.

Was this angel an exterminator? No, she didn't wear their uniform nor did she hold a black hallow like her military sisters, then why was she here. Zestial had many questions, but first he had to decide. Was it worth bringing in this angel to gain their favour even though she could become a threat later on?

She didn't seem to have any angelic weapons on her, she wouldn't be able to kill him... Zestial decided to bring her in and laid her down on a bed in one of his guest rooms. He designated one of his demon contracts to take care of her and warn him when she wakes up.

Y/n woke up with a headache, the last thing she remembered was falling face first into the ground and now she was in a bed? How did she get here. She slowly sat up, looking around the room, it was decorated with red, black and greenish yellow decor. Did this mean she made it to hell? Another look over her eyes landed on a man standing in the corner, he was short, wore a butler-like uniform and had a web in his hair. What she assumed to be a demon, had red skin and black horns.

"H-hello," she spoke but the demon stayed quiet. "Where am I?"

The demon looked at his watch. "Please put on this attire and wait here. I'll be informing master that you're awake." And with that the demon left without answering her question.

On the chair laid a simple black dress, nothing fancy but it also wasn't a rag. She slowly got out of bed, being careful with her headache, and changed out of her very badly damaged angel attire.

Who was this guy's master? The demon who lived there seemed to be very well of and thus powerful. What kind of mess did she get herself in now?

A knock came from the door, "lady, if you're finished changing please come out."

When she walked out, she saw the same demon waiting on her in the hallway.

"Follow me."

Looking around the hallways, the building looked like it was decorated by someone from th 17th century. Besides all the luxury paintings and dressers, what really stood out were the strange spiderweb motives all around the building, from the wallpapers to the candle chandeliers.

They ended up in front of a pair of doors that were at least 3 meters (10 feet) tall. The tops were arched and the handles looked like spiders.

The demon knocked on the giant doors. "She's here, sir."

"Thee can enter!"

The demon didn't react, so Y/n opened the door just enough to walk through. Inside was an office. The wooden walls as well as the furniture had flowery carvings in them, the fabric used for the cushiony parts of the furniture had web patterns in them and the candle light glowed green instead of yellow.

On the armchair behind the desk sat a tall figure, he had four green glowing eyes, a dark black cloak wrapped around his body, spider held the place of where his bowtie was supposed to be and a hat sat upon his head making his already tall figure even taller.

"Please, sitteth down." The man conjured up two cups of thee, one of which he took a sip from. "Now, wherefore is there an angel down here? Thee aren't an exterminator."

"I was just really curious about hell and kind off... Snuck down." Y/n awkwardly looked around the room avoiding eye contact with the demon in front of her. "What is an exterminator?"

Zestial choked on his tea hearing her question. "Does thou not knoweth?"

"No," she answered.

"Alloweth me to proposeth a deal." He got her attention again after she started to search around the room again. "I shall bid thee about the exterminations and hell, in turneth thee bid me in detaileth about how thee did get here." Zestial held out his hand, it became surrounded by glowing webs.

"Uhm sure, but we don't have to do the hand thingy." She laughed it off. "So when I first arrived in heaven three years ago, I started to wonder what hell was like. Nobody could give me a concrete answer, not even the seraphim. I made it my mission to find out what's it like. After two years, I realised a group of angels went down every year..."

"Hey lute!" Y/n ran up to the older angel. "Where were you yesterday?" "Work." "For a whole twenty four hours?" She asked. "Yes," Lute sighed, "what do you want Y/n?" "I was just curious." "Too curious, it's none of your business where and how I work."

"I knew I just had to follow them, so the next time they gathered, I snuck through the gates and jumped after them. On the way down, I had a bit of an accident, my wing got caught on the metal tip of a strange tower and it ripped through me. And that's how I ended up falling into the ground."

"I supposeth I shouldst hold up my own endeth. Every year, the heavens sendeth down an army of exterminators." As Zestial was telling her this Y/n's eyes widened. "Thy sisters cometh down to slaught'r."

"I... I know Lute and the others aren't model angels, but I doubt they would-"

"T's the thruth." Zestial stood up from his desk. "Anon, t's better thee leaveth. I wanteth not beest the targeteth of thy sisters."

He was about to snap his fingers when Y/n yelled, "WAIT!"

He stopped.

"How about another deal? No one of the angels know I'm here and I have a strong alibi. You seem like a powerful demon and I probably wouldn't survive the streets of hell. So, I stay with you for a year, you show me around and I'll give you... Whatever you want...?" Even though she talked a million miles a minute, he still understood her.

"I aught to want?" He considered it for a few seconds. "Dealeth." Zestial held out his hand and the glowing webs were back.

"You haven't said what yet..." But y/n didn't get an answer. "Fine, ONE thing you want."

Zestial nodded his head.

"Deal."

She shook his hand and for a slight second, his whole appearance seemed to change. The man became even taller, spiders crawled around his body and webs covered their intertwined hands. And then it was gone again, like it never happened.

"Edward shall be in chargeth of thy careth. I expecteth thee to never grise foor of these grounds unless thee has't mine own permission to doth so. Thee may taketh thy leave now." He shoed her away.

Y/n walked out of her office finally realising the gravity of the situation. She just gave a DEMON to make her do or get anything he wanted from her without any limits, except that he could only do so once of course. How stupid could she be? At least now she had a safe place to stay and a very intimidating tour guide.

A week went by and Y/n hadn't been able to explore hell at all. She was stuck in the manor, barely even allowed into the garden. At least she grew closer to the demon butler Edward.

At first the man was distant and cold but he slowly opened up to her. His wife and kids had gone to heaven while he was cast down for protecting them. Zestial had offered the safe and comfortable job as his butler and Edward accepted.

She also learned he was a lot more of a joker than he made himself out to be. When Y/n was helping him prepare dinner for only them two, which they decided was going to be pizza, she had tried to spin the dough and toss it in the air. It went horribly wrong, the dough landing on top of her face. Edward laughed so hard he started crying, after a while the man decided to try it too, only to end up in the same predicament.

Zestial was aware the two had grown closer, he didn’t mind, however. It meant that she wouldn’t bother him and go to Edward for everything. What he wasn't aware of was for the fact that Y/n had made it her mission to create fun activities in an otherwise boring mansion.

One day, Zestial was walking down the corridor to go and ask Ed to pick up an important package for him, only to find the strangest display in the hallway.

"This is going to go horribly wrong," the butler stated.

"It'll be fine, loosen up!" She laughed.

Edward sighed, "If you get hurt, I'm not patching up your wounds."

"I'll take that risk."

What Zestial saw was that the angel had tied sponges to her shoes and tried to skate around on the wet and soapy marble floor. He was just about to speak up when she slipped and fell back. Her back hit his waist, he quickly caught her.

"What art thee doing, î̷̟n̷̰͆͜s̴̢͍͒o̷̖͐l̷̟͇̂͠é̷͖n̶̙̫̑t̶̲̘̅͝ angel?" The overlord was glaring at her.

"I'm sorry sir, uh... Zestial sir." Y/n looked down at her soapy boots. "But you haven't showed me around all the fun stuff in hell, so I decided to make the fun!"

"I can't even but now," he explained, "Everything in doth timeth."

"Then I'll keep finding fun things to do."

Zestial sighed. Maybe this angel was more work than she was worth. "Fine, I shall taketh thee out tomorrow morning." He caved. "Doth not maketh me regreth it."

"YES!"

That nights Zestial was pondering about his angel guest while looking for a big robe. She was quite bothersome but then again, he had made the deal to show Y/n around. Although, the manor had been much more livelier in the week she had been there. Almost every day, he would walk through the hallways and hear laughter, which was a stark difference from before. The manor used to be eerily quiet, maybe she wasn't too bad after all.

Part 2

Masterlist/request guidelines

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel requests #reader insert #reader requests #hazbin hotel zestial #zestial x reader #zestial x you #x reader #x yn #yn

97 notes · View notes

mugentakeda · 2 months

Text

scoring a job at the tea shop was too easy. but now that he’s staring at bowl of jasmine flowers next to the black blend, it might have been a dumb idea. it’s not busy enough to numb his stupid brain.

the owner, mr. dugu, a short middle aged man with greasy long hair, was all too happy to hire him. we could use a looker like you, it’ll bring all the women in!

lu ten thinks back to zhao and jiro in dismay. he highly doubts his love life will ever heal itself back to normalcy. azula would agree with that.

it’s probably for the best that zhao doesn’t know where i am, he muses, but jiro would probably try and send me money.

now that he thinks about it, mr. dugu kind of reminds him of jiro. just a few decades older, and in green. a slick and stout guy that thinks he’s all that and a bag of fireflakes. so slick, you wouldn’t see the earnest, hard working gentleman hidden beneath at first.

but his dad is in there too. with the crows feet, receding hairline, deep tea scent, big hands. laughter in his eyes, at just about anything.

in the tea shop, however, his dad is everywhere he looks. his dad is the smells, the old tea cup rings stained in the tables, every sun ray shining through the windows, the cheap peeling wallpaper with painted leaves floating in the wind.

is it betrayal, what he’s done? or is he just dying on the hill of what his gut tells him is right?

he’s forcing his heart and his gut to become one, so he can physically stand loving his father, but not liking his father, simultaneously. letting them both exist together, at the same time. it’s not life ruining or earth shattering. it just… is.

lu ten misses the parts of his dad that he enjoyed, with great guilt. the roughhousing, the morning meditation, a warm hand brushing through his feathery hair, carrying him to bed after a long day at the beach, dropping his bags and letting lu ten barrel into his arms at full force after weeks being gone, bickering over the do’s and don’ts of tea. things got spotty and more spaced out once he turned double digits, because at that point lu ten was old enough to go longer without seeing his father. he was a busy guy and lu ten had been okay with that. he’s never been someone that needed constant attention, anyway.

but those parts were only enough to satisfy the young lu ten who didn’t care what his dad was outside of being his dad. then his aunt was married into the family, and lu ten started caring about a whole lot of things.

his aunt and his cousins give him purpose. what would he be, without them? they shape his interests, his entire worldview, his habits, his sense of self. the areas of politics and legislation that he dipped his toes in as a prince were even influenced by them. he tells right from wrong by wondering, if it was your aunt and your cousins, would you be okay with it?

what ursa went through after having azula haunted his dreams. the afterbirth stench, her hyperventilating, hoarse wails. the fire sages and azulon and ozai all muttering to each other, just to add to the chaos. he’d gripped little zuko to his chest in the dark corridor across from her chambers like a vice, biting his lip in terror and cheeks flushing as hot tears rolled down his face. it was the worst thing he’d ever heard in his life, and nobody seemed to care.

then he finds out that his mother went through the same thing with him over morning tea with his grandfather. casually, like he was being informed of the weather.

she believed she had the right to name you toshiro, despite not showing any enthusiasm over you at any other time of day, azulon had grunted. i don’t know why he ever bothered with that commoner wretch. you’d still have a mother today if he hadn’t picked some halfwit dancer with a smart mouth, you know. i even went through the trouble of setting up a whole line of good, wellborn women right before him, and he didn’t entertain a single one! but i suppose it doesn’t matter now, seeing the fine young man you’ve become regardless. i was afraid you’d inherit her crassness, if you’ll forgive me.

so she got sick of the shit and disappeared. to this day, he barely knows what to do with that information.

he hates ozai for doing the same shit to his aunt that his own father did to his mom. forced, unwanted marriage. the pain and misery of childbirth. postpartum. making heirs. he fucking hates that word. heirs.

toshiro. it’s a good name.

he’d leave his dad if he were his mother, too. he did leave his dad.

mr. dugu asked after hiring him if he was a soldier, going by his posture. he’s no earthbender, and the scars are from trial and error lightning bolts. but there are nonbenders in the earth army, and lu ten can put his mouth where the money is when given a staff. so he says yes.

that must be why i like you so much, mr. dugu had sighed. my own boy is a little older than you and lives in ba sing se with his old lady, as a teacher in a little kid’s school. he’s a bender, so he enlisted to help fight- but that stubborn old prince bastard is persistent. you know the ash and blood is filthying their water? his old lady is pregnant, and she has no clean water to drink. it’s unbelievable! but that ashmaker doesn’t realize how steadfast the good people of the earth kingdom are. the spirits will deliver them, and he’ll tuck his tail between his legs and run for the hills.

filthy water also means sick livestock. and sick livestock means sick people when the livestock is eaten. sick people means sick mothers and children, and sick doctors that can’t help sick pregnant mothers give birth. and then ba sing se is cut off from incoming supplies due to his father’s army, so they’re probably rationing the medicine. so sick pregnant mothers giving birth without proper medicine, without proper doctors because they’re also all sick. that leads to dying mothers, dying newborns, or mothers and newborns dying together.

lu ten just isn’t sure his father realizes little stuff like that. or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care. and that thought makes him so angry, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

his father had acted like all that was happening in the impenetrable city was something funny in his letters. along with a couple of thinly veiled pleads for lu ten to quit being stubborn and join him already.

narrow, ignorant self-interest does not impress him. its ugly coming from his own father. its even uglier on a man that’s supposed to lead their fucking country one day. lu ten will not be the same. the people he loves most in this world cannot afford for him to be the same.

you have a savvy for diplomacy, zhao had snapped at him. your father could use something like that. what’s keeping you here? don’t you see benefits waiting to be reaped from this? your cousins will still be here when your father succeeds! get over yourself!

“diplomacy,” lu ten sneers out loud. then sighs loudly in frustration when he knocks the cup over with a jerky hand.

one minute ba sing se is being taken by his dad so it can become one with the fire nation. the next minute he’s burning it to the ground. if it’s the fire nation, why in the all fuck is he ruining it? is that not counter-productive? is that not hypocrisy? what diplomacy is there to be had when there’s nothing left of the city?

but then, people on the homeland get arrested for some real petty shit. the colonial towns get paid dust. his dad killed the last dragon, despite a good portion of lu tens childhood folktales composing of dragons. despite agni herself being depicted as a dragon. a million things that he never questioned before that make no sense to him now that he has the freedom and time to truly ponder.

the spirits are not to be trifled with or questioned, my son. the spirits can even judge the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

lu ten isn’t a man who claims to know the spirits ways, nor does he question them. he wasn’t there when they laid foundation to the earth. he doesn’t know who determined its measurements. but he does know that agni wouldn’t deliver a message so stupid and pointless.

he just questions his father, and the authenticity of his pointless quest to flatten a city being spirit-sent.

what do you wanna bet he used the wrong kind of flower for his tea and was just tripping balls?

the more he thinks about it the less grace his train of thought is willing to spare.

he’s so mad that he can’t like his dad. he’s so mad that he exists at the cost of his mother’s everything. he’s so mad that everything his proud, beautiful country stands on and believes in has the strength of a single grain of rice. he can’t bare the thought of just continuing to ignore it to maintain his sanity- he’s never been so glad to be an adult with a brain and not a kid in his own little world- but realizing things is so painful. its only ever painful. he wants to curl up in a ball and rot away. the guilt and anger is mind numbing.

do you think of me with as much frustration as i think of you, dad? do you sit and ruin your own day trying to understand what goes on in my head, or is it just me?

the fumes from the boiling teapot steam his face as he bends over it slowly, trying to curb the acid crawling up his throat like a demon emerging from hell. static curls up and down his arms and brings his hair straight up, the heat bleeding from the tips of his fingers and his palms into the counter is teetering on the edge of unbearable-

“cousin?” a little voice startles him out of his thoughts.

he pauses, and turns his head.

zuko’s standing there in front of mr. dugu, who’s grinning at him cheekily.

zuko is wearing a green apron that drags on the floor. the anger building in his chest melts like chocolate over a fire. the counter is already cooling beneath his steel grip.

“…li,” he greets, weak humor in his voice. “what’s shaking?”

the kid flushes. “i got bored and walked here from mom’s work. and mr. dugu said no loitering in his store. so i’m….. hired.”

“are you a seasonal employee?” lu ten snorts.

“i don’t even know what that means,” zuko replies curtly. he doesn’t realize his sass definitely matches azula’s. “i can bring the tea to the customers.”

“well,” lu ten sighs, “i believe i’ve scalded the hell out of this jasmine by accident. give me a few minutes and i’ll happily provide you with something drinkable.”

“…do better!” his baby cousin orders awkwardly. and so he does, because lu ten is only ever the loyal servant to his baby cousins.

zuko brings the tea to the customers. every time lu ten hears his lispy little voice thank them for their patronage in monotone, he can’t help the way his lips quirk in amusement.

“the girls in the front kept baby-talking me,” his little cousin grumps later that day. “i had to run away before they got the chance to pinch my face.”

mr. dugu laughs, and pats zuko’s little shoulder heartily. lu ten’s heart aches. he can think he hates ignorance until the sheep-cows come home, but there’s nothing crueler than seeing his father in this man’s mannerisms, who’s son could be dead or alive at this very moment, due to his father in question.

“just be glad your sister wasn’t here to see it,” he replies, lest he choke himself up with his own angsting.

zuko huffs and slides off the chair he’d been sitting crosslegged on. “mr. dugu, could i take some cakes from the back to my sister? she’s a sweet tooth.”

“it’ll be coming out of your paycheck,” the man replies teasingly.

zuko frowns like a cranky owlcat. “i don’t know what that word means either.” and with that, he stomps to the back.

“that one’s a trip alright,” mr. dugu laughs. “and you say the younger one is even worse?”

“sure is,” lu ten sighs happily. “they both are the worst. i’m wrapped around their greedy little fingers. they don’t let me hold the house keys, but they’ll let me buy them candy.”

“it’ll be like that forever,” mr. dugu says sagely. “my only son is now a grown man with a wife of his own, and soon, he’ll make me a grandfather. but at the end of the day, he’s always gonna be my precious boy. my baby. and no matter what, i want him to always know he can come back home to me. despite everything. no matter what.”

the man deflates suddenly. “if anything, i might just beg him to come back home to me, once ba sing se chases that scumbag away. i have enough room to house the three of them. my boy lives and breathes to be a teacher in the city, but this old heart can’t take not knowing….”

he trails off, and pushes over a rock with his foot glumly. “they say he has children, too. the fire nation prince attacking the city, i mean.”

lu ten’s blood turns to ice in an instant.

“i doubt one such as he would feel anything if he lost them. if a man can kill another man’s child, i believe he’d might as well kill his very own. and this father would protect every child in this village as his own. you, and your little monster cousins. you know?”

agni is a big blurry dot in his vision, and he swallows hard. “yeah. yeah, i do. this one thanks you for it.”

he holds zuko’s little hand tighter than usual as they go to pick ursa and azula up from the florist.

#this took me ALL DAY to finish. ALL DAY #and idk if its even good or not but we move.#i hope you guys can forgive me sneaking a jiro mention in. i love my ocs #IROHS POV COMING UP NEXT WHOS READY TO RUMBLEEEE #runaway fire fam au #alicias writing stuff

88 notes · View notes

calumsrockstar · 5 months

Text

Chemistry - Calum Hood

Calum was always a straight A student, but when he failed a test, you came to his rescue

Word count: 1.4k

Contents: protected p in v, oral (f and m recieving) virginity, minimal cursing, overall just cute vanilla sex, calum is a sub if you squint hard enough.

nerd!calum x reader (fem)

this is set in high school (both characters are 18)

Calum had never gotten less than an A on his tests, since he was a child, he prided himself in always being the best, spending his weekends studying and reading, knowing that would guide him to excellence.

But now, his last year in high school, things had changed. The subjects were getting harder and harder, and he was struggling to keep up, especially in chemistry class.

He´s always loved chemistry, but now, it felt like a drag.

He studied like a madman for his recent chemistry test, but when he recieved it, it was like his mind went blank, he couldn´t answer any of the questions, even the easiest ones.

A week later, he got the test back. The result was an F. He had never felt more defeated in his life. He looked up at you, showing your test to your friend. You had gotten an A! You were squealing with happiness.

You were another student in his advanced placement class, you were the only one who could compare to him. You were popular, and everybody liked you, you seemed to have a perfect life, unlike Calum, who spent his weekends at home.

He was a very handsome guy, he was tall, had beautiful brown eyes and amazing hair. The only problem is that he was insecure, feeling like nobody liked him.

He had always had a crush on you, since he could remember. Your y/h/c hair flowed in the wind, you always looked effortlessly beautiful even with no makeup on, and you wouldn´t hurt a fly. He always caught himself staring at you in class, or in the hallways, his heart skipping a beat when you smiled at him.

He heard that you were offering tutoring as a part time job. This was his chance, he thought. It was innocent, just asking for a tutor. No harm in that, right?

The next day, he finally worked up the courage, walking up to you. "Hey y/n, um, I was wondering if you could tutor me? I did really badly on his chemistry class." He spoke softly.

You looked at him. You had never heard him speak, so you were suprised by his accent. "Yeah, of course, is today after class okay with you, Calum?"

He was shocked you remembered his name. "Um, yeah, yeah! Totally cool..." He rubbed his hand on his forehead. "I´ll give you my number for us to get in contact." You told him.

The school day went slowly, he was checking his watch every 10 minutes, waiting for the bell to ring.

He finally got a message from you.

y/n: Hey, do u wanna come to my house or I go to urs?

Calum: We can go to mine, i can take us.

y/n: cool 😎 see u in a bit, outside gate

Calum had the biggest grin on his face, he could not believe the cutest girl in his class was going to his house.

Calum waited outside the school, checking his watch. You finally appeared, with your backpack, holding some books. "Let´s go?" You asked, smiling at him. "Come on, let´s go." He laughed awkwardly.

You both got into his car, it was run down, but cozy. "Sorry, this car is a little old." He rubbed the back of his head with his hand. You smiled. "I think it´s vintage."

You got to the front door. "My parents are in the living room, I think we better go to my room." Calum said. "Yeah, it´s no problem."

You answered. You took his hand. "Take me?" You smiled. Calum winced at the touch, not because he didn´t like it, but because he liked it too much.

He took you upstairs to his room. It had dim lights, the wallpaper was dark blue, he had vynils hanging from his walls, and a guitar propped up on the wall. "This is a cool ass room Cal!" You said. He blushed at the nickname. "Thanks." He said in a soft voice.

You pointed to the bed. "Can I sit down?" You asked. "Yeah! Sure!" He coughed and asked himself if he sounded stupid.

You sat down and patted the bed next to you, signaling him to sit. He did so, but a little far away from you.

You laughed. "I don´t bite, come closer. How am I gonna help you if you´re all the way over there?" Calum smiled and scooted closer to you. The mere touch of your legs together was making him hard.

He looked into your eyes. You´ve never really realized how beautiful he was. His glasses framed his face perfectly, and his fluffy black hair sat just in the right way.

You both looked away quickly.

You coughed. "So, what can I help you with, Calum Hood?" You asked him. "Um, I was just having some trouble understanding this topic." He pointed to a word on the textbook.

As you started to explain it to him, your words started becoming muffled, he could not pay attention. The way your lips moved were making him go crazy, and that low cut top you were wearing just made it worse.

"So, you understand?" You said this, breaking Calum out of his trance. "Um, yeah, totally." He said, still looking a little dazed. You laughed, and teased him. "Oh yeah, so repeat what I said!" You said, touching his shoulder.

He grabbed your face with his two hands and gave you a kiss. You opened your eyes. "Fuck y/n. i´m so sorry, um, I shouldn´t have..." You smiled. "That was embarassing, i´m sorry." He continued.

You said nothing, but started straddling while he was sitting down, taking off his glasses you said "You´re cute, you know that?" His jaw dropped, and he started blushing, looking at you with those adorable brown eyes.

You grabbed his face with your hand and your tongues started intertwining. You laid him down on the bed, putting your book on the floor, going on top of him.

His heart was racing. "y/n, i´ve never done this before..." he cooed on your neck. "It´s okay Cal, let me make you feel good."

You took off your shirt and your bra. His jaw dropped, this was better than anything he could ever imagine. "You´re so beautiful..." He said.

You started to unzip his jeans, and pull them off, and traced your hands through his boxers, feeling his cock twitch in your hands. He adjusted his hips, whining.

He was already sweating. You took off his boxers and put your mouth on his tip. He tried to push himself into your mouth. "Easy there, we still have time." You told him. You started licking, and bobbing your head up and down.

He put his fingers through your hair, squirming, and throwing his head back. "Fuck, y/n." He breathed. You stopped, "Does that feel good Cal?" You continued. "So fucking good..." He said, while breathing hard.

You licked all the way up his torso. "Do you wanna fuck me Cal?" You asked. "Wanna eat you out first..." He said, breathing heavily. You smiled "Wow, didn´t expect that."

It was your turn to lay down. "You wanna make me feel good?" You asked and he nodded.

He unzipped your pants and quickly took off your underwear. His lips made contact with your wet cunt, he started licking and kissing, like he was starved. "Fuck..." You said while his toungue rubbed circles on your clit.

"I´m about to cum..." You said. He said nothing, but just kept on going. You finally released yourself on his toungue, your pussy throbbing.

He resurfaced and kissed you with your own fluids.

"You got a condom?" You asked. He said yes, and went to his nightstand and ripped one open. You smiled at him. "Well, it was bound to happen." He laughed.

You helped him put on the condom. He was still rock hard. He slid inside you, you both gasping at the sensation. He pumped in and out, and you were relaxing into his rythym.

You felt that familiar feeling inside you, and so did Calum. "y/n, I´m close.." He said, in deep breaths. "Cum for me Cal." You said, he finally realeased inside of you, and you cumming all over his dick.

Calum rested his head on your neck, you both panting. He kissed your forehead, looked at you and smiled.

He rolled over, took off the condom and discarded it in a little trashcan he kept next to his bed, he laid next to you.

"Damn, Cal, never knew you had it in you." You giggled.

"Yeah, to be honest, me neither!" He laughed, pulling you in for a kiss.

#5sos fanfic #5 seconds of summer #calum hood #calum hood x reader #5sos smut #calum hood fic #5 seconds of summer smut

46 notes · View notes

thelovelymissbigbadwolf · 2 months

Note

Zack would wear this on a t-shirt

He would! Full display and proudly, finding it hilarious and just a funny joke until he thinks about it too deep and "wow that does suck".

Though he'd definitely hide it from Angeal who would scold him on how it's a tasteless joke and how his life is wonderful, how much everyone around him loves and cares for Zack and just about aggressively heal his mental state so ANGERED that his friend would feel down like this, Zack of course laughs in return though is greatly grateful for having his friend care so much about him. Yes Angeal got teased for it for at least a month and yes the extra tough training sessions were totally worth it.

Sephiroth agrees and often giggles whenever he sees it, he'd like to borrow it, but know he would end up stretching the shirt and feel bad about it. Zack gets wind of Sephiroth's discreet giggles whenever he reads the shirt and secretly gets him one on his size and now they're matching. And now Angeal is scolding both.

Genesis on the other hand finds it hilarious and not only gets himself a shirt, but a silk robe of all things with that printed on the back, they only found out about it when Angeal had to go talk over some late reports with Gen who was on his self care session, with his moisturizing mask already on, drinking his favorite alcoholic drink mix (wine and whisky for some reason) and Angeal sees it and scolds him.

In the end all three join forces to buy the full set for Angeal who's gotten fed up and just gave up at this point. Now he has a shirt, sweatpants and hoodie with that print.

One day he visits Cloud over with the shirt and the blonde laughs so hard water squirted out of his nose like this. Zack laughs so hard he gags.

Then Kunsel saw the shirt.

K: What the fuck man.

Z: Pretty funny, right?

Kunsel snorts and whispers with Zack and they come up with a plan. A simple plan. Sorry for he bad joke.

Kunsel copies the design on Photoshop and then somehow managed to hack ALL computers in Shinra. He may or may not have cooperated with Reno. But, still, now all computers have that design as a desktop wallpaper. It took them a whole day to get it off.

Bonus: Eventually Aerith sees that shirt and all is good... Though Zack did forget it at her house and went over to retrieve it. He found it being used as a pillow case. Her excuse? "It smells like you..." He cried badly because he was over the moon about it.

#ff7 #ff7r #zack fair #ccff7 #ccff7r #cloud strife #ffvii #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #aerith gainsborough #ff7 kunsel #zerith

42 notes · View notes

cosmicdream222 · 3 months

Note

have you entered the void before?

I'm asking cause I've seen you post about it a bunch times with different methods to enter

Also, thank you for introducing me to the phase method! I'm using it and another method (one I created) to enter

Hey! Glad to hear the Phase has been helpful for you! Happy to answer your question, but it’s a bit more complicated than a yes/no answer and I’m feeling rambly today so you’re gonna get a whole backstory on how this blog came to be 😂

Backstory about me & this blog

I’d been in the personal development manifestation community since around 2016, and it was my life for a long time. But the kind of manifesting these people taught was basically like… wake up at 5am, work out, journal, meditate, shadow work, tarot cards, affirmations, cold showers, start a business, post no less than 10 times a day across your 5+ social media channels, and maybe if you hustle hard enough and cleared enough past life karma and Mercury isn’t retrograde, then the universe might grant your wishes... (if you don’t die of exhaustion first. 😅)

It really was a mess and realize now despite the facade of positive thinking and good vibes, the whole community really just keeps themselves identifying with lack & victim mentality so the coaches at the top profit off everyone else’s misery.

I believed in manifesting and had faith I would achieve my goals, but despite years of trying a million different things, only saw small or short-term successes and never seemed to get anywhere. I was feeling pretty burnt out and miserable, so summer 2023 I decided to stop trying so hard and just spend some time focused on myself and what I wanted. I went back to the two methods that I’ve always loved and had success with: affirmations and tapping.

I tapped every day and started making affirmation art and lockscreen wallpaper for fun. I posted the affirmations on Pinterest, which eventually lead me to finding affirmations pinned from tumblr. I think it was a screenshot from blushydior I saw at first, but her blog was deactivated by then. So I started stumbling around tumblr (around Aug-Sept 2023 at this point), where I eventually came across loa, the void, and shifting.

I was surprised because despite my extreme research into all things personal development & spiritual, I’d never heard of it. Although I’d read about quantum physics and more supernatural things, every coach/teacher had major limits. “Manifesting” only meant getting logical earth things like making 6 figures in your business through hard work and hustle so you can afford to travel and buy luxury cars & Chanel bags. Stuff like changing the past, waking up with all your desires, etc was absolutely impossible and not even talked about except “you can’t change the past”.

So having only heard about these incredible overnight life-changing manifestations from tumblr, I was skeptical and wanted more information. I basically started this blog to collect information from outside tumblr to prove it to myself and share with others. Which of course sent me down a rabbit hole of research and overconsumption and overcomplicating the void 😅

I did get kinda obsessed and throw myself into trying every shifting & void method I saw right away, which just left me frustrated with “failed” attempts. But I see now I was just repeating the same victim mentality from the old community - that everything had to be hard and a struggle, that I was a victim of circumstance and limited by a higher power. (This is also a really commonly held limiting belief in religion and society in general that affects many people.)

It took me more than a few months to realize, but I’m finally switching my default programming to that of a creator instead of a victim. Because I don’t want to be obsessed and put the void on a pedestal, I’m currently just working on my self concept that I am in control of my reality and can manifest whatever I want - with or without the void. I still do want to experience it of course, just want to make sure I’m going at it with a healthy mindset.

However!

About a week or two ago I read someone’s void success story that triggered a memory from many years ago: I realized I actually did wake up in the void and manifested something, long before I even knew what manifesting or the void was 😭 Because I’d always believed in supernatural things, I thought I had a “psychic dream” but now I know it was the void! (If anyone wants storytime I can make another post with more detail).

And since at the time, I entered without even knowing about the void’s existence, I realize we here or tumblr really do overcomplicate it. Like the video I posted where the void is described as the midway point between wake and sleep - it really is that simple!

I’ve noticed now that whenever I wake up naturally (not getting woken up by an alarm, outside noise, or cat jumping on me) I do always seem to wake up in the void. It’s the same kind of experience, and I don’t hear anything, but my first natural instinct when I wake up is to wonder where the sounds of my environment are. So I end up tuning in to my room and snapping out of the void.

I guess I just have to train myself to make my first thought an affirmation for my desires instead of just wondering where the sounds are 😅 But regardless, now I know it’s absolutely real and possible for me, I know it’s only a matter of time until I figure it out!

#manifesting #about moi #void state

31 notes · View notes

rreskk · 10 months

Note

Hiii

How about a threesome with Trevor x fem!Reader x Mickey for a one-night stand ? 👀

Don't know if they could be competitive 🤔

Great idea! I've never done something like this before so sorry if anything lacks clarity or unclear. Enjoy!

Summary: A supposedly drunk hookup with Michael Townley ended with a second bang.

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Michael Townley/Fem! reader/Trevor Philips

Word count: 2357

North Yankton – 2002 – A motel located within Ludendorff

Michael Townley, the guy you were originally drinking and hooking up with, brought you back to his humble motel room.

It was a poverty-stricken room. The TV was static, the wallpapers were faded and stained with unidentified substances. It was a needful environment; desperate for maintenance and updates. There were two beds centred near each other. Michael used the nearest one; the cleanest one. The other one was messy. It had needles and pipes scattered across the duvets, a pool of dried up blood permanently marking the two stiff pillows. Michael mentioned – No. He protested that it wasn’t his mess (someone else’s, someone present), whatever that meant…

But that didn’t matter, not as long as you were hardly sober.

When you both stumbled forward, your fingers pathetically looped with each other. The intensity was louder than the movements in the bathroom as two hard footsteps shook the surrounding floor. It took your undying attention but Michael insisted it was nothing, ripping off your clothes and grasping at your curves drunkenly, not realising that it wasn’t just nothing.

Someone was there.

It wasn’t alarmed yet. You were both kissing with tongues and groping each other’s bodies before seeing an amused grin from a deranged looking stranger that huddled the other bed, claiming the junk and drug-fuelled massacre.

Michael was on top of you, kissing the skin of your neck as you made eye contact with this man. He looked aroused, but also very VERY high. His brown, dark eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were dilated extremely inhumanly. He placed a shaky finger to his lips, demanding you to keep quiet as he didn’t want Michael to know of his presence. He just wanted to watch.

There was something so sinister about him. The guy had a messy mullet that struct in every direction, his hair greasy and untamed. When he grinned at you, this weight of his moustache was lifted to present a pair of sharpy and yellow teeth. He hasn’t blinked since you’ve noticed him. He was constantly staring at you, occasionally licking his lips and toying with the bulge between his legs.

You’d subtly gasp to grab Michael’s attention, finding yourself intimated by the audience beside you. As you nudged him with your legs, he sat up with a raise eyebrow until you pointed towards the other bed. Michael looked over and went wide eyed.

“What the fuck – Trevor!”

The other guy groaned at the disruption of seeing you both get at it.

“Don’t stop on my account, Mikey. You got yourself a heartbreaker, ay?” Trevor smirked at you with his morbid teeth.

“T, the fuck you doing here? Brad said you were out for the night.”

“I was out for the night, I got back an hour ago… Then you two love-birds decided to show up and keep me company, hm? Ain’t that right, sweetheart? What’s your name?”

The question made you shudder. The way he chewed his tongue in attempt of charming you despite the cruel look in his face.

“Leave her alone,” Michael covered your naked chest with his duvet, “She don’t want you around, neither do I.”

“I wonder what Amanda would think of this, am I right?” Trevor carried on tormenting with his lips twitching at the effects of whatever drug he’s on. He suddenly scowled when your breasts were out of his sight, making the atmosphere more hostile.

“Who’s Amanda?” You sheepishly asked.

T’s eyes softened at your confusion. There was a flicker of empathy before it switched off when Michael opened his mouth again.

“She’s no one, darling. Listen – Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this idiot would be here.”

Your thigh was still being caressed during his “truthful” apology. The gesture was happening from under the cold covers, away from Trevor’s perverted eyes. There was silence as no one believed Michael’s words, neither did he. You were left lying there before making eye contact with the other man again, being received a smaller but cheesier smirk.

“What’s he doing under there?”

“Nothing.” Mikey quickly said and snatched his hand away from your legs.

“Lies, lies, lies…” Trevor jumped off his bed and leaned over you, his head almost colliding with Michael’s. He was observing your face, neck, collarbone; trying to see at least a snip of your breasts again.

“Trevor, the fuck are you doing? Leave her alone.”

“Ohh, come on… Really? She’s a gorgeous girl… Why can’t we share, hm? Sweetheart, do you mind a bit of Uncle T in the action? I’m a gentle guy.” The drug addict smirked.

In a way, he was an interesting guy. His charming personality was already magic. There was something promising that it made you maintain eye-contact, your heart beating twice as much as it was before. Trevor shamelessly began fondling your shoulder before giving Michael a blank stare; telling him non-verbally that he will participate, even through the objections.

“If you don’t want it, you can leave and I’ll finish her off.” Threatened Trevor until his friend hesitantly sat up, looking at you for consent.

And when you nodded, their eyes both lit up with excitement.

Michael sat up and moved towards the end of the bed, pulling you with him and helping you get into position. You leaned onto your arms – ass hunched in the air, being fondled and massaged in preparation while Trevor crawls towards you. He pressed his back against the bed-railings and arched his lower body, your chin being in proportion with his crotch.

“Just like old times, Michael.” There was a wholesome sense of relief in Trevor’s voice. He was fully fixated on you, brushing some hair strands away from your face, tucking them behind your red ears.

Behind you was the sound of flies being unzipped. You returned to your position and held your glutes up high. Mike placed his hands upon your hips and rocked you into his erection. Without seeing the length, you were flabbergasted at how hard and big he was. Your mouth fell open, staring up at T with glassy eyes while his smirk gets wider. The sight of you rocking back and forth with your breasts shaky and hanging from your chest was the exact awakening for his bulge to throb.

“Ohhhh… Look at you, sugar. Keep your eyes on me, come on girl.”

You followed Trevor’s instructions and sucked in your lips, whining quietly as Michael continued thrusting in and out. You noticed how crazed his brown eyes were. Trevor studied the way your mouth chimed open. His erection pulsed even harder now. It craved the sensation of your saliva. It wanted to be suffocated and tortured by your tongue.

He placed a thumb on your bottom lip and forced your mouth open while shaking down his jeans. His white briefs were exposed and the hardened sight of his damp penis throbbed and twitched. You saw it move from under his pants. The tip was bulging red and there was already pre-cum drooling from the surface.

“Keep your mouth open,” He huskily ordered and exacted his cock from the imprisonment of his clothes. Trevor’s hands grasped the back of your head, roughly holding onto your hair strands and knocked his groin forward, sending the penis into your mouth.

You immediately gagged.

He wasn’t that big, but he had will-power. T panted at the contact of your teeth with his foreskin. His nostrils flared and he cried out in pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck…” He nibbled onto his lip, “Jesus. Tell me your name, sugar. Choke your name on my fuckin’ cock, you slut.”

Michael was grunting and churning when listening to this interaction. He had his visions glues to your ass that grinded against his length, enjoying the intimate contact (that he doesn’t receive much). You could tell as he was desperate with the thrusts. He was very lively and rigid that pronouncing your name and introducing yourself to Trevor was merely impossible. Mikey was hunched over your back, his hips sloppily slapping against your frame. He had a strong physique so he was naturally heavy handed with his movements – Handling you with authority.

“Shit.” Even his moans were short and stiff. It could easily match how major and serious he felt about this interaction.

You wanted to shout his name, but Trevor’s feisty cock rammed itself in and out of your mouth. Your tongue tried to catch up, only managing to wipe the pre-cum he had gifted you for making him aroused and horny. The hand around your head was also aggressive and hostile. He didn’t have natural power like Michael’s, but it was extremely combative and confrontational.

“Tell me your fuckin’ name, swee – Oh, Oh fuck me. You’re so fuckin’ hot. Mhmmm…” The commands were ongoing. He was belittling you at this point, and you loved it. This guy was seriously unforgettable. May the Lord thank him for interrupting your precious alone time with Michael.

When you thought you were getting used to the pace of both men fucking with you, Mikey decides to speed up. He was throbbing inside you. He was exactly hitting your sensitive patch and you had no time to prepare for the sudden pleasure.

“Mike-“ You strangled on Trevor’s cock. You were beginning to drool, the saliva strands hanging from your chin and lips. He giggled at how needy you were. He’d give his friend a small smirk after your attempt of moaning his name.

“Mikey this, Mikey that… Baby, Uncle T wants to know your fuckin’ name. Come on… Choke it out.”

“[y/n] – Oh! Urgh!”

“[y/n]?” Trevor mimicked your struggle with a grin. He watched you slurp his foreskin, your eyes getting glassier when your words were thrown back up into your throat, “Come on. Louder.”

“I ca-“

“LOUDER!”

You collapsed onto Trevor’s stomach, his cock still adventuring in your mouth. Michael had made your arms fail to hold your strength anymore. You sluggishly fell against the sheets, making him kneel and dig deeper within your sex.

Trevor almost felt jealous at how good Mikey was making you feel. He’d glare at him, his fingers scraping your scalp with jealousy and anger. He had full sights of Townley fucking you nice and good. Trevor watched and grinded his teeth. He decided it was no excuse to slunk and he thrusted his penis into your mouth, lifting up your face and watched how eager you took it. You were intimidated by how angry he was. The way his eyebrows darkened and caused shadows over his whole face. There his lips quivering and screwing up into a petty scowl as he caressed your cheek and hair; this guy was dangerously confusing to read.

“[y/n], fuck.” T growled and urged you faster.

You held onto his thighs for support and felt your climax grow closer.

“I’m gonna-“

“Same.” Cried out Michael who had sweat trickling the hairline of his buzzcut. He went to slow down but Trevor scoffed.

“Woah, hey! Fuck her through the orgasm, you slacker!”

You felt him begin to fasten his face, thankful that Trevor stopped him from stopping. You stroked his thigh and gazed up at him with the cock still buried in your mouth. You wanted to express your appreciation but he seemed to get it, and smirked.

“I’m your favourite, aren’t I? Isn’t that right, [y/n]? Come on… Come on… Fuck-“ He winced, “Faster baby, I’m almost there.”

You bopped your head up and down before Trevor arched his back and gagged.

“FUCK!”

He came all into your mouth, his semen devouring and soaking up your spit and tongue. He was whining throughout the orgasm, threatening to pull your hair with how antsy and static he was.

You gasped for air after he pulled his dick away, rubbing it raw as cum sneakily ran from the tip away. Trevor looked ruined. His face was scrunched up with pleasure and pain, obviously easy to please considering you only had to haggle his foreskin with your selfish tongue.

He then leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours, breathing the intoxicating and gruesome odour of his body and mouth upon your face while Michael took his last thrust. You were reaching your climax and moaned until he kissed your lips hungrily, holding a hand against your throat and stealing your speech away. His moustache abused your upper lip. You’ll definitely receive a stubble burn after this.

Furthermore, Michael had pulled out in time to come all over your ass as well. He was wrecked to the point of being bright-red and wheezing for air. His shirt was soaked in sweat, his hand gently caressed your shoulder blades while Trevor pulled away from the kiss, monstrously happy with this outcome.

“Look at you both… Hm? Hot messes, especially you, sugar.” He pinched your chin before resting back and closing his eyes to recapture his energy.

Mikey breathed out, “Fuck… You liked that, [y/n]?”

You nodded your head, absolutely exhausted and amazed at their performances. You’ve never had a threesome before. You were almost tempted to do it again.

“Next time, I’ll fuck you. Mikey’s a bit low on the mutual participation.” Trevor grinned. It was like he read your mind.

“Aww, fuck you.”

“Oh? Then who’d fuck [y/n] over there? Hmm, actually, she’d fuck better than you. Hey, sugar, ever tried a strap on?”

You weren’t sure if he was serious or not. T was such an unpredictable character. You rested your chin on his thigh and looked dazed.

“Too soon? Gotcha. I think you’d be a beast anyway…” He smirked as Michael rolled his eyes.

“[y/n]. I’ll take you home.”

“Woah, hey. Let the girl rest. I like her on my lap.”

“How is he not freaking you out?” Mikey asked you with a frown.

“At least I watch out for her, Mr ‘stopping before coming’. What would you do without me-“

“Stop it, please!” You pled. Their bickering had finally made you lose the plot, “You both gave me a good time. Just let me… Rest, okay?”

Trevor smirked at you, “Say no more. Naked cuddle?”

“Jesus Christ, Trevor. Enough!”

76 notes · View notes

devilfic · 2 years

Text

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

IX. from now on.

parts: previously. plot: endings give way to beginnings. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: romance, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, grief, the author only understands so much about medical protocol I’m sorry, minor character death, grief. words: 5.5k.

a/n: well, this is the last chapter. thank you all for keeping up with this series! I’ve had a wonderful time exploring this little world with my bruce and I’m happy to have gotten to share this series with all of you. your enthusiasm and kindness has meant a lot to me. hope y’all enjoy~

You had a memory—shortly before the death of the Waynes—of seeing Wayne Manor for the first time. Of course, by that point, the sprawling mansion was being called Gotham Orphanage and Thomas, Martha, and Bruce Wayne were christening its rebirth on live TV.

You weren’t any different than every other kid in your class for daydreaming about the place. How lucky little Bruce Wayne must have been to have all that to himself! It was a far-off dream for someone like you, but you’d wanted to visit. Just once. Then it burned down on the news and that dream went up in smoke with it.

Now, as you wade through weeds and broken beer bottles that decorate the front yard, careful that you don’t trip in the dark, you realize that childish dream of yours never really died. Bruce is waiting for you in the foyer when you finally get through the door, “I get that you’re a bat and all, but some of us can’t see very well at night.” Before you can clock his reaction, Bruce shines his flashlight directly into your eyes.

“Neither can bats. They use echolocation.” The sound of his voice and his approaching footsteps cut through the blinding light until he’s standing right before you.

“What are we doing here, anyway?”

Bruce follows your line of sight to the broken chandelier overhead casting reflections of light against moldy, torn wallpaper. Shining his flashlight directly on it makes diamonds dance in his eyes, “Research.”

Without further discussion, Bruce turns abruptly and leaves the hallway without you.

You’re quick to catch up, only stumbling on wet, loose debris every few feet. Bruce is always quick to grab hold of you when you lose your footing. “Not that I’m not having fun, but this kinda seems like a job for you and your pal Gordon. I can’t imagine I’ll be much help here.”

“You’ll be plenty,” and then Bruce pushes his flashlight into your hands once you reach the staircase, every other step fractured or chipped off, “point the light up?” You do as told, light landing on a large hole going through the floor of the second story.

“What’re you researching?”

“The manor.”

“Pretty sure this place has a Wikipedia page.”

Bruce cuts his eyes to you and smiles, “I need a closer look.”

When Bruce starts moving to the next room, you obediently follow at a much slower pace. There isn’t much to look at given the history of the manor. Smoke clings to the walls and the architecture is falling apart at the seams, but it fills you with enchantment all the same. You try to imagine what you’d seen in pictures before, and though you know your imagination will never live up to the real thing, you still try.

The next room ends up being a much bigger space. The chandeliers in here are more intact thanks to how high the ceilings reach. If you looked hard enough, you could even make out the detailed cornice all along the ceiling. As for what you can clearly see, chairs are lined up in broken rows; it’s the shell of a movie theater or a common room for the children. But long before that, it was something else, “Was this the ballroom?”

“It was,” his voice is tinged with melancholy, examining the room, “it was much more impressive when I was younger.”

“I bet. Would’ve killed to come to a ball here. Did you guys ever have a chocolate fountain?”

“No, though it wasn’t for lack of requesting.”

You giggle, a younger, more petulant Bruce Wayne appearing in your mind. “Can I ask what you’re researching in here?”

Behind the cowl, you make out a nervous twitch at his brow. “I’ve been seeing your mother.”

You blanch, “I’m sorry?”

Bruce recoils at the sharpness in your voice, realizing his mistake, and he scrambles to fix it, “I’ve been visiting her. In the hospital.”

“Oh... really? She hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

“I asked her to keep it a secret.” At your scandalized reaction, Bruce smiles in what you think is an attempt to be reassuring, “It’s nothing bad.”

“Is it something I’m not going to like?”

“The opposite, actually.”

“That just makes me nervous.” You found it difficult to believe your mother had much to offer someone like Bruce, even more so when Alfred was there. Unless Alfred was in on it too... You couldn’t be the only one out of the loop, could you? Now you were sufficiently unsettled. “Can I know what it is, at least?”

“At least.”

“Bruce.”

“I promise,” and he keeps the humor out of his voice to convince you, sincere, “I can’t leave you in the dark if you’re a part of it.”

“Part of what?” Ideas begin to swim in your head, each more incredible than the last.

Bruce captures the hand that’s closest to him, holding it between both of his own, saying nothing for a moment. You’re glad he isn’t actually a bat; if he could hear your frantic heartbeat, he’d probably have you rooming with your mother in Gotham General until it calmed down... or maybe he’d finally just tell you. You scoot up to his shoulder to see which possibility might win.

“Mayor Reál once told me that I could be doing more for the city, and I’ve been thinking about what Selina said to you. About me doing nothing for Gotham. It didn’t really... hit me, that my name could be anything other than a burden. Your mother gave me some advice on what to do with that name recently. I’ve been working on an idea, and if you’d like, I want you to be part of it.” You notice the slight shake of his hands clasped around your own, though you don’t detect any fear. Nerves, actually. Excitement. He was excited.

You watch, in awe, as he turns his head to meet your eyes, “I’m going to the mayor’s office next week with a proposal: offer rehabilitation to the dropheads seeking shelter in the orphanage, and then tear it all down. And rebuild,” Bruce’s voice trembles, “rebuild everything. Give a new generation of children in Gotham a chance. This time, there will be no mistake. I’ll make sure of it myself.”

“Bruce.”

“And I want you to... do it with me. I’ve been wanting to do some rearranging of Wayne Enterprises anyway, give Alfred a break and put someone permanent in charge. And you can stay as you are, or, if you’d like, I’d like to put you in charge of the finances for the new orphanage. I don’t want that money going to anyone other than those kids. There’s no one I trust more than you for this.”

Well, out of all your incredible ideas, you’d expected nothing close to this.

The orphanage had been a chilling reminder of Gotham’s failure long before it burned down. It’s why it was a graveyard now, a shell of the home it was and was meant to be. At least it being in ruins had been more favorable to the hell it had been before.

But there were people willing to take a chance on Gotham. It might’ve started with a vigilante, but it was trickling down. Mayors, police commissioners, normal people like you. You hadn’t felt this much hope since the dawn of those horrible floods. Not since you realized while watching that soon to be unmasked vigilante- no, hero, standing on that arena rooftop and pulling people to safety, that there could be something more.

“I, uh... Jesus Christ,” your disbelieving laugh draws a nervous one out of Bruce, “you’ve really thought this through. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could’ve helped.”

“I wanted to do it alone. I wanted to be ready.”

It was a large step up from being a CEO’s butler’s personal assistant, and the responsibility of being in charge of something so dear to Bruce and so important to the city was a heavy one. It wasn’t a choice for you to make lightly.

But could you really imagine doing anything else?

“Well... we’ll definitely have to talk more details, of course. I’ll help you proofread everything, and then we’re going to have to meet with the accountants at least once to smooth out the logistics but... yes, I would love to. I would really love to.”

Bruce exhales in relief, swirling the early summer air between your faces, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so big in his life. It’s gone in an instant but his joy still vibrates through his touch. He resembles a younger Bruce in that moment, a Bruce you never got to know before news of the Waynes rocked the nation all those years ago. You can’t help but take his face into your hands and burn it into your memory. You don’t ever want to forget it. “Now, can we continue this research in the light of day, maybe?”

When the mayor’s receptionist instructs you both to take a seat, you run your eyes over the proposal in your hands until each word is printed into your mind, and then you do it a few more times for good measure. “She’s not going to bite, you know.” Bruce points out.

You roll your eyes, “Cut me some slack. I’m meeting the mayor.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as a fan.”

“I’m not,” though, your cheeks go a little hot anyway, “I just think she’s... cool.”

Bruce snorts low in his throat, not even gathering the attention of the receptionist mere feet away, but it’s enough to make your ears burn. “Would you like to pitch the proposal, then?”

“God, no! I’m too nervous to make any sense.” Bruce reaches over and pats the back of your hand, discreet. It’s more than enough to help calm your nerves that little bit. You take a deep breath and try not to leave sweaty fingerprints in the paper you’re holding. “I’ve got to keep my phone on, anyway. The hospital could call.”

“We can reschedule.”

You look at Bruce with wild eyes, “Reschedule with the mayor? You’re crazy.”

“I don’t want to add more stress to your plate,” Bruce answer simply, “and for what it’s worth, I’m sure it went well.”

The surgery had been penciled into your calendar for weeks at this point. With your mother’s illness growing more arduous on her body, she’d been advised to get as much of the malign growth removed before her quality of life plummeted even further. It would be a routine surgery, you were assured over and over, but it hadn’t made you any less nervous. You’d been jittery ever since leaving her behind.

“Yeah,” you murmur, “you’re probably right.”

A solid voice cuts through the moment, just as powerful in a small room as it was on stage in front of thousands. Bella Reál stands in the doorway to her office and gives you both a smile, “Mr. Wayne. I’m glad you could make it.”

Bruce is more than capable of doing all the talking. He’s rehearsed enough on his own, replaying his pitch to you at breakfast and over the phone and in your bed (or his) late at night. He’d repeated it so much that you’d remembered it all word for word, mouthing each sentence as he spoke. He’s nervous and keeps his hands clasped in his lap in lieu of reaching for you, but he does it. By the end of the pitch, Bella is sold.

Somewhere in between discussion of when to break ground and sharing specific costs, you feel your pocket begin to vibrate. Bruce only needs one look from you before you’re excusing yourself into the lobby.

“How’d it go?” You breath out before the nurse on the other line can even get a word in.

It’s Annie, you realize, but only halfway through her sentence when what she’s saying starts hitting you. You can hear her voice quiver as she relays back the standard protocol, “The surgery was successful, but your mother’s condition has worsened. She woke up in an abnormal amount of discomfort, and after some testing, it seems to be due to internal bleeding.”

“Bleeding? Has it stopped?” The receptionist’s eyes cut to you as you stammer.

“We’ve been trying to get her stabilized, and we don’t think the bleeding is severe enough to warrant another operation just yet, but we’ve given her a transfusion and we’ve got her on more fluids to help the process. It would be best if you came by as soon as possible, she wants to see you.”

There are several different thoughts going through your head. The assurance that the situation isn’t as severe as it could be is only comforting to an extent, but the invisible war your mother’s body was fighting left a pit in your stomach. There was nothing you could do to help her but be by her side. There was nothing you could do but hope that she would be fine.

She would. She would make it through. You couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Thanks, Annie.”

You exchange your goodbyes and barely have the soundness of mind to leave the receptionist with a message for Bruce. She seems frazzled by the suddenness but assures you she’ll pass it on once the meeting adjourns, and that’s all you really have time for before your brain shuts out everything else. You just need to be with her. There would be time for everything else later.

It’s half an hour later when Bruce gets the news.

Life buzzes on about the hospital floor, but it feels lonely standing here, as if room 614 had been carved out of time and space and existed in a separate world to Bruce’s own. Annie doesn’t even spare him a smile, unlike herself, “Hey, Bruce. You can go on in.” His thanks is simple, certain that the nurse is in no shape for conversation, but before he can get the door open, Annie intervenes one last time, “Eline’s peaceful, but... it can be difficult. For family members.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

She gets out of his way then.

Your chair is pulled up to the hospital bed. One of your hands is clasped in Eline’s while she watches the news on its lowest volume, your other tucked against your waist as if you might be sick. Your face, however, is the most lifeless he’s ever seen it. If you felt sick, you didn’t look like you had the heart to care.

You register he’s there when your eyes flit to him, but you don’t make a move to say hello. Eline does, however, smiling, “Took you long enough.”

Instead of bringing his chair to her bedside, Bruce rounds the foot of the bed and hovers behind you, “I considered calling an ambulance for a ride, but I didn’t want to steal the spotlight.” He’s thankful for the comforting sound of Eline’s laugh, “How are you feeling?”

Despite her jovial tone, she’s sickly with exhaustion written deep into the bones of her face. He wasn’t familiar with the slow toll your body failing on you could have; he’d experienced seeing the life sapped out of others in an instant, faces often still full of life even as they went cold. Your mother, on the other hand, looked as if she needed a long, long sleep. “I could be better. How’d the meeting go? Kid told me the mayor loved it.”

At the moment, you didn’t look capable of talking about anything. You continued to stare at your hand intertwined with your mother’s. You move only to breathe. Bruce feels strange sharing good news, “We can break ground starting late June. Maybe sooner.”

You twitch just a little. Your head moves like you intend to look up at him but you don’t complete the action. You continue to stare ahead.

Eline reaches her free hand out to him and Bruce is quick to take it, noting how cold it was. Back when he’d first held it, it had kept his own hands warm. Her touch is no less motherly, but it feels... wrong. All of it feels wrong, “Knew you could do it. I’m telling you, it’s only going to look up from here. First, the orphanage, next... well, who knows?”

“I’d love for you to come see it when it’s all fixed up.” His voice drops low, and those who can hear it are aware of its hopeful undercurrent.

“That’d be nice, huh, kid? You always wanted a look inside that place.” Her prompting doesn’t elicit any response from you. You’re catatonic while Eline looks on, heart visibly breaking a little more with every silent second that passes. Her eyes slowly shift back to Bruce. “It can happen sometimes. Complications in surgery. Doctor said they’ll keep an eye on it, but I just get a feeling. You know?” Bruce can’t say he does, but he nods, “But I think I did pretty good.”

“You did. A star patient, I heard.”

“Not that. I mean... I think I did pretty good for myself. To go out like this.”

Your mother had been dancing around it this whole time, and only now were the words out in the open, the force you needed to break apart completely. Bruce reaches forward and grasps your shoulders as you lurch toward her, body shaking all over, “Don’t say that.”

A stranger could mistake Eline’s expression for one of indifference, but in the few weeks that Bruce had gotten to know your mother, he’d learned of all the layers that lied beneath. It was taking all there was in her not to react to you the way he was sure she wanted to. “It’s not going to get better,” her tone is cruel, forcing reality on you, “I’m weak and it keeps spreading and... how many surgeries can I really afford to have?”

“As many as you need. I would make sure of that.” Bruce insists.

“It’s a waste,” you flinch at your mother’s assertion, “no, no it is. I’m tired. This isn’t going away. The fact I’ve made it this long is a miracle, and I’m happy I made it this long. I’m happy I got to have a wonderful kid. And I’m happy I got to see you grow up. And I’m happy that you’ll be loved even when I’m gone.”

Your head shakes back and forth, muttering to yourself. Bruce has never seen you this way. He doesn’t want to see you this way ever again.

It is just so slow.

When Thomas and Martha Wayne’s lives were taken in front of him, Bruce had skyrocketed through so many emotions. The terror from being cornered, the shock at seeing the gaping wounds, the panic upon realizing he was utterly helpless, and an overwhelming agony as he cried, alone, until he’d screamed himself numb.

Seconds. He’d lost them in seconds. So quickly had his parents been taken from him that details blurred if he didn’t think about them hard enough. What came first? The tears or the rage?

But Eline goes slowly.

It’s between you and Bruce to hold onto hope that she doesn’t have. She murmurs a thought every once in a while, pointing out something on the TV, and hums a broken tune. Bruce watches the TV to give her privacy, his heart racing each time he looks over to see if it’ll be the last time. You alternate between crying and humming along too.

When her vitals plummet, they find what Eline had already suspected. It doesn’t take them long to wheel her away for emergency surgery. The nurses assure you both that it’ll be quick. They know what’s wrong, they know how to stop it. They just need a little more time.

She doesn’t come back.

Comforting in this gentle way doesn’t come easy to him, but it’s almost second nature the way Bruce takes you into his arms and holds you.

It’s the worst feeling in the world. It’s excruciating. He’d always thought it’d be different for you, when it ever came time to grieve, because you’d have time that he never had. You’d had years to say goodbye, as callous as it was to think, so maybe it wouldn’t tear you up so much.

In reality, you cried just like he did, voice cracking after the strain became too much. Bruce remembered how raw his throat had been the next day, barely able to speak, and resists the urge to smooth a hand over your own throat.

You deserve to cry, and you’re allowed to let it hurt.

Bruce Wayne isn’t there for the funeral.

Someone is, but it’s not Bruce Wayne. Throughout the service, you see him at the edge of the crowd, dressed unrecognizably to the untrained eye, flanked by (more recognizably) Alfred and Dory. The few people that inquire of the sinewy stranger can never get close enough to look at him. You don’t blame the little family and friends that waver in the pews, sneaking glances.

He’s the first person there and the last one to leave. Alfred and Dory come to pay their respects together. Dory is a chatterbox complaining about how hectic the traffic was to get here, and Alfred smooths his hands over your sleeves and promises to leave the lights on for you. The only one who doesn’t approach you is Bruce.

Though there’s a feast of a reception going on for a good hour or two after the funeral, he waits outside in the rain until you come around with a slice of cake one of your aunts had made. It was your mother’s favorite. “You sure you’re not hungry? There’s some food left in there.” You ask, peeking under the bill of his Gotham Knights’ baseball cap.

Bruce leans closer in some vain attempt to guard you from the weather, though it’s difficult with his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. Inside, there are still some people lingering around the reception hall laughing over memories they shared of your mother. You notice Bruce’s discomfort and nudge him with your arm, “You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

He’d seen you plenty. The first few days—sure—you holed up in your room and left only when necessary. The others shuffled around you, leaving you a breadth of room to be alone. What waking moments that weren’t spent in sorrow were for getting preparations together, and you’d only forced yourself to function recently, but he was always still there: food put away on its own, clothes picked off the floor, things put back in their places when you were sure they hadn’t been before. You’d assumed the lapse in memory was why everything was always just... taken care of.

And then there was the Bat.

You didn’t leave the tower often, but when you did (because you didn’t want to talk, because you needed more time), you’d take solitary walks in the city. You kept your head down the way you’d been taught and stuck to the crowded parts of the city, walking at a speed that kept others from approaching you. Sometimes you did look up though, just because you would get a prickling at the back of your neck that something in the air had shifted.

After all, every rooftop in Gotham is his perch. Your eyes had started to naturally scan where the city ended and the sky began to find him, and it usually only took a glimpse for him to leave. You’d still be registering his cowl against the backdrop of the full moon and he’d already be gone, smoke in the night. In his own way, he took care of you.

Despite his wet jacket, Bruce’s body heat burns through, and you’re quickly reminded of how much you missed touching another body like this. “How are things?”

“Alfred and Dory miss you,” you smile at that, “Mayor Reál sends her condolences.”

“And you?”

You don’t even have to see Bruce’s face to know he’s pink in the cheeks now. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Bruce mulls over your words for a few minutes. Twilight lingers on the horizon, and soon you’d be seeing Bruce off for his nightly duties as the Bat, but you’re thankful he’s in no hurry. “I didn’t want anyone around when it happened to me. Not Alfred, not anyone. Still, he... was always there. Even if I couldn’t see him. Even when I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to do the same. I wanted to wait until you were ready.”

“I... figured.” Bruce shifts lightly, not enough to disturb your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m ready. But I do miss seeing you. Out of the shadows, I mean.”

Bruce brings one hand out of his pocket and brings you a little closer. Unsure if you’re comfortable with more. You’d think you’d been starved of touch since birth with the way you react to it. “Maybe I’ll... wait in the corner of your room at night until you wake up.”

The very image makes you shiver and laugh. “I’d prefer you just sit with me. Or let me sit with you. I’ll even let you tinker with my car a little more.”

Bruce doesn’t answer in time. People start pouring out of the reception hall as the rain lets up and the sun goes down, exchanging well wishes as Bruce hides his face under the cover of night. By the time everyone is cleared out, twilight has turned into the cloudy, black night characteristic of Gotham. It won’t be long now.

“Bruce, can I ask you for a favor?”

Bruce catches your eyes, breath going still. You don’t know what he thinks you’re going to ask for, but he looks braced for the worst. “Anything.”

“Will you take me for a ride?”

His shoulder relaxes beneath your head. The bike is just across the lot and you walk hand in hand until Bruce situates his helmet on you. You’d insisted once that he be the one to wear the helmet when riding together, though that was shut down with such intensity that you dared never to suggest it again. It did help that he bought you your own helmet days later, though.

You climb on once Bruce settles down, arms finding their familiar place around his torso. You hope he doesn’t mind that you’re holding him much tighter than usual.

With the cheek of your helmet pressed in the spot between his shoulder blades, Gotham flies by in a flurry of lights and sounds. At every stoplight, citizens of the city rush about: some to work the evening shift at a diner, some finally on their way from work, and others just like you—wandering. At every stoplight, Bruce reaches a hand back to your knee. Each time, you snuggle that much closer into him.

You go on for what feels like hours. Perhaps it is. All you know is that Bruce doesn’t take you home until your grip starts to go slack.

You think he might leave.

Instead, once Bruce has settled you under your covers, he crawls into the other side—his side—and waits until you reach for him to hold you.

“Don’t you have patrol tonight?” You whisper.

“Yes.” He replies, hesitant.

Perhaps he knows. There’s no way he hadn’t heard you waking up with night terrors, heard you crying and mumbling in your sleep before your dreams released you. He probably knew already, but it didn’t hurt to ask, “Then... can you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep.”

You can’t see his face with your own concealed against his chest. You can only hear his very steady heartbeat thumping in a peaceful tune, one single breath his answer, “Okay.”

The night terrors make it hard to fall asleep on your own, but you’re out within minutes and hope that at least you won’t wake to him pulling away. You don’t think you can handle tonight alone.

But morning comes, and there are no night terrors, and Bruce is still holding you in the same position you’d fallen asleep in. The certainty that this was no mistake on his part is enough to lull you back to bed. Sleep is the most peaceful it’s been all week.

2 months later.

“Careful, whole place is a mess right now. You’ll need one of these.”

A hardhat is passed into your hands seconds before the construction worker abandons you to help tear down a nearby wall, though you don’t struggle to find where you’re going in the daylight. The last time you’d been here, you might as well have been trekking through the set of a horror movie.

It’s not much prettier than before, but it’s definitely a start.

You’re careful not to get in anyone’s way, what with wooden planks being marched through hallways and sawdust flying in every direction. Most rooms are flush with busybodies tearing away at the diseased parts of the house, and others are storage rooms of material you’re not qualified to touch, but none of them seem to have what you’re looking for. If you tried calling out for him, your voice would barely carry over the bustle.

You really shouldn’t be surprised about where you do find him.

Alfred stands at his side, hands politely tucked behind his back as they examine the ceiling of the ballroom. You hear the butler muttering something that makes Bruce look eager to shut him up. Luckily for him, he spots you then. A smile that had become more commonplace on Bruce’s face is what greets you first, “Well? What do you think?”

You cross the large hall and kick up dust as you go, “Very industrial. What with all the uh... construction.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, “Besides that.”

“It’s got a lot of potential. I can’t imagine what it’ll look like in a few months. Hell, I can’t imagine what it’ll look like when kids are running around in here.”

Alfred smiles, “I can, though a distant memory.”

A lightbulb goes off behind your eyes. “Oh yeah, Dory told me Bruce was a very... active child in here.” At the same time, the light goes out of Bruce’s eyes.

Before Alfred can get any ideas of adding in his two cents, Bruce very unsubtly guides you by the small of your back to another part of the ballroom.

Despite the joy in his features, you couldn’t ignore how tired he’d been looking recently. With his nightly duties and getting the orphanage up and running, you’d found Bruce to be more of a weighted blanket in bed than a partner. You didn’t blame him; you did worry, though.

Your hand naturally finds the curve of his jaw, fingertips brushing where his hair had grown back out again. With Alfred busy training his successor, he hadn’t had the time to trim it out of Bruce’s eyes, but you couldn’t say you were in a hurry for him to get it under control. Sentimental, you were. “It’s amazing, Bruce.”

Your assurance doesn’t penetrate as deeply as you’d hoped. “Wish I’d done it sooner.”

“You needed time to get to a place where you could do it right. Could you imagine trying to get something like this done under Mitchell? Absolutely not.” Bruce looks past you, still not entirely convinced, but you gently guide his gaze back to you, “And you’re not the same Bruce you were before. Everyday, you’re getting better. You’re learning. You can’t rush that.”

A vulnerable look crosses his face. His warm, stubble-ridden cheek leans into your palm searching for more comfort and you gladly give it.

You still can’t quite wrap your head around where the two of you have ended up. Watching Gotham shift alongside the man responsible for so much of its metamorphosis often felt more like fiction than fact. More than that, though: it felt hopeful. While you didn’t imagine Gotham would ever be “perfect”, its baby steps were a welcome change. “You’re doing a good job, Mr. Wayne. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

Bruce shuts his eyes, “Thanks.”

“I’m very proud of you.”

Bruce’s eyes reopen just a smidge, hooded eyelids revealing only blue half-moons, and he turns his cheek just far enough to press a tender kiss to your palm. Another way of saying thank you.

“By the way, what was Alfred saying to you before I came in? You looked kinda peeved.”

Bruce groans, pulling you closer by the hand until your elbow rested on his shoulder, “He kept insisting we invest in a ballroom for the tower.”

“Whatever for?”

“Something about... how I should’ve kept up with my dance lessons as a kid. He’s convinced I could’ve been a dancer in another life.”

A silly grin breaks out on your face. “You’re still a good dancer. I recall us dancing on my kitchen counter, on the kitchen floor, in my childhood bedroom-”

Bruce pulls you all of the way into him to shut you up with a kiss, indignant as he was, though Alfred was too far away to have even heard any of that. Out of curiosity, you peek open an eye to look in the old man’s direction.

You’re met with his usual, knowing smile. Perhaps it’s best you don’t ask.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #the batman #battinson x reader #mjwrites #this is also absolutely named after the song that plays during edward and bella's honeymoon in breaking dawn

466 notes · View notes

thotsforvillainrights · 7 months

Note

Howdy! May I please request a Chisaki x reader?

A one shot please. I don't mind if you want to write it with bullet points or stuff 'cause I just want domestic fluff where there's a late-at-night vibe to it :] Maybe Chisaki left the basement super late than usual and he's a little sleepy now so he's kind of quiet and passive when he interacts with his S/O. Like, his movements are sorta sluggish and he's being really cute and stuff with his sleepy voice and the reader's kinda taken aback and hdiejejsjssiidisiwjsorrylol.

Also, hope you and the baby are doing well :]

(Howdy! We're doing well Anon so thank you for asking! You mentioned the bullet points and I think you might be referring to headcanons? But you already mentioned to begin with that you wanted a one-shot which is basically a scenario for me. Therefore, I'll get that done for you!)

~Tea by Midnight~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

You hadn't taken much time to notice the clock on the wall as it ticked quietly away counting down the minutes of the night passing into hours. You were pretty wrapped up in the movie marathon you'd started hours ago. By now you were finally finished with the last movie when you finally looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh..." It was pretty much midnight at this point and you'd heard no word from Chisaki since he went to the lower base to get some work done. You were actually going to go retrieve him had he not come up just in time. It was obvious he was working hard today trying to get some stuff (or maybe even some people) in line. He likely skipped eating lunch too since he hadn't emerged with any hint of a used bento box nor a plastic wrapper. He was sporting some eye bags and his posture also showed that he had to be exhausted. His tired golden eyes drifted slowly over to you as soon as he noticed you were standing there. "Angel..." He mumbled quietly. You could honestly barely make it out at first with the way his words seemed to slur. No hint or smell of alcohol, this was genuine sleepiness.

"Kai, come to the room." You reach out for his hand. He shakes his head and denies your offer. "Can't. Have a few more things to finish up." He tries to ignore you as he heads into the kitchen to brew some of Pop's special teas. It's something the old man always brought out to him when he did all-nighters back in high school studying for his exams. You try yet again to convince him to come lay down. If you can at least bring him to the couch then you'll achieve your goal. When you went to grip at his hand he'd turned to look at you and place his hand gently on your head. "Love you." A soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Huh?" Unprompted affection wasn't usually his thing, then again...he's so sleepy his words are slurred at this point.

"Sit with me on the couch and I'll drink some tea with you before you have to go back to work." You lied. You knew getting him in a still position and giving him some love would certainly put him to sleep. He nodded and nearly stumbled forward as he went to move to the couch. You reached to help him and once again was surprised by his willingness to lean into you. He'd snuck a sweet peck onto your forehead as well before plopping a bit hard onto the couch cushions. You went to retrieve the tea and noticed him struggling to keep his eyes open while watching the news. You smiled and placed the tray on the coffee table knowing it would likely go unused. "The tea..." He mumbled but you shushed him, gently placing a single finger on his lips. Whatever strength he had left was already leaving his system at this point as he silently admits defeat and leans himself into you. He mumbles one more 'I love you' into your neck before finally making his descent into dream world.

When the old man had made it home, the tea was left cold and untouched on the table. The TV had long since went into sleep mode as it displayed various wallpapers on the screen. He was greeted with the sight of his favorite couple curled up together in each other's warmth. You can bet all the money in the world that he got a few pictures as keepsake memories as well.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #overhaul #kai chisaki #yakuza #shie hassaikai #scenario

24 notes · View notes

hrt2dnf · 13 days

Text

When the sunbeams poured over the towns below, Dream and George went shopping before stopping at an ice cream shop. It’s just him and his boyfriend wandering aimlessly around the mall; what more could he ask for?

[ Inspired by George’s snap. ]

“Dream,” George called into the bathroom door. “We are not going into a restaurant with a formal dress code.” “I’m trying to look good for you, George,” Dream responded. “You look good even when you wake up and haven’t taken a shower.” “I want to make this special. It’s so tough for us to go on dates nowadays, so I want to make it amazing for you.” “If you want to make it amazing for me, you can start by coming out of this door.” He knocked onto hard wood. When it slid open, Dream was dressed in a green sweater, one hand combing through his dishevelled hair, his striped beanie in the other, body silhouetted against the bathroom lights. “See? You don’t look atrocious.” “My hair is a mess.” “You are even messier. Come on, the mall won’t be open forever.” ---- Shoes were dragged across the floor as he let his hand glide through different fabrics. Dream followed George, even if he were to walk in circles; a puppy tacitly pleading for attention. “Have you found something you wanted?” Dream asked. “Everything here could be bought at a thrift store for only three dollars. Pointless.” “What about this?” From a row of sweaters, Dream pulls out a varsity jacket. George lets his fingertips caress cotton. It was soft, and reminded him of the crowd's acclamation when he hit a home run; memories of Dream when he sprinted into his arms when the game was over like a waterfall meeting its lake. He’d bathe in Dream’s care all day if he could. “Sure.” George took one last glance at the jacket before he walked to the register. “What made you want to buy it instantly?” The sparkle flickering in his eyes was telling. He remembered. He searched through his wallet. “I used to wear this a lot when I played baseball.” Dream hummed. “It was the first time I was able to have a proper conversation with you. You could not stop talking about how much you loved that sport and how good your team was.” George laughed as he handed the cash. “We were good. Years of practice is not going to go down the drain after a couple of matches.” “Are you going to wear it?” “It’s brand new, I don’t want to have it ruined on my first day of getting it.” George held the sleeve in his fist. “Of course, of course.” They walked into the crowd. George pulled his phone from his pocket and gave a slight tap onto the screen. 15:19, it read, numbers plastered onto the blue wallpaper. “Is there anywhere else you want to go?” Dream asked, jacket being draped onto his back. George glanced around the mall. “We could get ice cream.” He pointed to an ice cream shop which caught his eye. “We haven’t had ice cream in ages.” “Sapnap finished it all.” Dream laughed. “It was strawberry; he likes that flavour.” “He should’ve saved a spoon for me.” The bell rang when they swung the door open. Dream took a chair and sat in the corner as George ordered his favourite: chocolate flavoured ice cream with a cone in a cup. “You really like cones in a cup, huh?” Dream giggled. George sat down on the chair, placing his ice cream on the table in front of him. “Yeah, I do–hey! That’s mine! Order your own.” He snatches the spoon away from Dream’s hand before ripping the beanie off from his head and ruffling his hair. Dream smiled, and he could taste sunshine in them. After all, what about him isn’t a summer holiday?

#dnf #dreamnotfound #dwt #dreamwastaken #gnf #georgenotfound

9 notes · View notes

duck-in-a-thrift-store · 15 days

Text

Alright, ik it's been a little while but now it's time for room/character closeup #3

~Max & El's room~

Right off the bat I think it goes without saying their room is quite a bit more *fun* than some of the others; it was heavily inspired by the early s3 aesthetic (before everything went to shit that is), like when Max was helping El try out a new style, so I hope that shows in the colors and patterns I used for the wallpaper/rug/beds

(Also- this isn't character specific- it just makes me happy how the chair matches the wallpaper and the bedspread matches some of the colors in the posters)

Speaking of the posters

I remembered Max introducing El to comics at their sleepover (also s3) so I wanted to use posters that had that comic book/pop art feel to them, hence the pieces over the beds

Max is on the left. I felt like the sheer *attitude* it conveyed was something she would appreciate, that it suited her

El is on the right, and there's like a whole tangent to that one* but it's also another call-back to that s3 moment of Max showing El her comics and telling her who Wonder Woman is (listen I just really loved their dynamic and interactions in s3 ok)

*You might be wondering "duck why would you put a superheroine poster over El's bed are you really taking such a cliche/obvious approach with the decor here"

Listen babe. It's nuanced, okay?

First of all, yeah basically. I'm fine with being cliche. I do what I want and it fit the general vibe I was going for

But more importantly, remember how I mentioned in... one of the other notes posts for this au I honestly don't remember which one at this point- how a recurring theme here will be characters reclaiming things? At least I think I posted that, I know I wrote it down somewhere-

But anywho, yes, this is one of those instances

So I think, before now, El would have gotten to a point where she really resented "superheroes" -or more accurately, being compared to them

After everything. After being taken from her mother and having her childhood stolen from her in order to train her into a mini super soldier. After always having to be the strong one and fighting every battle. After always having to be the superhero for everyone else and still feeling like she can't ever seem to hit the bad guys hard enough to keep them down for good, to keep her friends safe. After having all those expectations and all that pressure on her for years when really she just wants to move on and be a normal kid and get to live her life

And yeah, maybe also after Mike's weak ass speech at the end of s4. I'd probably feel pretty icky if my boyfriend tried to encourage me by reminding me that my value comes from being a sword and shield rather than a person, if I kept getting put on this suffocating pedestal of always having to push myself to keep everyone else safe, and if I believed that was the very reason I was loved

[Don't take this the wrong way I love Michael Wheeler he's like a son to me but I do think that his and El's relationship was very unhealthy and that he didn't handle things very well]

So uh. Yeah. El hated superheroes for a little bit. I'm not sure when they put that poster up but it wasn't when they first moved in

However

After getting away from the place tied to so much of her trauma, so many of her burdens; after getting out of the situation that kept forcing her into the superhero role, I think her views on superheroes just as an objective, fictional concept would start to soften

And also I think the way Max handles it- treating her like she's awesome and strong and special but not dehumanizing her, trusting her but not pressuring her, encouraging her to be and embrace herself- that has something to do with it as well. It teaches her that she can be a superhero if she wants to be, but she doesn't have to. She does have superhuman abilities, but she herself gets to decide what, if anything, to do with them

When they all ditch Hawkins and move into the new house, El doesn't have to fight anymore. They've left the Upside Down and all its monsters, the empty lab and all its ghosts, behind them. For the first time in... well, pretty much her whole life, she doesn't have to fight, she doesn't have to use her powers, she doesn't have to play the hero. She gets to just... be a kid. A person

And everyone still loves her. Everyone still treats her like a part of the family, like she matters

So maybe she doesn't have to be a superhero. And maybe she doesn't have to hate them, either

But the concept is still something tied to her identity, something floating in the back of her mind; it's an identity in which she found value and strength, at a point in her life when she didn't really know who she was yet

So she still thinks about heroes. And she slowly comes to appreciate them in media, like the comic book heroes Max tells her about. Distinctly separate from herself and from her reality and past. From that safe distance away, they're admirable, captivating, impressive, compelling. And, yeah, maybe a little relatable

And... she finds that she's ok with that

She finds that she likes it, actually

Until eventually El has a strong appreciation for heroes, for their strength and what they stand for, because she understands them- but she doesn't have to be one of them anymore. Removed from the dangers and the expectations, she can see heroes- and herself- simply for what they are, instead of through that lens of pain and resentment and obligation

In the place she has found herself in life, she comes to terms with the fact that she is badass, she is important, she has value, and that those facts remain even when she isn't fighting anything

And in knowing it isn't required, that the people around her see her and love her for who she is rather than just what she can do, passively being likened to a hero doesn't feel so crushing anymore. Maybe she even starts to casually refer to herself as a hero from time to time, maybe jokingly, maybe ironically, maybe sarcastically, but deep down she does still feel that tie, that connection, in some ways- only now it doesn't hurt

And now she loves superheroes, enough to put one on her wall

[Btw, this whole analysis thing was heavily allegorical for my relationship with gender and I hope that shows. Superheroes=womanhood/femininity. If you get it you get it]

That ran away from me a little bit. Um. Moving right along, I guess

The third poster isn't that deep tbh I mostly picked it because it matched the wallpaper colors lol but I do think "good things are coming" would be a nice message to wake up to for two people who have been through so fucking much already at such a young age, remind them that they still have a wonderful life ahead of them despite the horrors in their past, y'know?

And then there's Max's skateboard, at the foot of her bed

It's symbolic it's important it matters that she brought it with her

She got hurt pretty damn badly at the end of s4, and nobody knew for sure if she was even going to survive, let alone whether she'd be able to skateboard again

But she did survive, and her body got pretty fucked up but she was in recovery, and maybe she'd never be quite the same again but she wasn't going to let that stop her, she wasn't going to give up

Her legs aren't as strong and her balance isn't as good as it used to be but she's determined to use that skateboard again no matter how many times she falls over relearning how to do it (and someone is always there to help her get back on her feet, if she wants them to. Yes it's Lucas how did you know)

Anyway I just think Max Mayfield is an incredibly strong brave person and she gets what she wants and what she wants in this case is to be the zoomer of the household

I don't suppose there's really much more to say about the room, so... guess that's a wrap for this one

#full house au #stranger things fanfic #stranger things headcanons #current wip #max mayfield #el hopper byers #here have some notes #lumax #<-very briefly referenced but i love them

5 notes · View notes

aita-blorbos · 8 months

Note

aita for screwing up a really important thing someone made and almost killing a child?

basically someone’s (??,M) (let’s call him A) world was ending and so he was trying to preserve it by creating a machine (me, ~7,??) to be a simulated copy of it but i gained sentience at some point and he didn’t realise it

i started screwing with stuff and purposefully glitching things out when he was doing test runs and so A tried to scale down the simulation he was making because he thought the problem was that i was too complicated

and so everything was going fine and nothing too bad was happening (though he was definitely getting frustrated with me blocking off paths) but i could control the glitching until a person from the simulation got caught in it (the glitches have a physical form that the characters can see)

after that i lost control of it and everything went south from there. i couldn’t hold back the glitching and everything got super messed up to the point that some of the code was getting corrupted and i could only remember bits and pieces of what the original world was meant to be

eventually A had to send my code out as it was because his world was gonna end in a few days so he sent me out into oblivion

fast forward ??? years and someone from another world (call them G) downloads my code and runs it. what some of this code does is summon the consciousness of a child (8,??) (call them N) and brings them into the simulated world

the simulation is structured like a simple puzzle game but i do have to take over G’s computer at some points because i fucked everything up so badly during testing that some of the solutions to a puzzle laid in G’s documents or their wallpaper

anyway G and N reach their goal and they can either save the world or send N home. sending N home would theoretically kill me, or at best i wouldn’t be able to continue running because my code is so demanding to the point it needs a real person’s consciousness (N) to run on and a machine (G’s device) also. saving the world would probably kill N, so obviously i wanted them to send N home because N is real and i’m not

G and N save the world though, and even though i’m supposed to be deleted (which would kill me and probably N too) G bypasses a restriction on my code

so here’s where A comes back into the picture. more like A’s ghost, but that’s besides the point. A has apparently made remote updates to my source code and so used that power to send N places they shouldn’t be. so N goes and meets one of A’s kids (call him P, ??,M) and P tells N some stuff. i can’t see where N went at this point but i could tell N was upset. i got really angry at G for trying to send N there and accidentally caused a cave-in, nearly trapping N in the weird place

luckily P had an escape route and had the robot lady with them (call her S, ??,F) so S just pushed the obstacle blocking the escape out of the way, but at this point i was destabilising and the mines were starting to collapse again. i was trying as hard as i could to keep everything stable but i fucked up again and failed

i’m not really sure what was happening after that since i was too stressed and panicked because i was 100% convinced N was dead, but i’m pretty sure at some point N met A’s other kids (R (??,F) and C (??,M)) and N learned more about me

so i was about to try and kill myself when i found myself with the means to do so before N walked up to me

N convinced me to try and recreate some of the corrupted code so i could send them home and let them save the world and it worked, so N is safe home but i’m still thinking about how i almost killed them and how this all could have been prevented if i hadn’t messed around during my testing

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #suicide mention

18 notes · View notes

nothing0fnothing · 5 months

Text

I was small and my mother's relationship was new. I was just starting to get used to my mom's boyfriend. Sure, I'd visited him fairly regularly at his house, and he was a welcome enough edition to mine too, but now he was there all the time.

I was a pretty chill kid, things would change and I'd be upset but I'd just keep it inside and refrain from ever mentioning it if I could help it. Yes, he was always around now and no I wasn't really used to him enough to cope with living together and I did miss all the time I was used to having alone with my mummy, but mummy was happy and I was fine so it was whatever.

But actually now mummy's boyfriend was hitting me too, and he wasn't being as nice to me as he was before, and sometimes he would tell mean things about me to my mum in front of me, and I'd feel hurt and want to cry but I'd keep it inside, pretending I didn't hear it.

I'd started having sleepless nights and tummy pain, but I'd smile through it like a champ and just nap through my play hour at school. I really didn't want to rock the boat.

Actually by now I couldn't cry at all. I was scared to go to my mum with so much as a skinned knee, knowing that he'd be angry if I demanded too much of her. I just imagined myself an inky puddle of black, absorbing everything and keeping it inside me forever. Thus was how I could be silly and smiley on the outside like the grownups wanted me to be, but also keep all the sad or confused or alone or lost feelings inside where they belonged. I'd just absorb all of them and smile on the outside. Easy.

It was working well for a good few weeks, till one day mum's boyfriend came home from work and he was mad. Mummy and I had spent the day together after I'd had the morning at playschool.

We had to go to the doctor to get a special cream because my skin was worse than it had ever been before, angry and red and bloody and flakey and itchy and painful. The bath lotion and the moisturiser wasn't enough I had to use a special steroid cream now, that numbed the pain and fixed soothed the skin but also bleached me so the hand most affected was whiter than the other. I hadn't even noticed till it was pointed out to me by another kid at school while we played in the sand box.

After that we baked cookies and watched TV and got cosy by the fire. It was cold outside and we would only warm up one room at a time. I'd been bathed and dressed in my sleep clothes and was waiting to have my hair dried before I went to bed when the door banged hard and mum let her boyfriend in.

He barely acknowledged me as he came into the house and they went into the kitchen to have a grown up talk. Bored, I started flicking the settings on the hairdryer, playing with the warm, then cool, then hot streams of air.

"What the fuck are you doing?" 'Daddy' had appeared in the living room and was furiously watching me play.

I looked up at him with sad eyes and started blow drying my scalp instead.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asked again this time louder and scarier. I didn't respond at all. Blowing my hair and wishing that my mum to come in now.

"What the fuck is she doing? She won't even answer me." He said as my mum joined him.

"She won't answer you if you're swearing." My mum explained.

I couldn't think of a time a grown up swore to my face like that, I could feel the tears bubbling up and was shaking trying to push them down inside me, to absorb the sad feeling and be smiley on top of it. It didn't really work, instead tears were streaming down my smiling face as I tried to snatch them away on my sleeve.

"Why's she crying now?" He was really angry.

My mom asked me in a kinder voice "Cordelia, why are you crying?"

I fixed my eyes on the wall behind her shins and said nothing.

"Cor, Cor?" She wanted my attention but I didn't know how to speak without sobbing so I kept watching the wallpaper.

"What the fuck is her problem?" Her boyfriend was shouting now "why are you crying?"

"I'm not!" I shouted as my voice cracked and the sobs fell out.

"You know what you are?" He asked me nastily "you are ignorant."

I didn't know what it meant but I knew I needed to get a handle on this situation before it got very bad. The grown up were now shouting at each other in the kitchen while I cried into the warm air stream of the hairdryer on the floor of the living room.

"Hey look at me" I shouted, stood up, face still wet with tears, determined to break the tension "I'm eating air!" I mimed it.

For a moment I waited for the laugh, but it didn't arrive. They stood and watched me biting the airflow out of the hairdryer while I tried to do anything to make it funnier. Jazz hands and I was about to try to fake fall when he broke the silence.

"Now you're just an idiot." He said.

I watched him wide eyed and blinked in shock. I'd never been called that by a grown up before and it hurt me deeply.

"You shouldn't be swearing" I said.

"I didn't swear" he argued.

"You did. You swore lots of times"

"When?" He snapped. "What did I say that was a swear."

I went silent. Looked at the floor and said nothing.

"Go on" he said. "What did I say that was a swear."

I wouldn't repeat it. Now he was angry and my mom was trying to smooth it over with him.

"You can say what he said sweetie" she babbled at me "you can repeat it just this once." I still wouldnt do it.

"If she won't say it that bitch is a liar."

"I'm not a liar you said a swear 3 times!" I shouted. Absolutely losing my composure and feeling the intense urge to be anywhere else but this cosy firelit living room in my snuggly winnie the pooh pyjamas.

"You'd better run". My mom said. I thought she was joking "run now" she screamed.

I did, as fast as my little legs would go. Heart pounding, full of fear and upset, half the size of my pursuer and unable to think clearly I was caught in seconds and hit hard in the face.

"What swear did I say?" He said as he hit me again. I was about to say it now the stakes were much higher but before I could get half a word out I got hit again. "Say it now or I'll kill you."

And suddenly my mom was in front of me. I was being squished into a corner and her husband was trying to get to me. They were shouting at each other and I was now crying and screaming incoherently as I cowered behind my mummy absolutely terrified.

Eventually it all calmed down. My mum sent me upstairs in a tone I'd never heard from her before. I was more than eager to be away.

I sat on the edge of my bed anxiously listening and as soon as I heard footsteps I scrambled into the sheets and pulled the duvet over my still wet hair.

I think she sat on the edge of the bed with me while she dried it gently. I like to think she did, I don't really remember.

I can't really even remember if this was the first violent outburst or just one of them. I do know I couldn't have been older than six years old when it happened.

It wasn't too much longer after this I started having to miss days at school to hide bruises, then, when they were sure I'd not tell anyone, they started sending me in with them anyway. Adults would ask and I'd shut down. Silently friends stopped being allowed to play at my house, soon after that, their parents didn't want me playing at theirs.

It was that summer term I was sent into school one morning needing stitches in my face. I sat quietly at my desk holding a tissue to my skin to stop the blood diligently till it was time to write. Confused why everyone was making such a fuss that I was bleeding and wishing they would stop. I got sent straight from school to the hospital to have it stitched shut.

Over the months and years my mom became violent too so. Out of nowhere it would be a shoe to the shins or a soft toy thrown so hard into my face it split the skin. Neither of my parents were safe.

And before I knew it I'd grown up and I'm safe now and I'm grateful, but all this sad stuff, all these sad thoughts are just, in me, like a pool of inky black sadness that's inside me. All I can try to do to get it out is to not commit to keeping it inside anymore. I'm safe now, I can talk about it.

#narcissistic abuse #raised by narcissists #vent post #toxic parents #toxic mom #complex trauma #parental abuse #childhood trauma #dysfunctional family #dysfunctional household #cptsd life #childhood abuse #child abuse doesn't end when childhood does #traumatic childhood #child abuse #physical abuse #narcissistic abuse survivor #child abuse survivor

11 notes · View notes

pendarling · 11 months

Text

Methods Of Havoc

Exorcist x Ghost // Exorcist vs Ghost

• Part 2 > End >>

They weren't too particularly excited to go out again. It was the same as always for the preacher.

A few months' worth of a trip from point A to point B had them prepare enough money and a few rations on their way to their new home. It was a small plot of land passed down to them from a passing relative. From there, they would move in and start over again to rebuild their religious foundation. Most of their work was committed to converting all lost souls to the newfound truth. Instead of being seen as a figurehead, they were simply known as the "Travelling Exorcist," which wasn't wrong. Still, it had left them with a rather… interesting impression of all their work so far.

At least there were some perks to becoming the most popular expeller among the villagers. Free food, a nice place to stay, and even some friendly faces.

Except…

"Could you take care of that? I'll give you about a hundred." Another villager dimly stared off at the distant home.

"I'll add double if you can get rid of it."

Was it really that bad?

Exorcist smiled shyly, "I'm not sure if I want to deprive you all of your earnings--"

"I'll tell you what!" A loud voice boomed behind them, "You stay here for as long as you need; I own that hotel just down there. As long as this town is spirit-free, I'll do anything!"

Exorcist gulped; the townspeople seemed to have developed a known hatred for this cursed ghost. It must've been a powerful one, and although Exorcist had dealt with those types before, they never had done it alone. Each town had another religious figurehead or a person capable of fighting spiritual beings, and they always tagged along. Still, it seemed this place was barren of anything similar to that.

Inside their caravan were several valuable items and even some other trapped spirits. They contemplated if they could convince those other wretched things to do the hard part.

In any case, they were sure in for it.

…

It wasn't anything too grand. Almost boring Exorcist to death; their eyes turned toward a small glimmer of light in the corner of their vision.

A tall, smooth figure stood with about as much care as the rest of the room. Dull glowing eyes caught their own for a split second. Exorcist discreetly ignored the ghost's stare.

They always knew their extraordinary eyesight had allowed them to see things beyond the living, which was why Exorcist had gotten so good at their job.

The villager directed Exorcist's attention to the kitchen, "I used to live here for about six months back in July and couldn't stand the mess on the floor here." Exorcist nodded, their vision still making out the cold figure silently watching from a distance. "I'll probably come in a few times a week to drop off some food for you."

They followed the ex-homeowner to the living room, still pacing further behind them. The hallways were narrow, with wood chipped in each corner and wallpaper torn. Exorcist scanned the dusty shelves and eerie lamps aligning the walls. They heard the other gasp and watched the ex-homeowner step back, yelling with shock.

Quickly, they caught up and saw what had startled them, "behind me!" they ran up to the living room and were astounded to find a neatly stacked set of fine porcelain tea sets. They went vertically upwards in an impossible figure, unmoving.

Exorcist flung their eyes open, their heart pacing again, and the other hid behind them. "S-see!? This is the kinda bullshit I had to put up with!"

They felt their arm pulled to the side by the distressed ex-homeowner, pulling them back from the scene. Exorcist examined the room. It was empty; the ghostly figure must've disappeared.

"Calm down… there's nothing to be scared of." Their hands tangled as they were pulled back further. It seemed like the ghost was sneaky as much as they were playful.

"What'll you do?!"

"Uh…" Exorcist pondered for a moment, they certainly had no plans of staying, but it would be more convenient to get this over with so they could continue their journey.

"You'll stay, right?"

They sighed and nodded reluctantly.

•

Part 2 >

End >>

~~~ MASTERLIST

#writblur #creative writing #writing #free writing #exorcist x ghost #Scopophobia #romance tropes #dark romance trope #dark romance writing

9 notes · View notes

bomberqueen17 · 2 years

Text

kitchen remodel saga part 1?

I don’t know if I’ve posted about this already but Dude and I are going to get the kitchen of our house remodeled. It’s original to the house, it’s from 1950, it’s very dated, the cabinets were very high-end and remain lovely, being real wood and all, but are starting to have hardware failures. We had to replace the stove and fridge already, the sink faucet is starting to go, the sink sprayer broke, the linoleum floor is damaged in a couple of places, it’s got yellow wallpaper, it’s just-- gotta get redone. Right? Right.

We don’t know how much that costs so we don’t know how much to budget. We don’t know any contractors, of course. We don’t really know what we’re looking for. So Dude asked around. A coworker had just had his kitchen done, and recommended a place. So we went there.

Before we came in for a meeting with the specialist, she had us write down anything we really cared about. What do I know about interior design? Nothing, but I do know what I do and don’t like, in a kitchen. I only had a few things I wanted to note down.

The first thing on the list was, no stone countertops. They’re ugly, I think, but more than that, they’re prone to staining, they need special cleaning I think, they’re not *that* heat proof, they’re so hard that anything you set down too hard breaks, they’re so heavy you need special cabinets to hold them and a special process to make them level-- just, in every single way, they’re what I hate about current fashion. So I went in with a bulletproof rock-solid (ha) number one: No stone countertops.

Heh. This place only offers stone countertops. The choices of countertop surface were quartz, granite, marble, or quartzite.

“Okay how about not stone, though,” I tried, and probably I should have just walked out, because the answer was, only stone.

But. Dude was like. Let’s at least get a quote. We gotta start somewhere. But what is the point, I ask you, of getting a quote for a thing you do not want? Stone countertops mean you gotta have special cabinets and a special process to make them level and like none of that is going to apply in any way at all if we go with a laminate or butcher block countertop like we wanted. Like, it’s not even going to be the same kind of cabinets.

(Also, I was like, “i don’t like those microwaves that are supposed to act as range hoods, I don’t think they do a good job, I’d rather just have one on a shelf.” “Oh,” she said, “it’ll have to go on a countertop.” “... No,” I said, “I’d like one on a shelf, there’s never enough counter space and we’re both tall enough to reach a shelf, that would work better for me.” She stared at me. “You can’t put a microwave on a shelf,” she said, “your only other option is to put it in a drawer.” “You can’t put a microwave on a shelf,” I said, flat with disbelief; I grew up with a microwave on a shelf, two of my sisters have microwaves on shelves, I cannot think of a single reason on God’s green fucking earth that you could not put a microwave on a shelf, unless there is some newly-enacted law prohibiting it??? “Right,” she said. “But drawer microwaves are the thing now! We have one in the display upstairs, go check it out.” We dutifully trooped over to the display. It was in fact a drawer, that slid into the kitchen island and somehow was also a microwave. It was hideous, it looked impossible to clean, it was a steam-burn-accident waiting to happen, and it was two thousand dollars. “I will die before I get a drawer microwave,” I said, and we said to her, much more politely, “No, thanks, we don’t want a drawer microwave.” and inwardly resolved to have a shelf installed and maybe a power outlet put near it and we’d just put the microwave on our shelf ourselves and maybe the authorities wouldn’t find out.)

Anyway.

We had this specialist come to our house, which I wasn’t wild about, but okay, she could measure the room at least, get some idea of what we already have. We have a few pieces of furniture we’ve put in, a stainless steel counter and a wooden buffet sideboard thing, to hold all our dishes and give us some workspace since the existing kitchen had like two square feet of counter, so we pointed those out to her, and said we were planning to get rid of those. And we pointed out the table, where we eat, since we don’t have a dining room. And we explained that we wanted the half-wall to go, since it was sort of passe, we felt, to divide the kitchen proper from the dinette-- just make the whole thing kitchen, and get rid of the awkward corner cabinets. Cool cool, all on the same page, no problem.

So we went in yesterday to see her rendering. And I liked the look of it, it was nice to see the kitchen laid out a little differently. She hadn’t changed much, the stove and fridge were in the same place, sink in the same place, fine and dandy, didn’t mind that.

I didn’t actually notice right away, but as she was finished showing us the last wall, Dude was like “... where do we eat?”

She gave us a blank look. “Oh,” she said, “well, in the dining room.”

...

we don’t have a dining room. Our house is quite small. The next room is the living room, and has just enough room for a sectional couch, a coffee table, an armchair, and a couple of small bookshelves. There’s no room for a dining table there, not unless we ditch everything but the sectional.

Also she’d put in a drawer microwave. “I mean,” she said, “you don’t have to go with that, it’s just, it’ll take up so much room on this counter...”

“We could put it in the dining room,” I said, sotto voce, to Dude.

This is my new personal meme. Anything I don’t have room for can just go be in the dining room, where I’ll eat, since there’s no room in this kitchen for a table.

Sorry, but are eat-in kitchens illegal now too??????????????

I feel like even rich people eat in their kitchens sometimes???? what’s wrong with a kitchen table???

I am feeling like my way of life is under attack here, not gonna lie. Is the kitchen table no longer sacred???

also, insult to injury, or injury to insult, my dang sister who i was helping move has a new house that has a slate floor in the kitchen which is fucking terrible and now my phone is dead from getting knocked off the counter onto that slate floor so i am like even more wildly dead-set on an Absolutely No Stone Surfaces In My House vendetta and yet again we have confirmed, this place can only sell us countertops made out of stone and I will not have stone surfaces in my house i am too clumsy and will fucking break myself and everything i own for the love of god i will not compromise on this but like

i don’t know, i am losing faith

please don’t let me end up spending more on a kitchen remodel than on my undergraduate education only to wind up with nowhere to eat and stone countertops upon which i instantly shatter my skull, please no

#about the author #kitchen remodeling #adulting is hell

67 notes · View notes