#Durable Floor Coatings

[googleblogs123]

Upgrade Your Space with Commercial Floor Coating by Rhino Construction Services

Is your commercial space starting to feel a little worn out? Rhino Construction Services is here to help you transform those outdated floors into sleek, high-performance surfaces that elevate your entire business environment. Imagine having floors that not only look modern and polished but can also withstand the daily demands of your operations. With our specialized commercial floor coatings, you’ll get both durability and style that lasts.

Why Choose Commercial Floor Coatings?

Choosing commercial floor coatings is a wise decision for busy businesses. These coatings not only offer impressive durability against heavy foot traffic but also enhance safety by minimizing slip hazards. A polished floor transforms the look of your space, creating a welcoming atmosphere that leaves a lasting impression on clients and showcases your professionalism. With Rhino Construction Services, you’ll find tailored solutions, exceptional craftsmanship, and quality materials that come together to create beautiful, long-lasting floors for your commercial environment.

Explore Our Range of Commercial Floor Coatings

At Rhino Construction Services, we offer a range of commercial floor coatings designed to meet the specific needs of various industries:

Epoxy Floor Coatings: Known for its strength and glossy finish, epoxy is ideal for high-traffic areas like warehouses and retail spaces. It provides a durable, easy-to-clean surface that stands the test of time.

Polyurethane Floor Coatings: This flexible, scratch-resistant option can endure extreme temperatures and UV exposure, making it perfect for both indoor and outdoor environments.

Polished Concrete Coatings: Offering a sleek, reflective surface, polished concrete brightens up spaces while being low-maintenance and durable, ideal for offices, showrooms, and restaurants.

Our Proven Floor Coating Process

At Rhino Construction Services, we take a detailed approach to deliver flawless floors:

Consultation: We start with a thorough evaluation of your flooring requirements to recommend the ideal solution.

Surface Preparation: Our team expertly cleans and primes the surface to ensure maximum adhesion for the coating.

Application: Using state-of-the-art techniques, we apply the coating evenly for a smooth, professional finish.

Final Inspection: A complete inspection is conducted to ensure the coating meets our rigorous standards and surpasses your expectations.

Ready to Elevate Your Business Space?

Don't settle for ordinary floors! Take the first step toward a stunning transformation with Rhino Construction Services. Visit us at Shed 3/9 Charlston Pl, Kuluin QLD 4558, Australia, call +61 1300 744 661 or check out Rhino Construction Services to schedule your free consultation and get a quote. Together, we’ll create a space that truly reflects your brand and stands up to the test of time.

[dullahandyke]

Been a while since I've said it but appreciation post for 6 euro axel. This man is indestructible. He has fallen on the floor so many times

[epoxyfloorexpertsbrisbane]

Expert Tips for Choosing the Right Concrete Coatings in Brisbane

In Brisbane, where weather conditions and high foot traffic can affect concrete over time, selecting the proper coating requires careful consideration of various factors. This guide will provide expert tips to help you choose the right Concrete Coatings in Brisbane to suit your needs. 07 3444 889.

[armor-poxy]

Armorpoxy: Transforming Surfaces with Cutting-Edge Coatings

Armorpoxy offers innovative, cutting-edge coatings that transform surfaces with unmatched durability and style. From industrial floors to residential spaces, their high-performance solutions provide long-lasting protection and aesthetic appeal, making them a leader in the surface coating industry.

[durableresinfloorsforbusines]

Unleash Your Creativity: Bespoke Resin Flooring Designs

Are you tired of cookie-cutter flooring options that lack personality and flair? It's time to elevate your space with Bespoke Resin Flooring Designs. These custom flooring solutions offer limitless possibilities for creativity, allowing you to express your unique style and personality like never before. But what exactly are bespoke resin flooring designs, and why are they the perfect choice for homeowners and businesses looking to make a statement with their floors? Let's dive into the world of bespoke resin flooring designs and discover the endless possibilities they hold.

What Are Bespoke Resin Flooring Designs?

Bespoke resin flooring designs are custom-created flooring solutions that are tailored to meet the specific needs and preferences of each individual client. Unlike traditional flooring options that come in standard sizes, colors, and patterns, bespoke resin flooring designs are completely customizable, allowing you to choose everything from the color and texture to the shape and layout of your floors. Whether you're looking to create a bold and dramatic statement or a subtle and sophisticated look, bespoke resin flooring designs offer unparalleled flexibility and creativity.

The Beauty of Customization

Endless Color Options: With bespoke resin flooring designs, the color options are virtually endless. Whether you prefer vibrant hues that make a bold statement or soft, muted tones that create a serene atmosphere, you can choose the perfect color palette to suit your style and taste.

Unique Patterns and Textures: From sleek and seamless finishes to intricate patterns and textures, bespoke resin flooring designs offer endless possibilities for customization. Whether you want to replicate the look of natural stone, wood, or even abstract art, you can create a one-of-a-kind flooring design that reflects your personality and complements your space.

Tailored to Your Space: Bespoke resin flooring designs are not just about aesthetics – they're also about functionality. Whether you're designing a residential living room, a commercial showroom, or an industrial warehouse, bespoke resin flooring designs can be tailored to meet the specific needs and requirements of your space, ensuring a perfect fit every time.

Why Choose Bespoke Resin Flooring Designs?

Choosing bespoke resin flooring designs offers a multitude of benefits that go beyond just aesthetics. From durability and versatility to sustainability and ease of maintenance, bespoke resin flooring designs are the perfect choice for anyone looking to create a truly unique and unforgettable space.

The Benefits of Bespoke Resin Flooring Designs

Durability: Resin flooring is known for its exceptional durability and resistance to wear and tear. With bespoke resin flooring designs, you can enjoy all the benefits of resin flooring while adding a touch of personalization and style to your space.

Versatility: Whether you're looking to create a sleek and modern look or a rustic and natural aesthetic, bespoke resin flooring designs offer unmatched versatility. With endless options for customization, you can create a flooring design that perfectly complements your space and reflects your personality.

Sustainability: Many bespoke resin flooring designs are made from eco-friendly materials that are both sustainable and environmentally friendly. By choosing a bespoke resin flooring design, you can create a beautiful and functional space while also reducing your carbon footprint and supporting sustainable practices.

Conclusion: Express Yourself with Bespoke Resin Flooring Designs

In conclusion, bespoke resin flooring designs offer a unique and creative way to express yourself and enhance the beauty and functionality of your space. Whether you're designing a residential home, a commercial showroom, or an industrial facility, bespoke resin flooring designs offer endless possibilities for customization and creativity. So why settle for ordinary flooring when you can create something truly extraordinary? Contact a resin flooring specialist today and unleash your creativity with bespoke resin flooring designs. Your floors will thank you for it!

[fannibalmusical]

Traditional Porch Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless concrete front porch remodel with a roof extension

[chemicalsmaterialsnews]

Seamless Protection: Exploring the Polyurea Coatings Market

The size of the polyurea coatings market was USD 995.2 million in the recent past, and it will power at a rate of 11% and reach a value of USD 2,553.5 million by 2030, according to P&S Intelligence.

The automotive and transportation sector had the second-largest share, of about 26%. Polyurea coatings are used on the exteriors of vehicles, such as two-wheelers and trucks. They are usually seen on the chassis, driveshafts, gearboxes, and engines, as they provide good resistance to the exterior thermal and physical pressure.

To receive free sample pages of this report@ https://www.psmarketresearch.com/market-analysis/polyurea-coatings-market/report-sample

Consequently, polyurea coatings are becoming popular among automakers. China, Germany and Japan are the top three passenger vehicle producers. Consequently, polyurea coatings’ applications have advanced greatly in these countries. Volkswagen, Mercedes, Audi, Porsche, Opel, and BMW are all part of Germany's extremely competitive automobile industry. This industry generates about USD 468.5 billion, which accounts to about 20% of the total revenue of the German industry. Aromatic isocyanates are formulated with the use of benzene and toluene as raw materials. Methylenediphenyl disocyanate and Toulenedisocyanate are two of the most-common aromatic isocyanates used in the construction industry. The weather of Europe and North America is favorable for the use of aromatic polyurea coatings, which are less expensive than aliphatic substitutions. Aromatic isocyanates are used as a basecoat, meaning they are the first layer applied to any surface. Consequently, they are widely used in vehicles, that is the reason aromatic polyurea coatings market size will grow rapidly. The requirement for polyurea coating will surge in the APAC with a rate of 11.9% in the years to come. The high-pace monetary growth and substantial investment by private and government companies in numerous sectors, such as maritime, manufacturing, automotive, and construction, are driving the regional demand for industrial coatings. It is because of the increasing ecological concerns and requirement for sustainable expansion, polyurea coatings had a major place in the coatings sector, garnering high investment in R&D.

[blogport]

EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on "Epoxy Shine," where we delve into the transformative power of epoxy flooring solutions. In today’s design-driven world, achieving a polished and durable floor is essential for both residential and commercial spaces. Epoxy coatings not only elevate the aesthetic appeal but also provide long-lasting protection against wear and tear. Whether you’re considering a modern upgrade for your home or a robust flooring solution for a bustling business, epoxy shines as a versatile choice that meets a variety of needs. In the following sections, we’ll explore innovative flooring solutions, focusing on the benefits of epoxy flake flooring, which combines functionality with style for a stunning finish that can withstand the test of time. 

Epoxy Shine

When it comes to achieving a brilliant and long-lasting finish, epoxy shine is the ideal solution for various flooring needs. Known for its incredible durability and aesthetic appeal, epoxy shine enhances the overall beauty of a space while providing a protective layer that withstands wear and tear.

The key to attaining that stunning epoxy shine lies in the application process. Proper surface preparation, quality materials, and skilled application techniques combine to create a glossy finish that can transform mundane concrete floors into vibrant, eye-catching surfaces. This shine doesn’t just elevate the design; it also reflects light, making spaces appear larger and more inviting.

Moreover, epoxy shine is not just about looks; it offers significant functional benefits too. The glossy surface is resistant to stains, chemicals, and moisture, making it an excellent choice for high-traffic areas such as garages, warehouses, and commercial spaces. Whether for aesthetic or practical purposes, ensuring your floors have that perfect epoxy shine can significantly enhance your property's value and appeal.

Floor Solutions

When it comes to choosing the right floor solutions, there are numerous options available that cater to various needs and preferences. Whether you are going for aesthetic appeal, durability, or maintenance ease, understanding the different types of flooring can significantly impact your choice.

One popular choice for many homeowners and businesses is epoxy flooring. This option provides a sleek and modern look while ensuring high durability and resistance to wear and tear. Epoxy shine not only enhances the floor's visual appeal but also makes it easier to clean and maintain over time.

Additionally, epoxy flake floors are gaining traction due to their unique aesthetic and customization options. They allow for a blend of colors and textures, giving homeowners the flexibility to create a more personalized look for their spaces. With such a wide array of flooring solutions, it's essential to consider factors like budget, usage, and design preferences before making a decision.

Flooring Solutions

When it comes to choosing the perfect flooring for your space, the options can be overwhelming. Flooring solutions are essential for both aesthetic and functional purposes, ensuring that your space not only looks great but also serves its intended function. From residential to commercial applications, the right flooring choice can make all the difference.

One popular choice in the realm of flooring solutions is epoxy flake floor systems. This type of flooring combines durability and design flexibility, making it a favorite among many homeowners and business owners. With a wide range of colors and patterns available, epoxy flake flooring can be customized to fit any space, providing a unique look that stands out.

For those seeking a brilliant shine, epoxy shine finishes can elevate your flooring game. These finishes not only provide a glossy look but also protect the flooring from wear and tear. Utilizing a performing solution like epoxy ensures that your floors can handle heavy foot traffic while maintaining their stunning appearance.

Epoxy Flake Floor

When it comes to durable and aesthetically pleasing flooring options, epoxy flake floors stand out as a superior choice. These floors are crafted using an epoxy resin mixed with decorative flakes, resulting in a unique finish that is both functional and visually appealing. The versatility of this flooring solution allows it to be used in various settings, from residential garages to commercial spaces.

The main advantage of epoxy flake floors is their resistance to impacts, chemicals, and stains, making them ideal for high-traffic areas. Their seamless nature prevents dirt and grime accumulation, offering a low-maintenance solution that is easy to clean. Furthermore, the aesthetic flexibility of the colored flakes lets homeowners and business owners customize their floors to match existing designs and personal preferences.

In addition to their durability and style, epoxy flake floors also contribute to improved safety. The texture of the flakes can enhance slip resistance, making them a practical choice for spaces where moisture is common. Whether you're looking to upgrade your garage or create a modern showroom, epoxy flake flooring provides an excellent combination of beauty, resilience, and safety.

[lalunanymph]

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 (part 2)

✧˚ · . three minutes past his 27th birthday, the mass serial killer known as 'dawnbreaker' finally meets the girl from his dreams

✧˚ · . part 1

✧˚ · . warnings:- dawnbreaker!zayne x fem!reader, HEAVY ANGST, mentions of food, mentions of illnesses, mentions of injuries, spoilers for zayne's lore, alternative timeline, mentions of babies, mentions of pregnancies, pet names (darling, my love, beloved), nightmares, mentions of smoking, MCD, brief mentions of su_cide, nightmares, a not so happy happy ending, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. i am not responsible for your media consumption

✧˚ · . dawn says: i had to split the last part into 2 because it was literally so long tumblr said nope sorry girlie this ain't making it into the tags lol

✧˚ · . playlist

“You may know me as Zayne, but I go by another name…” 

He exhales it into the suffocating silence:

“Dawnbreaker.”

Your eyes bulge wider, mouth falling open in horror. Of course, you were aware of that name; you knew who he was.

Serina Callaghan, daughter of Detective Callaghan, had told you numerous stories about the elusive serial killer. How no one could find a trace of him. 

Yet, here he was—standing in your kitchen with remorse etched onto every pore of his body.

You feel a sick sense of nausea bubbling from your stomach to your chest, threatening to spill onto the floor.

You had taken him in… made love to him… held him in your arms every night… when he had killed all those innocent people…

As if reading your mind, Zayne shakes his head. “These people—the ones who had passed on—I never killed them for fun. They wanted me to end their lives because they were overtaken by the disease… by the Abomination.”

His words shock you out of your reverie; tames your urge to grab the phone and call the police. For a split second, you wonder what Zayne would do to you if you were to lunge for the cordless phone; would he escape?

Kill you?

Forcing yourself to be far braver than you felt, you clutched your trembling hands together, taking in a deep breath.

“So, m-mercy killing,” your voice shook, but your deduction was spot on.

“Yes.” He shrugs off his coat, and you eye the wad of cash he takes out and sets on your kitchen counter. “I will never kill someone unless they pay me to do it. I do not like taking lives, but as one of the last Evolvers in this generation… it is my duty to help.”

Evolver? 

The layers of truth were starting to make your head spin. You could barely unravel your spiraling thoughts.

“I thought Evolvers were extinct.”

Zayne shakes his head. “We are rare, but we are still here.”

As if to solidify the truth, he holds out his hand. On his palm, the air condenses, and the temperature in the kitchen drops a few celsius. You watch, gobsmack in silence, as bits of snow appear, coalescing right into a singular teardrop-shaped crystal that unfurls into a shimmery flower with five petals.

“Ice,” Zayne explains, and slowly approaches you. He gently places the flower on the table, right where you were standing. 

He backs away, giving you some space to work out your emotions. You stare at the jasmine flower, in silent contemplation. 

It’s intricate and beautiful, but ice in itself was deadly. 

While it looked harmless falling from the sky, it had the power to bury people under its weight; causing hypothermia, avalanches, and skin burns. 

You glance at Zayne, wondering which category he belonged in—if he was a chilly breeze or an entire fucking snowstorm.

His weary gaze spoke volumes, though he let you reach your own conclusions. Zayne was giving you a choice: one many people in your life didn’t.

Stay or leave. 

Be with him or turn him away.

Two forks of an outcome; you had no idea what to choose. 

Your silence stretches on and Zayne hangs his head forward. He’s about to turn and leave, when you slowly reach out to touch the jasmine flower. It’s cool on your palm, tougher and durable. Not wet and cold like real ice.

“Crystals?” 

Your voice comes off low, hoarse. There’s a dazed look in your eyes, one which tugs on the sorrow lining his soul.

He hates to do this to you; hates how conflicted you look.

“This is what you use to kill people, don’t you?” 

Astute, again. Zayne would honestly be impressed by your wits if he wasn’t painfully aware of how you were holding him accountable for his horrendous mistakes.

“I know you think awfully of me—”

“Why kill them?” You’re breathing heavily now, anguish coating your every word. “What if you could save them, instead? Can’t that be done?”

Zayne shakes his head, unable to meet your eye. “I have spoken to a few scientists about this… but many of them were taken by the Abomination. It’s caused by constant exposure to Protocores and is incurable. The only thing I can do is make sure those infected have a swift end.”

Your silence strikes him heavier than a hit.

“Infected?" you murmur hoarsely. "Constant exposure? A swift end? Do you even hear yourself?” 

You simmer and bubble, cheeks flushed with anger. “Zayne—these are human beings! People with love, dreams and hopes. People with families. They’re not jobs or ledgers. They deserve a bit more dignity than that.”

Suddenly, the despair in his eyes turns ice cold. You’re hopeless to stop him from approaching you, and scramble back until you bump the kitchen counter, eyes wide and fearful. But, he stops just shy of your feet touching, an unfathomable expression on his face.

“I would never hurt anyone. Ever. You of all people should know. Didn’t you say you weren’t afraid of me the first time we were intimate together?” He fights hard to not let his tone turn accusatory, eyes shining with frustration and unshed tears. “What made you change your mind this time?” 

“You killed them… you killed them all,” you’re close to tears, trembling from head to toe. Zayne looks like he’s about to cry as well, begging you to see beyond the murderer you thought he was; to embrace him and hold him and share his burden, even though he knows it’s unfair to put all this weight on you.

He was so tired of pretending that everything was alright. And deep down, he knew you were, too.

This world wasn’t kind to anyone, and he only had you to soothe the ache—to be the light he looks forward to every morning. 

Please, don’t go, he wants to scream, hands balled into fists at his side. Don’t leave me alone… you are the only one I have left. 

A sob bubbles past your lips, and you wrap your arms around you; willing yourself to stand upright and be brave.

“Do you regret it?” your voice is thick, and he longs to staunch the tears falling from your cheeks, but the words are lost in his throat.

“All of them? Did you ever regret killing them?”

Zayne tightens his fists, clenching down hard enough for his nails to leave pale moon crescent indents on his palms. 

“There was a boy I had to kill once. Georgie. He would’ve been thirteen…” he closes his eyes, hoping to find some strength to push on. Zayne was so incredibly tired from constantly fighting.

“We celebrated his birthday at a cafe, too. He loved macarons. And chocolate. But, his mother gave him the disease. I had to be the one to put him down. I still think about him every time I hear ‘happy birthday’.”

His words are simple, but they make you bleed, staring at the floor with tears blurring your vision.

You fall into a thick disquiet, and so did he. Zayne stands upright, like a prisoner about to be read his final judgment; willing you to forgive him—god he hopes you find it in your heart to forgive him.

He wasn’t a good man—a fiend of the night people were afraid of. But, Zayne would never forgive himself if you didn’t take him back. He would dig his knees to the ground, beg for you to change your mind.

In the throes of his own self-loathing, he almost flinches when he feels your arms wrap around his torso. Your head thumps onto his chest, and he realizes you’re fully crying now. He embraces you fiercely, quickly. Holding you fast to him as if you both could fuse together and become one.

You leave tear stains across his blood speckled shirt, fingers digging into his shoulders as violent sobs rip through you. 

“Do you hate me?” He forces himself to ask through numb lips. Zayne doesn’t know what answer you would give—if you would even reply to him.

But, you shake your head, hiccuping his name. 

“Are you afraid?” 

There’s a slight pause, and you shudder, shaking your head again. 

Zayne nuzzles your hair, rocking you from side to side like he was comforting a hysterical child. 

Your sobs eventually stop and you’re both swaying in each other’s arms now. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. Zayne hums in confusion, and you continue. “I’m sorry for being so quick to misjudge you. You’re not the bad guy, Zayne. You were forced into this horror… our world is so fucked up and you were just trying to make it better any way you could.”

You peel your face from his chest, eyes red-rimmed and nose runny. He gently dabs at your tears and snot with the sleeve of his dress shirt, careful not to press down too hard.

He doesn’t say anything else, and you both let the silence scatter and fall where it may. Somehow, your fingers end up in his hair and he’s nudging you back against the hard counter.

Zayne lifts you up effortlessly, parting your legs wide to slot himself in between them, hands gently squeezing and groping your thighs and hips.

The need to reclaim you claws through him, searing his every coherent thought with nothing but the cry of your name.

He looks down the line of his nose, tilting your face up to the light so you meet his eyes. What he finds in your expression makes his heart ache in misery—your sadness and despondency hitting him right in the soul.

“Would you rather I stop killing people?”

It’s a loaded question, one that has your mind reeling. You eye the blood on his shirt, now soaked through with your tears. 

“Only if you promise me you will never find pleasure from it.”

He shakes his head, firm in his conviction. “Never. Not once, or ever. I can promise you that.”

“Do the police know?” 

A good question, indeed. Zayne nods, catching you off guard.

“Callaghan’s colleague. Detective Ivan. He was the one who scrubbed my records clean. He knows not to seek me out because… it means he’s next.”

Zayne lets the words hang in the air. He hears your mind whirring, thoughts piecing together.

“Detective Ivan found out and agrees with what you’re doing? So, the police are turning a blind eye?”

“Yes,” Zayne murmurs, trying hard not to fall into the gravity of your lips; forcing attention to this distressing topic. 

“He was with me when Georgie died. He saw the extent of how the Abomination takes over people. Dark as it is, he agrees with my ethics and now, I only focus on people who come to me through word of mouth. Rarely do I ever hunt them anymore. They choose this end because it is far less painful than the alternative.”

“Which is?” 

He steadies himself with a short breath. “Living as a rotting corpse with no control over your body.”

You suck in a sharp inhale. Your smaller fingers fist the front of his shirt, your mind a million miles away.

Zayne nudges your face towards him, fingers cold on your skin. He swallows hard, and you follow the motion—his throat moving, Adam’s apple bobbing. Impulsively, you lean forward, catching him off guard with a chaste kiss.

He musters a low groan when you begin to tug on his hair; sliding your tongue into his mouth.

Frantically, he grips your thighs, hips—fisting your hair to pull you closer. 

Hot breaths clash. Moans echo around the kitchen. You lean back, far enough for silvery strands of spit to connect your lips to his. 

Zayne devours the dark look in your eyes, and he thinks loving someone shouldn’t hurt this much, but for you, he would go through the agony all over again.

The tormented man wants to swallow you down, break his rib cage open and tuck you safely close to his heart. Your sighs and gasps fuel him to be better—change his ways so he could have you in his life forever. 

“Zayne,” you sigh, all syrupy and love-struck. You play with his shirt’s button, and before he can stop you, you start to unravel all of him.

“—No." He grabs your hands in a panic, stopping your intentions in loosening his buttons. Those scars on his skin flash behind his mind, marking him as a lost soul and unworthy of you.

You shake your head, determination lining your pretty features. “Don’t hide from me anymore, Zayne. I want to see you—all of you.”

He’s helpless to stop you from unfastening his armor, greeting those silvery scars with a soft gasp.

There was a reason he never fucked you with the lights on—those lacerations on his body caused him shame.

But, you don't recoil out of disgust like he expects. Instead, your pretty fingers topped with pink nail polish trace the milky white divots; those signs of pain and abuse he had to endure for his entire life.

Peering at you pass thick lashes, he sees you lick your lips, the desire on your face as clear as day.

“You’re so beautiful, Zayne.”

Not giving him a chance to speak, you dip your head forward, pressing your soft lips reverently to the scar just above his heart.

Zayne feels like something seismic has just happened—an internal earthquake which rocks him apart. 

Outwardly, the world doesn’t change; the flickering light he keeps on forgetting to fix over your sink still casts intermittent shadows across your face; the outside world whirs with sounds of robots and automated deliveries.

Nothing has changed and yet, everything inside of him has fundamentally been shifted.

A strangled sound emanates from his chest, and you look up quickly, afraid that you might have hurt him.

But, Zayne’s not in pain—not in the least. His green eyes shine verdantly like a forest after a storm, locked right onto your flushed face. You think that out of all the realities in this messed up world, you might find the real meaning of adoration in them.

He cups your face, smoothes your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“I love you.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said this out loud. His breathing stutters, caught off guard. And you’re staring at him, too. All wide eyes, and parted, perfect lips. 

Slowly, you defrost, bringing your hands up to your face, pressing your palms to the back of his hands. 

The silence is deafening—a pin could roll off the counter and fall to the ground, sounding like an explosion. Zayne swears he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. 

“I love you, too.”

Your voice is soft. Fragile. It echoes with shades of fear, but never uncertainty. 

For if there was one thing you were certain in this life, it was that you were completely, sincerely and stupidly in love with Zayne.

His eyes ripple close, and so do yours. Foreheads gently touch, breaths shared as one. The two of you stay like this for a long time, savoring this quiet, beautiful connection you had both created in such a short time.

Zayne has never known love in this lifetime. 

Slowly—surely—he was starting to warm himself up to the idea; falling deeper and deeper into a head on collision with your devotion. 

None of it scares him; how could it when it’s the stuff of his dreams? Of a forever stretching into the tiniest moments: languid mornings over shitty cereal and sappy medical romcoms on your beaten up couch and nights spent warming your sheets.

He can’t fight it; this feeling of always wanting to be by your side.

And so, he openly and fervently welcomes it.

“You’re glowing.”

Serina’s offhand comment brings you up short, and you fight back the creeping flush threatening to overtake your cheeks; preferring to bite your lower lip and turn you face away so she couldn’t see your growing smile.

Her silence isn’t judgmental this time. Rather, it’s tainted with a cynical curiosity.

“I guess Zayne really does make you happy.”

You hum, going back to your supplies of flour and sheets of freshly roasted nuts.

“He’s staying with me now.”

“Oh.”

You don’t turn to face; don’t have to because you know she’s making a face behind your back. 

“Is he coming to pick you up later?”

You think about him astride his motorcycle, dark locks whipping in the wind; fitted black trench coat, pristine suit and tie clinging right onto his frame and feel your stomach twist with nerves.

“Mhm hmm.”

Serina pauses, and you could tell she was struggling with something to say. 

“I’m happy for you.” 

Whatever it was you expected to drop from her mouth, it wasn’t this.

You turn around, and the incredulity must've been transparent on your face because she bursts into laughter, doubling forward to cackle with glee.

“Your face! You look like I just came out and told you I sold children’s blood by the bag.” 

She snorts and straightens, wheezing slightly. “I am happy for you, you idiot. I’m glad you’re not fish food yet and you’re glowing and you have a stupid amount of hickeys you try to cover up every day with that shitty concealer I got for you five fucking years ago. Point is: I’m happy for you.”

Serina emphasizes the last word, and you shyly lace your fingers together, feeling both sheepish and incredibly exasperated.

“I… Thank you.” Not knowing what else to say, you flash her a small smile, one which she returns instantly.

Scoffing, she runs a hand through her platinum blonde hair and tosses the rag she was holding across her shoulder, gesturing to the door.

“Go. I can handle closing time. I know you’re dying to see Zayne tonight.”

You perk up, in disbelief. “Serina—” 

“Leave those nuts in the fridge. They should be easy to chop up and temper with our chocolate bark tomorrow.” Hustling you out of the kitchen, you squeal at the feel of her cold fingers prodding your lower back. “Now, go. Call Zayne up and let him take you home. I’m sick of your love struck puppy expression.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, and unlace your apron. “Are you sure you can handle it? I can stay with you and help.”

Serina makes a face, though you could tell she was joking. “Ugh, and have to be around you for another hour while you pine for and miss him? Yuck. Get out of here.”

She jokingly swats you with her towel and you get her message loud and clear. 

“Okay, okay. Goodnight, you ass.”

“Goodnight, simp,” she drawls, and you scoff, rolling your eyes while you pick up your phone to call Zayne. 

Serina waits together with you, smoking a cigarette and filling you in on the latest online celebrity gossip. 

When Zayne arrives, sharp on time and sharply dressed as ever, she shoots you a smirk and a wave. You wave back, and slip on the helmet he passes you, stradling behind him to speed off into the night.

They look happy together. 

The young woman chuckles tiredly, scrubbing a hand down her face. She trudges back into the cafe, cleans up the remaining plates and cups, humming under her breath. As she fills up the dishwasher for its final load of the night, she hears the front doorbell tinkling.

Frowning, Serina wonders if you had left something behind when the sound of heavy footfalls resounds in the quiet space.

Thinking nothing of it, she straightens, a scowl on her blush rose lips.

“We’re closed,” she calls out in her most polite voice.

The presence in the dining space does not remove itself. From her stance inside the kitchen, she could just make out the silhouette of a tall man partially hidden behind the pillar separating the main hall from where she stood. 

Fuelled with distaste and annoyance, she rounds the corner, fully prepared to fight off this stranger and tell them to piss off.

“I said, we’re closed—”

Her words are cut off when she notices a faint glow of purple surrounding him. His eyes which were once blue were now soulless and drained, clapping onto hers, their pupils widening slightly.

Strange bulges appear on his body, and in the limited light, they seem to move up and down his arms. 

Crawling like they were filled with life.

She takes a step back, a sharp scream piercing the air.

The man falls back, putting his hands over his ears. He yanks on his graying hair, teeth bared and spittle splattering onto the ground.

“Shut… up…” 

His moans rattle and thump, filled with pain. He looks at her, and in the briefest of moments when they make eye contact, Serina could plainly see the anguish in them—the desperation for someone to end it all.

“Please,” his hoarse voice makes her skin crawl, her hairs stand on end. “Someone… Help me… kill me…”

The stranger falls to his knees, back arching like a cat poised to throw up all over the polished, hardwood floors. 

He heaves, and spittle drips from between his clenched teeth. Serina can’t move; completely frozen to one spot, locked on the sight of his pale hands curling into claws.

Those choked sounds he made would haunt her for the rest of her life. But, nothing could prepare her for when he lifts his head and the bulge under his right eye bursts, revealing a dark, tentacle appendage dangling from his cheek.

“Please,” he begs her with what was left of his humanity.

“You have to help me… you have to save me.”

Zayne’s arms wrap around your waist as you’re stirring a pot, his hum of adoration and contentment rumbling against your back.

“What?” you tease, picking up some bay leaves and tossing them into the fresh marinara sauce. “Are you excited to make me cook even after I slaved for a whole night in the kitchen?”

He clicks his tongue, kisses you right on your pulse point.

“Feisty. And here I was, about to fully offer you my assistance.”

He drops his arms, and you turn back to him with a pout. 

“I was joking,” you backtrack, fluttering your lashes. “I could really use your help,” and add, “Please,” when the beginning of a smirk plays on the corners of his mouth. 

“Alright,” he hums, grabbing a handful of sweet basil and a knife, chopping them up finely to be added to the pasta sauce once it was done.

It was comfortable working alongside him. Zayne didn’t need endless chatter to fill in the void, and neither did you feel obliged to talk his ear off. 

You start to hum, and he tunes in, admiring the rise and fall of the melody; how clear and bright your voice is.

“Would you like to put on some music?” He suggests, pointing to the old radio sitting atop your kitchen counter, a fine layer of dust on its smeared screen. 

You take him up on the offer, nodding. 

Zayne pushes a button and the last recording you had on plays in the room. A voice from long ago vibrates with nostalgia, reminding him of days passed and a comfort only found from warm sheets on a Sunday morning.

“Why don’t you ever let me into your home?” 

He pauses, glancing at you. “Pardon?” 

You exhale a laugh, and a teasing quality takes over your smile. “Your apartment. How come I never see it? Do you have piles of bodies you’re hiding from me?” 

A slender, calloused finger materializes by your hip, poking into your side. You flinch and giggle, locking eyes with his amused expression. 

“Careful. Do not go around unnecessarily exposing me.”

“So, you do have them under your floorboards.” 

He decides to challenge you back. “Are you afraid?” 

You scoff, picking up a wooden ladle to stir the sauce. “You must be mistaken, Zayne. For it isn’t me who should be afraid of you, but you of me.”

He resists the urge to pick you up and spin you in his arms for being so damn adorable. Reigning in the cute aggression, he titters a laugh. “And why is that so?” 

“Because,” you turn to him, your teasing smile growing wider. “I know things you don’t know. I have a certain set of skills not many have knowledge of and I can and will use them to my advantage.”

“Oh, really?” He drawls, raising a brow. The expression draws his handsome face into a comical curiosity; it nearly breaks your resolve not to laugh. “Enlighten me on these skills.” 

You clear your throat, setting the ladle down. “For example, I can bet you that I am a better dancer.”

Unexpectedly, he sweeps you into his arms, grabbing your left hand with his right and encircling the other one around your waist; you had no choice but to place your other hand on his broad shoulder to keep your balance. 

He was close—much too close—and it makes your face burn hot, your mischievous quips dying in the back of your throat. 

Zayne holds you fast, sure—swaying you from side to side as you both slowly circle the room, one gliding footstep at a time. He makes sure to lead you properly, careful to keep you two in an orbit far from mishap. 

You feel safe enough to lay your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat and breathing alongside the sweet, romantic music. Eyes falling close, you lavish in this sense of serenity and comfort you had never felt in your life.

Zayne, too, takes a second to savor this moment. He gazes at the peace suffusing across your face and feels his heart growing lighter.

I want this for the rest of my life.

The thought jolts him from his reverie; scares him enough to convince himself to take it back.

But, as much as Zayne wants to delude himself, he can’t run away from the truth.

He wants this for as long he breathes on this godforsaken planet. As long as the seas ebb and flow and the sun turns on its fucking axis—he wants you. Zayne doesn’t care what others might think; how they would make a mockery of your connection to him. He would kill anyone who tries to get between you both. 

And he hopes that deep down, you feel the same way, too.

He wakes up in the early morning to his phone vibrating on the dresser.

Zayne groans, feels a sinking weight on his chest and realizes you had fallen asleep sprawled on top of him.

His instincts override his fuzzy mind to not wake you up, nimbly grabbing his phone and answering the call without looking at the screen.

“Zayne.”

The voice on the other end jerks him fully awake, and he resists the urge to jolt upright, remembering you were still fast asleep.

“One second,” he murmurs into the receiver. The other man hums.

Zayne puts the phone back down, gently scooping you up and rolling you to the side, tucking the covers under your chin.

He sits upright, turning to plant his feet to the ground and picks the phone back up. 

“Detective Ivan?” 

“We have an emergency.” 

Zayne stops scratching his bare chest, tired green eyes sharpening from the urgency in the older man’s tone. Ivan would never call him unless it was serious and usually there was only one reason why he would. 

“An Abomination has attacked a young woman in a cafe. Nightstar Cafe. One of those oldy diners that open till early morning.”

Ivan doesn’t hear Zayne’s sharp breath, nor is he there to see how terrified the younger man looks, turning his gaze to the sleeping woman next to him.

“A young woman? Was she blonde?”

He can feel Ivan frowning on the other end. “How did you know?” 

Zayne concocts a lie. “I saw the cafe in passing. Is it serious?”

“We have no visual on the Abomination and neither on the girl. We’re stuck and we need your help. Only you can track her down.”

Zayne racks his brain, thinking of his apartment that’s almost an hour away from yours. If he could get to his tracking systems quickly, maybe there was still time to solve this case…

“Alright,” he made up his mind. “Give me half an hour to find her. I’ll alert you to her whereabouts.”

Ivan breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Zayne.”

“Do not mention it.” He clicks off the call, turns to find you still fully asleep. As quietly as he could, he stands and gets ready, dressing in a nondescript black t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, bundling up with his trench coat to keep the autumn chill at bay.

Just as he’s about to grab his bike keys, he hears you stirring.

“Zayne?” 

Your voice is fringed with exhausted curiosity, bleary eyes blinking and trying to pin onto his figure in the total darkness.

He’s next to you in a heartbeat, bending down to place a kiss on your forehead. “I have an emergency. You stay here and rest, alright? Wait for me. I’ll be home for you soon.”

You could only nod obediently, watching him rush out of the room; the front door closing behind him with a loud thud. 

Wondering what could’ve spurred Zayne into such a frantic mode, you close your eyes, about to drift off when you hear a knock. 

Woozily, you get to your feet, stifling a yawn. The hem of his too big shirt brushes your thighs, and you rub your eyes, frowning when the knocks get more insistent.

“Coming,” you call out, and trudge to the front door. 

Peering through the security monitor, your heart skips a beat when you notice your best friend on the other side, her expression wild; eyes darting down the hallway and jaw strained.

“Serina? What’re you doing here at this time?” 

Your voice carries out to the front, and you hear her over the security intercom.

“Babe, please. Let me in. Something terrible has happened. I can’t explain it, but I need your help.”

She sounds afraid and terrified, and your heart squeezes in fear when she glances down the hallway again, as if she were being chased.

Without another thought, you unlatch the door for her, and she comes barreling in, sinking to the floor the second you shut the door closed.

You fall to your knees next to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Squinting in the darkness, you faintly make out splotches of darkness on her tank top, and it’s not until you switch on the lights that you notice it’s blood. 

“Serina!” you gasp, and in the brightness, her irises have completely pin pricked, only a thin ring of blue surrounding them. 

She grabs your hands, tugs you closer to her face. Your heart is about to fly out of your chest, and you fight back, trying to break free from her grasp.

But, she’s fueled by fear and something else—something which ramps her paranoia up to concerning levels.

“Man. Wanderer. He hurt me. Tried to kill me. I ran… I ran here. I had no idea where else to go.”

Her words slur and clash in a cacophony of confusion. You can’t make heads or tails what she’s trying to say, but you attempt to piece it together for her sake.

“Hold on, hold on. Breathe.” You grab her thin shoulders in your white-knuckled grip, trying to shake the fear out of her. There was no time for confusion; you needed to know exactly what happened to her. “Start from the beginning, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand.”

Without warning, tears fill her eyes and she pitches her head forward, breaking into silent sobs. 

Your arms automatically wrap around her, pulling her into your embrace. She cries, screams and wails, breaking down in total fear.

“It’s okay,” you soothe her, like how you had soothed Zayne many, many times in the aftermath of his nightmares. “You’re fine. You’ll be safe.”

She shakes her head, hiccuping incoherently. “He hurt me. He cut me with his teeth. I—” A full body shudder goes through her. 

Alarmed, you rock back on your haunches, eyes wide and locked on her pinched expression. “Serina, are you okay—?” 

The words die on the tip of your tongue, and you instinctively stand up, backing towards the wall when you notice her eyes starting to glow a bright purple.

“Serina—!”

She curls onto the ground, crying out in pain. Her body starts to writhe, and a gruesome crunching sound cracks through the air.

Too late to escape, you watch in horror as her body convulses, the bones of her spine breaking and twisting. Her skin turns a revolting shade of purple, and spittle froths down her mouth.

Before the petrifying purple light entirely consumes her body, she manages to hoarsely cry out two words which shakes you to your core: 

“Save me.”

SOBS im sorry to have to cut it here but it was too long </3 last part coming soon !! reblogs and feedback are sincerely appreciated 🩷

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy my concept, repost my stories or translate and post them to other platforms

[ravenna-reid]

Battle Scars

Reader is from a planet of warriors. A planet where each scar is seen as honourable rather than ugly. When she accidentally sees Jason's scars, she can't help but look at them in amazement, much to Jason's surprise...

I really hope ya'll like this one...lmk!!

"Come on, lift you arms."

With an agitated sigh, Jason did as Dick asked and raised his muscled arms. Dick quickly pulled Jason's bloodied and torn shirt from his body and threw it to the floor, analysing the gash that sat across Jason's chest.

"What, did you get into a with Catwoman or something?" Tim asked, grimacing as he looked at the gruesome scene.

""I'll break your nose replacement." Venom coated his words, and Jason's expression read that he wasn't joking, so with that, Tim shook his head and left the room.

Just outside wandering the empty halls of Wayne manor was the girl Batman had found just a month prrior. Tall and toned, carved muscles on your arms and legs. A slick scar the colour of pearls ran down the side of your jaw to the top of your neck. A few more decorated your back and arms. A stern expression and soft eyes. You were a warrior from another planet Bruce had told everyone. He wasn't sure what planet though, seeming as whenever you told him the name, no records of it could be found. Not even those on the Justice League could find the unusual planet you were calling home. .

You weren't Kryptonian and you weren't an Amazon, even though your ideals and principles aligned with theirs. Nor were you a Martian, or an Atlantean or a Tamaranean. So what the hell were you?

Well, you kept telling them over and over. You were Idorian, from Idoria, but your home planet was apparently non-existent. 'A part of another timeline' was the theory.

"Non-existent as far as you're concerned." You had muttered with the roll of your eyes.

All they knew was that you'd accidentally been dragged to Earth when an incident a few months back involving portals and timelines threw you down from the sky into Bruce Wayne's garden. They also learnt that you had immense strength and durability. You could fly. You almost bested Wonder Woman in melee combat, almost. And electricity didn't affect you one bit. Other than that, you were a complete mystery.

And a certain seemingly uninterested vigilante seemed to liked that.

Tim watched as you looked out the grand windows lining the hallway, still amazed by the fact that Earth only had one sun.

A warm smile grew on his face. "Hey y/n, what are you doing?"

"Nothing much. You?"

Tim shrugged. "I was helping Dick mend Jason until I was threatened." He scoffed, trying to mask it with a bitter laugh.

A warmth grew in your cheeks at the mention of his name. Why? You had no idea.

"Why, what happened to him -?"

"Tim! You took the antiseptic with you!" Dick suddenly called out from the room, Jason's annoyed mumbles following.

Tim let out a huff, much to your confusion, "I don't wanna go back in there with that son of a bitch."

"It's alright, I can if you want." You offered, holding out your hand and questioning what a son of a bitch was. Humans were easily injured compared to your people, so it would be interesting to see the healing process.

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, his brow raising, "He can be a real ass, especially when people are trying to help him."

"Yeah, I'm sure." You replied, so Tim placed the odd looking bottle in your hands before you walked into the room.

Your footsteps echoed through the atmosphere. Instantly, Jason's eyes snapped up to meet yours, his cheeks burning a subtle red before he quickly looked away. A wince escaped him as he tried to subtly cover up his body. Too bad my shirt is on the damn floor he thought to himself. Picking up on Jason's change in demeanour, Dick turned to look at you, a charming grin appearing on his face immediately.

"Y/n! I haven't seen you in ages, how are you?" Dick had just finished pulling out the last shard of glass from Jason's slash and dropped the bloody tweezers on the tray beside him.

"I'm fine thank-you. Here is...well, this." You said, holding the bottle out to him. "Tim gave it to me."

"Thanks, y/n." He grabbed the bottle from you then looked back at the array of medical supplies sprawled across the table beside him. Hands cupped together in his lap, Jason stole glances of you here and there, glad that you were more interested in the odd looking tools Dick was focusing on rather than him.

"Shit, I just realised I forgot the stuff for the stitches," Dick turned to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, "I'm just gonna run and grab some things. Can you watch him for me real quick?"

"I don't need a babysitter Dick." Jason quipped, his eyes trained on his brother. Please just let her leave.

"I don't mind." You responded, and that usual glint of joy passed through Dick's eyes.

"Thanks, I'll be back in a sec."

With that, Dick left the room, leaving you two alone.

"Why did you do that?"

You looked over at Jason with a puzzled look, "What do you mean?"

"You don't have to watch me. You can go if you like." Jason swallowed hard, doing his best to act unfazed by the fact that you were standing right there.

"It's alright, I'm kind of curious to see how this all works on your planet."

His gaze averted back onto the floor, his body instinctively turned from you. You, however, were watching him. The wound had stopped bleeding, and it didn't look too deep, but it stretched across one side of his chest and onto his bicep. Looking at his arms, you couldn't help but think about how he looked like those perfect sculptures back home.

"Does it hurt?"

"No." So curt. So closed off. You were going to remain quiet until you did a double take. Silver streaks painted his chest. His abdomen and arms. There were even some on his back that caught your eye.

"Wow." The words fell from your lips, and Jason's eyes cut back to you.

"What?" He asked, meaning to sound more curious than defensive.

You walked over to where he sat, eyes trained on all of his scars. All of his accomplishments. Back at home, whenever someone attained a scar, it meant they had cheated death. They had been lucky and strong enough to survive. It was why you never hid yours. A scar is a victory. A glorious one too. And Jason had many victories.

A sickening tightening sensation began in Jason's throat as you neared, still obviously oblivious to personal space, especially Jason's. He watched as you stared at his biggest insecurities, the things that would taint his body forever and remind him of the horrors he was forced to endure. Immediately, he grew even more self-conscious. Sick. Angry.

"What the hell are you doing?" He snapped, but you ignored it.

"If the elders back home saw this, they'd call you a war hero." You let a light laugh.

His frown faltered a little, his glistening eyes watching you intensely. It was as though your eyes were tracing each and every tarnished bit of his skin. "You have so many."

His frown was back, a shot of anger burning through his chest at your comment. Why did you of all people have to say that? Jason drew in a deep, shaky breath, but before he could speak you told him how impressive it all was, and now the frown was even deeper than before. "What?"

You looked up at him, and suddenly his head was reeling. Jason found that some part of him, a hidden away part that was deep deep down, wanted you to look at him like that for the rest of his life. A look that said he was worth something. That he wasn't this ugly, scarred monster. Skin crawling and muscles tensed, he managed to ignore it. Just for now. Just this once. He quickly cleared his throat as he waited for your explanation.

"Your scars...they- you have so many victories." You repeated, "Many more than me." You pulled the sleeve of your shirt back to show him. Jason's eyes ran along the silver lines on your arms before his attention turned to your skin. The muscles on your arms. The glossy hair that ran over your shoulder. His eyes drew up your neck to your lips...

He quickly looked away, shame and bashfulness so blatantly evident on his face.

"What do you mean..." His tone was distant, until he paused. "Victories?" Now he was curious.

You frowned. "What do you mean? Scars are honourable. They show strength. Tell stories. You must be a valiant fighter. A survivor." You smiled at him gently, pointing your finger at them. And it was like something got caught in his throat.

Silence washed over the room like a soft wave. Jason kept to himself as his big, bright eyes watched you. He turned your words in his head, amazed at how you viewed this topic. He almost waited for you to correct yourself or take the compliment back. Because there was no way. No way you were truly being honest about how you viewed the ugliest parts of himself. Everyone had always looked at his scars that same way, with pity and aversion. And yet you...

"You really think like that?" He asked, looking up at you through his dishevelled, raven hair.

"Doesn't everyone?"

A soft, subtle smile tugged at Jason's lips, and suddenly your heart was hammering in your chest, faster than a hiccup. Jason watched you attentively now, still shy, but not as ashamed or ill at ease. Since when was he so comfortable around others, especially a stranger? Especially about the things that kept him up at night? Especially with someone that was on his mind 24/7....

Dick suddenly bursted back into the room, a needle and bobbin of nylon string in his hand. "Sorry Jace, had to get Alfred to look for it."

Jason shook his head at Dick as he got started on stitching him back up. "I can do it myself you know -"

"Shut it." Dick responded.

Jason's gaze fell back onto you and he almost felt like collapsing when you said you'd leave them be and see them later. You realised the longer you stood with him, the lighter your head was becoming. So with that, you left the room, and all Jason could think about for the rest of the day was you.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What do you think of this designer renovation? It's an 1890 home in Hudson, NY. I think I like it, especially the wallpaper and color. The house itself is square and plain, so I think that the updates fit it. 3bds, 3ba, $1.145m. I posted it before, so it's been on the market a while, and it's finally got a pending sale. However, Zillow feels that the price is too high- the Zestimate is $1,078,800.

The designer gave the entrance hall sophisticated paint choices and modern lighting.

Small sitting room off the main hall has an original fireplace painted black. Hate that light fixture, though. The original floors were all painted black.

Pocket doors open to a second sitting room.

She put a little wood burning stove in the corner. Cute. I'm getting moody vibes from this decor.

Small dining room has the popular blue leaf-patterned wallpaper. I saw a video the other day about painting old wood- a woman painted all of the wood walls in a family room, a la HGTV. The video showed how she could've kept the wood and what she could've done to update the room with decor. It was interesting.

The kitchen was given a remodel, keeping the original small footprint. They got a large island in, and some nice shaker cabinetry, but that cooktop w/o exhaust is really gonna mess up those shiny lights overhead.

Back room was fitted with a storage piece.

Nice guest powder room.

Refinishing the wood stairs and coating them in polyurethane would've been more durable than paint. They're going to need some sort of preservative or stair treads.

Cute bedroom.

Bath reno. Not bad.

This room has a nice little alcove and was made into a TV room.

Bedrooms are small - a cloud mural on the feature wall gives it a little feel of openness.

Love the pale pink tree pattern on this wallpaper.

Small vintage bath. Like the heat grate in the wall.

The 3rd level rail was left original. I'm assuming that this is the attic. They don't show it.

Wrap around porch and modern deck on the back.

Fenced in yard. Not sure if that parking space belongs to the house, but it looks like it does. 5,662 sq ft lot

[siriusleee]

vi. klaxon

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳WORD COUNT: 1.6K ↳TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on.nc-17. ↳AUTHOR'S NOTE: Much shorter than usual, but hey, we can only do what we can do. ↳TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

It’s like waking up in an alternative universe; it takes your eyes and brain a solid minute to remember that you shouldn’t be waking up to the sight of trees and clapboard buildings. Somewhere between awake and sleep, you’d started dreaming about your winter camp and everyone who used to travel with you. 

Darren. Alyssa. Trevor. Caleb. James. 

The memories of them push you out of bed. The concrete floor is freezing beneath your feet. The clothes you were given the day before are still folded neatly on the floor beside your pack; you were clean for the first time in years and you didn’t want to sweat in your sleep. 

You try to finger comb your hair, but it snags on the tangles; you give up halfway through and throw it up with a piece of elastic you ripped from a pair of old underwear you found in a pharmacy a few months ago. Someone around here must have a pair of scissors sharp enough to give you a decent enough haircut. 

Through the little window, you can see the sun is watery - you have to find your jacket despite how ratty it is. Winter is rolling in way too fast for you to be without one. The last time you’d seen it, it was at the end of the bed in the med bay - you’d left it behind in the sudden surprise at waking up in an unfamiliar location. 

The hallway is already empty; the sound of your boots reverberates off of the empty walls. It’s like walking through a crypt; you can almost imagine eyes peering down at you from the dusty corners of the place. 

Frost covers the grass and it crunches beneath your feet. Your stomach rumbles and you wonder if there’s anything for breakfast to eat in the mess hall. Just crossing the little courtyard turns the tip of your nose frozen, and your fingers stiff. The med bay is unlocked, and inside it's as freezing as it is outside. There are no lights on - no doubt that even though they still have electricity, it must not be able to run all the time. 

You prop the door open with a rock so that just a little bit of light filters into the room. Your breath fogs up around your face, and you do your best not to trip and fall. The medical equipment glows in the weak sunlight pouring in from the doorway. You retrace your steps from the day before. There, at the end of the bed you had been placed on, is your jacket. It’s still coated in dirt and mud, but it’ll keep you warm for the time being. You wrap it around your shoulders, the smell of the forest surrounding you. 

A choking shout cuts through the med bay, broken off after half a second. A sliver of ice slides through your veins - it came from behind the med bay, through the thick concrete wall. It can’t be the mess hall directly on that side - Ghost had taken you around the entire building to get there yesterday. There’s a set of double doors, thick, durable metal that leads into an unknown part of the building. In the past, it would have been something that would overtake you with curiosity, and you’d be compelled to open the doors, but now they give you the creeps.

There’s a crash against the wall, and it makes you jump. The doors at the end of the med bay open, and you scramble backward, dropping down to your knees. Heavy footfalls cross the concrete floor as you skitter beneath the medical beds, squeezing between the thick shadows between the two of them. You press yourself onto the floor, trying to blend in with the shadows. You press your mouth into your forearm to muffle your breath. You have no idea if it’s alright for you to be here, and you don’t want to find out. 

The person’s face is shadowed, but from the lilt of their body, you think it might be Doc. You watch them walk towards the front door; the sound of the rock you used to prop the door open being kicked out of the way fills the room and the heavy door slams shut.

The only sound in the room is your breathing as you wait to see if the door will open again, and if anyone will strut back through; the seconds into minutes and no one interrupts the silence. Scrambling to your feet, you jerk your jacket up and exit without a sideways glance to see if anyone's noticed you sneaking out of the Med Bay. You're alone in the little courtyard.

The Dining Hall is almost empty - the food is nearly gone as you grab a mismatched plate and try to even your breathing. Two women crowed in the corner together point at you without abashment, and you ignore them as you peer at the little breakfast: potatoes cubed and boiled, steamed cabbage, and some kind of white bean. Your stomach grumbles; it's no Belgian waffle with syrup, but you put just enough on your plate to carry you over and find a spot to sit out of the line of sight of the women who are still staring at you. 

You're spearing the beans one by one, trying to make their earthy flavor last on your tongue when the shape of Ghost fills the Dining Hall door. You do your best to ignore him as you move on to the potatoes, cutting the cubes into smaller pieces and thinking about how they'd taste drowned in butter. 

"You should have woken up earlier," he says, standing on the opposite side of the table as you. 

"I'll remember to tell the valet to wake me up earlier tomorrow."

The sarcasm feels good on your tongue - a weight you didn't realize you missed carrying. Ghost settles onto his heels; above the dirty white of the skeleton, his eyebrows crinkle. The wrinkle they form is natural like he was born with it. You can imagine him as a baby, soft and sweet with that little wrinkle between his eyes.

The silence is unnerving; you scrape your fork against the plastic plate just for a sound. The two women in the corner stare at the two of you, and you realize they're waiting for you to finish eating so that they can clean up. You scarf the last few bites down and resist the urge to lick the plate clean. You hardly have the last bite in your mouth before Ghost snatches the plate from the table.

He doesn't have to tell you to follow him, you just do. He hands the plates to one of the women: a pretty blonde who looks at him with barely contained awe. The look on her face irritates you, and you resist the urge to say something to her.

"I'm going to show you around," Ghost says, pulling you back outside. The mud on your jacket cracks and falls off in clumps as you slide it on to avoid the chill.

"How many people live here?"

It's a struggle to keep up with Ghost's stride; it takes two steps for you to keep up with his one. The soreness in your legs is still there, but the feeling of warm food and a safe night's sleep fills you enough to ignore it.

"Depends."

He doesn't finish his sentence, but his steps slow enough that you can fall into line with him. You follow him around the edge of the building to the part of the base you haven't been able to explore. To your left the gate the two of you arrived in yawns above the two of you; the fence disappears into the distance, behind more brick buildings. 

"The garden is over here,” he says, gesturing to a chain link fence in the middle of a grouping of squat buildings. Inside the fence, women kneel in the dirt. Burlap sacks cover some plants, and others are being pruned by a few men. 

“That’s the storage locker,” Ghost points at a building just on the other side of the garden. A pair in ratty black fatigues sit outside, guns slung across their shoulders. 

“It’s guarded at all times?”

Ghost nods, lifting one hand to wave in response to one of the guards who waves at him.

The rest of the tour is quick: a second set of unused bunks, a building full of cars and trucks that look mostly unused, and the generators (also behind two guards who look like they haven’t slept in years). The last place he takes you is the armory; you spot your bow locked up behind the iron bars, the few arrows you had left leaning against the wall.

“Can I get that back?” You ask, fingers lingering on the cold metal of the lock. Ghost shakes his head; you don’t miss the way his fingers roll together, and you wonder if he’s wishing for a cigarette. 

“When you need it.”

His replies are infuriating you; you envision yourself kicking him in the back of the knee as you follow him out of the doorway. The sun is directly overhead by the time the two of you make it back outside. You flex your fingers in the rays, drinking in the little warmth that it brings in. 

You’re going to ask Ghost what next - a question that you’re not sure borders on the philosophical or the practical - when there’s a sound like a klaxon that comes through the entire compound. Ghost’s shoulders stiffen, head tilted just so. A second alarm repeats through the compound, and he walks away from you without a word.

“What is that?” You ask, jogging to catch up to him. His steps are quick, and it takes the breath away from you to keep up with him.

“They’re back.”

[myth-blossom]

I would like to make a song request for a story <3 The name of the song is "Desire (Hucci Remix) by Meg Myers (you can find it best on YouTube). It is a very powerful and sexy but also dark song that reminds me very much of Grey an Diana and their intense relationship! Maybe you can do something with that? 0_0

Oh Mini, I LOVE this song! I immediately got an idea for Diana and Grey (and other blorbos, too!). Thank you for sharing your request—I hope you like what it inspired! 🥰

Grey tried to quit smoking once.

He savored a slow drag of the cigarette as it struggled to balance between his lips, its durability waning with the cool rain pelting his face. It managed to last longer than expected as he moved under the cover of awnings when possible, the rain slicking his hair back and sliding easily off his coat as he navigated the drenched streets of the quiet city. He eventually diverted into an alley where he found the back entrance to the hotel he was looking for, tossing aside the soggy remains of his cigarette into a murky puddle before venturing inside.

Grey thought it would be easy to end the habit. He’d been through hell and back enough times that the thought of stopping an addiction hardly seemed like a challenge. He never expected the constant tension that set him on edge when he withheld his reward, his body howling to satisfy the cravings of a fix he long since forgot how to live without.

He did everything in his power to suppress the need for another taste. He had overcome the harshness of his upbringing at the Institute, willing his body to ignore the pain that bloomed from injuries both mental and physical, but he couldn’t quell what his body so greatly desired. He found himself justifying those moments by promising to stop the habit tomorrow and that other, safer vices would easily take its place instead. Excuses, really. 

The elevator signaled each floor it passed, its neutral ding seeming louder and more judgmental in the evening’s silence. He ignored its lack of subtlety and exited onto the fifth floor as he had been directed the hour prior. The room was tucked away near the end of the long hallway that wrapped around the corridor, positioned next to the stairwell in the event a quick escape was needed. He wondered if that was more for his benefit or for hers.

Grey remembered the first time he found Diana in the rear stairwell of their abandoned building. He thought it was a hiding spot all his own, a place where he could freely smoke whenever he wanted to escape the safehouse, and he found himself needing that cigarette more often once she joined them in Berlin. He slowed his pace coming down the steps and noticed her flinch, but in irritation or surprise, he wasn’t certain. She continued to enjoy a slow drag of her own cigarette and allowed him to approach. He lit up his own and they watched each other across the landing in a tense but peaceful silence. 

They met again and again after that without ever mentioning it to the others, taking turns finding each other waiting there for a quiet and amicable smoke. It became such a habit that he was surprised to see Diana arrive one day without her own lighter. She placed a cigarette between her lips and, before he could retrieve his lighter from his pocket, slowly tilted her chin up and met his cigarette with hers, lighting it with the embers of his own. She remained close as she inhaled and exhaled a steady stream of smoke from her lips, and he couldn’t remember how many more heated puffs they shared before he tossed their smokes aside and roughly claimed her mouth with his. The lewd symphony of skin smacking eagerly upon skin soon echoed shamelessly off the old brick walls and etched firmly into his memory.

By some miracle they hadn’t been caught, and when they parted ways once exhaustion had its due, Grey thought he was done with it. He had scratched an itch and that was it, and nothing else would be said on the matter. 

But Grey recognized the desperate urge that screamed more day by day in the tight confines of their safehouse, a demand for one more taste, for one more hit of pleasure that cared little for any consequences that followed his satisfaction. He’d felt the catch of his shirt against the fresh claw marks on his back and eyed her newly manicured nails with interest, craving more marks of her pleasure to trail upon his skin. He tossed and turned each night with dreams of such fantasies, of her shameless moans and wanton praises in his ear as he chased that maddening energy between them again and again, harder and faster, reckless and unrelenting as it consumed them both body and soul.

Grey paused, his hand half-raised to knock upon the door. He should come to his senses. He’d chastised many subordinates over the years about the risks of fraternization within the ranks, of the dangers that sex and sentimentality could do to the mission…

His knuckles rapped firmly on the door.

It opened with no one in sight. The door closed behind him and he turned to eye Diana intently. She leaned against the heavy door wearing a cigarette and a smile and little else. His wet coat barely had time to drip onto the carpet before he dismissed it to a chair and lifted her into his arms. She brushed wet strands from his face as he kissed her roughly, laying her upon the bed and leaving trails of suckle marks and raindrops in his wake. He savored the familiar burn of fire as he fed his addition, her reactions compelling him to keep her close and to never stop, to never deny them the extreme pleasure they could only seem to find within each other.

Grey knew he really needed to quit…

Perhaps he would try again tomorrow.

[rengineer]

Y'know you probably get this a lot but I'd really like to hear you just ramble about your gunslinger sometime, your voice is very calming.

- Ferret anon ( who's a little too scared to make an actual rp blog sobs )

" Well, if y'let me. " Engineer smiled as he rolled up his sleeve and slipped off his glove, proudly revealing the Gunslinger. " Now, this lil' beauty here, she's got a mighty unique construction, " he started, voice laced with pride. " My grandfather, he'd come up with these— blueprints, and I'd been tempted by the devil of innovation and created — this, a revolution. I didn't even know if it'd work, but I did it anyway. Cut the old one clean off. " There was an unsettling glint in his eyes as he spoke about the gunslinger, his grin almost manic. The decision to amputate his own arm sounded impulsive, even for him; as failure or death hardly fazed him — driven by a god complex bordering on madness. He was grateful it’d been a success, though that old stump ached now and then.

And he'd remembered the scene vividly: blood spilling onto the workshop floor, the slick warmth coating his arm as he desperately tried to stem the flow, tightening the makeshift tourniquet around his forearm while he wrestled with the pain of installing the prosthetic hand. The cloth gritted between his teeth as he fought to endure the excruciating agony that threatened to cloud his mind.

" She's built out of a specialized blend of titanium alloy and carbon steel. Real lightweight, strong as anything — durable enough to take a beatin' and keep on tickin'. " He gestured to each component with pride. " The fingers? Each one's on hinge joints for a full range of motion. Got a ball and socket for the hand so it has three relative rotations between segments, makin' it smooth and agile. Helps with anything from tinkerin' in the shop to throwin' a good punch out in the field. And inside, I’ve got these hydraulic pistons — customized, of course, to add a little extra force when I need it. Ain't just for show; those pistons let me put some real power into every swing. "

Engineer gestured to the delicate wiring along his forearm. " Now, the power’s where it gets fancy. See this? " He tapped a compact generator nestled into the back of his hand. " Runs off a custom lithium cell, wired up to a coil that charges with every move I make. Efficient, right? ”

Engie chuckled, giving the metal a gentle pat. " And, of course, I built in modular slots. Can make adjustments as I go… or turn the next poor fella into soup if he gets too close. "

[unsanctioned-if]

What is the fashion like in your world?

Oh, what a fun question!

It’s taken me quite some time to get to since I had to think about fashion in parts of the world not immediately shown in the beginning of the story and consider more details that I hadn’t previously thought of.

Just like in the real world, the fashion and clothing styles vary a lot depending on the different regions and cultures.

I'll mainly focus on the fashion of Aíos, which is the country where "Unsanctioned" takes place, though I'll also touch on the nations of Ciralor (Azora's homeland) and Ekkeran.

Aíos

The vale where the MC spends most of their childhood is ever cold and bitter, reminiscent of Ekkeran, though the rest of northern Aíos doesn't suffer this unending, unnatural predicament. Clothing focuses on practicality; partly due to the shifting temperature and partly because this part of the land is situated closer to the wilderness and thus remains more at risk for impromptu visits from forest creatures.

The clothing among the less well off is constructed from repurposed, hard-wearing materials like thick felt and wool. Garments need to be durable enough to withstand the rigors of manual labor, unpredictable weather conditions and frequent mending. Earthy tones and muted colors are common due to the limited accessibility of expensive dyes.

In order to add a hint of elegance to their clothing, people can sometimes be seen with hand-carved wooden buttons, bead embroidery and cord work.

Thinner fabrics often come in layers in an attempt to create the illusion of grandeur despite humble means. In general, the focus tends to be on clean cuts and minimal ornamentation.

Old clothing items are at times repurposed and transformed into new pieces.

Talzaric – Aíos’ capital – has a considerably warmer temperature, but that doesn’t mean that the aristocracy doesn’t choose to suffer for the sake of making an impression.

Most wear loose velvets, silks, and satin. Rich jewel tones like emerald green, sapphire blue, and ruby red can oftentimes be spotted accompanying neutral whites and creams. Most wear flowing, floor-sweeping gowns with intricate embroidery, lacework, beading, and metallic thread embroidery. Tooled leather belts cinched at the waist is quite popular, sometimes paired with flowing cloaks draped elegantly over one shoulder. Feminine attire often contains tulle underskirts while masculine fashion incorporates waistcoats with patterned silks and rich brocades, complete with pocket watches dangling from intricate chains.

The motifs of the embroidery ranges from house to house, precariously balancing between a chance at standing out while making certain to fit in with the crowd. Mosaic patterns and motifs inspired by frescoes can often be seen on skirts, coats and cloaks. Dresses sometimes feature layered, petal-like sleeves and intricately carved wooden accessories along with more valuable jewelry.

Headwear is commonly used regardless of social status. Laurel wreaths, feathers, bonnets and hats often serve as miniature works of art, ranging from practicality to whimsical fashion statements.

Ekkeran

A quiet, looming kingdom to the far north. It's not uncommon to see the northerners with weapons strapped to their belts, clad in robust furs, wool (dyed or not) and intricately stiched leather from various animals. Their clothes often contain hidden pockets created to store various objects meant to preserve warmth. Their clothing is nothing if not practical, even among the so called ‘nobility’. Survival takes precedence and precious few have time to consider beauty in the harsh environments that Ekkeran presents.

That doesn’t stop people from adding their own personal touches to the clothing or hair, however. Different types of shaved hairstyles are popular among the Ekkerans, sometimes in patterns depicting symbols that hold intimate meaning.  Some people wear discreet, meaningful tokens woven into their clothing or accessories passed down through generations. It’s popular for sweethearts to exchange wooden charms that can be carried close to the recipient, unperturbed by the harsh elements.

Materials play a crucial role in daily life. Textiles, while first and foremost serving the role of protection, allow for subtle pattern variations that become a form of non-verbal communication such as knotwork or frost-patterned fabrics that convey social status, occupation, and allegiances without drawing unnecessary attention.

Personal amulets and talismans are essential to the Ekkerans. These are often worn close to the heart in order to grant protection against the foul magic that plagues their lands.

Seemingly mundane objects such as lanterns, cooking utensils etc. sometimes hold hidden, carved symbolism such as milestone events or cryptic warnings that would remain a mystery to outsiders unfamiliar to Ekkeran customs. Over time, it’s become a game of sorts to leave riddles and trying to figure out the meaning of these carved secrets.

Ciralor

As a nation that prides itself on innovation and tradition alike, Ciralor fashion often consists of contrasts; such as delicate silk embellished with brass filigree and intricate clockwork mechanisms.

Hanfu-inspired garments, sometimes with Mandarin-inspired collars, merge with bustles, corsets and obi belts cinched at the waist, adorned with steam-powered automatons and delicate gemstone-studded cogs.

In terms of accessories, wooden fans are often etched with tiny gears, worn as brooches and adorning hairstyles. Jade jewelry can be found infused with minute clockwork components that whir softly. Their shoes are sometimes curved soles reminiscent of traditional geta sandals, adorned with copper piping and steam-powered pistons.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

Okay, maybe not. There are parts worth saving.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Like what?

Friends and family.

The pleasure of contemplating art!

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Do you even *have* those?

I've got Kim.

I might. I just need to find them.

I did, but I lost them.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Just make sure you don't lose him. You'll not find another like him...

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - It's true in more ways than you know.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - But then what does this book know? It's just a poorly made piece of pulp garbage, made to be consumed and discarded.

4. I don't have any more questions. I've figured it all out.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - So who did it, detective? Who killed Charlie Spillane and Deanna Deneuve?

Love did them in.

The dirty police captain?

The junkie art collector?

The politician's twat son?

Uh... Dick Mullen?

You know what? I don't even care. (Close the book.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - What? That doesn't even make sense. There's never a straight answer with you, is there? You just get hooked on random stupid notions and then repeat them every chance you get.

Now go on, find out who *really* did it.

Finish the book.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - You begin furiously flipping through pages. Even as you know these books follow a series of well-worn tropes, you find yourself completely engrossed. You're turning pages so fast you don't even notice the ancient spine coming unglued...

REACTION SPEED [Impossible: Failure] - You try to grab the pages as they come loose but your fingers aren't quick enough... they're gone.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Dozens of pages scatter across the floor. The last fifth or so of the book seems to have been lost. It's possible that you could gather and reassemble the pages, but it would take way too long.

"Stupid old horse glue."

"Gah! Now I'll never know!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Too bad, detective. If it's any consolation, the resolution is almost never very satisfying..."

"And on that note, perhaps we should get back to making sense of our own case?"

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - Last year, more than 71% of murders in Revachol went unsolved. In Revachol West, that number was closer to 85%.

Level up!

This point is going into Half Light.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - In your hand, you hold four-fifths of "Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity."

Fuck, hold on, we can salvage this.

ANNETTE - "Hi, ace detective." She smiles warmly. "Are you here for more books?"

"Little girl, help. My Dick Mullen book ripped before I could get to the end. Do you know what happens?"

ANNETTE - "Which book was it, sir?"

"Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity."

ANNETTE - "Oh..." She frowns. "I'm very sorry, sir. I haven't read that one yet. I wish I could help you."

2. "Okay, bye. See you around, Annette." [Leave.]

PLAISANCE - "It's always nice to see you here. You bring good energy."

2. "Uh, this Dick Mullen book fell apart before I got to the end. Do you have another copy?" (Show her the item.)

PLAISANCE - "Oh, I'm very sorry, sir. Some of these old paperbacks just don't have the durability. I would be happy to sell you another one, but unfortunately it's the last copy we had in stock."

Damn. I guess there really is no way to know.

In the spirit of Dick Mullen, I equip the fedora and pinball coat.

LOGIC - Give up. You'll never find the answer. There's no other copy of "Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity" here.

But, why?

There's got to be a way to solve this.

I guess that's it. Maybe it's better this way. [Finish thought.]

LOGIC - Because that's how the world works. Some stories never get finished. You shouldn't expect there to be a tidy, satisfying ending.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - But... but... what if you never find out how *your* story ends?

There's got to be a way to solve this.

LOGIC - There isn't. If only you had more time... more resources... who knows what you could have come up with?

Maybe if there had been more money... and less speed...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Or *MORE* speed!

LOGIC - Or *that*, yes. Either way, you might've been able to come up with an answer. But not like this.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Challenging: Success] - Hang on, you can do this. *Use your imagination*. You know who the suspects are, just... make it up.

So, who killed Charlie Spillane and Deanna Deneuve, detective? Just fucking pick one.