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sonukumar44 · 2 years ago

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Timber Shopfronts: Elevate Your Business Aesthetics Naturally

In the bustling world of commerce, where first impressions can make or break a customer's decision to enter a store, the aesthetics of your shopfront play a pivotal role. Among the various materials available for shopfront construction, timber stands out as a timeless and versatile choice. In this article, we'll explore the advantages of timber shopfronts, the process of choosing the right timber, customization options, installation, maintenance, cost considerations, and more.

Advantages of Timber Shopfronts

Aesthetic Appeal

Timber shopfronts exude a warm and inviting charm that is hard to replicate with other materials. The natural grain and warmth of wood create a welcoming atmosphere, making your business stand out in a sea of commercial spaces.

Versatility in Design

One of the key strengths of timber is its versatility. Whether you prefer a classic and traditional look or a modern and sleek design, timber can be customized to suit your brand image seamlessly.

Environmental Sustainability

In an era where eco-conscious choices matter, timber shopfronts offer an environmentally friendly option. Responsibly sourced timber is renewable, making it a sustainable choice for businesses aiming to reduce their environmental footprint.

Choosing the Right Timber for Your Shopfront

Different Types of Timber

Not all timber is created equal. We'll delve into the various types of timber available, such as oak, mahogany, and cedar, highlighting their unique qualities and suitability for different environments.

Considerations for Durability and Maintenance

While the aesthetic appeal is crucial, the durability of your shopfront is equally important. We'll guide you through factors to consider, ensuring your timber shopfront stands the test of time.

Customization Options

Design Flexibility

Timber allows for intricate designs and detailing, giving you the freedom to create a shopfront that truly represents your brand. We'll explore design options that can make your business memorable.

Incorporating Branding Elements

Your shopfront is a canvas to showcase your brand. Learn how timber can be a powerful tool to incorporate branding elements, from logos to color schemes, seamlessly into the design.

Installation Process

Steps Involved in Installing a Timber Shopfront

Whether you opt for professional installation or decide to take the DIY route, understanding the installation process is crucial. We'll break down the steps involved, providing insights for a smooth installation experience.

Professional Installation vs. DIY Options

Weighing the pros and cons of professional installation versus a do-it-yourself approach. Knowing when to seek professional help ensures a secure and well-executed installation.

Maintenance Tips

Regular Cleaning and Polishing

Maintaining the aesthetic appeal of your timber shopfront requires regular care. Discover simple cleaning and polishing techniques to keep your shopfront looking brand new.

Dealing with Potential Issues like Rot and Pests

Addressing common concerns about timber, such as rot and pest infestations. Learn preventive measures and solutions to protect your investment.

Cost Considerations

Initial Costs vs. Long-term Benefits

While timber shopfronts may have an upfront cost, we'll explore the long-term benefits and potential cost savings compared to other materials.

Comparisons with Other Shopfront Materials

A comprehensive comparison of timber with glass, metal, and composite materials. Understanding how timber stacks up in terms of durability, maintenance, and cost.

Case Studies

Successful Businesses with Timber Shopfronts

Explore real-life examples of businesses that have embraced timber shopfronts and witnessed positive impacts on foot traffic and brand perception.

Before-and-After Transformations

Visual transformations of commercial spaces before and after the installation of timber shopfronts. Witness the remarkable difference timber can make.

Future Trends in Timber Shopfronts

Emerging Design Trends

Stay ahead of the curve with insights into the latest design trends for timber shopfronts. From minimalist approaches to bold innovations, discover what's shaping the future.

Technological Advancements in Shopfront Materials

Explore how technology is influencing the evolution of timber shopfronts. From smart features to innovative materials, the future holds exciting possibilities.

Customer Testimonials

Real-life Experiences with Timber Shopfronts

Read firsthand experiences from business owners who have chosen timber for their shopfronts. Discover the positive impact on customer perception and business visibility.

Positive Impacts on Business Visibility and Foot Traffic

Anecdotes highlighting the correlation between timber shopfronts and increased visibility and foot traffic. Understand the tangible benefits reported by businesses.

Common Misconceptions About Timber Shopfronts

Addressing Concerns about Durability

Debunking myths surrounding the durability of timber shopfronts. Clearing misconceptions to help you make an informed decision.

Debunking Myths About Maintenance Challenges

Timber shopfronts are often perceived as high-maintenance. We'll separate fact from fiction, providing realistic insights into maintaining a timber shopfront.

Regulatory Compliance and Timber Shopfronts

Meeting Building Codes and Regulations

Understanding the regulatory landscape and ensuring your timber shopfront complies with building codes. Insights on navigating legal requirements for a hassle-free installation.

Engaging Professionals for Compliance Assurance

The role of professionals in ensuring your timber shopfront meets regulatory standards. How engaging experts can provide compliance assurance and peace of mind.

Environmental Impact

Timber as a Sustainable Material

Delving into the environmental impact of timber and how responsibly sourced wood contributes to sustainability efforts.

Responsible Sourcing and Certification

The importance of sourcing timber responsibly and certifications that signify environmentally friendly practices.

Comparing Timber Shopfronts with Other Materials

Benefits and Drawbacks in Comparison

A comprehensive analysis of how timber compares to glass, metal, and composite materials. Understanding the strengths and weaknesses in different contexts.

Conclusion

In conclusion, a timber shopfront is more than a storefront; it's an investment in the visual identity and sustainability of your business. From its aesthetic appeal and customization options to its environmental sustainability, timber stands tall as a versatile and timeless choice for shopfronts. As you embark on the journey of enhancing your business facade, consider the long-term benefits and the unique character timber brings.

FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

Are timber shopfronts suitable for all types of businesses?

Timber shopfronts can be customized to suit various business types, from retail stores to cafes and offices.

How often should I clean and maintain my timber shopfront?

Regular cleaning is recommended, and maintenance should be performed at least annually, depending on the environmental conditions.

Do timber shopfronts require more maintenance than other materials?

While timber requires regular care, advancements in protective coatings have minimized maintenance needs, making it comparable to other materials.

Can I install a timber shopfront myself, or should I hire a professional?

The decision depends on your DIY skills and the complexity of the installation. Professional installation ensures a secure and precise fit.

Is timber environmentally friendly for shopfronts?

Yes, when sourced responsibly, timber is a sustainable and eco-friendly choice for shopfronts.

#timber shopfronts #timber shopfront #timber shopfront uk #united shop fronts #shop fronts #uk shop fronts #best shop fronts #best shop fronts uk

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unitedshopfronts11 · 2 years ago

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mydearestbeloved · 5 days ago

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Chapter 2 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains mentions of gore—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Voices.

Low murmurs, like a breeze brushing past your ears.

The world was still dark behind your eyelids, and your body felt like stone—heavy, slow. But something shook you gently. A hand on your shoulder, warm and real.

“Agassi... Can you hear me?”

You blinked awake.

Above you were the face of an old woman. Her skin was lined with years, but her gaze was soft and kind, brows drawn with quiet concern. Her gray hair was tied up neatly in a low chignon, and her hanbok was faded with age but freshly cleaned—smelling faintly of wildflowers and pine.

“Oh, thank the spirits… you’re awake.” She sighed with relief, brushing a few strands of hair from your face with a mother’s gentleness. “You poor thing. Are you hurt anywhere?”

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry again.

The only thing that left your lips was a faint, hoarse sound.

The woman helped you sit up slowly. You looked around, dazed, realizing you were in a small clearing by a riverbank, the morning sun rising beyond the trees. A woven straw hat sat beside her, and a small cloth bundle with rice cakes and medicinal roots was laid out nearby.

“I found you here just before dawn,” she said, voice lilting like warm tea. “These are dangerous times. Slave traders have been crawling around the outer provinces like rats. You’re lucky they didn’t find you before I did.”

You flinched.

She noticed. Her expression turned thoughtful, but not pressing.

“Where are you from, child? You look like you’ve walked through half the kingdom in your sleep. Surely someone must be worried about you.”

You hesitated.

What could you say?

That you woke up yesterday under a strange sky, and tore men apart like meat in your jaws? That the only thing you remembered before the guilt, the blood, the hunger was… was—

You offered her the only truth you dared.

“…I don’t,” you rasped. “I don’t… remember.”

Your mouth tasted bitter.

Not sweet, like last night—

But the old woman—she didn’t question it. She didn’t prod, didn’t accuse.

Instead, she nodded, her smile lined with grief. “Mm. That happens sometimes. Especially to those who’ve seen things they shouldn't have.”

You lowered your eyes, not trusting yourself to answer.

She reached out and patted your hand.

“Well. You’ve got a name at least, haven’t you?”

“…Yes.”

You gulped.

“I’m…(Name).”

“Then that’s enough for now.”

She stood slowly, groaning as her knees cracked beneath her. “My bones aren’t what they used to be,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’ve room in my home, and a kettle always on the fire. If you’ve nowhere to go, you can come with me.”

You blinked up at her.

“…Really?”

“Call me Granny,” she said, brushing off her skirt. “Everyone else does.”

——oOo——

Her name was Nam Jinseol, but she insisted you call her Granny.

She lived on the edge of a sleepy mountain village tucked in mist and pine, in a modest choga-jip—a straw-roofed house with wooden floors, walls of clay and timber, and a small front veranda.

In the mornings, she opened a little tea shop she had run for decades—though she admitted business had dwindled since her husband passed. The sign above the shop was old and faded, but still legible: 청운다방 – Cheongun Tea House, named after her late husband’s childhood nickname.

“Herbs don’t make anyone rich,” she said once, pouring steeped petals into your cup. “But they warm the body and quiet the heart. That’s more than gold ever did for me.”

She told you once she had a daughter.

Once.

She had smiled too brightly when she said the girl ran off in her youth, “head full of romance and rebellion.”

She never brought her up again.

And you never asked.

But some nights, when the tea was poured just a little slower, when she lingered in the doorway with her eyes on the empty seat beside you—you wondered if she missed her more than she let on.

Maybe that was why she welcomed you so easily.

Maybe that was why she treated you the way she did.

——oOo——

You never told her about the nightmares.

What’s in them at least.

They came often.

Soulless eyes.

Blood on your tongue.

Plush fleshes.

Grinded bones.

And the sweet, sweet relief from—

W̶̲̑h̴͙͛á̴̺t̷͉͂ ̵͓̅i̵̳̋f̷̙̅ ̵̥̓t̷̛ͅh̷͈͘e̸̪̔ȳ̸̯ ̶̳̓w̴̞͋e̶̼̾r̴͊ͅë̴̮ ̵̭̕i̴͓͂ņ̶̀ṉ̶̽o̶̰͘c̷̝͒e̸̥̾n̸̰͂t̶̡̂ṡ̶͕?̵̳̚

You awoke from them choking back sobs, your whole-body trembling in the dark.

And always—

Without fail—

Granny would appear at your door with her tea tray. No words. Just the soft scent of mugwort and wild chrysanthemum.

You never asked how.

But the tea soothed you.

You clung to that kindness like a raft.

To repay her, you worked.

You rose early to help in the herb garden, pruning perilla leaves and sorting dried roots. You managed the tea house in the afternoons, sweeping the floors and preparing infusions for the rare traveler that passed through.

It was quiet work.

Gentle.

And you tried to live with that.

You served tea and learned the names of every herb in her apothecary chest.

You smiled for Granny.

——oOo——

It was strange, the way guilt didn't just stay inside you—it grew.

It festered.

No matter how many mornings you swept the porch of the tea house, how many bundles of herbs you sorted with aching fingers under the sun, no matter how many bowls of warm soup Granny set in front of you with that same familiar smile—

The blood on your hands didn’t wash off.

You killed them.

You didn’t know their names. You didn’t know if they were good men, bad men, fathers, sons. You didn’t know if they had families waiting for them. But, you remembered a scream, and something about that had to mean something.

Something about it had to mean they were human.

And you… weren’t.

That thought kept you up at night.

That hunger—what if it came back?

What if it grew again?

What if it came while Granny was nearby?

Granny, who gently guided your hand as you traced your first Hangul letters in ink, smiling patiently as you mouthed out syllables like a child.

Granny, who gave you a home when you had nothing—not even a memory, only a name whispered into a night sky.

Granny, who still called you "my child" when your hands trembled and your voice wavered.

If your body failed you again—if you lost control—

Would you kill her too?

That thought haunted you worse than the dreams.

So when she insisted that you go out, that you rest, that young souls should find joy too, you did what you thought was safer.

You researced.

Granny’s home was older than you first realized. Dust clung to every shelf in her study room, where rows of ancient books sat untouched like buried secrets. Some were poetry. Some were about plants. Others—worn scrolls with faint ink and half-torn bindings—spoke of demons.

Of Gwi-ma—the Demon King who led his kind through the shadows of the world.

You didn’t know why the name made your temples throb.

Every time you read it, a spike of pressure bloomed at the back of your skull like a migraine that wasn’t quite physical.

Gwi-ma.

You said it aloud once.

And black specks danced at the edge of your vision like snow.

Still, you read on.

And slowly, the pieces started falling into place.

The blue you saw that night—that strange, pulsing glow that called to you with a craving deeper than instinct—

It was the soul.

The energy of the living. The essence that demons were said to steal.

You remembered it pouring into you like sweet air after drowning.

You remembered the satisfaction.

You remembered wanting more.

Your hands trembled over the parchment as the truth dug into you like a knife.

You're not human.

You're a demon.

You stared at the trembling tips of your fingers for a long time.

But—

The scrolls only mentioned that demons took souls. Not flesh. Not blood.

The bodies, they said, disappeared—but no one actually said what happened to them.

Had demons always consumed the bodies too, just out of sight?

Or—

Were you something worse?

The markings on your body—so pale, glowing white like polished bone, curling in floral spirals along your arms and ribs—they didn’t match the jagged, purple marks etched into the demons in the books.

They weren’t monstrous.

They were beautiful.

Deceptively beautiful.

Like poison flowers in spring.

——oOo——

By the eighth month, the hunger began to whisper again.

Just faintly.

A low stir beneath your ribs.

A churn in your stomach that no amount of rice or tea could quell.

You ignored it at first. You tried.

But it stayed.

Like a shadow behind your reflection, waiting.

And then, one afternoon, you found an injured bird.

A tiny thing—just a sparrow, feathers ragged, one wing broken, legs trembling in the dirt.

You wrapped it carefully in linen and brought it home.

Granny tutted when she saw you, but her hands were gentle too.

“We can try, child,” she said softly, brushing her fingers over its frail form. “But sometimes the heavens choose otherwise.”

You did your best.

You fed it crushed grains and herbs. You held it close in a pouch against your chest. You whispered prayers to it when no one was listening.

But its breathing got weaker.

Its chirps, fainter.

Even Granny gave you that soft, knowing smile.

“You have a good heart,” she said. “But mercy comes in many forms.”

——oOo——

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You cradled the little bird in your hands, curled in a blanket near the brazier.

Its warmth had almost faded.

It chirped once, faintly.

Your thumb brushed over its head. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“If I couldn’t save you… did I only make it worse?”

Its body twitched.

Its beady eyes blinked slowly. Dimming.

You stared.

Then slowly, quietly… you opened your mouth.

The floral markings you kept hidden beneath your robe sleeves began to glow.

A soft, pulsing white.

Like moonlight on snow.

From the bird’s chest, something flickered.

Blue.

Small.

So small.

It floated from the trembling body to your lips, and you inhaled gently—

And it vanished into you.

The bird stilled.

No twitch.

No breath.

No warmth.

Just stillness.

And you felt the hunger ease.

Not vanish.

But ease. A little.

You looked down at the lifeless bundle in your palms.

Then—

You laughed.

A small, broken sound.

Not joy.

Not relief.

Just—

What have I become?

——oOo——

You learned something quickly in the months that followed:

Animal souls weren’t enough.

They filled the hunger like dry leaves stuffed into an empty belly—there was bulk, yes, but never true satisfaction. They dulled the sharpness of the craving, but never the ache. Even devouring the flesh alongside it—fur, blood, bones, warm dripping meat—only earned you a brief reprieve.

But it was better than nothing.

It had to be.

You made yourself believe that.

You hunted small animals in the forest after nightfall, silent beneath the trees, always returning before dawn. Granny worried, of course, said you should sleep more. But she also smiled when you brought her skinned rabbit or wild hen. Said you were “learning to live with your hands.”

When the tea shop was quiet and Granny encouraged you to “spend time among people,” you wandered to nearby farms and marketplaces. A few asked if you could butcher their livestock. You hesitated the first time, but Granny said your knife work was clean and precise.

And it was.

More than it should’ve been.

The others praised your skill. Paid you in coins. They never noticed the way you subtly breathed in their goats’ and pigs’ final wisps of life when they slumped beneath your hands. They never saw how your eyes glinted faintly from the usual color to red when you swallowed those tiny flickers of soul.

The hunger didn’t vanish.

But you managed it.

For now.

Still, you could feel it—deep inside, like a storm building behind your ribs. The longer you suppressed it, the stronger it grew. Like a beast on a leash that only got angrier the longer you held it back.

You feared the day it would break free again.

Feared who would be standing in its way.

Feared it might be Granny.

——oOo——

You were spiraling again when he arrived.

A merchant—one of the regulars who visited every few moons.

Loud voice, bright smile, overflowing pouches tied to his sash with knots you didn’t recognize. He wore travel-worn silk and a short-brimmed hat, smelled like road dust and dried peppers.

“Aigoo, the tea still smells heavenly, Eomeoni!” he greeted Granny, laying down a few coins with a wink. “Still no match for your smile, though.”

Granny swatted his shoulder with a laugh and poured him a cup of chrysanthemum blend.

You sat off to the side, kneeling quietly, drying a batch of cleaned herbs, until his voice shifted.

“Did you hear the news from Hwado? Word's going around again.”

Your fingers froze over a sprig of mint.

Granny tilted her head. “Hwado? The one near the eastern ridge?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “That’s the one. You remember the slave traders who used to operate just outside the walls? Nasty group—scum of the earth.”

Granny’s eyes darkened. “Too well. We warned everyone to stay away from that road.”

The merchant leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, turns out the boss—the one who ran the whole business—is dead. Has been for months. They only just confirmed it.”

Your eyes flicked up, heartbeat stuttering.

Granny asked first, “Confirmed how?”

“They found a finger,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Just the one, in an alley by the market district. Still had that gaudy ring of his on it—you know, the one with the ugly jade snake emblem? They said that’s how they identified him. Body was never recovered. Some say it was revenge, others say divine punishment. No one's sure.”

He leaned back, sipping his tea with satisfaction.

“But the town's been quieter ever since. Slave traffic stopped completely. Whole operation collapsed. People say it’s karma. I say it’s about damn time. Bastard got what was coming to him.”

You said nothing.

Your throat was tight.

The merchant laughed. “If he were still alive, more poor girls and boys would’ve gone missing. But he’s not. He’s gone. Good riddance, eh?”

Granny nodded. “May the heavens take pity on his victims.”

——oOo——

That night, you sat by the window, chin resting on your knees, the candle flickering low behind you.

The words kept circling in your head like fireflies.

He’s gone.

The town is safer.

No more will suffer because of him.

He deserved it.

You remembered his eyes.

The way his mouth opened in terror before your hand sealed it shut forever.

You remembered his blood running down your hands.

You remembered the ring—sharp-edged, tacky, cold against your palm.

They were glad he was dead.

You felt the hunger shift slightly in your belly, but it wasn’t twisting you with pain this time.

It was quiet.

Almost still.

You smiled.

A small, brittle thing.

But a smile, nonetheless.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [22/06/2025]

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #reader insert #female reader #reader is not oc #saja boys x reader #huntrix x reader #jinu saja #rumi kpdh #abs saja #mira kpdh #romance saja #mystery saja #zoey kpdh #baby saja #gwi ma kpdh

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hellinistical · 4 months ago

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Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader.

synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks.

trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. This list may be expanded and/or altered.

triggers for this chapter: fem. and afab reader. nothing to worry about!

a/n: this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

masterlist | taglist | next.

I. L'Inverno

"I vow. You vow. We vow."

Snow clung to the thatched roofs of Linkon, its crooked houses huddled together as if seeking warmth from one another. The village was near silent, save for the occasional groan of timber as the wind pressed its icy fingers against shuttered windows. Most homes sat in darkness, their inhabitants tucked away beneath layers of wool and fur, yet from time to time, a candle burned low, casting a feeble glow onto the frost-laced glass.

But the church—ancient, towering, its spire piercing the night like a needle through black silk—stood in stark contrast. Every arched window blazed with golden firelight, the stained glass casting fractured patterns onto the snow. The heavy oak doors, reinforced with iron, remained slightly ajar, beckoning stragglers into its embrace. The bells had long since gone silent, yet the warmth from within promised solace against the night’s bitter bite.

Somewhere, the distant cry of a lone crow shattered the stillness, its echo swallowed by the ever-falling snow. A path, trodden by hurried footsteps, led from the heart of the village to the churchyard, where the tombstones wore thick white shrouds, their inscriptions lost beneath the frost.

Linkon, though quiet, was not entirely dead. The village, half-buried in snowdrifts, exhaled plumes of smoke from crooked chimneys. A child, bundled in layers too thin for the cold, pressed small, chapped hands against the glass of a shop window. His wide eyes traced the contours of a single, dust-covered toy—a wooden horse with a broken leg, long since forgotten.

The boy lingered for a moment longer, his breath fogging up the glass as he gazed longingly at the wooden horse. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he could will it into his hands just by staring hard enough.

"Mama, do you think I can get that?" His voice was small, barely more than a whisper against the wind. One of his front teeth wobbled slightly as he spoke, not quite loose enough to fall out but just enough to make his words lisp.

His mother, a tired woman with deep lines etched into her face, did not slow her pace. Her grip tightened around his wrist, tugging him away from the window with a scowl.

"You’ve no business playing with toys," she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Come now."

The cold bites at your fingertips as you flex your aching hands, the stiff joints protesting after gripping the rough bark for too long. The weight of the log still lingers in your muscles, a dull ache settling in your arms and shoulders. Your breath curls into the air in wisps of pale mist, vanishing as quickly as it forms.

The wagon creaks under the added weight, its wooden frame groaning in protest. You glance over the pile of logs, stacked haphazardly in the cart, some dusted with frost, others stripped bare where the axe had bitten deep. It’s enough for now. Maybe.

Rolling your shoulders, you take a moment to stretch, tilting your head back just enough to see the sky.

From the porch, Gran smoked her pipe.

She scoffs, tapping the edge of her pipe against the arm of her rickety chair. Bits of ash flake onto her apron, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“Hmph. Thought you was going to be a postulant,” she says again, this time with less interest, as if the idea alone tires her. She takes another slow drag, the pipe’s ember glowing bright before she exhales another cloud of thick, acrid smoke.

You grimace, waving the fumes away with a scowl. The scent clings to the air, thick and cloying.

“I am, Gran. But I can’t let you get cold before I leave. Gotta make sure you got enough wood.” You heft another log into the wagon, the weight of it jarring through your arms.

Gran mutters something under her breath, half a curse, half a grumble of reluctant approval. Something about how you fuss too much, how she’s not some helpless old crow, but she doesn’t tell you to stop. You know better than to expect gratitude—her warmth was never in words, only in the way she let you stay, let you chop her wood, let you fuss.

She shifts in her chair, pulling the quilt tighter around her shoulders before taking another slow puff of her pipe. "Bet the nuns don’t let you run around swinging axes," she mutters.

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you reach for another log. "Probably not."

“Why d’ya wanna be a nun anyway?” She exhales another plume of smoke, the scent thick and heavy in the cold air. “There’s nothin’ for you there, and you sure as hell ain’t no saint.”

You pause mid-motion, a log balanced against your hip, her words pressing heavier than the wood in your arms. You knew this conversation was coming—Gran had been biting her tongue for weeks, waiting for the right moment to let her doubt slip through.

A part of you wants to argue, to tell her that this is the only path left that makes sense, that it’s not about sainthood or salvation. But you know she won’t buy that. Not Josephine.

It’s quiet for a moment between you two.

Gran mutters something half-assed under her breath, the words trailing off into the wind like the smoke she puffs out. It’s too quiet for you to catch all of it, but you hear enough to know it’s not much of a compliment. She never was good at hiding her feelings, though. You’re used to it by now.

"I ain’t some poor fool that needs babysitting, y’know." Her voice is gruff, but there’s a thread of something softer in it—something you’ve learned to recognize over the years. She’s stubborn, always has been.

You give a small nod, moving to stack the last of the logs. "I know, gran. I know. But I won’t feel right leaving unless I know you’re taken care of. You know that."

Gran doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes another slow drag from her pipe, her gaze lingering on the snow-covered fields in the distance, the world outside seeming endless and cold. After a long pause, she huffs again, quieter this time. "Don't go thinkin' you’re some saint for it," she mutters.

Finishing up, you dust your hands off on your clothes. You’d really need to get some balm for your hands later at this rate.

The wagon creaks and groans as you guide it up the worn path to the porch, wheels crunching over the frozen slush of mud and snow and dead leaves.

Steadying it at the base of the stairs, the weight of the logs a comfort now that they’re safely in place. The cold air bites at your face, the evening shadows stretching long across the ground.

Gran has already begun making her way up the steps, her movements slower than usual but still determined, stubborn as ever. You catch up with her, slipping your arm around her shoulders to steady her, though she gives you a glare that says she doesn’t need it.

"I’m fine," she grumbles, but there’s a softness to it, and you know she’s just too proud to admit otherwise.

You press a quick kiss to her weathered cheek, the touch brief but warm. "Come on, gran. Let’s get you inside before that fire goes out."

As soon as you open the door, Gran makes her way toward the hearth, moving a little more slowly now, her back bowed from years of wear. You follow her, dropping the last of the logs into the small pile beside the fire. The hearth crackles and spits, the flames licking at the logs, eager for the kindling to catch.

You kneel down and add a few smaller pieces to the fire, feeling the warmth crawl up your limbs as the room begins to fill with its heat. The crackling flames dance in the dim light, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Gran settles into her favorite chair, a deep sigh escaping her lips as she rubs her hands together to warm them.

But then.

The sharp scent of burning soup cuts through the warm, smoky air of the house, and you both freeze for a moment, the sudden change in smell jarring after the comfort of the fire. The frantic voice of Tara rises from the kitchen, a high-pitched, rapid-fire chant of "Oh no, oh no, oh no," each repetition growing more frantic than the last.

A smile finds its way to your face.

“What the fuck.”

"Girl’s got no business in the kitchen," Gran remarks dryly, her eyes twinkling with the kind of amusement only she can manage at a time like this. She shifts in her chair, clearly comfortable in her role as the unbothered observer. "Can’t even cook a proper pot of soup without burnin' it."

You groan, heading to the kitchen, following the sound of Tara’s frantic movements, the clatter of pots and pans unmistakable even from here. Gran’s right, as usual, but you can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes you as you push through the doorframe.

Inside, Tara is a whirlwind, her wide eyes locked on the blackened pot on the stove as she mumbles apologies to it like it's the one offended. The soup’s beyond saving, burnt beyond recognition, the acrid scent lingering in the air.

“Again?”

Tara whips around at the sound of your voice, looking both horrified and sheepish. "I—I swear it wasn’t this bad five minutes ago!" She gestures helplessly at the ruined pot. "I just... I wasn’t paying attention. Oh no, oh no..."

Gran’s voice calls from the living room, barely muffled. "She’ll survive, I’m sure."

"Put the damn pot in the sink, Tara," you say, your voice flat and tense, the stress from the day's work starting to catch up with you. The words are sharper than you intend, but it’s hard to keep your frustration in check.

Tara hesitates for just a moment, her shoulders slumping. Then, with a small, defeated sigh, she lifts the pot carefully, her movements slow as if she’s afraid it might bite her.

"You’re lucky I’m not trying to cook tonight," you mutter under your breath, rubbing at your temples as the weight of it all presses down harder. The house feels small, and the noise of the fire and Tara’s flustered movements make it feel even smaller, closing in around you.

That was a year ago.

The cold slipped through the cracks of the old stone walls, settling deep in your bones no matter how many layers you wore. The convent was quiet this late in the evening, the only sound the rhythmic echo of your footsteps against the frozen floor. Winter, it seemed, was only growing harsher with each passing year, as if the world itself had grown bitter.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders, the fabric rough but familiar. Outside, the wind howled against the monastery walls, a mournful sound that made the candle flames waver in their sconces. The flickering light cast long, skeletal shadows along the corridor, stretching and twisting with each uncertain step you took.

Stopping by a frost-rimmed window, you pressed your palm against the cold glass, watching it melt some of the frost buildup.

"Sister, why are you not inside?" A light, charming voice chuckles behind you.

You turn slightly, pulling your cloak tighter around yourself as you glance over your shoulder. The voice belongs to a man—young, by the sound of him, with a tone too smooth to belong to any of the elder priests or the somber sisters of the convent.

He stands just a few feet away, wrapped in a heavy traveling coat, the fur-lined hood pushed back to reveal lavender curls dusted with melting snow. His features are sharp, striking even, but softened by the amused curve of his lips. His eyes—clever, too knowing—gleam in the dim candlelight as he studies you.

"Sister, why are you not inside?" he asks again, then pauses, tilting his head. "Ah, no—you’re one of the postulants, I take it?" His voice carries an easy charm, the kind that doesn’t quite belong in a place like this.

You straighten, instinctively guarded. "I am."

His smile widens. "Thought so. You don’t quite carry that air of solemn devotion yet." He gestures vaguely, as if that explains everything. "I imagine the cold must be unbearable, then. Postulants don’t get the good cloaks, do they?"

"You shouldn’t be wandering about at this hour," you say, keeping your voice even.

His chuckle is soft, almost indulgent. "Neither should you, Sister."

Something about the way he says it makes your skin prickle.

You don’t have time to say anything, though. A sharp, deliberate clearing of a throat cuts through the cold air, and you both turn.

Sister Jenna stands at the end of the corridor, her hands folded neatly in front of her, but her expression betrays a hint of unease—whether at your presence or his, you can’t quite tell.

“Father Rafayel,” she says, voice carefully measured. “We weren’t expecting you to come so soon.”

Your breath catches slightly. Father Rafayel?

Your gaze snaps back to the man beside you, taking him in with fresh scrutiny. This—this is the new priest?

He hardly looks the part. No somber robes, no quiet piety in his posture. Instead, he carries himself with the easy confidence of someone used to being watched, someone who finds amusement in the scrutiny of others. His traveling coat is dusted with melting snow, but beneath it, you catch the glimpse of a dark cassock, barely visible against the dim candlelight.

Father Rafayel, for his part, only smiles, unfazed by Sister Jenna’s presence. “Ah, yes. I’m afraid the storm made it easier to press on than turn back.” He spreads his hands in an almost apologetic gesture. “I do hope I haven’t caused too much trouble.”

Sister Jenna shakes her head. “No trouble at all, Father. We simply expected you closer to the week’s end.”

You’re still eyeing him, suspicion creeping into your bones like the winter chill. This is the man meant to guide the convent, to lead prayers, to uphold the faith? Something about him doesn’t sit right. Not the charm in his voice, not the sharp glint in his eyes, nor the way he watches you now—curious.

There’s no way he was qualified. He looked too young for such a position—too worldly, too.

A man like him didn’t belong in a convent, much less as its priest. His sharp, knowing eyes, the way he carried himself with an ease that lacked the usual humility of a clergyman.

Priests were supposed to be solemn, restrained. Father Rafayel looked like a man who had seen too much of the world to be satisfied with prayers and penance.

Sister Jenna, however, seemed unfazed. She led him down the corridor without hesitation, speaking softly, though you couldn’t make out the words. You stood frozen in place, watching the flickering candlelight stretch his shadow long against the stone floor.

Just before he disappeared around the corner, he glanced back at you, his expression unreadable. And then, just as quickly, he was gone.

The cold pressed in around you once more, but somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the real storm had just arrived.

You sat curled on the low stool, knees tucked to your chest, as Sister Jenna worked in practiced silence, the soft snip, snip of her shears the only sound between you.

Loose strands of hair fell onto your shoulders, then to the floor, forgotten. It had grown too long, peeking out from beneath your habit—a small indulgence you had let slip, one that had finally caught up with you.

"You're growing it too long again," she chided, skilled fingers steady as they guided the blades. "You know the rules, child."

You knew. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to trim it back, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Still, you found yourself reluctant each time. The strands fell around you, dark against the cold stone floor.

“You were out late last night,” she said after a moment, not unkindly.

You exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

She hummed, neither questioning nor believing you entirely. The shears snipped again.

It wasn’t a lie. Something about Father Rafayel had set you on edge. His presence felt like an ill-fitting piece in the convent’s quiet, predictable world. He was too young, too smooth, too something that you couldn’t quite place. And the way he had looked at you—like he knew you, or wanted to.

Sister Jenna hummed as she brushed the stray hair from your neck. "Change can be unsettling. A new priest means new ways of doing things. But it is not our place to question Astra’s will."

You exhaled slowly, watching as a strand of hair landed on the toe of your worn leather shoe. "I suppose."

She gave your shoulder a gentle pat, signaling she was finished. You straightened, reaching up to brush your fingers along the freshly trimmed ends, still uneasy.

The morning light filtered pale and cold through the narrow window, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Somewhere beyond, the village was beginning to stir, the air thick with the scent of burning wood and the distant chime of the church bell.

"Sister Jenna? Where is he from? He's certainly not from Linkon. His clothes are too fine."

Sister Jenna paused, dusting stray hairs from her lap before responding. “No, he’s not from Linkon.” Her voice was measured, careful.

You turned to look at her, frowning. “Then where?”

She hesitated, which only made your unease deepen. “The capital, I believe. Or somewhere near enough to it.”

That made sense, in a way. His fine clothes, the way he spoke—it all carried the air of someone who had been raised far from the humble quiet of Linkon. But the capital bred men of ambition, not men of faith.

“And he was sent here?” You couldn’t hide the skepticism in your tone.

“I’m not sure where he’s from, but he was sent from the main cathedral in Anbusas. Handpicked by the bishop himself.”

That didn’t sit right with you. The bishop rarely took personal interest in appointing priests to small villages like Linkon.

“But why him?” You tried to keep your voice measured, but suspicion was creeping in. “He’s young. Too young, I’d say, for a position like this. But….wow. So he must really know what he's doing then..." A hint of awe laced your tone, surprising you.

Sister Jenna glanced over her shoulder at your words, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"One could say that, yes," she replied, her voice softer now, as if measuring her words carefully. "He has the bishop's favor, after all. It’s not often one is given such a position at his age."

Simone’s voice cut through the quiet like a bird’s chirp, the door creaking slightly as she poked her head into the room.

"Good morning, Sister Jenna!" she chirped cheerfully, unaware of the tension lingering in the air. "Father Thomas wants you to know that Father Rafayel is ready whenever you are and he'll be in the left Temple."

Sister Jenna nodded, her demeanor shifting instantly to one of calm professionalism. "Thank you, Simone. I’ll be there shortly."

Simone smiled and disappeared, leaving the door ajar. The distant chime of the bell rang, signaling the start of the day’s service. Sister Jenna turned back to you, her expression softening.

You blinked, taken off guard. “Wait—no breakfast first? I didn’t wake up late this time though!” You felt a small twinge of frustration at the idea of going straight to the Temple without even a moment to eat, especially after the restless night you’d had.

Sister Jenna gave you a long, measured look, as if weighing your words. For a moment, you thought she might give in to your light protest, but instead, her lips quirked up into a faint smile, as if she wanted to laugh.

"Breakfast can wait, Sister," she said with a soft but firm tone. "The Lord’s work must always come first. The Temple needs its faithful."

With a reluctant sigh, you adjusted your habit, smoothing out the wrinkles. "I didn’t wake up late this time, though. That’s got to count for something."

Sister Jenna’s smile widened ever so slightly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Perhaps you can indulge yourself with a piece of bread afterward. But for now, we have more important matters."

And just as expected...

It was dull.

The air inside the Temple was thick with incense, its rich fragrance heavy and choking in the early morning. The dim light from the candles cast flickering shadows against the walls, making the whole place feel like a forgotten crypt rather than a place of worship. The cold stone beneath your feet was no better than the air above, offering no comfort.

Who the hell decides to preach at 5 in the morning?

You stifled a yawn, keeping your head bowed as you sat with the other postulants, staring ahead at Father Rafayel who stood at the altar. He was as polished as ever, his posture impeccable, voice smooth and persuasive as he recited verses in a tone that could put anyone into a trance.

But you weren’t listening. You couldn’t. His words were like an echo in your skull, a ringing noise that faded the longer you stared at the flickering candlelight in front of you.

It’s too early. Too much incense. Too many eyes on me.

Your fingers clenched at the hem of your habit, and you glanced at the other postulants beside you. They were all in some sort of trance, eyes glazed, faces reverent, nodding along with every word he spoke.

How can they stand this? You thought, almost irritated. It’s the same every day...

Your eyes flickered up to the altar again, drawn to Father Rafayel.

He was watching you.

Not the others. Not the candles, not the altar, not even Astra’s book. No, his eyes were locked on you. A glimmer of something passed between you—something sharp and knowing—and for a split second, you felt like you were the only one in the room.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows over his face, making the sharp planes of his features seem even more severe, almost otherworldly. His voice carried through the temple, smooth, unwavering—yet somehow, you felt as if his words were meant for you alone.

"And so, Astra delivered both sustenance and shelter, and with that, commanded that the devil’s kin watch as the festivities begin."

The devil’s kin.

Your fingers curled instinctively against the fabric of your habit. The phrase lingered, wrapping around your mind like a vice. The way he said it—like it held weight, like it was more than just scripture—made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice. Simone was still half-asleep beside you. Sister Jenna sat upright, hands folded, expression placid. The other postulants were dutifully listening, reverent in their silence.

Just you, then.

Just you, under his gaze.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come.

Father Rafayel finally looked back down at his scripture, his tone shifting into something more measured, more fitting of a man in his position. He explained the verses, weaving meaning into them with ease, as if nothing had happened—as if he hadn’t just spent an eternity watching you.

The rest of the sermon blurred together. The words flowed in and out of your ears, but none of them stuck. The incense, the candlelight, the steady rhythm of his voice—it all folded into something dreamlike, something unreal.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

The sun had begun its slow ascent, spilling weak, golden light through the stained-glass windows. The cold stone of the temple seemed a little less biting, but it was still winter, and the air still clung to you, heavy and unmoving.

Father Rafayel closed the book, lifting his head once more.

“Go in peace,” he said, his voice carrying through the space. “And may Astra’s light guide you.”

The sisters murmured their responses, standing from the pews with quiet rustling. Some stretched discreetly, others moved toward the door without hesitation, eager for warmth and food.

You hesitated.

Only for a second.

But it was long enough for Father Rafayel’s gaze to flicker back to you.

A knowing look. A brief thing, barely noticeable.

And then, just like that, he turned away, bidding you all good day.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

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panandinpain0 · 2 years ago

Note

Miss Granger x female Slytherin I beg you 🙏🙏 but a nice one

Summer Lovin'

Sorry this took so long! I've got a schedule out now so I'll be doing these requests more regularly <3

Enjoy!

@@@

Requested by: Anon

Hermione Granger x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

The fresh smell of new books would always cheer Hermione up. Not that she was in a bad mood, but it cheered her up nonetheless. Hearing the bell ring above the door was something Hermione had been longing to hear all year, the smell of a citrus scented candle wafting around the sunlit shop.

The walls had chipped brown paint on them, a warm timber color that seemed to be fading, showing the true age of the building. The wood floors had colorful rugs placed here and there, the children’s section a burst of color against the serene atmosphere. Waving to the man at the front desk, someone she’d seen there often over the years, Hermione was on her way to find a new book.

She walked slowly down the fiction aisle, her finger skimming the spines of each book. When she found one that caught her eye she pulled it off the shelf, reading the synopsis on the back.

“Looking for something exciting?” a voice asked, making Hermione flinch in surprise. She looked up at the person next to her, eyes wide. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she laughed and held her hands up to show that she meant no harm.

“You’re fine, it’s just very quiet in here,” Hermione reassured, smiling gently at the girl in front of her. “And yes, something exciting. I’ve been reading non-fiction these last couple of months and decided to switch it up.” She waved the book in her hand around slightly.

“Hence the fiction section,” the girl commented, smiling with amusement when Hermione agreed. “That one is one of my favorites.” She gestured to the book Hermione was holding.

Hermione looked back down at the book, reexamining it. “Is it any good?”

“I’d like to think I have pretty good taste,” she replied, skimming the titles of the books on the shelf in front of her.

“Are you looking for something to read?” Hermione questioned, holding on to her book with more certainty than before.

“No, I just come here to find pretty girls to talk to,” she replied, her face completely serious.

Hermione was slightly taken aback, hesitating before asking, “Really?”

The girl’s serious face morphed into a smirk, shaking her head calmly. “No, I was being sarcastic. But that does tend to be one of the perks of this shop.”

Hermione laughed nervously in response, nodding her head before tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, I’m here to find a new book to read. Any suggestions?” She motioned to the shelf they were standing in front of.

Hermione turned serious as she inspected the spines, her eyes catching a specific one. As she pulled it off the shelf she asked, “How do you feel about a mystery with a romantic subplot?”

“Sounds right up my alley, if I’m being honest.”

Hermione handed her the book and they both made their way up to the counter to pay.

“You’ll have to let me know how you like the book,” the girl insisted, scribbling something down on a nearby paper. Ripping it off she handed it to Hermione. “This is my house phone, don't be surprised if my parents answer.”

“I won’t…” Hermione trailed off as she realized she didn’t know the girl’s name.

Catching the hint, the girl stuck out her hand for Hermione to shake. “(Y/N) (L/N), at your service.”

“Hermione Granger,” she returned.

“Hermione?” a voice called from outside the shop, catching both girl’s attention. Hermione’s father waved to her through the window, motioning that it was time for them to leave.

“Ah, I’ve got to go. It was a pleasure meeting you! I hope to hear how you enjoy my book as well.” Hermione smiled, cheeks pink as she said goodbye. She scolded herself as she walked away, reminding herself that she had a new friend and she shouldn’t expect anything more. Well, she had a new and very attractive friend. There’s a difference…

A Week Later…

Sniffling, Hermione gently closed the book and placed it on her lap, wiping at her tears. It had been a wonderful yet heart wrenching book, in which the main character lost the person which they loved most. She took a deep breath as she looked out of her cracked window, reflecting on what she’d read. Taking a sip of the tea that had gone cold, long forgotten after the climax of the book started, she stood up.

Hermione had been using the slip of paper (Y/N) had handed her at the bookshop as a bookmark, so as not to lose it. Now, she’d use it for its actual purpose. Gliding down the stairs, Hermione found the landline in their kitchen, dialing in the number and holding it to her ear.

As it started to ring she felt pangs of nervousness with each ring that sounded. Should she actually call her? It wasn’t a prank, was it? She didn’t think it was- they both were interested in reading and it’d be nice to have someone to talk to about it… What if she’d been making fun of Hermione the whole time and-?

“Hello?”

Clearing her throat quickly, Hermione recovered from her surprise at the voice. “Yes, hello. This is Hermione Granger, I was wondering if I could speak to (Y/N)?”

“Just a minute,” what seemed to be (Y/N)’s mother responded. Hermione heard a distant shout for her, with a “your friend’s on the phone!” after.

After another moment a different voice echoed through the phone.

“Hey, bookshop girl! Hermione, right?” (Y/N) teased through the phone, and her ease comforted Hermione from her anxieties.

“Yes, it’s Hermione. I finished the book you recommended, just now actually.”

An excited gasp could be heard, followed by a, “Did you cry? How much did you cry?”

Hermione let out a somewhat offended scoff and shook her head, even though (Y/N) couldn’t see it.

“For your information I did cry, it was a sad ending! How come you didn’t warn me?”

“What would be the fun in reading it if I’d told you how it ends?” Hermione could hear the smile in her voice.

“I suppose you’re right,” Hermione sighed back, sitting down on a stool near the counter. “Have you finished the one I gave you yet?”

“Yes, I did! You know, I always do the same thing with mystery books. I think I’ve figured out who the culprit is within three chapters and am always completely wrong by the end of the book.”

Hermione chuckled, “I also thought it was Mr. Barnabee until chapter sixteen.”

“It so should’ve been him, right? And that crazy reveal in sixteen where Gracie the mistress pulled out the handkerchief- it was exhilarating.”

“I take it you liked it?” Hermione twisted the phone cord around her finger, giving her hands something to do while they talked.

“Oh yes, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Any more recommendations? I was going to go back to the bookshop this weekend to feed my addiction.”

“Addiction?”

“Of literature.”

Hermione snorted, laughing at the response. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” The smile in her voice was evident.

“Not at all. I can’t seem to stop and it’s draining my bank account.”

Hermione giggled again. “How about this, we can meet up and shop together?”

“Even better. I’ll be there Saturday at noon.”

“I will too.”

“Bye.”

As the line clicked to signal (Y/N) had hung up, Hermione bit her lip and sighed. She stopped mid-giggling and shook her head, scolding herself again. She’d found another friend who enjoys reading just as much as she does, that doesn’t mean she can’t still scare them off. She needed to tone it down.

…

The summer had ended as soon as it began as the girl’s read together. They started going to each other’s houses to read, and Hermione had gotten into the habit of laying her head on (Y/N)’s lap, listening to her tell the most wondrous stories from the books.

They laughed together, cried together, damn near did everything together. None of which helped Hermione get rid of her feelings in the slightest. Little did she know, (Y/N) had started to harbor feelings for her as well, what with so much time spent with each other.

Today they were reading separately, Hermione sitting against the headboard of her bed while (Y/N) laid at the end, legs hanging off as she fingered the corner of the page. It didn’t seem like she was actually reading, but lost in thought.

Hermione’s gaze kept darting from her book to the girl in front of her, blushing every time she was almost caught.

Truth was, both the girl’s were trying to figure out how to tell the other they wouldn’t be at home for the school year. They couldn’t very well tell the other that she was a witch! Well, they could, but they didn’t know that yet.

(Y/N) shifted her position to sit up, facing Hermione and abandoning her book.

“‘Mione?”

“Hm?” Hermione set down her book, giving (Y/N) her full attention.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” She began to worry, her own problems shoved to the back of her mind.

“Summer’s almost over… I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be here when school starts back up.” (Y/N) bit her lip, picking at the skin of her nails. “I’m attending this boarding school, it’s a live-in…”

Hermione let out a somewhat relieved sigh at the admission, setting her book aside and scooting towards (Y/N) on the bed. Taking her hands in her own, Hermione smiled at her.

“I won’t either for the same reasons.” Her worry drained away as she saw (Y/N) shoulders relax and a smile appear on her face. They still wouldn’t be seeing each other until winter break or summer, but at least she wouldn’t be leaving Hermione behind. They both had reasons for not being home.

“Can I send you letters?” (Y/N) asked, playing with Hermione’s hand that rested between them. She knew it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to have a muggle sending letters to a wizarding village, or castle, without knowing, but what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her- right?

Hermione seemed to be going through the same possibilities in her head, but ever since she’d met (Y/N), her priorities had been a bit skewed.

“Yes, you can. I’ll write down the address,” Hermione got up and scribbled on a piece of paper, handing it to (Y/N). She put it between the pages of her book immediately without looking at it, knowing she wouldn’t remember a lick of it anyways. When she sends her first letter Hermione can just look at the address she wrote from to write back.

Hermione sat back down on the bed and the two girls shared a look of understanding. They wouldn’t see each other in person for a while but that doesn’t mean this friendship had to only be for the summer.

(Y/N) reached across the bed and wrapped her arms around Hermione’s neck, pulling her into a hug. Hermione returned the gesture, arms around (Y/N)’s waist as she tucked her head into her neck. She just knew (Y/N) and the boys would get along so well if they’d ever get the chance to meet.

“I’ll miss you,” (Y/N) whispered into Hermione’s hair.

“I’ll miss you more.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t fight me on this, you won’t win.”

Hermione pulled (Y/N) back and they both laid on the bed, laughing together.

A Week Later…

They’d said their official goodbyes the night before hugging and holding hands until it got late enough that Hermione knew she wouldn’t want to wake up the next morning. When they parted, (Y/N) had kissed her cheek, handing Hermione a book she’d bought her as a farewell gift.

Sitting in her parents car, Hermione read the synopsis on the back of the book, smiling and flipping through the pages.

There’s no doubt Harry and Ron would hear more about (Y/N) than they’d care to, but that’s just what comes with being friends, you hear about each other’s crushes whether you like it or not. Not that Hermione would ever admit to it being a crush. Or that she’d touched the place (Y/N) had kissed on her cheek every time she thought of her…

Arriving at platform nine and three quarters, Hermione bid her parents goodbye with a hug and ran straight into the brick pillar. Coming out on the other side, Hermione took in the air, already feeling the magic thrumming through it, as if she could taste it.

Taking her bags off of the cart she had pushed them in with, she left it near the entrance and searched for her friends, specifically for the family of redheads, knowing Harry would most likely be with the Weasley’s.

Eventually she found Ron and Harry with them, and they boarded the train. Now they walked down the aisle, searching for an empty compartment, Hermione leading. Suddenly, as she was looking through the windows of one of the doors, someone ran into her. She was pushed back into Ron, who helped her stand back on two feet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going- ‘Mione?” the extremely familiar voice gasped in shock.

Looking up, Hermione met (Y/N)’s gaze. “(Y/N)?!” Hermione asked back with just as much surprise.

“I didn’t know you were a witch,” they both said at the same time, laughing with each other after.

“Well, this makes things much easier,” (Y/N) admitted, pulling Hermione into a hug after handing her the bag that she’d dropped back.

“You two know each other?” Harry asked, gaze darting down to (Y/N)’s green and silver tie.

“We met over the summer,” Hermione filled in, also taking in (Y/N)’s uniform (but not for the same reasons). “I had no idea you went to Hogwarts,” Hermione repeated, moving out of the way as a few people passed by.

“I didn’t know you went here either! There’s an empty compartment just up here.” (Y/N) led them just two doors up and opened it, letting them all enter and following after.

“So how did you two meet?” Harry asked, looking slyly between the two as they sat across from Ron and himself.

“At this muggle bookshop, we were both looking for something to read and started spending time together,” (Y/N) explained after putting Hermione’s bag above them next to her own.

They spent the rest of the time getting to know each other, Ron still holding a bit of distaste for her house, but pushing that aside as they talked about the Chudley Cannons together. Harry had liked her from the start, well- as soon as she said she disliked Malfoy about as much as the rest of them.

Once they arrived at Hogwarts they got off the train, knowing they’d have to separate soon. (Y/N)’s Slytherin friends waved in the distance, calling out her name.

“Well, I’d better go now. It was a pleasure meeting you two, and it was a welcomed surprise to see you, Hermione.” (Y/N) smiled and took Hermione’s hand, kissing the back of her knuckles. Hermione’s face heated at the action, Ron and Harry deciding they should just start walking to avoid making things awkward.

“Don’t be a stranger. Now that I know you go here I want to spend time with you,” Hermione admitted, not letting go of (Y/N)’s hand until she did it herself.

“I promise, I’ll see you as much as possible. And hey, now we recommend wizarding books to each other.” (Y/N) winked and hugged Hermione goodbye, walking away to see her friends.

Hermione bit her lip before turning to where Ron and Harry had waited for her. She jogged to catch up to them, and they started walking to the carriages.

“So, a Slytherin?” Harry teased and Hermione elbowed him in the side, Ron throwing his head back as he laughed.

This was going to be an interesting year.

End

Hope that was okay! Thanks again for requesting <3

-Author Max <3

#fanfiction #x reader #fluff #writer #fandoms #harry potter #hermione x fem!reader #hermione granger #hermione x reader #x she/her reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x fem reader #x female!reader #hermione granger x reader

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your-local-simp-writers · 6 months ago

Text

Mistletoe

Word Count: 1456

Warnings: None

Silver the Hedgehog x Fem! Reader

Note- You are mobian, a silly little hedgehog!

Also yall should check our our latest poll ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The little town seemed plucked straight out of a snow globe. Rows of quaint timber-framed shops, their rooftops blanketed with snow, lined the cobblestone streets. Wreaths adorned every door, strings of golden lights looped from lampposts, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider wafted through the crisp air. Silver and you strolled side by side, your breath visible in soft puffs as you took in the festive scene.

Silver adjusted his scarf, glancing down at you with a small, content smile. The lights reflected in his emerald eyes, giving him an almost ethereal glow. “This place is amazing,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with awe.

“Isn’t it?” you replied, spinning in a circle to take it all in. “I love how everything feels so alive, like the whole town is celebrating together.”

The two of you wandered toward the bustling Christmas market, a maze of wooden stalls brimming with holiday treasures. Each booth seemed to tell its own story—one sold handmade candles in scents like pine and cinnamon, while another offered colorful woolen scarves and mittens. A nearby vendor was carving tiny figurines out of ice, his skilled hands moving with precision despite the cold.

“Oh, look at that!” you said, tugging Silver toward a stand displaying jars of sparkling snow globes. You picked one up and shook it, watching as tiny flecks of glitter swirled around a miniature village scene inside.

Silver leaned closer to observe, his hand brushing yours as he steadied the globe. “It’s like holding a little piece of this town,” he said softly, his tone filled with wonder.

You grinned, setting the globe back down. “Maybe you should get one, then. A way to remember today.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I think just being here is something I won’t forget.”

Further down the street, the two of you passed a bakery where the windows were fogged with warmth. The display was filled with gingerbread houses, their frosting decorations so detailed they looked like real cottages. The smell of freshly baked pastries made your stomach rumble, and you couldn’t resist pulling Silver inside.

The bakery was cozy and bustling, with shelves lined with loaves of bread, trays of cookies, and steaming pots of hot chocolate. A friendly baker greeted you, offering a tray of free samples. You eagerly grabbed a tiny cinnamon roll, savoring the sweetness as you turned to Silver.

“Try this,” you said, holding one up for him. He hesitated for a moment before leaning down, taking the bite you offered. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in approval.

“That’s really good,” he admitted, his cheeks tinting pink—not from the cold, but from the closeness of the moment.

After leaving the bakery, you found yourselves in front of a toy store, its window display filled with plush animals and colorful trains. A group of children pressed their noses against the glass, their laughter ringing through the air.

Silver paused, watching them with a soft smile. “It’s nice, seeing everyone so happy.”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his without thinking. “It really is. It’s like the holidays bring out the best in everyone.”

Your touch startled him, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled gently around yours, his warmth a comforting contrast to the chill in the air.

As the evening went on, the two of you explored more shops—a tiny bookstore where the owner’s cat dozed on the counter, a craft store filled with handmade ornaments, and a quaint apothecary selling herbal teas and scented sachets. Each place felt like a treasure trove, and you found yourself drawn to the little details—the soft hum of holiday music in the background, the way the shopkeepers greeted you with warm smiles, and the simple joy of sharing the experience with Silver.

Eventually, as snow began to fall more steadily, the two of you found yourselves walking down a quieter street. “Any idea what you want for Christmas?” Silver asked, glancing down at you with a soft smile. His breath puffed out in visible clouds, and his silver fur seemed to catch the glow of the lights, making him look even more radiant than usual.

You grinned, your breath hitching slightly as you adjusted the scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. “Silver, I can’t tell you that. You have to guess!”

His ears twitched, and he tilted his head in thought. “Guess? How am I supposed to—”

“Imagination, my dear hedgehog!” you interrupted, laughing as you spun on your heels, gesturing dramatically at the market stalls lining the street.

He chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Alright, fine. Let me think.” His gaze wandered over the nearby shops, his expression growing serious as he genuinely pondered the challenge.

As you walked, the two of you passed a stall selling handcrafted ornaments. You paused, admiring the delicate work—intricate glass figurines of snowflakes, reindeer, and stars, all painted with shimmering colors that caught the light beautifully. Silver noticed your fascination and stepped closer.

“These are incredible,” you murmured, reaching out to gently touch one shaped like a crescent moon. The cold glass felt smooth under your fingertips, and you smiled softly, imagining how it would look on a tree.

Silver watched you with quiet intensity, his green eyes flicking between your expression and the ornament. “Do you want it?” he asked after a moment.

You blinked and turned to him, shaking your head quickly. “Oh, no. I was just looking. It’s beautiful, but I don’t need it.”

He frowned slightly, but before you could protest further, he handed the vendor a few coins and carefully picked up the moon ornament. Turning back to you, he held it out with both hands, his cheeks slightly pink. “Here. I want you to have it.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture, and you hesitated for a moment before taking it. “Silver… Thank you. It’s perfect.”

The two of you continued strolling through the market, the glow of the lanterns and the twinkle of lights making the evening feel almost surreal. Silver seemed to relax as the evening wore on, his usual shyness giving way to a playful curiosity as you explored the stalls.

At one booth, you found a set of carved wooden figurines shaped like little forest animals. Silver picked up a tiny hedgehog, holding it up with a grin. “This one looks just like you.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “And this one must be you,” you said, holding up a sleek silver fox.

“Silver the Fox? I don’t think it has the same ring to it,” he replied, laughing as he put the figurine back.

As the snow began to fall heavier, the two of you ducked into a cozy café at the end of the street. The warmth of the fireplace inside was immediate and soothing, and the scent of cinnamon and cocoa wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. The café was decorated with wreaths and garlands, and a small Christmas tree stood in the corner, its lights twinkling merrily.

You and Silver found a small table near the window, and soon you were both sipping on steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. You sighed contentedly, gazing out at the snow-covered street.

“This is perfect,” you said softly.

Silver nodded, his gaze fixed on you rather than the view outside. “It really is.”

After finishing your drinks, the two of you made your way back outside. The town had grown quieter, but the festive lights still glowed brightly, reflecting off the freshly fallen snow. As you walked down a narrow alley lined with garlands, something caught your eye—a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above you.

You stopped, looking up at it with a sly smile. “Oh, look at that,” you said, pointing.

Silver followed your gaze, his expression shifting from curiosity to sheer panic. “Oh… uh… I mean… th-that’s… um…”

You laughed, stepping closer to him. “What’s the matter, Silver? You’re not afraid of a little tradition, are you?”

“I-I’m not afraid!” he stammered, his cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red.

“Well, then?” you teased, tilting your head playfully.

He hesitated, his green eyes darting between you and the mistletoe. You could see his hands fidgeting nervously, his usual confidence completely gone. Smiling softly, you reached up, standing on your tiptoes to gently press a kiss to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Silver.”

He froze, his blush spreading all the way to his ears. “M-Merry Christmas,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Taking his hand once more, you gave it a reassuring squeeze as you continued walking. The snowflakes danced around you, the town’s lights casting a warm glow over everything.

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naffeclipse · 11 months ago

Text

Summersoft Reunion

Reader x Snow Monkey!Sun

Commission Info

This one is a little reunion for the darling reader and Snow Monkey Sun! It was so sweet to write these two coming back together and a big thank you to @cipher-the-sidhe for commissioning this lovely moment! It's so cute to come back to the god of the mountain and give him a nice hug.

———

The wind drifts around you, gentle as petals upon a pond. You breathe in and warm the cool mountain air inside your lungs before releasing it. It’s summer. The beautiful frost and sweeps of snow along the mountain have melted back into dense forest greenery thick with scents of fir and spruce. There is a notable temperature difference between the sweltering heat set low on the island and this cool, refreshing crispness that hangs around the town.

You step away from the train station, your hand clutching a wooden comb in your palm and the other tugging on the handle of your luggage. Without the winter snow, the landscape has gently shifted into deep greens and warm browns with glistening ponds of koi fish still happily splashing in their little homes. The wooden buildings are lighter without the weight of snowfall and the calmness persists, still cultivated in their ancient quality despite the modern amenities.

You were not born here, but you feel a connection. A precious belonging that is begging you to hurry along, like a newlywed bride entering her husband’s homeland to meet all that he knows and loves.

A shiver rolls through you. That’s too dramatic, isn’t it? However, it is not to say that you’re not eagerly looking for a sweet reunion, softened by summer. You promised you would find him.

He’s waiting for you.

The timber company has been stalled for the time being. You were able to raise a reasonable objection, joined by most if not all of the members of the town, to combat the raid on the land and halt the destruction of the forest.

Protecting religious and sacred sites is difficult to prove, but noteworthy with the shrines littered throughout the mountain for the mythical beast. While the timber company argues through the bureaucracy to continue tearing apart the land and chopping down the trees, their work does not continue. It’s a chance. A chance to give Sun what he and the other spirits of the mountain need.

You trot fervently through the town. You don’t linger on the beautiful brushstroke signs out in front of shops or how the lighting has been made to look soft and lantern-like. The inn is at the far end of the street, hushly tucked away from the bustle of the shops and restaurants.

Is it you, or is it a little busier? You hope so. The more people who pay respect to the shrines, the more legitimate your claims are in protecting the sacred sites.

The hostess of the inn recognizes you when you check-in, and you spy her two little kids again, a little more bold in flashing you smiles and teetering in delight when you wave back at them. You quickly excuse yourself, already slipping into a thick pair of hiking boots and tugging on a thick jacket built for harsher temperatures than this, but you will not be caught unprepared.

Gently slipping the wooden comb gilded with a delicate, gold design of a flower into your jacket pocket, you turn your eyes towards the mountain slope and begin climbing.

It’s so familiar yet so strange. The first time you trekked up towards the shrine, you were a mere tourist, intrigued by the mythical and hoping for… something—a blessing. You did not know then what it would mean to you. A mountain of snow would fall upon you and you would be saved, held, and kissed by a god. Suno. But he is Sun to you.

Your heart already picks up on what awaits you. Your gloved hands move to touch your other pocket, caressing the little bit of money you brought as an offering. It’s not a gold pendant, but it is something to give.

The mountain slope is still stained with trees gouged from the earth and earth scooped up like a disemboweled carcass, but the rot of the timber company’s greed no longer spreads. You wonder if Sun noticed. Of course, you think it would be difficult to not see the change in the air. Even if you sometimes feel small and meager, you have still done something to try and help.

You are still worthy.

The mountain path gradually opens up to you and levels out into a flare little clearing containing a meadow now thick with grass and wild mountain flowers. You think one or two may resemble the design on your wooden comb.

Gently, breathlessly, you approach the shrine that first brought you to the mythical beast. Humble but timeless, the gate allows you entrance to the shrine. Gently, you bow, and step onto the sacred ground. You slip the money into the golden box. The small carved figure of what you know now as the mythical beast regards you with a commanding air, but he seems a little more cheerful. You’re not the only one who has visited as of late with other offerings softly rattling in the box. Good.

You step back. A soft sound of wooden beads knocking together pricks your ears. Slowly, you turn around.

Standing only a few feet away from you is the mythical beast. Sun. His cornsilk yellow fur shines in the bright daylight. His eyes, pale irises upon black scleras, soften like ice melting in spring. He stands tall, his body willowy and his limbs long but he does not frighten you. Despite understanding who he truly is, your heart lurches with a desperate need to throw yourself at him.

He opens his arms.

“A sun-kissed hello to you, my peach,” he greets, gentle and warm as the morning.

“Sun,” your voice cracks with emotion. You meet him halfway before he takes you into his embrace and lifts you off your feet. Wrapping your arms around his scarlet silk scarf, you squeeze your eyes shut and unashamedly press your cheek against his face. He rumbles a great, joyous sound, animalistic and human, all at once.

“How are you, snow angel?” he utters. “Are you alright? I’ve been waiting for you while the snow melted. The people have stopped chopping away at the trees. That was your doing, wasn’t it?”

You laugh shakily—only due to the sheer warmth flooding you. You once again soak in his warmth. You never forgot the sweet heat of his body, but there is nothing quite like experiencing his lush, warm fur again after weeks without his presence.

“I’m good, I’m good.” You softly card your fingers through the softness of his fur at the nape of his neck. Your palm yearns for the softness of his fuzz. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. The systems we had to go through were sluggish on the best of days, but we made our objection! The timber company has stopped for the time being. I just can’t say what will happen in the future, I’m afraid.”

“No mortal can,” he hums knowingly. Gingerly, however, he lowers you back to the ground without releasing you. Sun crosses his legs in the meadow grass and slides you into his lap with the slightest bit of effort. “But let me look at you, panda. Oh, you are so sweet and precious.”

His thumb and finger gently capture your chin. His large hands are pale and comforting and they gently press into your skin to tilt your head this way and that. His simian canines flash in his mouth, pearly white and stunning in length, but your heart only beats with joy at his presence.

Slowly, as if you were still in a dream, afraid to wake from it, you press your hands softly to his chest and take soft fistfuls of his fur. His shoulders rise and fall gently with deep, calm breaths. His tail whips behind him while the rest of him holds carefully still under your observation.

He is still the same. He is not a distant, confused dream. He is still yours.

You spare him a glance while you softly lift his scarlet scarf. Sun chuckles in amusement as your fingertips find the gold chain holding your pendant resting around his throat. A stirring overtakes your middle, unfolding with warmth, delicious and soft.

“I missed you.” You flush softly, heat staining your cheeks.

He coos joyfully. His fingertips brush against your cheekbones as if wishing to dip his hand in the pink overtaking your features.

“And I have missed you.” His hands slide down to your hips. His gaze is powerful, holding your own with a deep longing that you wonder if gods are known for.

Preparing yourself, you lift your head.

“I know what you are,” you say.

Sun arches a brow, a grin playing at his mouth.

“Do tell, my peach.” He gently squeezes your waist, perhaps in an attempt to distract you, but you lift your chin higher. You’re not afraid.

“Suno, the god of the mountain.”

“Ah, so you did figure me out,” he chitters in delight, though nothing much has changed. You thought he would be surprised or at least curious to see if you’re afraid of him—of course, you’re not. You’ve had a long while to think of his hands upon you, how he washed you in the hot springs with reverence.

You are his.

“Yes,” you murmur, and rub your fingers along his shoulders, combing his handsome fur, “though you could have told me.”

“I could have,” he agrees with the tilt of his head, “but that wouldn’t have been the same. Mortals need to discover things for themselves.”

“Do we?” you dryly regard him.

He grins so big, you can’t help but smile back.

“You do, such as what my affections taste like.”

Your heart beats stronger within your rib cage. You straighten as Sun cups the side of your face, easily holding you in place while he leans closer. You catch a sweet scent of musk and a distant breeze of warm, yellow flowers.

The god of the mountain kisses you sweetly, with utter devotion. He is soft upon your mortal lips.

He draws back, his smile sated and his eyes glimmering.

“Welcome back, my peach.”

#naff's writing commissions #wintersweet spirit #snow monkey!sun #peach and monkey back together again hehe <3 #it's going to be okay for the mountain don't worry #naff writing

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sopejinsunflower · 1 month ago

Text

2024.001.022: Karma's Deliverance

Go to series masterlist

____________________________________________________________

Seokjin is the eldest, the hyung. It’s a responsibility that he takes very seriously when it comes to his comrades. He tells himself he should always set the example, take the lead but never once did the position ever feel too heavy for his broad shoulders.

Not until Jin had to sit there and watch Hoseok and Yoongi shared a lover so openly it gave him heartburn. His first thought was that they had coerced you, somehow manipulated you with sweet words and empty promises to get you to agree to this ridiculous arrangement. He set his mind to have a good long talk with you the next time Hoseok or Yoongi brought you over to the house. He caught himself from venting to Namjoon because this little bit of information had been confidential between the three of them; they weren’t ready to share with the others yet.

So he waited patiently until one evening when you finally came, walking almost hidden behind Hoseok and ushered in from behind by Yoongi, a literal sandwich of lovers shuffling through the front door. The others had been out of the house but not Jin, silently holed up in his room until he heard them enter. Like teenagers, Seokjin had thought as he announced his presence by loudly coming down the wooden stairs. He acted surprised at the sight of you.

“Seokjin,” you breathed out nervously, subtly shrugging off Yoongi’s hand from your waist.

Jin flashed you a cheeky smile. “I hope you three are not planning anything indecent in the house while the others are gone,” he said, watching your face turn red as your eyes went wide with panic.

“He knows,” Yoongi whispered in your ear. “It’s alright.”

“Wh-what?” you stammered. Jin’s eyebrows raised. Did they not tell you? Should’ve he said nothing? He didn’t mean to put you in the spotlight. As much as he thought Hoseok and Yoongi were being stupid and reckless, he didn’t hold it against you. They should’ve known better than to play with a lady’s heart, much less with a beautiful one like yours.

Jin paused his thoughts. Well, he wasn’t wrong. You were beautiful, he’d give Hoseok and Yoongi that. Which makes even less sense that Hoseok would even dream about sharing you. If it was him, he’s keep you locked up in his room for only his eyes to-

There it was again. To be honest, he’s never seen anyone with your type of beauty before, the kind that seemed to be haunting the more he looked; calling out to him like intrusive whispers in his ears. He’s met countless women that would’ve been a sea of roses compared to your quiet daisy-like charm, had had his pick and courted a few of them even, and yet you, the one Hoseok had claimed first…

As Hoseok, Yoongi and you engaged in a furious bout of whispering, Jin distracted himself by getting a drink, his movements deliberate and slow to give them some space. It wasn’t his first time seeing you and yet this time he needed to get his thoughts in order. They were all over the place and Seokjin was a tidy man. Still is.

When the furious under-breaths talk finally subsided, Jin turned around, feigning nonchalance as he put his plans into motion. “So,” he said, looking at the three of them. “I don’t know what your plans were but Yoongi, aren’t you supposed to be joining Jungkook at that timber council?”

He watched as Yoongi’s eyes grew wide in alarm. It doesn’t take him long to disappear out the door again in a cloud of dust, mumbling curses as he went. Now how does he get rid of Hoseok? But that problem solved itself, much to Jin’s relief.

“Shit,” Hoseok cursed. “I promised Taehyung I’d help him at the shop.”

“Today?” you frowned in concern. “But isn’t that tomorrow?”

“The same day as Kook’s timber council, that’s how I remembered it,” replied Hoseok as he gathered up his things. “Sorry, love.” He planted a soft kiss on your temple. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

The silence that followed was awkward to say the least, as you shuffled from one foot to the next, contemplating on what to do. “I guess I’ll go, too,” you murmured without looking at the oldest brother.

“Why? Stay. Let me get to know you better. Since you’re dating my brother. Ss.” Jin offered with a smile. “Come. Sit. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Do you like whiskey in it?”

“Pardon?”

Jin laughed. “I jest. Don’t worry, no whiskey for you, little one.”

“I can drink,” you retorted and Jin noticed the pout on your lips, the pout that he’ll grow to love one day. You joined him to watch what he made. He moved around the kitchen almost fluidly, flitting from the cabinet to grab one thing and then coming back to add them into the tall jar of dark brown liquid. Tea, you supposed, but couldn't be sure because of the smell from the whiskey bottle that was opened next to it.

Jin took out two mugs and poured out the tea. He handed one to you but not without noticing the way you glanced at the opened bottle of whiskey briefly before taking a small sip, smacking your lips to taste it. Jin smirked behind the rim of his own mug. “Come, come,” he called, leading you to the back of the house. “Walk with me, little one.”

You tried but Jin’s legs were longer. Every one of his strides equal to two quick steps of yours as you desperately prevented the tea from sloshing too aggressively against the side of the mug. When he finally stopped, you’re standing a few feet away from a small creek that seemed to be coming out of the woods and running across the land towards the direction of town.

“Can you swim?”

Jin watched as your eyebrows arched in surprise at his random question. “Yes,” you replied but it sounded more like a question. The look on your face tickled him so he asked, “Would you like to? Right now?”

It took you five whole seconds (Jin counted) to finally gasp out, “No!”

Jin laughed, one hand on his side. Again, your answer had a rising tone at the end and it amused him. It was like you weren’t even sure of your own answer even if the look on your face told him that you think he’d lost his marbles. It’s the middle of fall and although it was a sunny warm day, the wind still had a nipping chill to it everytime it blew through your hair.

“Calm down,” said Jin with a smile. “I’m jesting.”

“You jest a lot, sir,” you said with a pout, eyes glancing back towards the water. For a brief moment, Jin thought he saw a twinkle in your eyes, like the thought of actually going into the water did cross your mind and it made him curious. Curious about you. Curious for you.

Jin approached you, standing side by side close enough that your skirt brushed his fingers every time it fluttered in the wind. The fabric was soft and Jin found himself wondering if your skin would be softer. For a brief moment, an emotion he didn’t recognise flared inside his chest; hot and red at the thought of Hoseok and Yoongi being able to freely hold your hand if they wanted to. He fisted his fingers, nails digging into his palm as he smiled at you, a smile that made you blush and turn away instantly, heart fluttering.

Jin looked back towards the water at his feet. A question formed in his head and he opened his mouth to ask you, hesitating only once, thinking it might be cruel. But his curiosity got the better of him. “If Hoseok and Yoongi were drowning,” he said, arranging his words carefully, “which one would you save first?”

You slowly turned to look at him, your face a mixture of surprise and confused at the sudden yet morbid question. You studied his face but Jin didn’t give anything away as he waited for your answer.

“That’s like asking who I love more, my mother or father,” you said quietly. Jin shrugged his shoulders. “But I have neither,” you continued. “So…”

Jin looked back at you, waiting.

“Which one would you save first?”

Slightly taken aback, Jin retorted with a laugh, “Whoever was closest to me, of course.” He laughed a little more before the question mulled around in his head. “But honestly, I don’t know. I want to save them both.” He scoffed at himself. “That was a stupid question.”

A long quietness descended between you and Jin as you both entertained your own private thoughts, the tea growing cold in between your palms. Jin thought of turning back around, back to the house so they can move away from this awkwardness. Just as he worked up the determination to invite you back to the house, you speak, your voice so low Jin almost missed it.

“I’d die along with them.”

You take a deep breath.

“We’d all have died. If I can only save one, half of me would’ve died with him and what kind of life would that be?” Your forehead furrowed ever so slightly. “And neither of them would live if the other died. Not truly. Thus, no one will have survived.”

Jin stared at you, unblinking. Then nodded his head sombrely. He understood it clearly so he didn't bother to say anything more.

Unbeknownst to him, and as dark as it was, that was the moment he fell; the moment his fate was sealed to a kindred spirit, forever to be intertwined with yours; seven souls growing like grape vines around an arbour that is you. And if he knew then, he’d reckon he’ll be okay with it. There would be nothing else Jin would live and die for.

~~~

“Would you take a bullet for me?”

Nick guffawed out loud at the question, moving away from me to the other end of the couch. The movie on the TV was paused. “Hell nah! That’s crazy!”

I rolled my eyes at his dramatics but it slightly stung anyway. “It’s just a hypothetical question.”

“You’re chronically online, babe,” he said, getting up to get another beer from the fridge. “So influenced by all those fake relationships you see on there. You need to get a hobby.”

“I have a hobby,” I murmured under my breath.

“Like, I don’t know, learning how to cook?” he continued, not listening.

“What’s wrong with my cooking?” I snapped, standing up to face him.

Nick shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know. I’m tired of eating pasta on Fridays.”

“Pasta Fridays was your idea, Nick,” I countered.

Again, he shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you should learn how to make that meanass lasagna Rosie makes all the time.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, Rosie makes it all the time?”

Nick groaned, rolling his eyes now. “See, you’re always focusing on all the wrong things.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m going out. It’s suffocating here.”

The door slammed behind him and in my seething rage, there was one thing I agreed with him: it was getting suffocating here.

***

Heavy. So heavy but I willed my arm to drag Jin out of the water.

My arms and chest burn but the pain is barely noticed as adrenaline propels me, teeth grinding against each other so hard my jaw is numb. Or is it the frigid water? It feels like I’m fighting against a bag of rocks that only wants to pull me back down to the bottom of the muddy pond. The shore feels like a welcome home once my feet can finally find footing, now able to pull Jin out of the water from under his armpits. Being on land, his full weight seems to have doubled than when we were in the water.

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

Oh, God, please.

I lose my footing and fall on my back, Jin’s head against my stomach. I scramble back to my feet, putting his head gently on the ground and kneel next to him. His dark hair is plastered lifelessly against his forehead, his usually plump lips blue and his face pale. His chest isn’t moving.

Nononononononononono.

Oh, god, please no.

CPR. I’ve taken the class. I should know how to do this. But I can’t remember. What’s the first step? Fuck!

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

Okay. Calm down. I can do this. Chest compressions. Rescue breaths. Okay. I can do this. Oh my god, he’s so cold. Is it too late to even try? I pressed my palm against his chest at the right location and that’s when it hit me, the reality of the situation. The once strong chest is now laying rigid under my fingers. It’s not right.

Okay, chest compressions.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…17, 18, 19, 20, 21…28, 29, 30.

Pinch nose, tilt head, breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Repeat.

11, 12, 13, 14, 15…25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30.

Pinch nose, tilt head, breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Nothing.

Please, wake up. Please.

6, 7, 8, 9, 10…17, 18, 19…29, 30.

Breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Nothing.

I scream my throat raw, vision blurry from the tears pooling in my eyes. Desperation turns into frustration, pressing against his chest so hard my shoulders are turning stiff. It angers me even more to think that I have to follow the rhythm of that stupid song to keep it at the right pace. Stupid song. Stupid Jinnie.

Chest compression. Breathe. Repeat. Chest compression. Breathe. Repeat. Chest compression. Breathe. Repeat.

Another scream of frustration escapes my lips, calling out his name. I don’t know when I started but the crying feels more hysterical now, the tightness in my chest like a cord is wrapped around my heart squeezing it like a vice. Every breath I take feels like a betrayal towards Jin lying there motionless; the air grates against my windpipe, my lungs unable to properly carry out the oxygen to blood process. Every fibre of my being is in anguish, the pain so physical I feel like an invisible hand is pulling me apart bit by bit.

“I’d die. I’d choose death.”

That’s right. If I can’t save Jin then death will be the only solace.

My hands cease compressing his heart, slowing down as the burning in my muscles intensify. The world seems to be coming to a halt, too, spinning slower and slower at a slight tilt. I can hear my own heart in my ears, the slow thump, thump, thump, as I slump forward to rest my head on Jin’s cold, unmoving chest. His shoulders, once so wide and strong, now look deflated and hunched in the absence of life. Jin. My Seokjin. Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin.

That’s right. That’s his name. Why now am I remembering that? What use is his name now?

Kim Seokjin.

I trace my fingers along his jawline. His beautiful face looks peaceful, that perpetual slight frown that he seemed to always have on his face like he’s always worried is gone. He looks young, no more than thirty, perhaps. I scoot up closer to his face, taking my time to take in every detail of his features - his eyelashes, the three moles on his cheek, his luscious lips - like it was my last time, saving them away into my long-term memory so as to not forget him.

Again.

That’s right. I don’t want to forget him again.

“Seokjin, please. Don’t make me forget you again.”

~~~

Karma watches you through the leaves, the blackness of his fur camouflages well in the shadows, keeping him hidden for as long as he needs to be.

He had watched you drag Seokjin out of the water. He watched you pummelled against his chest to get his heart to beat again. He kept himself hidden as you screamed and sobbed against Seokjin’s lifeless body. He bided his time. He needed to see.

His twin tails swish curiously, carefully missing the trees around him to avoid making any sounds. His bicoloured eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he watches you lean over Seokjin’s face, close enough that your noses are touching. This is it, he thinks. His whole body tenses, waiting for till the last second as your lips connect with his.

Karma jumps out of his hiding place and slithers up close to your side, nudging you lightly. You ignore him, tears streaming down your face, switching between pleading under your breath and saying goodbye.

It’s my turn.

~~~

“Mreoow.”

Startled, I look up, coming face to face with Karma’s blue-yellow orbs staring intently straight into my eyes.

He nudges against my arm, soft and gentle, once again looking up to look at me. He glances towards Jin once and his eyes glow brighter. Huh?

Karma lets out another meow, softer this time. I can hear him purring like a little engine, eyes transfixed on Jin’s face. I finally sit up, hesitantly moving away but never not touching Jin. I can’t bear to be away from him.

I watch as Karma jumps atop Jin’s chest, his paws kneading against the shirt and the first thought I have is that Jin would have been complaining about cat hair if he was awake.

Karma purrs louder and it’s an odd thing to say but it feels like the sound is vibrating in my chest. With every passing second, he only becomes louder so much that I’m starting to think it’s all around us, buzzing in the wind. The trees around sway, leaves rustling noisily to combine with that vibrating buzzing sound. Everything is shimmering and the earth seems to rattle beneath me.

Fear struck my heart and I’m in between panicking to run but not wanting to leave Jin lying there alone with that strange cat I had called my own. Karma’s twin tails are sticking straight up, entwined around each other. There’s electric static thick around Karma, like if I reach out my hand to touch him I might get electrocuted so I remain still, my heart in my throat. The hum gets louder and this time it’s for sure not that of a cat’s.

And then Jin’s eyelids flutter.

~~~

“What does it mean?” You waved your hand at the Anam Cara symbol Jin was carving into the wood. His wine-stained lips reminded you he was on the verge of drunkenness.

“It means I love you.”

“Really?”

Jin turned to look at you. He wasn’t smiling but the gaze in his eyes was intense. “I love you.”

You stared at him, licking your lips.

“I said I love you.” Jin leaned in closer, his breath tickling your cheeks. He watched your throat bobbed but you didn't move away. He eyed your slightly parted lips, an invitation he’s accepting gladly.

He closed the gap, lips brushing yours. “I love you,” he whispered one last time.

***

“Seokjin?”

It’s dusk, the sky above him tinged red. It takes awhile for his vision to adjust and when it finally does, the first thing he sees is a pair of red, brimming eyes.

“Seokjin?” you call out again, your voice cracking.

He blinks a few times and tries to get up but the weight on his chest stops him from doing so. He strains to look down and is met with the cat’s wet nose. He gags, clamouring to sit up and throwing the cat off. Neither you nor Jin paid any attention as Karma scampers off into the forest as you tackle Jin straight back down to the ground, wailing.

Flabbergasted, Jin lay there staring up at the sky that’s growing darker. He can see a lone star already peeking out and he rummages through his brain trying to remember why you’re so distraught, hands already wrapped around your cold body.

Wait a minute. You’re wet. He looks down but only sees the top of your soaked hair. He’s wet, too. Drenched.

“What happened?”

You pause, sitting up and looking at him first in confusion and then your forehead dips into a frown. The softness in your eyes remains but your face crumples once again. But this time in anger.

“You died, that’s what happened! How could you do that to me?!”

A bewildered Jin sits frozen in place as you thump your fists against him, screaming the same thing over and over again. “You stupid, stupid old man! Walking into the forest all drunk like that! What were you thinking?! If you want to die so much then I’ll kill you myself!”

Your words start to mix together, incoherent and mostly nonsense to Jin as the rage subsides into tears again but the pounding on his chest never stops and it is starting to hurt a little. His whole body hurts, actually. Jin finally wrestles you, getting ahold of your wrists in one hand and cupping your chin with the other; soft, gentle touches that relent you of your struggling but not the waterworks.

You’re heaving, shoulders moving up and down as you glare at Jin. He isn’t smiling nor is he angry. He understands better than anyone the emotions you’re grappling with because he, too, had once been there. Right here. Right in this same place. The situation had been slowly dawning at him as he recognised his surroundings. How selfish had he been to put you through that; a pain so unbearable it’s a mark on both your soul and his.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly. He pulls you closer. “Forgive me.”

You shake your head, wet hair flying into your face.

“Forgive me, little one,” Jin sobs.

Again, you shake your head, more determinedly this time as Jin continues to chant the words, chest aching not from your punches earlier but from the contrition that’s crushing his once-stilled heart. Finally, you straighten your shoulders and look squarely into his eyes.

“No,” you say through shaky breaths. “Not…until you tell me what it means.”

Jin cocks his eyebrows.

“The symbol on the attic door,” you explain. “I-” you take a deep breath. “I remember you carving it in. Maybe…maybe from a previous life.”

Jin’s mouth falls open.

“What does it mean?”

Jin’s mind is still reeling at your revelation of a memory. Maybe it was brief, maybe it was just that specific one but you’re remembering nevertheless, and not just any past lives but that first one, where it all began. He’s also trying to remember what symbol exactly you’re talking about. Then it hits him. You’re alluding him to something.

“The Anam Cara, Jin,” you stress, getting impatient. “What does it mean?”

“I love you,” he breathes out just as he pulls you into him, lips crashing together and it feels like forgiveness as you lean into him to deepen the kiss. He feels your arms wrap tightly around his neck and your legs around his waist and he relishes in this warm, golden feeling, welcoming the love of his life home. Safe, in his arms. Finally, finally.

But not for long.

~~~

“Hyunnnggg!”

“Jin hyunngggg!”

“Hyunngiieeee!”

I look back at Jin, flushing my forehead against his, my fingers in his hair as I hear my name being called out in the distance. Nighttime has finally enveloped us and the wind is starting to bite. I press my lips against his once more, feeling how plush they are, how soft the way Jin kisses me back like I’m delicate. Like he’s holding back. And how warm. Warm, warm lips on warm, warm skin.

“What do we tell them?” whispers Jin, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“That you’re an idiot,” I say wetly through a smile.

Jin scoffs. “Like that’s news to them.”

I laugh.

“There you are!”

We both jump as Jimin suddenly bursts through the trees, a flashlight in one hand. “Hyung!” he cries, making a beeline towards us. “Oh, thank god!”

I barely escaped Jimin’s wrestling hug as I subtly moved aside to make way. He grabs the older man into a tight hug, saying nothing as they embrace. When Jimin finally pulls away, I see the tear track down his cheeks. He gives Jin a once over before noting the wet clothes. He opens his mouth to ask but is cut off by loud rustling noises as another person tumbles into the clearing.

It’s Jungkook, eyes wide and panicky. His eyes lock in on the three of us and it doesn’t take long for him to rush forward and literally pull Jin into his arms. As Jungkook and Jin share a moment, Jimin turns to me.

“You’re wet,” he says, taking off his jacket. He drapes it around my shoulders wordlessly before enfolding me into his arms.

“You idiot!”

I look up in surprise to see Hoseok in the treeline, squinting a little as he shines his light towards us. My surprise quickly turns to fear, cowering into Jimin when his angry gaze falls on me next. “Both of you!” He yells. “Going into the woods like that!”

He marches over towards Jin and pulls him up by his shirt collar so much so that Jin is forced to stand. “I could punch you right now,” he hisses but doesn’t, roughly mandhandling Jin into his arms. “Asshole. Don’t ever do that again.”

It takes another few minutes for the others to arrive, including Mr Chang in the search party. The walk back to the house is a quiet one and I’m so drained of energy that my limbs feel like sandbags, even when carried on Taehyung’s back. My whole body aches like I’ve been hit by a truck and it takes an effort to keep my eyes open for Taehyung’s sake.

We are met by Mrs Oliviera by the edge of the forest, warm blankets in her hands as she drapes one over me and tosses the other to Jin, her face frozen in a disapproving scowl as she immediately fusses over the thin scratches all over my face, neck, arms and legs. She switches from fussing over me to berating Jin, as well as pointing out all the little wounds on him, too, and warning him to take care of them inside. For a mousy housekeeper who doesn't usually talk all that much, it’s only her voice that I can hear as the world is shut out behind my eyelids. And for some reason, it brings me relief.

~~~

Taehyung feels you going limp and he adjusts your position so that you remain secure on his back. It’s not when Yoongi offers to switch that he realises how much his back hurts that he happily obliges. They, too, had trekked the woods in half-blindness the moment they could.

Yoongi carries you in his arms up the stairs as carefully as he can, careful to leash in his anger at not being fast enough, at not being there when it happened. Thankfully, Mrs Oliviera is right at his heels, following him into your room as she instructs him to place you in the bathtub instead of the bed. You groggily open your eyes but Yoongi doesn’t linger long to let Ollie do what needs to be done to get you out of your damp clothes and warm you up. Instead, he goes to the room across the hallway because there’s another person that needs to be taken care of: Seokjin.

He knocks softly once before pushing the door open to reveal the room already cramped with five others. He hears water running in the bathroom and takes his place on the edge of the bed, waiting as the others are. No one says a word. No one looks at each other. No one questions nor makes a move when forty minutes pass and the bathroom door is still closed with Namjoon leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door.

Once, Yoongi thought he heard sobbing from inside the bathroom but neither him nor the others even lifted their heads. They let him be, giving the space he needs but remaining close enough in case they need to act fast. Yoongi is not worried about Jin doing anything drastic while he’s alone in there; that’s not why they’re here. They’re here because they couldn’t be before, earlier in the day or even back then. It’s compensation, for which he’s not sure.

Yoongi should’ve known better. He should’ve at least made sure Jin was okay while the others fussed over you that day in the past. You had drowned, yes, but Jin had been the only one there, saddled with guilt for all those decades. And this time, if you hadn’t been there for Jin, he can’t even bring himself to imagine what would’ve happened.

You had somewhat briefly recounted the details of what happened before they found you but something nags at the back of Yoongi’s head that you’re not telling the full truth. Jin had fallen into the water, you had jumped right in and pulled him out. You managed to pump his heart back, dislodging the water Jin’s lungs. That’s it.

That’s it? He had asked then but you had nodded tiredly so he didn’t push. He kept quiet even when he had noticed you and Jin exchanging glances.

Something else happened. Something that had given them their physical forms back before they raced each other into the woods. Something else happened in between them turning to ghosts and unable to move away from Solomon’s Manor to slowly materialising back into existence, from between Jin jumping into the water and them finding the two of you in that forsaken place but today, Yoongi knows, won’t be the day they learn about it. He just has to sleep tonight with that unknowingness sitting on his chest. For tonight, at least.

The bathroom door opens and Jin steps out. The bright and cheerful man isn’t there and Jin has a gaunt look on his face. He looks up and tries to smile but it’s sour and Yoongi wishes he’d stop. For the first time in a very long time, Yoongi thought Jin’s shoulders looked too small, too fragile.

“Yah,” Jin calls out in a false happy voice. “Why are you all still here? I’m tired and I want to sleep. Get out.”

They don’t respond. Jin tries again, stumbling forward and trying to shove Jungkook with his foot. “Yah, move. Get out. Please. I’m tired. I want to sleep.” He’s chuckling as he switches to nudge Jimin with his other foot and pushes Hoseok’s shoulder lightly from the bed. “Move, yah!”

Jin sits down in his bed and makes an effort to crawl under the blanket. He tries one more time to shoo Yoongi and Hoseok off the bed but they’re not budging, moving only to let him into the bed before the scoot closer. Jimin approaches him then with the first aid kit, quietly holding Jin in place by the chin as he tends to the scratches on his cheeks and neck while the older man whines and pleads for them to leave, muttering non stop. Yoongi can almost see it; Jin is stretching so thin he’s breaking.

And then he does.

It starts small. A sniffle and a crack in his voice before Jin shrugs off Jimin’s hands and hangs his head in between his knees. The crying is quiet but the shaking and heaving of Jin’s body are a dead giveaway as he wretches. Yoongi reaches out an arm to rub his back, eyes staring at a spot on the carpet. His own eyes are wet.

Jungkook climbs onto the bed to sit close to Jin as Jimin sinks his hand into Jin’s hair, rubbing the back of his head and neck as he presses his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his own eyes. Taehyung comes from the other side and pulls Jin sideways into his chest, holding the eldest close as he rocks from side to side.

The questioning, the scolding can all be put aside for now. Jin is here, Jin is alive. He might not be okay but he’s here with them and Yoongi can deal with that. They can deal with that. Jin is in pieces but they can handle that; they can put him back together, piece by piece. He’s here so they can heal and rebuild. Him or themselves, it doesn’t really matter. They can have a do over. Not today but maybe tomorrow. When Jin is feeling better.

Right now, they hold each other close and they stay together because that’s what Jin needs. What they need. This feeling in Yoongi’s heart is one he’s not familiar with yet nostalgic. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time but it’s coming back to him now. It’s when you’ve unclogged a sink or untangled a cord. It’s when you remember that word that was on the tip of your tongue or when you’ve done that one chore you hate. It’s the feeling of harbouring a longtime crush and finally being able to spill your guts.

It’s overcoming a hurdle and now knowing the worst has passed.

It’s saying I love you after waiting for so long.

It’s the end of an awful storm and the clearing of the skies, Yoongi thinks as he lays his head down on the extra pillow, his hand still on the small of Jin’s back who is now almost quiet in Taehyung’s arms. They never drew the curtain closed for the night as seven bodies piled into the queen-sized bed. How they fit, Yoongi doesn’t know but he does know that it’s going to be okay.

Tomorrow, all will be just fine.

~~~

“This is getting interesting.”

The other white clad figure hums in agreement. “It’s nothing we’ve seen before.”

“You reckon this will be it?”

He takes a short while contemplating his colleague’s question before finally answering, “Who knows.”

a/n: this series has been going on for so long (timewise) that it started before BTS enlistment and now they're coming back and it's still nowhere near finished lol

Next: coming...someday

Go to Series Masterlist!

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

Taglist (open): @effielumiere @queen-in-the-shadows @singukieee @ot7nem @thelewddreamer @mysteriousgeminizone @byelizposts

a/n2: anyone going to see Seokjin? I live in Japan and we rely on raffle so fingers crossed :(

33 notes · View notes

nationwideshopfront · 2 months ago

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#timber shop front #aluminium shop front door

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alphashop01 · 2 years ago

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Timber Shopfronts

Alpha Shop specializes in creating premium timber shopfronts that stand out for their quality and craftsmanship. Timber shopfronts are the epitome of elegance, offering a timeless appeal and a warm welcome to any establishment. Alpha Shop takes pride in sourcing high-quality timber, ensuring durability and aesthetic appeal in every design they create. Their timber shopfronts are meticulously crafted, merging traditional techniques with modern innovation to deliver a product that exudes sophistication and charm. Alpha Shop understands the importance of a shopfront in defining a brand’s identity, and they work closely with clients to tailor designs that align with their vision and brand aesthetic. Their dedication to detail ensures that each shopfront is not just a door or a window but a masterpiece that reflects the essence of the brand it represents.

#shutter repair #Aluminium Shopfronts #Shutter Repair London #Aluminium Shop Front Doors #Timber Shopfronts #Toughened Glass Shop Fronts #Glass Glazing #Double Glazing London

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batsybat91 · 4 months ago

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You are Bran Stark's caretaker while Lady Stark is away from Winterfell. To see the young boy smile again, you offer to take him horseback riding. Bran is so ecstatic to go on a horse ride, he speeds his horse out of your sight. Robb comforts you while Theon goes to bring Bran back. There, he tells you just how he feels about you.

E - One Woman Man - Call of Duty (Video Games) - Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

Simon Riley is the owner of a famous technology company called Ghost Software. You're a university student with a major in journalism and communications. One day, you get an assignment to write a magazine article about Simon Riley. After pulling some serious strings, you manage to get a ten-minute interview with him. You'd have never guessed that this interview set off a line of dominoes that led to the rest of your life.

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unitedshopfronts11 · 2 years ago

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Timber Shopfront: Combining Aesthetics and Durability for Your Business

As a business owner, it's crucial to create an inviting and appealing storefront that leaves a lasting impression on your customers. One excellent option to achieve this is by choosing a timber shopfront. Timber shopfronts not only exude natural beauty but also offer durability and versatility to enhance the overall aesthetics of your business. In this article, we will explore the benefits of timber shopfronts and guide you through the process of selecting and maintaining one for your business.

The Importance of Shopfronts

Shopfronts play a vital role in attracting potential customers and creating a positive first impression of your business. A well-designed shopfront can effectively communicate your brand's values, establish trust, and entice passersby to step inside. Among the various options available, timber shopfronts offer a timeless appeal that can seamlessly blend with different architectural styles.

2. Understanding Timber Shopfronts

Timber shopfronts are storefronts constructed using high-quality timber materials. Timber, a natural resource, possesses unique characteristics that make it an excellent choice for commercial establishments. It offers a warm and inviting appearance while providing durability and strength to withstand daily wear and tear.

3. Advantages of Timber Shopfronts

3.1 Enhanced Aesthetics

One of the primary advantages of timber shopfronts is their aesthetic appeal. The natural grains and textures of timber create a warm and welcoming ambiance that attracts customers. Whether your business follows a traditional or modern design, timber shopfronts can be customized to complement your brand image and architectural style.

3.2 Flexibility in Design

Timber is a versatile material that allows for various design possibilities. It can be easily shaped, carved, and molded to create intricate patterns or simple and sleek lines. Whether you prefer a classic look or a contemporary design, timber can be tailored to meet your specific requirements.

3.3 Durability and Longevity

Contrary to common misconceptions, timber shopfronts are highly durable and can withstand the test of time. When properly maintained, timber can resist environmental factors such as sunlight, moisture, and temperature changes. With regular care and maintenance, your timber shopfront can maintain its beauty and functionality for many years.

3.4 Environmentally Friendly Choice

Timber is a sustainable and renewable resource, making it an environmentally friendly choice for your shopfront. Responsible timber sourcing practices ensure that new trees are planted to replace those harvested, promoting the sustainability of forests. By opting for a timber shopfront, you contribute to the preservation of our natural resources.

4. Choosing the Right Timber for Your Shopfront

Selecting the appropriate timber for your shopfront is crucial to ensure both aesthetics and durability. Here are two key factors to consider:

4.1 Softwood vs. Hardwood

Softwoods, such as pine and cedar, are affordable and widely used for shopfronts. They offer natural resistance to decay and insect infestation. Hardwoods, like oak and teak, are denser and provide enhanced strength and durability. Choosing between softwood and hardwood depends on your budget, desired aesthetic, and maintenance preferences.

4.2 Sustainable Timber Options

When opting for a timber shopfront, consider timber that is certified by reputable organizations like the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC). These certifications ensure that the timber comes from responsibly managed forests, minimizing environmental impact.

5. Designing Your Timber Shopfront

Creating a captivating and functional design is crucial when it comes to timber shopfronts. Consider the following aspects during the design process:

5.1 Traditional vs. Contemporary Styles

Decide whether you want your shopfront to have a traditional or contemporary appearance. Traditional styles often feature ornate details and classic elements, while contemporary designs emphasize simplicity and clean lines. Align the design with your business's branding and the overall architectural style of the building.

5.2 Incorporating Branding Elements

Your shopfront should reflect your brand identity and convey a consistent message to your customers. Incorporate your logo, colors, and signage creatively into the design. By doing so, you enhance brand recognition and create a cohesive visual experience for visitors.

5.3 Balancing Privacy and Visibility

Consider the level of privacy and visibility required for your business. Timber shopfronts can incorporate features like large display windows or decorative elements that allow natural light to enter while maintaining privacy for certain areas. Finding the right balance ensures a comfortable and secure environment for both customers and employees.

6. Maintaining Your Timber Shopfront

Regular maintenance is essential to preserve the beauty and longevity of your timber shopfront. Here are some maintenance tips to keep in mind:

6.1 Regular Cleaning and Inspection

Clean your timber shopfront regularly using mild soapy water and a soft cloth. Avoid abrasive cleaners that can damage the timber surface. Inspect for any signs of damage, such as cracks, decay, or loose fittings, and address them promptly to prevent further deterioration.

6.2 Protecting against Weather Elements

Timber shopfronts can be vulnerable to weather conditions. Apply a protective coating, such as paint or varnish, to shield the timber from sunlight, moisture, and other environmental factors. Regularly inspect and touch up the coating as needed to maintain its effectiveness.

6.3 Refurbishment and Restoration

Over time, your timber shopfront may require refurbishment or restoration to maintain its appeal. This can involve sanding, refinishing, or replacing damaged components. Consult a professional shopfront specialist for expert advice and assistance in restoring your timber shopfront to its former glory.

7. Conclusion

A timber shopfront offers a harmonious blend of aesthetics and durability for your business. Its natural beauty, design flexibility, and sustainability make it an excellent choice for creating an inviting storefront. By carefully selecting the right timber, designing with your brand in mind, and maintaining regular upkeep, you can ensure that your timber shopfront remains an attractive focal point for your business for years to come.

FAQs

8.1 Can timber shopfronts be customized to match my business's branding?

Absolutely! Timber shopfronts can be tailored to align with your business's branding. You can incorporate your logo, colors, signage, and other branding elements creatively into the design, creating a consistent and visually appealing storefront.

8.2 Are timber shopfronts suitable for all types of businesses?

Yes, timber shopfronts can complement various types of businesses. Whether you own a retail store, a restaurant, or an office, timber shopfronts can be customized to suit your specific requirements and enhance the overall aesthetics of your establishment.

8.3 How often should I clean and maintain my timber shopfront?

Regular cleaning and maintenance are essential for the upkeep of your timber shopfront. Clean it periodically using mild soapy water and inspect for any signs of damage. The frequency of maintenance depends on factors such as weather conditions and the level of wear and tear.

8.4 Can I modify my timber shopfront in the future if my business evolves?

Yes, timber shopfronts offer flexibility for modifications. If your business undergoes changes or expansions in the future, you can work with a shopfront specialist to modify the timber shopfront accordingly, ensuring it aligns with your evolving business needs.

8.5 Is timber an environmentally friendly choice for a shopfront material?

Yes, timber is an environmentally friendly choice. Opting for timber shopfronts encourages responsible forest management and supports sustainable practices. Look for timber certified by reputable organizations like the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) to ensure your shopfront is sourced from sustainable and well-managed forests.

#timber shopfront #timber shopfronts #shopfront #shopfronts #shopfront uk #united shop fronts #shopfronts uk

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 1 year ago

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Inspired by the latest Reductive Audio:

Lil useless facts about my fav boys/listeners. No hate if I didn’t include your fave, I was making my list off memory and am just now realizing I missed like… three entirely series worth of people.

Vincent

He prefers silver jewelry over gold, but doesn’t care if styles are meant for men or women. He likes what he likes and will wear it. He’s a particular fan of dainty necklaces and women’s wrist watches, but likes men’s rings better.

Sam

He smoked when he was human. Lucky Stripes, since they’re cheap. It was a bad habit he picked up when he was eight or so to cope with his home life. He lost the ability to be chemically addicted to nicotine when he was turned, but he still itches for a cigarette when he’s particularly stressed.

Alexis

She’s very jealous of Will’s attention. She gets twitchy when he’s paying attention to anybody else for too long. This results in spikes of her reckless and bad behavior. It started when Vincent was turned, then when he took in Porter, then when she turned Sam. The most recent was after the Inversion.

William

He cannot paint or draw to save his life. He’s followed five or six Bob Ross paintings, but they never turn out right. He can draw stick figures, but that’s about it. His penmanship is beautiful, though.

Porter

Will made him testify against his maker since Porter’s treatment was particularly brutal amongst Felix’s progeny. Porter didn’t want to, but he recounted every moment of Felix’s torture while being stared down by the man himself in front of the whole council. It was so damming that Felix invoked him to stop. That’s the moment that Porter still has nightmares about.

Lovely

Lovely is incredibly anxious around their human friends. They’re scared that they’ll lose control and hurt someone, even though they’re very well fed and haven’t shown any lack of control in the past. This results in a few months after the inversion that Freelancer thought they were dead, since they showed up on the casualty list.

Treasure

Their older brother is a humanborn freelancer. He’s an enforcer for the Department. They think that fits him well, since he was always sort of a bully growing up. Treasure themself is an investigative journalist who writes for an empowered newspaper. They were trying to get a table at the Monarchal Summit even before they met Porter, but that didn’t pan out.

Freddy

He played french horn in high school. He was pretty good, and was drum major in marching band his senior year. He threw up before every game because he was so nervous.

Bright Eyes

Singer/song writer. Y’all ever listened to the Mountain Goats??? That’s their shit. Slow moving acoustic guitar, songs about the most disturbing and distressing emotions humans are capable of surviving recorded on cassette. Singing at dead coffee shop open mics in the wee hours of the morning. Their voice is raspy and rough, but the texture just draws you into their even timber and perfect pitch. They’re a minor celebrity in Dahlia’s sad boy live music scene.

David

His hips and back hurt So Much all of the time. He figures out that it’s because he’s incredibly strong but not flexible in the slightest. An imbalance in those two factors can lead to a lot of pain. He starts doing yoga after the Inversion when it got really bad and it’s helped a ton. Plus, Angel does it with him, and he likes watching them bend into all of those poses in their tiny, skin tight shorts.

Asher

He keeps track of how much David weighs and makes sure he can comfortably lift and carry that much weight at the drop of a hat. At the end of every work out, he deadlifts David’s weight to make sure he can do it when already spent. He should have been carrying David after the Inversion, but he didn’t have the strength to do it even when not fucked up. He won’t let that happen again.

Milo

He needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them. He tried contacts but he can’t stand to put anything in his eye. So he just squints and struggles through. His phone’s text is blown up like a grandpa’s. David is so bothered that Milo won’t just… get glasses. He keeps passive aggressively offering to add Milo to their vision insurance plan.

Christian

He had a little crush on Asher in middle school that translated to teasing the shit out of him. Which, Asher being Asher, put him off and hurt his feelings. He’s well moved on but sometimes, when the sun catches Ash just right or he smiles that stupid, toothy smile, Christian mourns his own stupidity.

Arden

Desperately protective of Christian, especially after the Inversion. The first time Ash makes a light-hearted joke about Christian’s limp, Arden put his ass on the ground, despite Christian laughing at it.

Gabe

He drove a white Chevy Cameo with a red interior for most of his life. It was lovingly maintained, and since it’s such a rare model, he did all of the maintenance himself. After the crash, the truck was totaled. David still spent a few years trying to put it back together. He called it quits when he was working on the interior and found dried blood under the leather of the seats.

Angel

They have a small stuffed lamb that they’ve had since they were a baby. It’s beaten up, falling apart, and no longer the stark white it started out as. Lambie is kept in their bottom bedside drawer. They only pull him out when they can’t sleep. They were worried David would think it was weird, but he actually finds this more endearing than he can put into words.

Babe

They didn’t start talking until they were three. Their parents thought that they were nonverbal, and had started teaching them ASL as an alternative. Then one day at the breakfast table, they opened their mouth and started spouting full sentences. They taught Asher ASL and the two of them use it when they want a private moment in public/when Ash is overstimulated. (Side note; David also knows ASL, he took courses in high school. Very useful, he loves it. He does not love it when watching them flirt nastily in front of him.)

Sweetheart

They’ve had anxiety since they were a very young child, and it’s always been an internally-sourced thing rather than externally motivated. They recall the first time they ever got in trouble at school (first grade, for pushing a boy who had been tugging on their hair all through recess). They remember the first time they got a B (fifth grade, on a math test they studied for for hours). Their parents had high expectations, but Sweetheart was having panic attacks from the age of three. Definitely something ~chemical~ going on there.

Darlin

They feel pack bonds incredibly strongly. Their body reacts physically when someone in the pack is threatened or hurt, without them even having to think. They shiver when Sam calls them ‘mate.’ When David says something in his lovingly dubbed ‘alpha voice,’ they can’t help but listen. They knew Gabe was dead before they got the call. They thought Ash was dead during the Inversion because they felt David’s dread through the bond so strongly.

Avior

He’s unnerved by human’s tactile nature. Being in a body is strange for him, and he prefers Aria to Elegy (at least before meeting Starlight), so touch is an extreme sensation for him. Humans touch so much. He’s not opposed to it when it’s someone he knows, but handshakes are the bane of his existence.

Starlight

Halloween is their favorite holiday. They start decorating for it in August. They plan elaborate, complex costumes and parties. They desperately want to move into a house so that they can set up scary decorations and shit in their yard and hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Avid lover of the Spirit Halloween animatronics. They go to Halloween Horror Nights every year.

Camelopardalis

He’s trained himself to use the human terms for things (ex: terra or earth instead of elegy) since some in the Department don’t like it when daemons use their terms. It means that he gets weird looks from other daemons when he talks to them. It’s an alienating feeling for sure.

Vega

He’s never tried human food. He never saw the appeal. What he doesn’t know is that he would absolutely Love dark chocolate if he tried it. He likely will never know.

Warden

Avid reader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle comics. Just the comics, though. They don’t have an apartment in Elegy, but they do have a small storage unit where they keep their comics. They coalesced a few years before the comics starting their run, and for some reason, they just fell in love. Vega thinks this is silly and that they should be embarrassed, but they refuse to be.

Hush

He loves Popeye’s fried chicken sandwiches. Doc fed him one once and it blew his fucking mind. He won’t make them with magic, either, he insists that they don’t taste the same. Doc has started just getting gift cards for him to keep so he can get one whenever and doesn’t have to wait for them to give him money. He’s ravenous for those things.

Doc

They’re actually a warder, not a healer. Hush’s presence has encouraged them to refresh their healing knowledge, however. Even if he himself is difficult to hurt, he sort of invites chaos.

Morgan

He uses his foresight to see what the owner of his favorite little bodega down the street is going to have for breakfast every morning. It’s his little morning ritual and practice for his magic. He feels weird all day if he doesn’t do it.

Seer listener

Their sight is more potent and more clear than Morgan’s. They can give stark details, see full landscapes, and turn 360 deg in their vision and see the whole space. They also can hear what’s happening consistently, something that goes in and out for Morgan. He figures that they’re just more powerful than he is, something that makes them just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Damien

Gets incredibly stressed on election days, whether for local, state, or national elections. He forces everyone he knows to vote, volunteers to shuttle people without cars, and has at times volunteered to be a poll worker. But elections make him anxious. He cares so much about the results. Huxley has recently instated a post 9pm ban on watching the news on election nights so that Dames will actually sleep and not stay up all night stressing.

Huxley

Does not eat beef. Not for religious reasons, but because of the impact of beef consumption on the environment. He’s about one step away from a full vegetarian, he just likes chicken and is concerned for his protein and vitamin intake. This is difficult for Damien, who loves nothing quite so much as a rare steak.

Lasko

He was forced to take piano lessons as a child. He hated it, but took them up to the point he left home. He’s still very good, and did get peer pressured into showing off at a random guitar center once while out with the D.A.M.N. crew. He nearly died of embarrassment.

Gavin

He has a collection of very pretty rosaries that he uses as jewelry. He is not religious, and if asked, cannot describe what a Catholic is to you. He likes to wear them around his neck, dipping over his body since his shirts always cut down to his navel. It makes people gasp and blush, which is his favorite effect to have on somebody. His fav one has beads made of mother of pearl and a little, golden crucifix on the end.

Freelancer

They love cheap Chinese buffets. They claim that, the lower the health rating, the better the taste. Their desire for krab rangoons is strong enough to pull them from the comfort of their home at 2 in the morning if the fancy strikes. Damien in particular is horrified by this, and keeps offering to cook them some actual Chinese food.

Dear (Lasko’s listener)

An all star volleyball player in high school and college. They were a setter, and took their team to nationals all four years of high school. They are on the starting line up all through college. When it gets brought up in their trip that Damien plays casually, they said they did too. And then absolutely creamed him.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted sam #redacted vincent #redacted asher #redacted angel #redacted damien #redacted david #redacted huxley #redacted damn #redacted morgan #redacted

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