#cheap solid wood flooring

[touchwoodfloorings]

Touchwood’s FAQ Series: Why We Are the Leading Wooden Flooring Company in India

When it comes to enhancing the beauty of your home or office with durable and elegant flooring, Touchwood Floorings stands as the best wood flooring company in India. With years of experience, we specialize in offering a wide range of flooring solutions that meet diverse needs and preferences. In this blog, we answer some of the most frequently asked questions (FAQs) about our products and services, focusing on why Touchwood is your go-to choice for wooden flooring in Delhi and beyond.

1. How much does solid wood flooring cost?

The wooden flooring price in Delhi can vary depending on the type of wood, design, and finish you choose. On average, solid wood flooring costs between ₹200 to ₹500 per square foot. Solid wood flooring company in Delhi, like Touchwood, offers a range of options that can suit both your budget and aesthetic needs.

2. What wood flooring is best?

The best type of flooring depends on your needs. For durability and elegance, hardwood flooring in Delhi is an excellent choice. For those looking for something with more flexibility and budget-friendly options, laminate wood flooring in Delhi is a popular choice. Touchwood offers both solid wood and engineered wood solutions to meet every need.

3. How do I choose solid wood flooring?

When choosing solid wood flooring, consider the wood species, the finish, and the type of installation you prefer. Hardwood floor service in Delhi like ours helps guide you in selecting the right flooring based on your space, usage, and personal taste. From oak to maple, we help you find the perfect match.

4. Is solid wood flooring good?

Yes! Solid wood flooring is an excellent investment for homes and offices. It’s known for its durability and timeless appeal. Whether it’s installed in living rooms or high-traffic areas, it can last for generations when properly maintained. For those in Delhi, hardwood floor installation service Delhi provides expert installation for lasting beauty and performance.

5. How much does hardwood flooring cost in India?

6. Which hardwood is best for flooring?

The best hardwood flooring is typically made from oak, maple, or walnut. These hardwoods are durable, moisture-resistant, and available in various finishes. At Touchwood, we offer a selection of high-quality hardwoods for your flooring needs, including those perfect for Herringbone Flooring in Delhi, a popular choice for sophisticated designs.

7. What flooring is cheaper than hardwood?

If you are looking for a more affordable alternative to hardwood, laminate wood flooring in Delhi is a great choice. It gives you the look of real wood at a lower cost and is easier to maintain. Touchwood provides a wide range of laminate wood flooring in Delhi, ensuring quality at a reasonable price.

8. Which wooden flooring company is best in India?

Touchwood Floorings is recognized as the best wooden flooring company in India due to our years of experience, high-quality materials, and expert installation services. Whether you need Herringbone Flooring company in Delhi or Solid Wood Flooring company in Delhi, we have you covered.

9. How much is 1000 square feet of laminate flooring?

The cost of laminate flooring varies based on the type and finish. Typically, laminate flooring costs between ₹50 and ₹150 per square foot in India. For laminate wood flooring contractor in Delhi, you can expect competitive prices at Touchwood, with a variety of textures and finishes to choose from.

10. Is laminate flooring cheaper than wood?

11. How much does laminate wooden flooring cost per sq ft in India?

Laminated wooden flooring generally costs between ₹40 and ₹120 per square foot in India. The cost depends on the brand, texture, and finish you choose. Touchwood provides quality laminate wood flooring in Delhi at affordable prices that match your needs.

12. Is wood laminate flooring good?

Yes, wood laminate flooring is good for areas that require a stylish yet low-maintenance option. It’s durable, scratch-resistant, and cost-effective, making it a popular choice for homes and offices. At Touchwood, we offer a wide range of laminate options that are just as stunning as traditional hardwood flooring.

13. What is the engineered wood price?

Engineered wood flooring generally costs between ₹150 to ₹500 per square foot, depending on the material and finish. This is a more affordable option compared to solid wood and offers excellent stability, especially in areas with fluctuating humidity. At Touchwood, we are a trusted engineered wood flooring company in Delhi, offering a range of high-quality engineered wood flooring options.

14. How much does engineered wood floor cost per SF?

The cost of engineered wood flooring typically ranges from ₹150 to ₹400 per square foot. Engineered wood is a great option for homes in humid areas or places where solid wood may not be suitable. As an engineered wood flooring contractor in Delhi, Touchwood ensures the best quality at competitive prices.

15. Is engineered wood flooring expensive?

16. Is artificial grass good for balcony?

Yes, Artificial Grass Flooring in Delhi is an excellent option for balconies. It adds a touch of greenery without the hassle of maintenance, making your outdoor space look fresh and inviting year-round. It’s durable, weather-resistant, and easy to install, making it a perfect choice for enhancing your balcony’s aesthetic.

Touchwood: Your Trusted Partner for All Your Flooring Needs

At Touchwood Floorings, we take pride in offering high-quality wooden flooring solutions across India. Whether you’re looking for Herringbone Flooring service Delhi, hardwood floor installation service Delhi, or Artificial Grass Flooring in Delhi, we ensure that your space is transformed beautifully. With a strong focus on customer satisfaction, we strive to be the best wooden flooring company in India. Explore our services and discover the perfect flooring solution for your home or office today.

Visit our website for more information: Touchwood Floorings

[yikesharringrove]

Steve and Billy furniture shopping for their first apartment and Billy keeps measuring the kitchen tables heights and like pushing on them to test their strength and Steves like what are you doing? and billy, as he finds the right table, just licks his teeth and says i guess youll have to find out

Billy hadn't been picky about any of the other furniture in their new place.

He barely voiced on opinion on the bedframe, and only picked one second-hand couch over another because he said it had better ass feel. He didn't care which chairs they got for the dining room (mismatched ones) or that the dresser for their bedroom was the ugliest shade of babyshit yellow ever seen by human eyes.

But for some fucking reason, he cared way too much about the goddamn dining room table.

"Billy, this one's fine." Sure, it was a little flimsy. Definitely not real solid wood, but that was good. That was within their budget. It sat eight people and would be perfect for DnD campaigns, what more could they ask for?

"We just need to keep looking. It's not right."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"We've been to every single thrift store within a twenty-mile radius, this one is fine."

Billy pressed on the table again, shoving it around. It scraped against the floor, causing several people to whip their heads around to see who made the horrible screeching.

Steve was fucking mortified.

"God, if you don't like this one, then let's just go."

"Hang on, shithead." Billy rounded the table, pressing against the next one in the same way. He was standing at the head of it, feeling how high it came up against his thigh, pushing and knocking on it. "I like this one."

Yeah. The expensive one. The one that says it's solid oak and costs four times as much as the other one.

"Billy, no."

"No, Stevie. This is it. This is the one." And he looked Steve dead in the eye, and thrust his hips ever so slightly against the table. "This'll do nicely."

"What do you even mean by that? What are you doing?"

He looked Steve up and down, checking him out in that insatiable way that always makes Steve a little bit hard and a little bit sweaty.

"You'll have to find out."

He grinned at Steve, licking over his teeth, and moving past him to flag down an employee, shoulder-checking Steve on his way past because he knows Steve likes being knocked around a little bit.

-

Billy was nearly attacking him the second they heaved the table up the two flights of stairs, and wrestled it through the doorway into their apartment.

It was two bedroom, with cheap laminate floors throughout. It didn't have AC, the shower was a joke, and the kitchen was minuscule, but it was all theirs.

The had decided the smaller bedroom would be a good dining space. It was right off the main living area, with large double doors. Steve had been hoping for a space to bring their friends over. To cook for them and have game nights.

And apparently, Billy had been hoping for this.

"Bend over the table."

Steve grabbed a fistful of blond hair, tugging Billy back to glare at him.

"You absolute psycho! Did you seriously make us buy a giant table we can't afford, just so you can fuck me on it?"

Billy narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, please. Like you don't have some little housewife fantasy. Making me dinner and setting the table all nice. Letting me fuck you while our food gets cold."

"That was one roleplay."

Steve rolled his eyes as hard as he could.

And bent over the table.

[acapelladitty]

Captain Boomerang/Female Reader - Breathless

Summary - During a fuck session, Digger wraps his arm around your throat.

His stiff forearm snakes its way around your neck and you moan while tilting your head back to give him easier access as your cunt clenches around his cock. He's like a force of nature, intense strength pinning you to the floor in such a way that you can feel him encasing your body like a beer-soaked cocoon - the scent of sweat cheap cologne strong as hell.

"Digger-" You wheeze out, his skin slapping against your own rhythmically as he hollows you out - his thick cock battering against your cervix with such a delicious discomfort that you can't help but shudder under the insatiable heat of his body.

Forearm now pressing roughly against your throat, he flexes the muscles there - hard and as unyielding as wood - and immediately you find your air supply being cut off by the pressure. It's euphoric and your body struggles against the loss of air as your cunt squeezes desperately around his cock as you strain to take in a solid breath.

"So fucking tight, doll." Digger growls, the words slurred and panting due to his exertion. "Fuck, if ya squeeze any tighter I think you'll chop it off. Fucking hell." He draws the final word out into a growl.

He lets up just enough to allow fresh air to flood your lungs as you cough and splutter, throat burning from the sudden onslaught of abuse even as you push back frantically against his punishing cock.

"More." You groan out weakly, hand scrambling behind your back to grip at his hand as it presses harshly against your lower back - keeping you mercilessly pinned.

"Fuck." He slurs out, dipping down until his blunted teeth press against the curve of your shoulder and you feel him bite down, a delicious ache spreading from the mark as the muscles there twitched. "I'm gonna tear you apart - can feel it," Digger speaks almost brokenly as his forearm grows stiff against your throat once more, "the stretch."

Unable to speak as the lack of oxygen rushes in your ears with the churning violence of an uneasy ocean, it's enough to push you over the edge and you come around his cock. Cunt spasming, your blurred vision dances dangerously for a second as a choked scream of pleasure is strangled by his arm - his own bestial grunts replacing the weakly squeaking sound.

Buried fully within you, he loosens his grip as you start to come down from your release; the mess of your cunt mixing with his pre-cum to leak down your thighs as you shudder and twitch in place.

"Don't get too relaxed, baby." You can hear the smirk in his words as Digger's hands instead grip themselves onto the flesh of your hips as he anchors you to his body, giving no possible room for escape. "I'm still cracking a fat and I'm gonna ruin ya for any other poor bastard."

Already feeling the beginnings of overstimulation making your cunt feel heated, you groan out a pathetic noise which pitches into a whine as his hips start up their punishing pace once more.

[theyjusthowl]

WIP Monday

I'm trying out a new thing to be more consistent with my writing, so maybe my beta won't have to wait a month for the next installment of this WIP from hell.

I'm currently working on a Sterek longfic that somehow got away from me and is now 50k of pure hurt/comfort, and this is one of my favorite scenes, so cue the angst.

---

Lydia says, “We could use a place of our own.”

Her gaze hungrily prowls around Derek’s loft like it’s Versailles, as sterile and empty as it looks. The cheap pieces of sparse furniture he bought to appease Stiles back when they were together remain the only clue that this space has been lived in.

She knows his bedroom is still presided by a bare mattress and a busted alarm system.

Peter hears, “Derek could use a place for himself.”

His mind helpfully supplies, one that’s not littered with phantoms.

Isaac broaches the subject with Derek, one morning, in the small office space of the warehouse, as Derek works on an invoice.

“All I’m saying, Derek, is that the pack could benefit from a bigger place,” he says, towering over the desk. “I could move back in if we had enough room for everyone. You don’t have to sell the loft, you’re still running your business from here so maybe turn it into a decent office space?” He moves his arm in a sweeping motion. “This is still a great headquarters. Keep a guest bedroom in case you end up working late.”

Derek nods. He thinks of the key he gave Stiles, two years ago, the last time he asked him to not to leave them behind.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to Peter, see if he can find a plot of land that’s to his liking.” He stacks a thin ream of papers on top of a folder, closes it and stands. He files it away in a cabinet behind him and looks at Isaac. “Are we done?”

Isaac leaves the warehouse triumphant.

Peter donates the Hale property to Beacon County to do as they please, on the condition that no private businesses are to be raised on the extensive terrains. They set up a few cabins for lost campers and a small wildlife shelter. Scott is more than happy to volunteer as often as college will allow; Isaac fixes a coyote’s paw after the animal stepped on a pine needle and tells the whole pack approximately twenty times before Derek snarls half-heartedly to stop, for fuck’s sake.

The Sheriff finds a parcel, just fifteen minutes from the western border of the preserve, and it’s not exactly Beacon Hills but it isn’t anywhere else either and still within the county limits, which is apparently relevant for werewolf politics. He makes sure to push forward the copious amounts of red tape and Jackson hooks them up with a magnificently expensive and completely booked contractor, probably under duress. He’s still hell bent on crawling back into Lydia’s good graces. They raise the pale, solid bones of the house in two weeks.

It’s still three more months of plaster and tiles and wood boards and hanging wires before the smooth walls wrap around the house. They’re bare, but the light shines through the windows and bathes the stark white rooms and the sandy floorboards in a warm glow. Cora stands in the middle of the foyer, right under the big skylight, and imagines the first full moon run starting and ending right there.

Lydia commandeers Derek’s soccer mom SUV a little too gleefully and Peter side eyes her, unsettled for the first time in many years. She chooses all the furniture, the decorations, the full works, and Derek pays, only mildly infuriated. Scott sends Lydia a few pictures he took during the house works. Isaac is in all of them, front and center. She chooses one of Derek and Isaac going over the blueprints on a makeshift table, with a few workers lifting the first panel off the floor; she wraps it and gives it to him as a housewarming gift and Derek smiles and runs his fingers over the silver carvings and the edge of the frame.

The last screws are tightened into place the first week of June, and Peter brings in a landscaper to finish up the backyard. There’s one room though, and Derek won’t allow anyone in. Isaac thinks it’s a sanctuary, some sort of hideaway. It’s probably full of the stuff that survived the fire and what little he salvaged from Laura’s apartment in New York, and no one gives it further thought. If Derek wants to be left alone, they can only oblige.

The construction crew wraps up just in time for the summer of their third year. Isaac is unrelenting about a housewarming party. Derek acquiesces, on the condition that Cora and Peter tend to the barbeque.

Just about everyone Derek knows drops by: Lydia tells Allison, and she comes with Chris Argent and Melissa McCall, who somehow make it work, despite having the odds stacked against them. She’s been doing diplomatic work, restoring the Argents’ reputation as fair hunters, writing treaties for warring packs. Lydia fawns over the engagement ring on her finger and Scott hugs her warmly, the same old puppy eyes he used to put on for her, but it’s friendly and Derek knows that he’s sincere in his congratulations, genuinely happy that she’s happy. Isaac tackles her the moment he sees her, picks her up in the air and twirls her in a bone crushing hug. They catch up over a beer, Isaac casually leaning on Scott, with that unaffected demeanor of his. Scott’s hand wanders, subtly scenting Isaac. Isaac’s eyes go soft. Allison smiles and nods and hugs them both.

They’re all out back, milling around the yard. Derek watches on as he grabs two beers from the fridge. One for him, one for the Sheriff. Over the years, they’ve come to a quiet understanding, one reserved for family. Derek calls him Noah now. Noah is still convinced that they’re just one tiny hiccup away from being family. Derek’s not so sure. He entertains him, though, and more importantly, doesn’t pester him about his eating habits.

He leaves through the kitchen and finds Noah talking to Melissa, hands him his beer. They talk about the Mets’ performance, Derek nods along enthusiastically. Then they switch to cars; Melissa’s old sedan has finally given up and she’s looking to buy. Noah tells her he knows just the guy and claps Derek’s back, laughing.

When the initial bustle winds down a bit, Derek offers to do a house tour for Noah.

“They’ve all seen it, helped build and decorate,” he explains offhandedly. “Isaac’s moving in next week.”

He walks Noah through the kitchen, the living room, the study on the ground floor. He points to the basement door offhandedly. “It’s empty now, but we’ll find a use for it. Let’s show you upstairs.”

The upper floor consists of an open space that overlooks the foyer, and a corridor littered with doors. Derek points towards them. “Plenty of room for everyone up here. Peter insisted. Extended packs live together,” he explains.

Derek stays behind while the Sheriff ventures into the room to the far right end of the corridor. The room that’s off-limits to everyone else.

The walls are painted a soft shade of slate gray, with a white upper trim. To the left, a double door awaits, wide open, leading to the master bath. There is no back wall, just a continuum of floor to ceiling glass panels overlooking a deck that wraps around the corner of the building and continues behind the right-hand wall. In the distance, the woods get denser. The view is breath-taking and the sun shines high in the sky. It’s the perfect spot to watch the sunset over the forest.

There is just no furniture. Not a single piece in sight.

“It’s the master bedroom” Noah notes, words carefully measured. “It’s empty.”

Derek chuckles lowly and stares him back bemusedly. “I have no use for it. The architect insisted. He had a vision.”

“He might have been on to something,” Noah says.

He walks further into the room and waits for Derek to join him.

“It’s proofed, I assume.”

Derek nods. “Sound and scent.”

“Ah,” Noah sighs. “That explains that.”

Right there, on the right hand corner, the only clue that this room has a purpose lays in plain sight. There’s a wooden clothes rack. Neatly zipped on a hanger, Stiles’ lacrosse hoodie presides the room. It reads Stilinski, 23, and it looks well worn. The sun coming in through the back wall casts a long shadow on the floor.

(Just as Isaac had suspected, it is, in some ways, a sacred space.)

[crazybooklove-r]

The house

Chapter 1:

✦•┈๑⋅⋯𝓜𝓪𝓮𝓿 ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

late afternoon

1900 words:

The tapping of shoes on the cracked road beneath us, echoing in the wind; bouncing off the desolate buildings we walked past, no life to be seen besides the group I was with. Walking behind them, tension high after an argument I had with john, his anger shown through his heavy steps; the reason for his exaggerated anger is my "unsubordinated stubbornness".

Independence after the pandemic was crucial, after the man-made flu; Simian flu, swept over the countries, the weeks following was chaos. Rioting mobs had broken into the zoos, that were holding the remaining apes; the ones who couldn't escape, began to slaughter them like cattle as a desperate attempt to stop the flu. Besides the rioting, governments started to break down as the death toll rose and the civilization of the human race collapsed.

When I found the settlement, after the last person I loved died, I made a strict rule to keep others at arms length; but the other reason was because I didn't want to be working with these guys, the egotistical rants, and how they are the "special soldiers" for our ever-so-great leader. Liam.

We pass an abandoned house across the other side of the road, the white paint turning a yellow from wear, the garden has overgrown as an attempt to swallow what was left of the house. A circular window, with the glass engraved with a rhombus shape sat above the overgrown green, seemingly like it was battling to stay on top.

Lost in thought, I didn't realize the others had stopped, bumping into a solid back stole my daydreams away; looking up, I could see John staring at me with a glare before turning my way and pushing past me.

"Did the virus also give men an extra boost of testosterone" I mutter to myself whilst looking around. It seemed like everyone was making a way into houses across from each other, I decided to follow in lead and make my way to the house with the rhombus window, the one that stole my attention.

Lining the house, a dirty yellow, spiky fence stood; it had obviously been white until the vegetation and the elements had taken its vibrant colour over time. It seemed like a protector; a barrier, a time capsule. The gate that matched the fence groaned in protest as I opened for access, the wood of the stoop seemed relatively sturdy besides the few holes prominent, but we're easily avoidable. The Wooden door was the only thing stopping me from entering the house, the glass pane, engraved with all sorts of shapes, was cracked but most was left untouched.

I look to my feet, noticing a reddish/brown stain on the wood, blood, I turn the doorknob; luckily unlocked and not stuck. Pushing the door to the point it hits the wall, cringing at the sound its makes, the first thing I see is the large, wooden stairs that go up to second floor, that was once painted white, and a room just to my left. I notice the blood trail leads to the room, following the trail; stepping on newspapers and what was left of the carpet beneath my feet.

The room would have looked comfy and roomy before the world around it collapse, just by how the decorations are placed, I look to the couch; its warn down, red colour matches with the blood, the trail found by the door, it had seemed that whoever was here last had lost a significant amount of blood. A frame was on the floor by one of the fallen cushion, the frame was made of a rich wood; a cheap but a relatively sturdy frame. I pick it up, the frame having a weight to it, wiping the dust that laid over the glass, which protected the picture that the frame captures.

A picture of a man and a small ape, the sun in the picture seemed to beam around them, making them stand out even more, the man sat by the table on a chair, while the tinny ape sat on the table to be face to face. Their bond can be shown through the picture, not of a pet and owner but of a son and father; even with the species difference, the bond defines the natural order of things. Unlatching the back, the picture had writing on its back, it read "My son, Caesar, to who I love with all my heart- Will" . It was heart warming, I hope Will and Caesar survived all of this chaos.

Putting the picture back in the frame, I went back to put the picture onto the fire place, but I couldn't. Something was stopping me, the ape in the picture felt like it was staring at me; forcing me to feel emotions I thought i'd forgotten, carefully putting it in my bag, a small sense of hope in me thought I could find the guy.

I stared at in my bag, curiosity was probably the blame for this but I couldn't bring myself to put it back, maybe it was some sort of a hope of them being alive. Zipping up my bag back up, returning my bag to its original position on my shoulders, I continued my own self tour of the house until I got to the attic of the house.

The attic stairs was all ready down, dust layering each of the wooden stairs, making my way up the stairs, creaking as they are used. The stair-like ladders shook with unsteadiness of each step until I finally make it up the top, the musk smell seemed stronger up here, and a LOT more dusty then down stairs. The room was full of toys, ropes, a hammock, and in the centre a bed, this was definitely the bedroom of the tiny ape in the picture.

Moving towards the bed, I notice a very old cam recorder; I sit on the bed, it's mental frame squeaking in protest, and open the flip on the side, but I'm met with a blue screen. Sighing, I put the cam down on the bed and slouch over, rubbing my hands of the face as disappointment fills me; as I did with the picture frame, I stuff it in my bag and hope I can fix it back when I get to the settlement.

Quickly making my way down the attic stairs, I fold them until they block the attic and to keep it closed, mostly to protect what's left up there. I quickly run down the stairs and make it back onto the street, sparing no glance at the house behind me, as I felt I would of gone back if I saw it again, I make my way to the others. Walking past them, I make sure to push past John before continuing on down the strip of road, covered in orange and brown leaves, and littered with trash.

"I'll just carry on, no point stopping when we have little daylight left, we should get as far as we can before the sun sets. The forest is only two hours away." I called out to john. John glared at me but did not say a word, moving his hand in a shooing motion, very clearly not listening to anything I was saying.

A voice came from behind me, a high pitch annoyance that I knew led to someone I dreaded to even look at. "lets hope you get lost in those woods, it'll do us all a favour" with a childish giggle, I look to see if any of the others were looking this way; surprisingly enough, all busy.

Isabella

Isabella, the bane of my existence, doesn't even know how to survive on her own; if you leave her for even a second, she'll stomp her feet and start winning until she gets her way. I turn to face the banshee, Isabella walks up to me, looking towards john, her blonde hair; brunette roots showing that she wasn't a blonde in the first place; shame. It's out of her normal bun, frizzy and her strappy blue tank top that was pushed way down, showing her obvious use of the 2000s extreme push up bras that have totally gone out of fashion by now, to show her none existence boobs, and some ugly shorts that try to help her out, the only thing that was fighting off the cold days of winter was her large coat, which she never fastened up, for obvious reasons.

I feel cold just looking at her.

"We only hope Izzy!" I give her a cheeky smile, obviously fake, but her painfully bright eyes glare right through; into my soul. She gives me the creeps, one of the reasons I dreaded working with this group, but as the good ol' leader Liam says "For survival, For humanity!". I could just see him hitting his chest in a some sort of victory salute, a shiver goes through my body at the thought.

I spotted John looking over, his chocolate brown eyes staring us down, he had obviously heard what Isabella had said, his brunette hair and beard, grey streaks making him older then he was, matched his personality. Messy. "You're not allowed to leave, remember what Liam said; it's unfair to leave us hanging out here" hanging? you all have guns and I don't, there isn't even a reason for them to have them in the first place, just makes them trigger happy.

"I'm sure you guys will be fine, your slowing me down, and you've got a gun bigger in your hands then the guy downstairs!". Not waiting for a response, I turn my back on them; picking up the bags of resources I had collected on the journey, a good enough reason for me to leave. I hear john screaming at me to come back, I didn't turn back around, its like a day-care working with these people; and I don't even get paid.

I wasn't going to make it back to the settlement, being 10 hours away, the best chance I would get is to camp out by the woods before Clearlake, the winter season was no joke and it makes traveling harder; the only reason I was put on this job was because I was good at finding the things we needed, not the useless things. Cough Dillon cough, Dillon is apart of the group I was put with, his disgusting views on women and his unreasonable ways makes quite the impression on him.

Looking up the sky, making note on how many hours I'd have left of day time before night falls and the temperature to drop, the cold air nipping on my nose and cheeks. Winter had came, making hunting harder for such a big settlement. Adjusting my bag, I continue my stride, not letting the cold air stop me, even as my fingers feel stiff.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯𝓜𝓪𝓮𝓿 ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

This is my first ever fanfiction, so I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and I hope I can make more along the wayyy!!

I'm posting this on my wattpad and on here, but I'm so excited to bring forth my creation, my baby- 2039: Renewal.

[talentforlying]

☎️ 👀

day 2.

' ey, luv. just wanted to 'ear your voice. '

low, raspy, tired. just the sort of thing you'd expect from a late-night caller, spouting cheap lines from soppy B-movies with titles along the lines of no place like home for the holidays. a little more easy-breezy casual than you'd expect from someone cuddled up to an ansaphone.

' best be keepin' safe, an' all. tell me not t'cause trouble, you're the bleedin' poster child for it. how m'i supposed to keep from gettin' bored without you around, eh? '

the rustle of sheets as he stretches, sighs. brief, content silence, like an audible glow at the end of the line.

' don't make fun of me f'i say i miss you already. i do. i 'ope whatever it is you're doin' works and it en't hard, an' you end up back 'ere before i open my eyes in the morning. f'not, you just drop us a line, yeah, an' i'll come by to 'elp. wherever it is you are. i'll find a way. '

it's quiet again, but not silent. the creak of a mattress, the pad of bare feet on wood, the pouring of a drink. humming, soft and absent-minded. a sip, and a sigh. a smack of lips. sharing a late night with her, even when she's not around to hear.

' right. i'll let you go, then. you be good, now. '

day 12.

' oi, i know a couple days is relative to you n'i, but at least drop a line at the end of week one, yeah? so i know you're still breathin'? '

light and humorous, syllables tripping in the dizzy spirals of sleeplessness. there's crashing in the background, like someone's going to town on a hunk of metal with a wrench. it fades slightly with a shuffle of shoes in dirt, as though he's belatedly realized the potential for eardrum damage and stepped away.

' been workin' me tail off over 'ere, chasin' ghost stories. been some weird shite with the veil between worlds recently, gettin' thinner in places. nothin' cataclysmic, mind, easy fixes all. but i wouldn't mind havin' my best girl at me side, one'o these times. smooths things over when there's a less breakable pretty face around. '

the banging in the background stops, followed by a vague holler. a laugh barks into the receiver, half-mischief, half-mocking.

' chas sends 'is love. as best he can do, anyways, you know chas. try t'dig the one stick out of his arse, all you'll wind up with is two — geroff! '

the scuffled sounds of wrestling take up the line, phone speaker knocking between fingers and furniture as scouse and london overlap incoherently in a battle for dominion of speech. it's almost a full minute before a hasty ' alright, alright, fuck! ' that signals surrender ( point to chas ) and the clatter subsides, voice returning to the speaker with a scornful huff.

' big pillock. anyway, you 'eard him, love and all that. be well, yeah? chuck us a good word when you've got the chance, you know it'd give me peace'o mind an' all. see you soon, i hope. '

day 52.

' c'mon, answer. ' curt, stressed, stern. teetering on a cliff-edge between detached and despairing. ' fucking answer, lilly. whatever you've gotten yerself into, whatever's happened, i need to 'ear you say you're fine. or you're not fine, or you're bloody well awful, or you 'ate my guts and have fucked off to switzerland to become a nun. something. give me something. '

a sharp, shuddering breath in. the thud of a fist against a solid surface from close-range: table, maybe, from the accompanying rattle and the slither of paper to the floor. pacing steps chase more haphazard sounds across wood, like rolling bottles and the skitter of scattered pencils.

' just give me one word. ' there's no hard edge to that one, no stoic pretense; he sounds lonely. he sounds like he's grieving. ' please. just . . . pick up the bloody phone. give me one word, an' i won't call again. '

long, long silence. the sharp snikt of a lighter flicking open and on, and the accompanying sizzle of paper catching a little too close to the speaker. a deep breath in, a harsh one out.

then a frustrated growl, and the crunch of glass.

day 120.

' "gone for a few days". ' it's acid, chemical backwash from a long night and a few bevs and four months of radio silence. he sounds bitter, sounds scraped-thin — sounds a few bottles off from making friends with the toilet seat. ' cosmic bleedin' check-up. i found yer fucking note, y'know. doesn't make it any better. you should've told me to my bloody face, 'cos this? this is . . . this is. '

clink and clatter of glass rolling, a wordless snarl with no bite. long, steady silence, with the soft rustle of hands in hair.

' haven't stopped looking, but i can't find you. you know i can't find you, don'tje? did you plan it like that? to just up n'leave and i'll never see you again? that's fucked, lilly. you know that's fucked. '

a low, aching laugh, angry and desperate and beyond anything else, exhausted, and the clumsy thud of fingers seeking out the end button that almost drowns out the rest:

' do you care? '

day 164.

nothing spoken; just the soft sounds of movement. quiet breaths, shaky at the ends, unsteady. too loud to be self-soothing, too quiet to be shameless.

there's a few hitching starts, like he's going to speak. a swallow here, a half-formed consonant there. it comes to nothing.

the call comes to nothing.

day 260.

' i'm done. '

this voice is flat. hollowed out of anything and everything he might have wanted to give her. something's been lost between this call and the last, something irreplaceable, something ripped and carved and flayed out of him. even the shiver of loss that threatens to trip his tongue is muted, like it's coming from thousands of fathoms below the sea, where mortal things either evolve under pressure or crush like aluminium cans.

he didn't evolve.

' this is maudlin. it's not doing any good. you're just as dead as my s — ' a muted sound, choking on something unvoiced. a swallow so loud it pops in the speaker. he returns compacted, composed, syllables strung so crisp and tight there's no way for emotion to creep between the lines. ' . . . and if you're not, you made your decisions. i'm not in 'em. so let's pack it in and quit while we're ahead, yeah? before you ruin me pretty speech and pick up the phone. '

this silence builds on itself like static: longer than all the rest, and heavier. weighing down, and down, and down.

finally, after a breadth of time so long it goes immeasurable, an empty little chuckle.

' yeah. s'what i thought you'd say. '

day 300.

340. 350. 360.

day 364.

a drink and a note slide along the bar top. he looks up.

he won't look anywhere else for hours.

@asteritm / MIDNIGHT CALLS

[publicabsent]

small drabble under here. warnings include: implied spousal abuse, physical violence, gendered language, mentions of alcoholism, death. <3

things have been normal. perhaps that, in itself, might have warned the medium that such smooth waters precede a violent storm. but normalcy is intoxicating, & leads to complacency.

the task was simple – deliver the books to the addresses, picking up any that are due, nothing complex. nothing she hasn’t done plenty of times before. (except now, complacency bleeds into carelessness, & she’s misread an address.) nothing strange till the last house. the roof of it sags, shingles missing in small patches. the lawn is somehow both brown & overgrown. the door, a light, cheap wood, sits crooked between two luan-covered windows. annette hesitates before knocking, a brief chill running down her spine.

that was her one & only warning.

delicate knuckles rap on the door, which easily opens without a sound.

“h - he-hello … ? i’m fr-from the l-li—“

a sickeningly familiar cold freezes her lungs solid as the gravelly, slurred voice of a man interrupts her.

“well, well, well. look-y who’s come crawlin’ back. surprised t’see me, ava?”

like a prey animal, annette freezes as one large ghostly arm wraps around her waist, the smell of cheap booze & decay flooding her senses. delicate frame braces itself for whatever may come next, dread stiffening bone, when she’s roughly cuffed on the back of her head & released, careening forward onto the ground. she lands with a smack, palms & knees bearing the impact.

“that’s fer leavin’ me —”

one large grubby hand jerks her up by her hair, pulling a strangled cry from the girl. now she sees the face of this spirit – distorted by anger, seemingly eaten in places by the vermin of the house. he wears a puke-stained shirt & stands so big, a hulking terror in both life & death.

an open-handed slap to freckled face disrupts her thoughts, rattling her skull.

“i-i — s-sir, i … i’m n-not —”

“shut up, you lyin’ bitch! that w’s fer lettin’ me die.”

“bu - b-but i —”

putrid hand clamps around her jaw, squeezing just tight enough to be a warning. annette closes her eyes, hoping the man at least kills her quickly.

he instead begins ranting.

his drunken ramblings are lost on the medium, interjected only with hits or shakes. he says something about losing a job, about ava’s family, something about children, all half-intelligible. he interrupts himself every so often to toss the girl to the floor, stomping at her while screaming for her to listen. he manages to catch her once or twice with his feet, though she’s hardly aware. she is far away. her mind is somewhat safer, imagining her small nook of her attic. the spirit continues to shout, striking the living girl when deemed necessary.

one sharp hit — large knuckles to fragile cheekbone, jolting her back into the present — elicits a soft whimper of a response.

“i-i … m’n-n—” she can hardly speak, her stutter working in distorted tandem with her busted, swollen lip. annette figures she must be crying, though she can’t tell. her weak attempts at speech are clipped short by two hands clamping viciously around her throat, the force pushing her harshly again a moldy wall.

“y’think i wanna hear one goddamn word outta yer mouth? shove those fuckin’ excuses aside. yer a coward! a weak, pathetic little bitch! f’you couldn’ handle me, y’shouldn’t’ve married me!”

his grip was growing tighter. it’d leave bruises, she’s sure. thin hands & short nails scrabble at the half-there hands, hoping to loosen the vice grip on her throat. the dead man continues shouting, his voice louder & the louder as his hands tighten, thumbs digging into her pulse points. the volley of foul insults never stops, even when the pressure on her neck vanishes & she collapses to the floor.

the voice, now disembodied, feels almost inside her ears, screaming obscenities at ava, who would never hear them. the small, somehow still-living girl shakily climbs to her feet, favoring one side greatly. her right ankle, clearly a victim of his stomping fits, is bulbous & a sickeningly dark purple. her every breath wheezes, but she limps out of the now-empty doorframe. his voices still screams in her mind for months.

she wears scarves to hide the slow-to-fade handprints round her throat.

she wraps her ankle.

she wakes in the night, screaming and clutching her chest.

& as always, she tells no one.

[justasking]

Do you realize what big stars real estate agents have become?

The act of ownership is all it takes to become famous.

Landlords lord more than lands.

Economy in shambles.

Avocado toasts and economic disparity. Record low wages. Record high profits. The pyramid is made of solid gold and built upon piles of bones.

Men who dwell in distant towers many hundreds of miles away from a home they own. Controlled by a subcontractor of a subcontractor and rented to no one. No pets. Could damage the cheap wood floor.

Speculations of grim cyberpunk future dystopias often depict Tokyo-style dense urban centers.

The American Cyberpunk reality is 800 lane highways. Superdense parking structures that service an apartment complex consisting only of 6,000$ a month studios.

The American Cyberpunk is global parking lot. Asphalt and concrete stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction.

There is no neon.

There is no sleek EDM music.

There are no cybernetic enhancements.

There are Tesla Cybertrucks.

There are self-driving cars incapable of telling the difference between an empty street and a human child.

There are fast food communities.

There are infinite rooms of marketable beige.

[fakesurprise]

start of a new rpg campaign....

Basically, using the cypher system for a 'yanked into other worlds/bodies game' that should be quite fun to do!

Darkness. A grey crushing. A feeling of being *stretched* and shrunk at the same time, like silly strings pulled into monofilament threads that hum as music plays over them. Thunder, but there is no sound. Light, but there is nothing of you to see it with. Shadows roil and move, and there is pain. Cold atoms shattering apart, the space between them larger than cathedrals. 

Our systems explain the world. But they are not large enough to comprehend the vastness, not small enough to see the infinitesimal. You are. Space is. There is something to that, beyond pain. Something pulls at you. Commanding, but not cold. Calling, but not summoning. As rivers seek the ocean, you ... move.

And a dream becomes something not a nightmare. Because you are awake. And aware. And far from everything you once knew. 

You know three things. That this is real. That you are not alone. And that the body you are in is not the one you were born in.  Other people are beside you. If they are people? Around you is a room made of crude stone. Circular, a good 20’ in height. Behind you is a staircase of solid wood, two stories above you a cloudless open sky in which stars wink far overhead. 

At the far end of the room stands a woman. She is older, in a robe that is slightly frayed and patched with time, hair streaked with white and leaning on a plain wooden staff she holds in her left hand. Her gaze is focused on her right hand, and a small ring with a cracked crystal in the middle. Behind her is a cheap wooden table on which sits a broken fishbowl, a collar and some wilted flowers. The walls are blackened with soot and ash scours the floor, highlighting some errant cobwebs in the corners. 

[dontditchtheluxurybushbaby]

The Biggest Travel Trend - Wild Luxury

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The material of the safari tent is PVC or PTFE tarpaulin. It is UV resistant and flame retardant and can resist temperatures from -30 to 70 degrees. It is acid and alkali resistant and can be disassembled and cleaned to ensure a clean and beautiful appearance. strong and sturdy.

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The suppliers who specialise in the production of luxury safari and glamping tents. It is an enterprise that builds characteristic hotels for resorts, scenic spots and tourist areas. With professional design, professional layout, camp planning and other solutions, no site restrictions, long service life, and stable construction, you create your own personalized luxury glamping tent.

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Article reshared from https://www.bdir.com/news/

[roosterbruiser]

I humbly request some landslide crumbs

and some Landslide crumbs I will give you!!

here's a bit of Stevie/Faye content for you

Stevie was Maggie’s cat. She’s a Persian, or something like that, and she was the first big purchase Maggie made when she got some money. She painstakingly created the perfect environment for Stevie--bought air filters and an electric litter box, bought the vet-recommended food based on Stevie’s age and breed, curated ridiculously expensive furniture dedicated to Stevie entirely. Stevie loved only Maggie from the first day Maggie brought her home. No one else was able to cuddle her, let alone touch her. 

When I first picked her up from the boarding facility, over a month since Maggie died, she howled and mewled the entire drive to my house. She was lying in the dome carrier Maggie had spent an arm and a leg on, crying and crying. My ribs, the cracked ones, ached deeply with every breath I breathes. My left wrist was slung across my chest and it hurt badly enough that I’d been prescribed hydrocodone. I’d hit my head very hard on a tree branch when landing and sometimes I still got confused--things felt fuzzy, even a month later. Possibly what caused the most discomfort was the frostbite on three of my toes on my left foot. The doctor’s considered it a mild case and they were healing, scabbed over, very ugly. I had to clean each of the toes individually and wrap them nicely or I would get an infection. 

“Stevie,” I’d called to her from the driver’s seat, narrowing my eyes at the road. The sun was blinding, “shhh, girl.” 

Stevie was desperately moaning. I tried to turn the radio on, but suddenly couldn’t remember which button turned it on. 

“Oh, fuck, come on!” I’d yelled, exasperated. 

It was exhausting to be hurt, exhausting to have a dead sister, exhausting to pick up the pieces of the life that had imploded so randomly, so terribly. I’d been pushed over the edge then and there, somewhere on Pacific Coast Highway. I pulled the car to the side of the road, held my scabbed and bruised face in my hands, and screamed into my palms. 

“Do you think I want this?” I yelled to Stevie, who was blinking at me from inside her kennel, “Because I don’t!”

Our parents had told me to just forget about Stevie--surrender her to the boarding facility. She would be taken to a shelter and would be adopted quickly since she was a purebred. I knew, though, that Maggie would’ve keeled over again if Stevie wasn’t taken care of.  

Now Stevie lives with me, in my house that I’m always renovating. Mingled among my antiqued furniture--my velvet sofas and solid wood tables and ornate rugs--are the expensive pieces Maggie had bought for Stevie. The chrome litterbox lives in the laundry room, plugged into an outlet, beneath the quartz counter that houses wicker baskets and glass bottles of white vinegar and baking soda. Her four-tier cat tower lives in the sun room, a blob of flower-shaped levels and bright green rope against the rattan patio furniture I’d carefully selected. Stevie’s food bowls were even a stark contrast--pink BPA-free plastic dishes--against the original wood flooring in my home. 

This is all to say that nothing Maggie bought all those years ago matches the aesthetic I’ve curated. I cannot get myself to switch any of the items out, even if I’ve looked before. The self-cleaning litterbox reminds me of how busy Maggie always was, one foot out the door all the time. The tower reminds me of her exuberance--her love for bright colors and feminine things. Her uncharacteristically cheap plastic bowls are reminiscent of Maggie’s tendency to accidentally kick or trample things on her way out the door. They are little fragments of her. 

[touchwoodfloorings]

Artificial Grass Flooring in Delhi: The Smart Benefits You Need to Know

Artificial grass flooring is becoming a popular choice for homes and businesses in Delhi. It offers a range of benefits that make it a smart investment for anyone looking to enhance their space. In this blog, we’ll explore why artificial grass flooring is gaining popularity in Delhi and which is the Best wood flooring company in Delhi, and the advantages it offers, and how it links to other flooring options.

Why Choose Artificial Grass Flooring in Delhi?

Artificial grass flooring is an excellent choice for those seeking a low-maintenance, aesthetically pleasing solution. Whether you’re looking to transform your garden, patio, or commercial space, artificial grass can provide a lush, green look year-round.

Best Artificial Grass Flooring in Delhi is designed to withstand the city’s varying weather conditions. From scorching summers to heavy monsoons, it maintains its vibrant appearance without the hassle of regular upkeep.

Benefits of Artificial Grass Flooring

1. Low Maintenance: — One of the biggest advantages of artificial grass flooring is its minimal maintenance requirements. This is particularly useful in a bustling city like Delhi, where busy schedules leave little time for lawn care.

2. Durability and Longevity: — Artificial grass is highly durable and can withstand heavy foot traffic, making it ideal for both residential and commercial spaces. It is designed to endure various weather conditions without fading or deteriorating. This durability ensures that your investment lasts for years, providing excellent value for money.

3. Cost-Effective: — While the initial cost of installing artificial grass might be higher than traditional options, the long-term savings are significant. With minimal maintenance and no need for watering or fertilizing, you’ll save on water bills and gardening expenses. For those looking for cheapest artificial grass flooring in Delhi, the long-term savings often outweigh the initial cost.

Cost Comparison: Artificial Grass vs. Wooden Flooring

When evaluating flooring options, cost is a crucial factor. Artificial Grass price in Delhi can vary based on quality and installation requirements, but it often proves to be a cost-effective choice over time. The key advantage of artificial grass is its minimal maintenance needs. Unlike natural grass, which requires regular watering, mowing, and fertilizing, artificial grass simply needs occasional brushing and rinsing. This translates into lower long-term expenses for water and upkeep, making it a budget-friendly option in the long run.

On the other hand, wooden flooring service Delhi are known for their aesthetic appeal and elegance, but they often come with higher ongoing costs. Wooden floors may require frequent polishing, cleaning, and maintenance to keep them in good condition. These additional expenses can add up over time, making wooden flooring a costlier option compared to artificial grass.

How to Choose the Best Artificial Grass Flooring?

Selecting the ideal artificial grass flooring requires careful consideration of your needs and budget. Start by exploring different options from reputable Artificial Grass manufacturers in Delhi. Quality varies, so it’s essential to look for products that offer durability, a realistic appearance, and low maintenance. Compare features like pile height, density, and material to ensure you choose the best artificial grass flooring in Delhi for your specific requirements.

Consider factors such as the area where the grass will be installed, whether it’s for a high-traffic area or a decorative feature. Additionally, check customer reviews and ratings to gauge the reliability of different brands and suppliers. Budget is also crucial; while higher-quality options may cost more initially, they often offer better performance and longer lifespan, providing greater value over time. By taking these steps, you can find artificial grass that meets both your aesthetic and practical needs.

The Role of Touchwood Floorings

At Touchwood Floorings, we excel in delivering top-tier flooring solutions, featuring both wooden flooring and artificial grass. Recognized as one of the best wooden flooring contractors in Delhi, we pride ourselves on offering exceptional service and premium products. Our wooden flooring services in Delhi are designed to meet a variety of needs, from elegant wooden laminate flooring to robust solid wood flooring solutions.

For those interested in wooden laminated flooring services in Delhi, we provide detailed and stylish options that enhance any space with both aesthetics and durability. Our experienced team of wooden flooring contractors in Delhi ensures each project is executed with meticulous care and precision.

If affordability is a priority, we offer cheap wood flooring service in Delhi without sacrificing quality. We also cater to local needs with best wood flooring service in Delhi near me, ensuring prompt and effective solutions. Whether you’re upgrading your home or commercial space, choose our company for expert advice, superior products, and outstanding service.

Explore Our Premier Flooring Services

At Touchwood Floorings, we offer a range of specialized flooring solutions to suit your needs.

Herringbone Flooring in Delhi: This classic pattern adds a touch of elegance to any room. Our herringbone flooring in Delhi features meticulously arranged wooden planks that create a distinctive, stylish look. It’s perfect for both traditional and modern interiors, providing a sophisticated appearance that enhances the beauty of your space.

Laminate Wood Flooring in Delhi: For a versatile and cost-effective option, consider our laminate wood flooring in Delhi. It combines the look of real wood with the durability and ease of maintenance of laminate. Ideal for high-traffic areas, this flooring provides a sleek, stylish finish while being budget-friendly.

Solid Wood Flooring in Delhi: If you seek timeless elegance and durability, our solid wood flooring in Delhi is the perfect choice. Made from high-quality hardwood, it offers unmatched sturdiness and a natural beauty that can transform any room. This flooring option not only adds value to your property but also provides a lasting, classic appeal.

FAQ

What is the cost of artificial turf in Delhi? The cost of artificial turf in Delhi varies but is generally affordable, with prices depending on quality and installation.

Is artificial grass permanent? Artificial grass is durable and long-lasting, but it’s not completely permanent. It can last 8–15 years with proper care.

What is the cheapest way to lay artificial grass? The cheapest way to lay artificial grass is by preparing the base yourself and opting for DIY installation to save on labor costs.

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For more information about our flooring services or to explore our full range of options, visit Touchwood Floorings. Whether you’re interested in artificial grass or high-quality wooden flooring, we are here to assist you in making the best choice for your space.

Other Links:

Engineered wood flooring in Delhi

Hardwood flooring in Delhi

[devilsons]

who: isabella espinar ( @gravefed​ ) where: the bad monkey bar + nightclub when: sometime after the city has begun to evolve for the night, the sound of heels hitting the pavement turning to drunken staggers, the neons casting the only solid light aside from few flickering street lamps.

the bass in the bar keeps booming regardless of the empty dance floor. 

despite the money laundering nature of the building, its owner loves it unconditionally; the rotting floorboards, the grimy back bathroom stalls, the ripped faux brown leather of the bar stools showing white between creases. perhaps its not the building itself, not the promise of rowdy patrons or even the fully stocked bar, but the way archibald sits on the bar top when the whole place is desolate and looks over the poorly-kept mess of an establishment and thinks, ‘ this is mine. ‘ the bar is in the worst shape. the apartment in the basement, while not pristine, refrains from being disastrous, some piles of documents and the closet is a mess of clothes but overall he took a lot of care to make it a nice space. 

upstairs, however, had other funding. 

behind a locked door in the back is a staircase up to the hanging man’s offices and meeting space, sleek white walls and grand wooden desks, safes and reinforced steel. everything ties back to them, sleeping where he eats; there is no going home after a long day, but some sacrifices can be made without hesitation. this is the life he chose, and what it gave him can only be repaid in blood; so blood it is, caked under fingernails or stained on his psyche, he can never unsee the things he’s seen, undo the things he’s done, but this is the flavor of survival, and it tastes just sweet enough on his tongue that he’s hooked to hell and back.

he sits on a bar stool with papers laid out in front of him and a drink in his right hand, cheap whiskey and a splash of coke, the left writing something along the margins. it was information uncovered from a recent job he was sent on, likely a dead end if they were trusting him with it, but he appreciated the busy work. when the city got quiet there was never much for him to do. he took it seriously, even despite the little picture he’d drawn of a vampire in the corner when his mind starting wandering. the pencil tapped against the wood of the bar top, eyes skimming the pages over and over again without taking in much information. he’d been at it for a few hours and it was all beginning to blur. 

the music was still so loud he hadn’t heard the footsteps on the stairs or the opening of the back door. it was a moment before he caught sight of her in his peripheral and his eyes shot up, blinking away the haze. “isabella.” he says, but her name is lost under the music so he fumbles around for the remote and turns it off, the silence slamming over them all at once, almost eerie after the nonstop cacophony that had muted his hearing. everything was muffled, he shifted in his seat, the creaking too quiet, the air still. it made him just the tiniest bit uncomfortable until his gaze fell back to her, eyes doing a quick once over, head to toe, that he tries to cover by glancing back down at the papers for a moment. she looks great as usual, it’s expected, but still his heartrate rises just a little, that weird little feeling in his chest and stomach that made him feel incredibly young. he should probably stop drinking. 

he finishes his drink in one sip. “isabella.” he says again when he puts the glass down on the bar top, the back of his sleeve coming to wipe at his mouth, the picture of class, “late night?”

[the-fiction-witch]

Princess of darkness

Media irl

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple Thomas X Reader

Rating cute and spooky

Concept gothic home (possibly in the same universe as baby bat or you can see it as its own thing up to you)

"Cheers" I nodded to the taxi driver to have At Last drop me at my front door. I gave him a wave as he scurried off down the road and I took a sigh as I looked up at our beautiful little stone house. I was thrilled to be home having been gone half way across the world for the last nine months. I had barely really seen the house as we bought it only a month before I left so I had left it in the capable hands of my little princess. I wasn't worried we had agreed on most things months before we bought the place anyway. I headed to the sweet wooden door about to knock but I noticed a little cast iron door knocker against the wood so I gave it a few solid taps waiting for a moment before the door opened to a sweet and beautiful sight.

She stood in the doorway in her little bat slippers, thigh high black socks with little cat heads at the top, a little white and black plaid pleated skirt, a long sleeve black and white striped shirt with a little black faux… latex faux leather not sure what it was little best top with various little straps. Her hair clearly damp put in two pigtail braids with little more makeup on her face then some highlighter and her beautiful black lipstick. 

"Tommy!" She smiled jumping into my arms

"Uuuummmm I missed you princess!" I smiled hugging her tightly, feeling so happy to have her in my arms again. I immediately inhaled her sweet lavender and lemongrass smell even if I could smell a little bit of that chemical hair dye smell and it was just then I noticed "you dyed your hair?"

"How could you tell?" She giggled

"I can smell it. And also… it wasn't blue last time I saw you"

"Yeah I did it yesterday" she smiled taking my bag and leading me inside 

"I thought you said you dyed it red? Just after I left?"

"I did"

"And?"

"You've been gone nine months Thomas I got bored of having red hair"

"You couldn't wait till I got home? Atleast to let me see it?"

"Nope" she giggled taking my bag to go start a load of laundry 

"Fine" I rolled my eyes before having a look around the house …

I don't know what I expected, the furniture was all thrifted or picked up cheap, most of it antiques to an extent all of which she had lovingly repaired and cared for all of them a dark wood clearly freshly polished. The hallway mostly just had the stairs and it's detailed banister, the horizontal black and white striped wallpaper, dark wood flooring, a little wooden unit for coats and shoes by the door, a little ouija board doormat which I quickly got off of. Even the key hook was shaped like a bat. I continued on seeing the living room the TV packed away into a unit hidden away completely the blinds drawn on the windows with the curtains open this side of them, the walls a deep purple, the beautiful dinning table up the counter with a vase shaped like a ghost in the center filled with beautiful flowers, the table set with the bleeding candles, purple placemats to match the walls on the table and even coaters on the wooden coffee table all to match the walls and curtains, a large black shaggy rug under the coffee table, the large gothic mirror above the log burner and our display cabinet pride of place with all our fancy glassware and such. My guitars hung up perfectly on the wall almost as if they had been designed to be displayed. And the large leather sofa tucked against the wall with all her little cushions, one shaped like a bat, them a ghost, then a skull, then a couple larger ones that had tarot cards and the two small cushions either side each with a star sign of course mine on my side of the sofa and her own on hers admittedly it was really nice and cosy. It likely sounds strange I Basically gave my baby bat free reign to decorate our house but it makes her happy. She works from home and I'm off out of the house working for months on end so I'd rather the house make her happy I don't care she could have painted it neon green for all I care. I followed her to the kitchen where she was unpacking my bag making up some loads of laundry basically sorting by colour which may as well be sorting by my colors and… black. The technical machines like the TV had a door to hide them away from our perfect little dark blue Victoria kitchen with wooden counter tops little windows for our cupboards and our beautiful vintage oven and fridge, even a farmhouse sink. With all the retro styled items you could ask for all of which in dark colours to fit the asthenic. I had input in this room the only room I did and I'm thrilled I did it becoming a beautiful mix of us both my retro and vintage classic and her… well goth. alot of her spooky style snuck in with black plates, coffin cutting boards and a bat wine opener. I went over and started a coffee for myself before wrapping my arms around her leaning my head on her shoulder

"I missed you"

"I missed you too" she giggled "do you like the house?"

"It's beautiful princess" 

"Ugghhh"

"What?"

"Don't call me that"

"Why not? I like calling you my princess"

"Why would I ever want to be a princess? Their boring and glittery" 

"Well you're my Gothic little princess. Ummmmm my princess of darkness" 

"Really?"

"Of course"

"So you your not mad at me making us live like the Adams family?'

"If we can be as happy as Gomez and morticia after getting married and having two kids I'll be thrilled"

"Three kids they have a baby in the sequel"

"Do they?"

"Yeah? The little baby?"

"Oh yeah. But no I don't care princess if your happy then I'm happy" 

"Good" she smiled turning to nuzzle with my shirt "you haven't seen your study yet"

"I am very excited too. But hows about we go out for dinner tonight? Celebrate bring home?"

"That sounds lovely Tommy, can I be spooky?'

"Your always allowed to be spooky I love when we dress up, even if you always seem to make me look underdressed" I told her "I love when you wear your beautiful outfits"

"Ummm I love you"

"I love you more. Come on then my little princess of darkness let's get this laundry on and decided where we're going" I told her giving her sweet lips a kiss before helping her with the laundry 

[psychoticallytrans]

Everyone, if you harass the person I'm responding to, I will be very disappointed. Please do not. Putting your tags here for context:

If you look at my blog for a bit, you may notice that I am also disabled and poor. Fat people are not your enemies for being fat. Corporations are both of our enemies for producing flimsy furniture, jacking up the prices on sturdy things, underpaying us, and making it hard to exist as disabled people, as poor people, and as fat people. Keep in mind that disability, poverty, and fatness often feed into each other. We are your community.

It was very easy to assume I wasn't like you. It was very easy to assume this post was bad faith because it hit at something that is hard for you to do. And it is very, very easy to choose to dismiss the post instead of asking for alternatives.

Here are some.

When fat people are coming over, make a nice place on the floor. Cushions, a rug, etc. These can be found for cheap or free on Craigslist, Freecycle or Buy Nothing groups.

Sturdy furniture can also often be found on these places, specifically because it lasts long enough to be given away. Thrift stores too. I've also found three of my pieces literally on the street- a solid wood side table, a solid wood dresser, and a glass and steel desk. If you can't move them yourself, that does up the social/financial cost, but it's still a lot cheaper than buying new.

If you are renting and it is advertised as furnished, in some cases, when it breaks, you can make a maintenance request for a replacement based on wear and tear. If you specify a higher weight limit, you have a better chance of getting good quality- and that fat people will be able to use it.

You can also choose to meet fat people in locations outside of your residence. Parks often have sturdy furniture, or you can bring an old quilt for them to sit comfortably on the ground.

You aren't a jerk for being poor and disabled. You are being a jerk when you talk about fat people like we are smashing thin people's furniture in order to make them accommodate us. You also are being a jerk when you are dismissing how shitty it is to be locked out of owning certain things or doing certain activities because of circumstances beyond your control- a feeling you may be familiar with, as someone who is poor and disabled.

Consider, next time, if it really is in bad faith.

Here's something that a lot of thin people don't know about being fat: you have to be very careful, these days, what the weight limit on your furniture is. So much is made of particleboard or even cardboard or flimsy plastic, and it may be great for the environment for things to be made of recycled materials, but it can easily leave fat people in the incredibly humiliating situation of breaking a chair by sitting on it, or a table by leaning on it. It also creates an effective "fat tax" on furniture, since the more solid materials tend to cost more.

When I was looking for loft beds to make my apartment effectively larger, the majority of them had a weight limit of 200 pounds, including the weight of the mattress. That puts a weight limit on the person of roughly 150 pounds, and that presumes a light mattress. That's not taking into account blankets, pillows, and stuffies, which can easily rack up a weight of around ten to twenty pounds without much trouble, bringing the safe weight for a person down to roughly 140 to 130 pounds. The ones that held more than that had a steep increase in price, with ones that held 300 pounds costing roughly 600$ more than the 200 pound ones, and the 400 pound ones, which I wanted for tolerances, ran a good 800$ more on average than the ones for 200 pounds.

More generally, solid wood, metal, tempered glass, and thick, durable plastic cost more than particleboard, cardboard, and flimsy plastic. They are also far more likely to be safe for fat people to use.

If you are a thin person and want fat people to be comfortable when visiting you, invest in furniture that is clearly made with sturdy materials. Having to brush off standing the whole visit is embarrassing both for us and, if you are a host who cares about the comfort of guests, for you.

[flooringhut]

The kitchen is one of the most-used rooms in the house - we prepare food here, stand and chat, and many people have a kitchen/dining room combo with a dining table where meals are eaten. Aside from the living room, it is often described as the focal point of the house, so a decision like choosing the kitchen flooring is especially important. Because of the high usage and potential for spills and heavy drops, the best flooring for kitchen areas should be robust, durable, and easy to maintain. But which are considered the most popular flooring types and how can you choose the right one? I take a look at this in the below guide - enjoy! Popular Kitchen Flooring Options To get right into it, let’s take a look at the most popular kitchen flooring options including vinyl, tile, and laminate to name a few examples. Vinyl Flooring LVT flooring is especially durable, easy to install and is available in a wide range of patterns and styles that mimic wood, stone, and concrete. These are available as planks or tiles and oftentimes can be installed without professional help. Hardwood Flooring Wood flooring is made from solid wood such as oak, maple, and hickory. This flooring looks incredible but is usually the most expensive choice and more difficult to maintain. Tile Flooring Traditional ceramic tiles look fantastic and have a great variety of colours and styles. The harder materials they are made from make them durable, but this also means they can be prone to chips and damage. Laminate Flooring Laminate flooring is usually the cheapest kitchen flooring option available but it offers a diverse range of colours, styles, and patterns, and the maintenance is excellent. Cork Flooring Cork flooring is relatively cheap and gives your kitchen a more rustic look. It’s great for maintenance and if you want a flooring with minimum upkeep it’s a great choice. Engineered Wood Flooring Engineered wood flooring is cheaper than hardwood flooring as it has a top layer of solid wood, but a core of cheaper compressed wooden fibres. Durability and Resistance Kitchen floors are perhaps the most prone to wear and tear, spills, and damage. Meals are prepared in the kitchen and food and liquids can easily be spilt. Also, it’s not uncommon to drop things like dishes, saucepans, and cutlery - I smashed a plate only last week on my kitchen floor! This increased chance of drops and spills can damage floors easily. Therefore, if you are prone to clumsiness, you may want to invest in a flooring type that doesn’t dent or scratch as easily such as vinyl or laminate. Maintenance Considerations Due to the high usage of kitchen floors, you have to consider the maintenance too. How easy is the flooring type to clean? For example, LVT click flooring is one of the easiest types to clean as you can lightly mop it and wipe away stains in seconds. In contrast, hardwood flooring can soak up stains and tile flooring scratches and dents much easier than vinyl or laminate. You have to select the best flooring for kitchen areas that you can easily maintain and that fits with your usage levels. Style and Aesthetics Everyone wants their kitchen flooring to look good so style and aesthetics play a huge role in the decision-making process too. I find that a great starting point is looking at your kitchen units and decor to see what colour scheme you want to use and which floor colour would work the best. For example, if you have darker wood kitchen units, you may want a lighter flooring option that adds a little contrast. With a colour scheme decided, you should be able to narrow down the suitable flooring options. Hardwood, cork, and engineered wood flooring are more limited in terms of colour options as they typically reflect natural wood colours. In contrast, vinyl and laminate flooring can mimic a range of styles including wood, stone, and concrete and thus usually have a wider range of colours and patterns. Budget Considerations Cost is always sadly a consideration and most people have a set budget to work to. This is unavoidable and if you are looking for a budget option, traditional laminate flooring is considered the best option. Vinyl flooring is also budget-friendly without sacrificing quality, while hardwood flooring is one of the most expensive options but offers the best longevity and durability. Find The Right Kitchen Flooring Solution for Your Needs I hope you are now more informed and have some insight into choosing the best flooring for kitchen areas. There is no definitive answer and you have to look at factors like cost, suitability, and who lives in your household. With these things in mind, you should be able to select the right flooring that gives value for money and will withstand your family usage. Read the full article