#and to clock up more hours than I have been doing

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Staropramen: drink up

Content: context to part 1 of Modern au!Gojo's smau, just the first picture, wanted to write a little so I thought I'd do this one, not proofread

You pace back and forth in your room. The sky outside is darkening, dulling into dark orange hues, setting your room alight. You sweat, palms growing clammy. Part of your hair is tied up, arranged into some silly, convoluted up-do and your makeup contrasts with the soft curls framing your face. The maids twisted and pulled and plucked until you’re as presentable as possible, but you insisted, practically fought them, to let you do the rest.

So your piercings stay on, eyeliner as thick as ever, and lips painted a dark shade. And the dress hanging on the door? Well, it’s just as black as everything else in your wardrobe. 

This dinner’s important. You know that, as do the maids; your parents had been emphasising how every dinner, every engagement, every invite from the Gojos were important, so important, in fact, that preparations had begun hours ago, well before the clock could strike 7pm. 

But there’s one person who doesn’t seem to get the memo. Any of them.

One person who has evaded every meeting, every phone call, every email, letter, hell, every fax from your family. And he gets away with it. Every. Time. 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble, fidgeting with your lip ring, “I missed one dinner because I was literally sick and no one spoke to me for weeks. But he gets to miss every single one and we can’t say shit?”

A glance at the Sattler table clock by your bed says it’s nearing showtime. The chauffeur must already be running the car, awaiting your family. You’d have to put on that stupid dress and those stupid heels and plaster on a stupid smile, and shake stupid hands and eat stupid food and stupidly wait for someone who’s never going to show up. 

And it’ll be your fault. 

That’s what the looks they’ll give you will say. Somehow, you’ve messed up this engagement before it could even really begin, because, of course, it’s the girl’s fault that the guy is an irresponsible idiot. 

You didn’t want to have to do this. Didn’t want to have to cave first. But you must. So you pick up your phone and send a message to a number you hoped you never would have to contact. 

A girl had given it to you earlier in the week. 

She seemed familiar, perhaps she’s one of the more popular students, not that you interact with them. God, just the thought sends shivers down your spine. But when you had seen her parting ways with Gojo, your feet took you to her faster than you could even process and she was smiling at you with a look of surprise. 

It’d be great to say the surprise was just because she hadn’t expected you to approach her but that would be a lie. She probably wasn’t expecting someone dressed like you to stand before her in broad daylight and not ask for a drop of her blood to offer up to your gods, or whatever else people tend to think about you. 

When you asked if you could get Gojo’s number for ‘something important’, she didn’t fight you, she simply smiled more softly and eagerly typed his number into your phone, flashing you a wink before saying she has a lecture on fluid dynamics that she can’t miss. You assumed she was a physics student, not that she really gave you that vibe, but who are you to say anything?

You frown at his replies.

What a dick.

A honk breaks you out of your sudden violent desires to strangle and offer a certain frat president up for sacrifice, and you rush to put the dress on, already feeling the phantom ache in your feet at the thought of wearing insanely tall heels. 

You take one last look of your phone and sigh. 

This is going to be a long night.

On the other side of the city, however, lays a boy on a king sized bed. He’s shirtless, joggers hanging low on his hips as he glares at his ceiling, willing it to cave in and kill him right there and then. 

“Why did you give her my number?” 

A girl giggles on the other side of the bed. She’s wearing nothing but his shirt, typing frantically on her phone, most likely texting a certain blond tutor. Then with a sideways glance at the pouting child thumping his fist on the mattress to get her attention, she flicks his forehead with manicured nails. 

“Because,” she drags out, “she looked fun. I like her.”

Gojo groans. “You can’t like her. She’s the enemy!”

The girl rolls her eyes with a grin, half entertained by his theatrics and half excitedly waiting for Nanami’s reply. She had just sent a text asking him if he listens to music whilst having his ‘special alone time’, and the three dots dancing on the screen is making her heart skip a beat. 

A pillow gets smacked in her face and when it falls down, her view is obstructed by a pointed look. Focus on me and my dilemma or die, is what it says. 

What are they talking about again? Oh right. 

“She’s not the enemy, Satoru. She’s just like you.”

The white-haired man pouts even harder. He doesn’t want to admit that the thought had already crossed his mind; she’s a pawn in the game just as he is. But he can’t accept her existence. Because to do so would be like accepting his parents plans, accepting that he has so little say in anything that goes on in his life, and ultimately submitting to the terrible fate of being a Gojo. 

His friend has returned to her phone, squealing in a way that makes Satoru wince, and he doesn’t want to ask what she’s blushing over. He’d kill her and himself if she shows him a dick pic again. 

Then, as if his mood has somehow lightened, he pokes the girl on her shoulder, ignoring the scowl she gives in return, and asks, almost absentmindedly, “Is she pretty? My….fiancée, I mean?”

Gojo doesn’t know her name. 

He’s sure someone had told him but anything to do with the word ‘engagement’ makes him blank out, static playing in his head. 

A devious smirk creeps up on her face, eyes dazzling with mischief as she looks over at her friend, lying on his stomach now, bright blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. It occurred to her, when he mumbled his question, that he has no idea what she looks like. Satoru is in for one hell of a shock when he finds out that the girl he had been envisioning as the most prissy little future housewife is actually someone he totally would do a double take over. 

It’s gonna be so fun to watch this whole thing play out, she thought. But she can’t make it easy for her stupid friend. Never. 

So, she returns her focus on her screen, biting her lip at Nanami’s stern ‘behave’ message and dangles the answer in Satoru’s face. 

“You know Choso, right? Sukuna’s younger cousin?”

He nods hurriedly, patience running very thin. 

But that’s all she’s willing to give. 

And Satoru groans, nose crinkling in irritation. Quick as lightning, he snatches her phone from her hands, and sends the most recent picture on her camera roll to the guy he’s been hearing too much about. 

“You didn’t…” 

Her tone is disbelieving, a horrified expression pulling her features down before she lunges for her phone and shrieks at the picture of her lying on the floor after slipping on olive oil in Gojo’s kitchen. Her face was distorted in a blur and her dress had ridden up to reveal a hot pink g-string. 

Nanami’s going to block her. 

He’s going to complain to Professor Yaga and it’ll all be over. 

Satoru shrugs and heads to his bathroom, using the excuse of needing a shower to cover up the fact that he has every intention of searching up what a certain art student looks like through socials. 

Sure, he could search for his fiancee directly, ask one of his assistants to gather a detailed file, but where’s the fun in that?

Through the door, he hears his friend’s panicked voice, desperately trying to rationalise that the reason why her tutor isn’t answering is because he’s busy and not because he’s calling the police on her for sexual harassment. 

She really is the dumb to his dumber because if she knew anything about men, then she’d know he’s totally jerking off to that picture. Nerds are more repressed than anyone else, so she’s gonna have to wait a little longer for him to regain sanity. 

Under the hot stream, Gojo’s thoughts shift to a different focus, a girl resembling Choso, the brooding artist cousin of Sukuna, the devil spawn. 

There’s simply no way he’d ever like someone like that. 

It’s impossible. 

Right? 

[p1nkshield]

It was Jason’s turn to keep watch. He quietly approached Damian who was currently holding a silent vigil in an armchair across from Danny’s bed. It had been two days. Forty eight hours of the kid’s unconscious body being hooked up to monitors. His heart rate was low. So was his temperature. Whether or not that was the because of the poison or something to do with the supposed healing factor he had was beyond him. It clearly wasn’t enough to fully flush the poison out of his system. At least he was stable.

Bruce and Tim were the only ones who did not take a shift watching Danny. They were working around the clock to try and find an antidote to this poison. They only stopped to patrol in order to keep up appearances. Then Dick took over trying to find any information.

Damian stretched as he left then paused.

“… you will tell me if there is any news right Todd?”

“…yeah. I will.”

“…thank you.”

Jason settled into his post.

“This is the quickest I think I’ve seen Robin warm up to someone!”

Jason remembered Dick’s comment on one patrol or another.

“I think he found his boldness amusing.” Dick mused.

Jason notes how Danny’s blankets have been straightened out carefully and Titus has been sent to sit at the foot of his bed.

Jason really was going to kill Vlad.

Tim returned with urgency to the bat computer. Looking to Dick as they traded places for the day. He was met with a forlorn shake of the head. Nothing.

Ugh.

Tim hates this. This was the part of the job he supposedly excelled at. But for three days! Three days and no headway.

He was brought out of his research loop by the ding of the sample analyzer.

Tim looked at it slowly and vacantly as if moving too quickly would scare the lead away.

“Tim?”

Bruce did not receive an answer. Tim was engrossed in the readings. They had taken two samples of Danny’s blood. One immediately after he was brought back home, another a day later.

“This is… is it?”

It looks as if his blood is comprised of blood of normal human composition, something that looks like Lazarus water but more concentrated? And of course the offending poison. The second sample was more concerning. The levels of the poison were slightly lower while the other levels were significantly lower. Leaving a mixture that looked more like Lazarus water than the initial sample.

It was clear that he needed more of the concentrated Lazarus water and he had lost too much blood. He was fighting the poison but was far too weakened by the prolonged torture.

“He needs a blood transfusion.” Bruce said looking over Tim’s shoulder.

“What’s his type?”

Bruce squinted. Never a good sign.

“O negative.”

Great. The one with the lowest amount of recipient compatibilities.

“Are any of us a match?” Tim looked into the medical files of all the family members.

“Jason.”

Bruce had all of his kids’ blood types memorized but Jason’s always made him the most nervous. It was unfortunately fitting, it gave him the least amount of options to get out of a bad situation.

“Did you retest his blood since the uh, changes he’s gone through?”

“…No.”

Jason sat in burning silence. The only thing that broke through it was the slightly labored breathing of the kid.

He hates this. Having nothing to do. Just sitting there waiting for something to happen. It’s the worst.

“Todd?”

Jason’s head snapped up to look at Damian.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

“Father has gotten a lead. You are needed in the bat cave. I will watch in your stead.”

Jason didn’t wait to fully get the reason why. Finally something he can do.

Everything was explained. Of course he and Danny would have the same blood types. And of course Jason would have given him his left kidney if he had to.

He sat down. “My left arm’s an easier stick.” Jason said as Alfred prepared what was necessary for the transfusion. His comment did raise an eyebrow from the older gentleman.

“The league of assassins ran a lot of tests. I-”

“Did you see any of the results?” Tim interrupted prompting a moment of palpable silence.

“… no Tim. I wasn’t really in it for most of the time I was there.”

“Oh.”

“…”

“Hmm” Bruce said quietly staring at Jason’s blood sample

“What?”

“Its just-”

“FATHER!”

Damian was shouting from his post.

“Jason stay there. Alfred, don’t stop.”

Tim followed Bruce up to where the call came from.

“He’s…melting!”

It was true. He was melting. Danny’s extremities were melting, slowly slumping into a pool of green goo. Why was he melting?

There was no time answer those questions. The results of Jason’s blood didn’t matter anymore either. Bruce had to do something. The transfusion, It was their best bet and they were out of time.

“Alfred!”

“Right here sir!”

As luckily as one could consider it, Danny’s arms were still intact enough to have a successful transfusion.

Now they had to wait.

24 more hours.

Just a day longer.

Prompt idea: Danny has been attending Wayne family dinners for weeks now and he truly doesn’t know how he got this far

Danny has been without a home or a means to get food for a while because of either identity reveal gone bad or Dan timeline shenanigans. Either way he needs to eat. As a last ditch attempt Danny tries to attend/infiltrate a Wayne family dinner. He’s seen the Wayne kids around Gotham and he’s sure that he could look and act the part enough to get in the door and out with some bread rolls at least.

Was it his best idea? No.

But he sure as sugar ain’t firing on all cylinders rn.

And Bruce already has a gaggle of blue eyed, black haired children.

What’s one more?

Batfam of course notices immediately when a whole new kid shows up, grabs some miscellaneous pieces of food and then prattles off some excuse about “not being that hungry.” (Clearly a bald faced lie) And that they were “Going to the library to study for finals, bye Dad!”

1. No one skips out on family dinners. Even Jason was here.

2. Alfred sets the table for everyone ahead of time and the kid had no place to sit.

3. Nobody in this house studies anything beyond case files.

4. Nobody in this house calls Bruce Dad.

Danny thinks he is suffering from success. No matter where he is in Gotham someone picks him up and insists he’ll be late for family dinner which is unacceptable.

Alfred just wants to feed the boy.

The batkids are amused by his efforts to look as though he’s been here all along.

Bruce is drafting adoption papers as we speak.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

@errorunfound1

Yandere!neglectful!Batfam x mom!reader

Wayne Manor had always felt vast, but to you, it was more of a void than a home. It was easy to get lost in its endless hallways, in the constant hum of life orbiting Bruce’s nocturnal mission. You married him for love, despite knowing the weight of the life he led. You accepted his scars, his mission, his world. But what you hadn’t expected was how little space there would be left for you in it.

Bruce was always out, chasing shadows, leaving you to navigate a family that seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length. You poured your heart into them—Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian—but your efforts were met with indifference at best and disdain at worst. You had been a mother in every way that mattered, yet the coldness you received in return made your heart ache.

“You don’t have to act like you care,” Jason sneered once when you tried to patch him up after patrol. “We both know you’re just here for him.”

Tim barely acknowledged you unless it was necessary, his head buried in his work. Dick’s smiles, once genuine, now felt like politeness masking discomfort. And Damian, always the sharpest, had no qualms about cutting you down. “You’re not my mother,” he’d said, his words a dagger that twisted in your chest.

Bruce never intervened. When you tried to tell him, his responses were dismissive. “They’ll come around,” he’d say before disappearing into the night. But they never did.

So, you stayed quiet, swallowing the hurt, letting it fester.

One night, you stood in the empty dining room, staring at the cold, untouched dinner you’d prepared. The clock ticked on the wall, counting the hours Bruce was late. Again. You could hear the faint hum of voices from the Batcave below, the family gathered around him while you sat alone.

It wasn’t anger that bubbled up this time. It was resignation.

You left that night, not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a simple bag and a note left on the kitchen counter.

“I love you, but I can’t keep losing myself in a family that doesn’t want me.”

The days without you passed unnoticed at first. Bruce buried himself in his work, assuming you needed time to cool off. The Batkids carried on as usual, their lives too busy to miss the quiet presence you’d once provided.

It was Alfred who noticed first—the meals left uneaten, the flowers on the windowsill wilting. “Sir,” he said carefully one evening, “she’s not coming back.”

Bruce stopped mid-step, his expression flickering. “She just needs time.”

But days turned into weeks, and the absence became impossible to ignore. The manor felt colder, emptier. Jason snapped more often, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation. Tim’s focus wavered, his mistakes piling up in a way they never had before. Damian trained harder, his strikes sharper, but there was a new tension in him, an unease he wouldn’t voice.

“She left us,” Damian said one night, his tone sharp but brittle. “That’s on her.”

“No,” Dick said quietly, guilt heavy in his voice. “It’s on us.”

Bruce found you three weeks later, living in a modest apartment far from the grandeur of Wayne Manor. The door was locked, but that had never been an obstacle for him. He let himself in, his imposing frame filling the doorway as you stood frozen in the kitchen.

“Bruce,” you said, your voice tight.

“Come home.” His tone was soft but firm, the same voice he used to give orders in the field.

Your laugh was bitter, hollow. “Home? That place hasn’t felt like home in years.”

His jaw tightened, the only sign of his frustration. “You belong there. With me. With them.”

“I belonged there once,” you said, your voice breaking. “But I spent years trying to love a family that couldn’t love me back. Do you even realize how much it hurt, Bruce? To be invisible in my own home?”

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I didn’t see it. I should have. But I’m here now.”

“Too late,” you whispered, tears spilling over.

But Bruce Wayne was not a man who gave up easily. His hand reached out, brushing against yours. “You think I’ll let you go that easily?” His voice dropped, a dangerous edge slipping into his tone. “You’re mine. You always have been.”

You pulled away, shaking your head. “You don’t love me, Bruce. You love control. You love having someone waiting for you. But I won’t be that person anymore.”

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought he might let you go. But Bruce was nothing if not persistent.

“You’re coming home,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding.

Before you could respond, his hand shot forward, pressing a syringe into your arm. The sharp sting was followed by a wave of dizziness, and your legs buckled.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your vision swimming as he caught you.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmured, his arms cradling you as darkness pulled you under.

(A/n: this is why I don't take money 😅 writing shi asf 😔🔥 chat did I cook or am I cooked?)

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter One: Blue Hydrangeas- Gratitude

Summary: Your job as a florist has been the highlight of your day for years. It becomes even more exciting when a certain new customer becomes a regular.

Word Count: 2286

Author's Note: Hey guys! My first multi-chapter fic, i'm so excited!!! i don't have a strict posting schedule, but I won't go more than two weeks without an update. please bear with me here because I have no idea what it's like to be a florist. I hope you all enjoy!!

p.s. special shoutout again to @deprivedmusicaljunkie for beta reading, i can't thank you enough!

fic below the cut :)

You were a part of the small minority of people who actually loved their job.

The concept of this was strange to most people — strangers making small talk, men asking introductory questions on dates, even your own parents. Maybe because it wasn’t exactly a career; more so a job that someone has as a way to make rent while getting their degree, which is how you originally began to work at Earth's Laughter Florists. College had been years ago for you now, and yet you stayed behind the counter, making bouquets for customers with a genuine smile on your face. It got to the point that when the old owner decided it was time to retire, she chose you to take over. Of course, you immediately accepted; this job was the best part of your day. While all of your friends were going insane with their office jobs, you… admittedly still went insane from time to time, just in a much prettier workplace.

You had even taken it upon yourself to learn flower language: different types of flowers having different symbolic meanings. It was almost like extra credit. It gave you a new challenge of arranging flowers while keeping both color and symbolism in mind, and helped you create bouquets and arrangements with more meaning. This, in turn, gave your customers a new incentive to buy different flowers for different occasions based on what they meant. More business for you, more smiles on people's faces, and more money in your pocket. Everyone wins.

Another benefit of the job — your favorite part — was that it gave you small glimpses into the lives of other people. Flowers had a multiplicity of sorts. They were so versatile that people bought from you for almost every occasion. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, dance recitals, you name it. It made you more appreciative of others. Every day was a new insight into whatever your customers had going on. And today was no exception.

You arrived an hour before the store opened, as usual. You went into the back and threw on your apron, adjusting your name tag. Thoughts of everything you had to do before opening ran through your head, and you quickly began to busy yourself with everything from giving some flowers new vases of water to following up on an order for a wedding. Your two coworkers came in around a half an hour after your arrival, donning their aprons, saying their hellos, and also beginning their day. When the time finally came, you flipped around the sign hanging from the door, telling everyone outside you were open. You stood behind the counter and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

One of the only downsides of your job was that it required a lot of patience.

It's not like you were just staring at the clock, biding your time until a customer entered. You still had work to get done, mostly tying up loose ends from what you didn't finish before. Your coworkers were occupied with a tall order of arrangements, so they stuck to the back, with the occasional popping in to ask if you needed assistance. Politely, you declined.

Mundane was the word that kept repeating itself in your head as you did your odd jobs around the store. Not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, mundane meant nothing horrible was occurring (even though it meant nothing was occurring). Of course, mundane never does last long.

You had just finished creating an arrangement to put on display when your first customer of the day walked in.

The bell above the door rang, and you quickly walked back over to where you were supposed to be standing, not even bothering to see who had walked in until you were behind the counter.

The first thing you noticed was that he was taller than you had expected, with long brown curls that fell down to his shoulders. His outfit, a black turtleneck, a brown leather jacket, and black jeans, was the right mix of formal and casual; you could tell he had somewhere to be, but with people that wouldn't mind if he laughed a little too loudly.

To top it all off, he was handsome. You couldn't pull your gaze from him if you tried.

He walked forward, slowly looking around at all the flowers on display until his gaze locked onto you. He broke the silence between you.

“Hello. I need some flowers.”

You maintained your composure and brushed off your previous thoughts. You started your usual routine, asking him the same questions to get to know the situation (and him) better.

“What's the occasion?”

“It's my mum’s birthday.”

“Does she have a favorite flower?” You asked. He replied with no hesitation.

“She loves hydrangeas. Blue hydrangeas. She always has.”

His immediate answer brought a small smile to your face. You nodded intently and began to think of all the possible combinations of flowers that would work well.

“You're specific. I like that. That makes my job easier. Usually guys say something like ‘I don't know’ or ‘the purple ones’ or just ‘roses’. It's like some people don't even pay attention.”

“Well, that's all I know how to do.”

“A blessing and a curse, I imagine.”

“More of a blessing, believe it or not.”

“I have a similar blessing, though it seems to be laser-focused on plants of all things.” You joked. “Speaking of plants, let me start on your bouquet.”

You left your spot, walking over to the wall of flowers on display for you to pick from. You stopped and stood next to the man, fixated on the wall as you tried to decide what flowers would go well together, in meaning and in visuals. Mumbling, you thought out loud.

“Alright. For his mother. Blue hydrangeas… that's gratitude. What can go with that?”

The customer tilted his head in confusion, clearly having heard you.

“I don't mean to interrupt, but what's with blue hydrangeas and gratitude?” He asked. Your eyes widened, and you turned to face him as you started your explanation.

“Oh, it's flower language. I learned about it to help me make more symbolic bouquets. Back in the Victorian era, people would use bouquets of flowers to convey messages they couldn't say out loud. Most of the time it was a love confession, though you could also reject someone if you picked your flora wisely. Individual flowers have meanings, too. Blue hydrangeas, your mum's favorite, symbolize gratitude. There was even a change in the meaning based on which side the ribbon was on, or if they were given upside down, and…” You cut yourself off when you realized you’d been talking for much too long, your excited expression dropping. “I’m rambling about something you definitely don't care about. I’m sorry.”

He gave you a confused look, and a small laugh of disbelief escaped him.

“What? Don't apologize. That was fascinating. I don't know if I’ll ever see flowers the same way again. In a good way, of course”

The fact that he was actually invested in what you had to say pleasantly surprised you. People — not just customers, people you actually choose to surround yourself with — would often tune you out after the first two sentences.

You knew this man for two minutes and he was already raising your standards.

“Well then, I’m happy to give you a new perspective. I’ll get started on your arrangement.”

You stepped back to get a better look at the flowers lining the walls of the room. You already had a vague idea of what you wanted, you just needed to put it into action. Hydrangeas were grabbed first, and made the focal point of the bouquet immediately. Other flowers were picked up and put down, a trial-and-error of sorts until you found which ones truly matched.

Occasionally, you looked over your shoulder to find your customer still standing there, spectating you from a few feet away. He watched you with a certain gleam in his eye, one you would attribute to admiration if you didn't know any better.

Once your selections were made, you picked out a plastic sheet and took the flowers into the back, where there was a smaller room with a much larger table surface for a workspace. The wrapping was laid out, and meticulously, flowers were laid down. Rearranged. Shifted around. After a few small touches, everything was in the exact place you wanted it.

You finally finished up, wrapping the flowers in the silver plastic and tying it up with a blue ribbon. You went back behind the counter and held the bundle of flowers up, pointing at each one as you described the meaning of each specifically selected flower.

“There's the blue hydrangeas for gratitude, white roses for loyalty and beauty, and belladonna delphinium for protection and well-being. You're basically showering your mum with compliments with this thing.”

“It's gorgeous,” he replied, the look of astonishment from before lingering on his face.

“As nature tends to be.”

“I mean, you can't argue with that, but the way you’ve arranged them, it's… stunning. She’ll love it.”

His compliment surprised you; it wasn't too often you got such a compliment for a simple bouquet. It caused your heart to flutter in your chest in a way that definitely crossed the border of the employee-customer relationship you had going on. Frightening. Maybe if you kept acting unaffected, it would magically stop.

“Let me ring you up.”

There was no true cash register, and you instead relied on a pen, a yellow legal pad, and mental math for customers’ totals. It took a moment, but you calculated what he owed you.

“That'll be $54.”

He muttered in agreement, and you watched as he reached into his coat pocket. His hand stayed there, fiddling around. After a moment, he reached the opposite hand into the opposite pocket. He felt around for a second, pulling his hands out and placing them on his hips. His content expression was replaced by one that was much more panicked.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s the matter?”

“I…I forgot my wallet back at my house. Do you take any online payment?”

You shook your head.

“No, sorry. We're old school. That's alright though, I can put these to the side and you can run home and get your wallet.”

He let out a frustrated sigh in response, angry more at himself than anything else.

“That's the thing. I live thirty minutes from here and I’m meeting my mum in fifteen minutes, and I have specific instructions to be on time. I might just…”

He stopped his sentence, paused, and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’ll find something else. Thanks for all your help, though. You have a gift.”

You caught the sincerity behind his now bitter tone, and it made your heart ache. He turned to leave and took a few steps forward. You didn't process that you had said anything until his reaction.

“Wait.”

He immediately stopped in his tracks and turned around, and you realized your impulses led you to call out for him even though you had no plan whatsoever.

Biting at your lower lip, you thought of an idea. You genuinely wanted to help this man give his mother flowers… The fact you found him attractive was merely an added bonus. Besides, the pity you felt for him overrode that. Once the metaphorical light bulb lit above your head, you spoke again, leaning in closer and lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Okay, I’m not supposed to do this, and this definitely isn't a good business practice, but I can tell you're not just doing this to steal flowers from me, so I’ll make an exception.”

He leaned in as well with a look of intrigue. You continued to explain.

“You can take the bouquet for now, and then within… I don't know, two days, you have to pay me back. I’d just need a name and phone number so I can contact you if you don't show up.”

You snatched one of your business cards from the display and flipped it over so the blank side faces upwards, leaving a pen in front of you so he could write. He picked up the ballpoint, seemingly scribbled for a moment, and then slid the card back over to you. Written in surprisingly beautiful handwriting, you read his name aloud.

“Andrew… Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“I know.”

This caught you off guard. For a second you wondered if maybe you did accidentally give a free bouquet to a shady guy.

“Excuse me?”

Andrew’s mouth went agape as he realized the connotation behind what he said, and he quickly muttered an explanation, flustered. “Oh my god! No. Not like that. You… your name tag.”

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, and you gave him a nod.

“Right. Forgot that was there for a second. Alright, take your bouquet. Happy birthday to your mother. And remember, two days.”

He gave you a gesture showing his gratitude, pressing his hands together.

“Thank you. So much. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.” He said, grabbing the bouquet.

“Hopefully with money in two days,” you joked.

He let out a laugh.

“Money would do the trick. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

You watched as he left, the smile of your face growing as you noticed his appreciation of the flowers you had arranged by the doorway. He paused for a moment before opening the door and leaving, and you caught him humming a tune you'd never heard before.

You hoped he would come back much sooner rather than later.

[ickytreats]

Black Friday? No. Free use little girl for the day.

My poor cunnie would be a wreck after.

Being woken up in the middle of the night by Little Bro fucking me. He couldn't even wait till morning as he needily pound my cunnie. He can never wait and is more spoiled than me. Even after he cums he keeps fucking me like a bunny in heat.

Once I wake up in the morning, I'm pulled into a kiss by Big Sis telling me good morning. Pinned to the wall she holds a tight grip on my neck while kissing me. Pushing me to my knees and making me give her head, I'm not allowed to get up and start my day until she cums making me gag on her cock as I swallow it all.

Next is Big Brother, he calls me down into his old room and I'm roughly pinned to the floor. He was always so mean when this day came. Like he's been pent up all year, spanking my bottom as he fucks me. Making sure to leave all the marks and bruises he can. Even making me cry a little, doesn't even take me to the bed. All the family enjoys this day but Big Bro makes sure to show it.

Lying in the living room tired from Big Bro. Mom makes her way over and says nothing as she grabs the remote. I go to argue but she's lifting her dress and sitting on my face, telling me she just needs a break. Making me spend the whole movie between her legs. My face was covered in cum by the end as she gets up with shaky legs and a content smile.

Each of them having another turn before bedtime. I'm in my room finally relaxing when Dad comes in quietly finally home from work. Cooing at me being able to tell I’m tired from the day but he wants his turn. Spreads my legs and kisses my poor sensitive cunnie taking a few licks before positioning himself. I’m whining but he shushes me, kissing me as he fucks me. Once he's done he pulls away telling me how I was such a good girl for him.

There were still 2 hours on the clock, I think I was done but Dad didn't move. My door opens again and it's the family walking in and surrounding us. I wasn't done, they weren't finished. Dad tells me that I need to keep being a good girl as his thrusts start up again. Big Sis comes over to sit on my face making me once again choke on her cock. As Mom gets ready to Eiffel Tower Big and Little Bro.

We only Did it once a year but they loved it. Maybe they could convince me to do it for other holidays when I visit…

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I know you? Part 2

Jason Todd X Reader

Synopsis: Jason, not Red Hood, “checks” on you. Cue the shortest/ longest conversation you have had with the man.

Or in other words, is this flirting?

Notes: There is no planned plot for this if anyone can tell. Just running on vibes.

Your presumption of a long night was regrettably accurate. The annoyance of it all makes you want to chuck your alarm against the wall. But alas, being an adult mattered more and you need money, so work it is. You pray for it to be a busy day so you can forget your embarrassment from the night before.

Clocking into work makes you confident in the fact that it will be busy. You slide into your routine as a waitress at Jackie’s Books and Coffee, greeting customers and delivering drinks and pastries to them. You chat with a few of the regulars as they come in, and you listen as they yap about their lives. As you make another round, you greet another regular.

His name was Jason and that’s all you really knew. He wasn’t like many of the other customers who liked to talk about anything and everything to you. He usually only got coffee and read a book. The one time he did actually talk to you was when you mentioned you had never read a Jane Austen book. It was like that was the only thing that mattered in the world. He ranted at you for 15 minutes about it and you didn’t have the heart to step away. He was cute when he was passionate.

He sat down at his usual table and pulled out a book. You went to work with his order, he always got the same thing. You sat the cup in front of him and asked, “What’s the book for the day?”

You try to glance at the cover but find the front cover blank, a fancy hardcover. Not finding the answer there you meet his gaze to wait for his response. You're startled for a moment by the familiarity of his features. Of course, his features were familiar to you, he was a regular but there was something different this time around. A scar on his lip and his cheek-

“Dracula” your thoughts are cut off by his voice, suddenly strangely familiar too, and you focus in on the conversation.

You smile, “I actually have read that one.”

You are half tempted to add, might be better than Jane Austen, but you decided you still want to work for the next half hour. You settle on, “Hollywood definitely got that one wrong, so much for the undead being sexy.” You joke.

His laugh comes out a little startled and you’re proud of the accomplishment. He usually looks so sullen in his corner booth, although that might just be because he’s so focused on his book.

“I don’t know, Hollywood might be onto something.” He says it like it’s an inside joke, but you feel like you missed the punchline.

“Maybe,” you say with a polite laugh, “Did you want anything else?” you ask.

He shakes his head. Not a huge shocker, he never wants anything but his drink and his book.

“Just let me know if you do.” You walk away slowly as you try to push down the weird familiar feeling you’re having all of a sudden. You check in with a few customers and, with a lull in commotion you settle into a chair next to the register. Bless Jackie for having one, your feet slowly starting to ache as the end of your shift draws near. Darla, one of the other waitresses comes to stand close to you. She leans in with a conspiratory look.

“So, you get his number?” she questions, her Gothamite accent heavy. Your head whips to look at her and you almost knock noses.

“What?” you try to keep your tone neutral, but your tone pitches up. Her lips twist into a grin and you’d think it evil if you didn’t already know her. Darla was nearly 50 years old, and she reminded you of a self-proclaimed “Fun Aunt” who liked to be in on all the gossip and had no sense of personal space. She had been goading you to date someone, anyone, just so she could be all up in your business. Because according to her, you were the most boring person she’d ever met.

“The hottie, did you get his number?” she asks again as she pulls out a compact mirror to brush some fly-aways from her face.

“First of all, I still don’t know who you’re talking about.” You do but that’s neither here nor there. “Second, you can’t just call customer’s Hotties, Darla, that weird.”

She scoffs and snaps her compact closed. “All right, Scarface over there. Did you get his number?”

You practically jump at her to cover her mouth. “Darla!”

She pushes your hand away with a grin. “Don’t worry Baby doll. It makes him look hot in a rugged way.”

“Darla, I swear-“you're cut off by a throat clearing. You turn to see a college student awkwardly waiting at the register. Your face flushes and you drop your hands from Darla and through on a customer service smile.

“Hi, sorry about that. How can I help you?” You manage to stay away from Darla for the rest of your shift, checking on customers probably more than necessary.  It's 5 o’clock when your shift finally ends. You brush by Darla to clock out and she follows you.

“You gonna answer my question or not?” Ever persistent for an older woman.

“No, Darla, I did not get Jason’s number” You pointedly use his name, so she won’t use Scarface or Hottie again.

“Oh, First name basis.” She teases.

You roll your eyes and pull off your apron to hang it up. You turn and look at her.

“Goodbye Darla,” you say sweetly with a too cheesy smile. It's her turn to roll her eyes as she goes back to work. You collect your purse and jacket and head for the front door of the shop. The early fall weather not having kicked in yet, you carry your jacket on your arm. Focused on pulling your purse over your head, you nearly run into a mass.

“Oh Sorry,” you say as you take a step back.

“No, you’re okay. I shouldn’t have bullied my way in front of you.” A deep voice speaks. You look up and meet blue-green eyes. Jason.

“I hardly think someone so passionate about Jane Austen could do any Bullying” You see Jason flush a little at the comment but don’t say anything. He holds the front door open for you. You thank him as you hurriedly shuffle through the open door. He follows you out onto the warm sidewalk. Assuming your conversation is done you head down the sidewalk with your arms crossed in front of you holding your jacket. As you walk you become very conscious of the man next to you. You glance at him curiously but don’t comment.

You take your time walking with him silently. You're not in a rush to get home, darkness still a few hours away. You should be worried. You’re not though. Jason has never struck you as a bad guy. Call it energy or vibe or what have you (ranting about Jane Austen). He just wasn’t bad. Intimidating? Yes, but not bad. As you walk you give some subtle side glances. He was very… Large. You didn’t know how else to describe him. Nearly a whole head taller than you and muscular. Yeah, he could definitely pick you up and carry you. You flush, not that that mattered. Your eyes get drawn back to his face. You know those scars; you swear up and down that it's not just because he’s a regular. They’ve never stuck out to you like this, and you can’t figure out why. In your (not so) subtle side-eye, you meet his gaze. He’s already smiling at you, but you don’t linger on it dropping your gaze to the concrete.

“Heading home?” He asks, tilting his head toward you.

You look up to meet his gaze, intense in the stare and unsure if he's just like that or dissecting you. This is the longest amount of time you’ve spent actually near him without tending to customers.

“Uh, yeah?” you ask yourself. Of course, you're going home; where else would you go? But why would you tell him that? You don’t think Jason would do anything bad to you; he is still, at most, an acquaintance, and you don’t really know him. (Not that it matters considering you let a literal stranger into your home the night before.) If he senses your hesitation and worry, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I wish I was.” He admits but quickly adds on, “Going to my home, not yours. That would be weird, I don’t really know you.” His voice drops quieter as he trails off. He rubs at the back of his neck, a light flush on his cheeks. The man in a flustered state must give you some courage.

“Yeah, that would be weird,” you tease, “Although maybe not a bad thing.” You quiet for a moment and think is this good flirting?

“If you're not going home, then where are you going?” You ask both curious about the answer and if it’ll explain why he's still walking with you.

His flush darkens and he mumbles for a moment and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Leather Jacket…

“Family required dinner,” he says it like it’s the worst thing in the entire world, sitting next to nuclear weapons and climate change.

“That sounds fun” You try to keep a neutral tone because a family dinner does sound fun, to you, but he, apparently, thinks otherwise.

“Oh, loads of it,” he says with a scowl.

You decide a variety of things at that moment. First, he was unfairly attractive. Scowling should not look that good. Second, you want to stop him from scowling, a sadness sitting just behind his eyes. Thirdly, Darla was, unfortunately, correct. You should get this guy's number.

“at least tell me there's dessert.” You ask teasingly. Your inquiry is enough to chase away the scowl and you smile at the fact.

“Only the best homemade cookies in existence” he responds with a smile.

“At least there's something good.” You slow your walk as you come to the corner where your apartment building sits. You don’t want to give away that you live here, but you don’t want to start wandering around the streets of Gotham with him either. As it turns out, your overthinking is unnecessary.

“This is me.” He states as he walks to a parked motorcycle right in front of the building. You can't help but stare.

“Will you make it home safe all alone?” he asks like he already knows the answer. It takes you a moment to answer, distracted as he pulls a helmet out of the back seat of the bike, preparing to put it on. The leather made more sense now.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, it'll be no problem. I don’t live far.” You gesture further down the street, where you definitely did not live. He nods and smiles knowingly as he slips the helmet on.

“Okay see you later, sweetheart.” He says as he slings a leg over the bike, starting. You stare, again, at the denim of his jeans stretching over his legs nicely. He gives you a wave before taking off down the street, turning a corner. You stand and stare at the spot he had just been for much longer than you should have. You let a quiet “Bye” leave your lips despite him being long gone.

You finally turn around to your apartment building. How convenient that was. You pet one of the stray cats that sit on the steps as you climb them and enter the building, thinking Am I missing something?

Other Note: Thank you for all the love for the first part. It inspired me to keep going. I hope this makes some kind of sense.

[ripeandsoft]

Office Hours

Summary: You’ve been a star pupil in Professor Richmond’s sociology class—always willing to help others, always on time, and you do great work. So when your focus starts to slip he feels he can help you, and you can help him with a dilemma of his own.

A/n: I did make an oc for this fic because I feel awkward using “y/n”, especially in dialogue. Her name is Joya and she has short hair which is mentioned later. This is the longest thing I’ve ever written and I struggled with making the dialogue flow and not seem awkward. Please be gentle with me! 🤍

Content warnings: slight age gap, dubious (consensual!) professor/student relationship, oral, slight public play, penetrative sex, spit, a spank or two, cum eating

—

You stood outside his office doors, trying to see into the frosted glass window of the door. You lifted your right hand to knock gently, knuckled rasping against the cool glass. The sound of the brass knob turning made you stand up straight, the weight of your bag straining on your shoulder. The door swung open and his wide frame took up most of the door way. His tie was loose around his neck, the first few buttons open. He pulled his right hand from the pocket of his slacks to usher you in with two fingers, closing the door behind you and flipping the lock.

“I noticed that you’ve been distracted in class recently. Is there anything that I can help you with to get you back on track?” Terry leaned his elbows on the desk, muscles flexing with movement. Your eyes moved around the room to avoid his gaze. Neutral colored clay pots, books, pens, the occasional plant, and notes were scattered around his office. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the window spreading warmth throughout the room. You played with the rips of your jeans, twirling the frayed edges of fabric around your finger. Realizing you’ve been quiet for a beat you open your mouth to speak but close it again when nothing comes out.

“I’ve, um, just been distracted with other classes and volunteering around campus” You said with a nod, trying to appear more out together even though you felt like you were gonna melt into your shoes. You droned on about your other classes and picking up volunteer work to help with build up your portfolio. Terry listened intently as you explained the situation, his eyes boring into yours as you spoke. It wasn’t the best excuse but it’s better than telling your professor that you’ve been dreaming of him fucking you senseless. You began to sweat, the combination of the sun and Terry’s eyes on you made you feel like you were burning up. You glanced at the clock and swallowed the spit accumulating beneath your tongue.

“I understand Joya, really I do, but this upcoming presentation is worth a good amount of your grade. I have resources that can help you, study rooms in the library to reserve, tutoring help, office hours even. I hope you haven’t been wearing yourself thin” Terry stood and walked around the front of his desk and leaned against it. Your eyes snapped up to his face, his close proximity making his scent waft up your nose. Sweet like coffee and earthy like sandalwood. “Oh no I’m fine” you shook your head as you stood up, feeling like you’re overstaying your welcome and teetering on the tightrope of danger. You snatched your bag from off the floor, slinging it haphazardly over your shoulder and starting to walk towards the door. You heard Terry huff before his steps sounded behind you. His hand was on your shoulder and pulling you back into his chest before you could reach the doorknob.

Your breath was caught in your chest. You felt the print of his dick against his slacks, starting the harden against the curve of your ass. “Sit down Joya” He spoke in your ear, his tone leaving no room for argument. When he noticed you going for the chair again he nudged it to the side to stop you in your tracks. He nodded towards the desk. You backed up slowly until your thighs felt the cold wood. You sat yourself on the cold surface, plucking a pen from under your thigh. He came to stand between your parted thighs, thick index finger lifting your chin up so your eyes meet his.

“What was our topic of discussion last Tuesday?” He asked, finger tracing down your throat and chest, a trail of goosebumps left in its wake. You left out a soft breath before speaking. “Moral and ethical dilemmas” You responded, thighs shaking as his finger continued its trail. “What was one of the examples?” He started to place kisses on your neck, lips soft and warm against you. “Age gaps in mmm relationships” You sighed through your sentence, eyes flutter closed as he sucked on the skin above where your pulse thumped. He hummed as he pulled your shirt off in one swift motion. The fat of your tits spilled from the fabric of your bra, all the more enticing for his teeth to skink into.

“Take these off” He ordered, tugging on the loop of your jeans. Terry reached for his shirt, buttons opening without resistance. You shimmied out of your jeans and panties, the fabric joining your shirt in a heap on the floor. Terry leaned down to kiss you, giving you just a few pecks at first. His hand settled on the back of your head, his fingers nestled in your short curls. His tongue massaged yours gently, tasting your day off your tongue. Your nipples found a home between his thumb and index fingers, his digits rolling and pinching them. You arched into his touch, skin on fire with need.

You were pushed to lay flat on his desk, his hand across your belly. He pulled the hood of your swollen clit up to expose you more, the throbbing bud at his mercy. Terry licked a stripe from your hole up to your clit to gather your essence on his tongue. His spit it back onto your pussy before sucking your clit into his mouth, making you squeal. Your thighs clamped around his head as he continued to eat you. Your hole clenched around nothing as he brung your hips closer to his face, burying his tongue deep inside you.

With your hands pressed flat on the desk you tried to scoot away from your professor. Hot pleasure sizzled in deep inside your belly, orgasm building with each stroke of his tongue. Your eyes rolled back as you came in Terry’s waiting mouth. He hummed against you as you flooded his tongue. He rubbed your thighs to help soothe you, gently bringing you down from your high. The clicks of his belt coming off and hitting the ground made you lean up on your elbows. You watched as he kicked his pants off and to the side.

He scooped you up into his arms and placed you on your feet, turning you around to bend you over his desk. He rubbed his leaking tip around your clit before sliding his shaft between your folds. He jerked himself with his right hand, spreading your juices and his precum all over his dick. The shuffling of feet coming down the hallway made you look up, eyes wide in fear. Terry hand came down to spank your ass two times, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as your skin stung from the impact. “Be quiet for me, you don’t want us to get caught right?” He asked, sliding in your wet pussy inch by inch. You exhaled all the air you had as he bottomed out, balls pressed against your clit.

You both were still, pussy stretched and leaking around him. His veins pulsated along your walls. He set a slow pace, digging as deep as he could. His tip brushed against your spot just right, your mouth open in silent moans as he worked you open. Terry threw his head back as he continued to thrust, his balls full and tight. He pressed you harder onto the desk, your arch growing deeper as his pace picked up. Was it wrong to fuck your student? Yes absolutely. Did you feel better than anyone else? Yes abso-fucking-lutely.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, feeling himself about to burst. Your body was buzzing, goosebumps erupting over your skin as you start to fuck back to meet his thrusts. “Inside Professor, please” You moaned, nails scratching at the wood surface of the desk, searching for stability. His balls started to slap hard against your clit, his hand resting on your hip clutching you tighter. He gave you one more pump before he started to flood your pussy, pulsating and twitching inside you as his load leaked out of you and onto the desk. You came again once you felt him empty himself inside you, a ring of white cream wrapped around the base of him.

He pulled out of you slowly, your walls hugging him tight like they didn’t want to let him go. He watched as his cum rolled out of you, pooling under your pussy. He leaned down to lick you clean before grabbing you by the back of your neck, tilting your head back so he could spit it into you mouth.

“Swallow” He said, closing your mouth for you.

[andromeddog]

Oooo jumping off the previous anon ask, do you have any websites/books that good for reference that you’d recommend?? Or is a simple Google search/going from there good enough to start with

I’ve always been interested in uniforms n stuff but idk where/how to actually FIND info (especially for accuracy) but idk if Wikipedia/Google is the best for that lol

i’ve talked about this (here) and (here) before, but i will elaborate a bit more (a lot more) for you!

again my first response is to ask, what kind of uniform are u looking for? bc there’s just more info on some types than others. like, ww2 american paratroopers? sooo so so much stuff out there, maybe bc there was a wildly successful miniseries that is often listed as one of the best tv shows ever made and it mythologized the paratroopers and now everyone has a big ol boner for them and their uniforms and you can’t got two searches deep without tripping over those jump boots (said w all the love in my heart). but that being said, sometimes just a google search is enough!

this is where being familiar w each of the components of the uniform comes in handy. like oh damn i need ref of that one specific small pouch the marines have on their guns, what was that called?? oh duh it’s a carbine butt stock pouch, sometimes they wore it on their belt, i can just google that and get the exact result i want

buutttttt sometimes the online sources/pics u get are undated/unlabeled, and you have to piece together what ur looking at based on ur own knowledge of a uniform. this is especially true the older you go, and ive run into this issue with ww1 stormtrooper uniforms specifically, where you don’t have an exact date and u have to be like “welllllll i can’t be 100% sure if this is from early or late war, if this is german or austrian, but it’s close enough to what i need and i can’t find any other source that even comes close and ive spent four hours looking so im going to use this” and then you get someone in ur dms like “well actually 🧐 they didn’t wear those specific suspenders/have that patch on their uniforms/use that limited issue pouch in this theater” and then you feel kind of silly. but it’s like damn dude i spent hours looking for ref and found the only like five jpegs still remaining of this uniform pls cut me some slack. ig this is just me saying that i dont get it right all the time and inevitably there will be someone out there who has a better grasp on it and will clock your tiny error from 200 yards

to stop my pointless rambling and actually get to your question, google is a pretty good place to start but u gotta know what to be looking for. wikipedia can b helpful for kind of an intro/getting names of items. pinterest is a big one for me, i mostly like that you can save pics and organize them. i’d also check out reenactment websites/forums; those guys are dedicated to being 100% accurate and can also provide some good action shots. youtube is also a resource that i forget exists haha. following artists who are into that kind of shit, taking notes from the uniforms they draw (careful w this one, as i said earlier even ppl who draw uniforms a lot still mess up occasionally). honestly any big website is bound to have some military history enjoyers and so u can do a general search and see what comes up, that can help point to users/a community that will often have their own sources/discussions that can be helpful. ive said it before but watching movies/shows about the specific era ur looking for is great, you can see how a uniform sits and moves with a person 👍

also books! there isn’t a single catch all book for uniforms, again (again) it’s all by era/country you’re looking for. ebay is GREAT for finding super specific books on topics only you and five other people care about. sometime u can get lucky at an old used book store but that’s a real gamble and only happens veryyyyyy rarely hahah

i always use these sorts of references in tandem and double check to be sure, i swear i have like 12 tabs open and two books open per drawing just so i can get everything as close to accurate as i can. but like ive said im kind of obsessive about details (negative) and can’t be chill about anything ever. what a super cool and very practical skill set that makes me very popular amongst my peers and interests everyone once i have two beers and won’t shut up about it

ending this with my standard “did any of this make sense?” i’m going to turn on my computer now and spend the next eight hours staring at reference pics and drawing my silly little war boys have a great day everyoneeeeeeeee

[obstinatecondolement]

I did a quick 15 minute portrait to get me over the line of having drawn for 60 minute today, and it was reasonably okay until I did the eyes. I'm not showing it to the internet, because I'm not a masochist, but how comically shit it looks has really cheered me up. Nowhere to go but up, lol.

[altoskh]

Imso tired man. I'm so tired. Why do I work this hard I am so FUCKING over this shit

[vitamin-zeeth]

Just had to third wheel for like 10 hours today if I see a single romantic "___ bf X ___ gf" post ever again I'm going to blow up a building

[asciidot]

If i did not have insomnia i would be unstoppable

[sysig]

It’s finally happening

I’m finishing TAZ: Balance tonight

[kawaiianimeredhead]

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[icewindandboringhorror]

Well! I started remodeling the house sooo long ago (original post of it back in 2018), then got distracted and forgot it in the closet for a long time, ignored it on and off, etc... Then, finally finished the house in 2022. THEN, I forgot about the pictures I took of it in 2022, and am now posting them in 2024.. A good example of how the timeline of my side craft projects usually go lol

But, at least I do have the photos now, so... finally sharing them ! 

I just used a blue sheet as a 'sky' and a green sweater with some fake flowers on it to try to look like it was on grass lol...

(more images under the readmore)

The bedroom-

The library/potion room -

The living room area-

Then the little kitchen

The pictures are not very good, but these are the best I could find? I filmed a video of me working on the whole thing (who knows when that will be out..if it took me TWO years just to post the photos lol), so I think while I was taking the pictures, I was thinking “eh, they don’t have to be great, since I’ll show it in more detail in the video :3″, but now I kind of regret not having more actual detail shots or anything.

(sidenote: I'm pretty sure I've posted better pictures of some of the individual rooms before though too? sometime before I had added the finishing touches but when they were basically done and looked almost the same as these. so maybe it's okay that these are kind of bad lol)

I think progress on it also stalled a bit due to the pandemic starting, since like 90% of the stuff in here is random things I found at the bins (giant goodwill donation center where you dig through tubs of various items all thrown together), so once I couldn’t go out to the bins anymore, I lost my method of hunting for new items, and just had to work with whatever scraps I already had or could make myself with very few materials/tools.  The bins is a really large and always crowded place, so it's still not safe for me to go with current community transmission levels lol... who knows when I shall be able to use it to get dirt cheap crafting supplies ever again.. T o T

ANYWAY! It was a fun little project, even though of course it's a little rough around the edges and not exactly as I'd envisioned lol. As usual, I always enjoy the MAKING of things the most, yet then have no idea what to do with the finished project, since the process is what's enjoyable to me.

I think I'm going to take all the glued down furniture out of it and then repaint it, then maybe donate the base house back to the same thrift store I found it at. Like completing some sort of crafting circle of life or something lol

slowly making some progress on the doll house I’m trying to remodel! 

[limewatt]

uegh the sleeping pills i take sometimes do indeed do a good job at making me fall asleep, but upon waking up i feel like i’ve been hit by a truck. or like i’ve been asleep for 4 days instead of 4 hours