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trashyswitch · 3 years

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Logan's Trip to [REDACTED]

Chapter 4: Pure Fluff For a Shorter Day

Logan arrives to the SCP Foundation a little later than usual, making his first day back a bit of a short visit. So Logan has to make his time count.

Logan opened his map and looked at the map. Today was the day he wanted to meet SCP-530. It looked really cute and he really wanted to see what color and different expressions it had right now. Logan took another turn and looked up at the sign above the door.

[SCP-530]

Logan smiled and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a card, placed it into the card reader and waited for the beeping sound. When it went off, Logan removed the card and opened the door.

The room was set up like a dog’s play area, with balls and toys scattered about and different items in it. A dog bed, a food and water bowl, and a dog house decorated the little room. Then a bunch of barks filled the room as a little white and brown dog sprinted up to him.

“BARK BARK! BARK BARK BARK BARK! WARF WARF!” The dog barked loudly.

Logan gasped excitedly and knelt down to pet it almost immediately. “Hellooooo! Hi there, little Carl!” Logan greeted, petting its head.

Carl panted happily and licked his hand. Logan looked down and noticed something strange: The dog had two tongues! One full tongue, and one partly grown tongue! Guess he could do double the kisses for the time being!

Logan smiled eagerly. “I’m Logan! My name is Logan!” He greeted. Logan started petting the dog’s head, back and chin. The puppy panted and panted like it was hotter than haiti in his kennel, and patted the ground with pure excitement with its 5th paw. Logan giggled at this dog-like behaviour. Carl really is a dog. Just with some unusual abnormalities.

Logan picked up the puppy under his armpits and carried him on his shoulder. “Hey there little guy. You’re a small little sweetheart. Yes you are, yes you are!” Logan cooed. Logan booped the dog’s snoot, causing Carl to lick his finger with both his tongues.

“I see that Carl has a new abnormality: Two tongues.” Dr. ████ declared.

Logan looked at the speaker, then at the camera. “Have you never had an instance of two tongues before now?” Logan asked.

“Nope! And we’ve had LOTS of doubles on body parts.” Dr. ████ replied. “Oh! While SCP-530 is here, would you like to meet SCP-529?” Dr. ████ asked.

Logan widened his eyes. The cat?! Dr. ████ wants Carl and the cat in the same room?! “Yes please!” Logan replied happily.

“Very well! Dr. ██████! Please retrieve SCP-529 so Logan and Carl may play with them.” Dr. ████ ordered.

Soon, SCP-529 was walking around and rubbing its body against Logan’s knee. “Aww, hi Josie!” Logan greeted. “Boy, Patton would love to meet both of you. But Patton is allergic to cats.” Logan said to Josie and Carl. Carl barked excitedly and stuck its tongue out. Next, Carl ran to a ball, and pushed the ball up to Logan. He waited for Logan to throw the ball, and knelt down to show ‘I’m ready! Throw it!’.

Logan smiled and threw the ball. Both Carl AND Josie ran for the ball. But Josie was just a tad quicker and managed to pounce right onto the ball. Carl turned to Logan, sitting down and whimpering in a sad way while looking down. It looked like Carl was trying to say ‘She stole my ball...I sad now.’. Logan smiled, not feeling all that bad for it. Logan threw a ball of yarn and watched Carl sprint for the yarn. It was like the dog and the cat switched toys temporarily! It was so bizarre! And very funny.

Logan allowed the cat to roll around with the ball while Carl pawed nervously at the flimsy yarn. Logan grabbed a nearby baseball and gently threw it to Carl. Carl immediately got into action and took off running to it. He grabbed it, brought it over in an eager strut, and placed it down for Logan to throw it again. “Good boy! That’s a good boy!” Logan reacted, petting him as praise. Carl whimpered and rolled onto his back, begging for belly rubs next. Logan giggled and happily gave him the belly rubs he wanted. Carl stuck his tongue out as he panted, closing his eyes with pure pleasure.

Meanwhile Josie walked up and booped his head against Logan’s other hand. It looked like Josie wanted pets as well. Logan started petting Josie’s ears first, earning a purr from the cat. Next, Logan went for the chin. Josie meowed softly as she lifted her head up to offer Virgil more access to the lovely spot. Logan smiled and petted both animals at once.

The doctor smiled. “Looks like you’re an animal lover.” he said.

Logan nodded. “I do appreciate animals.” Logan admitted.

“There is a horse SCP that we have in a stable and a field at Site 73. Its known as SCP-1156 or ‘Wellington the Wonder Horse’. Would you ever be interested in meeting him?” The doctor asked.

Logan looked at the camera. “I don’t believe I’ve been around a horse before. However, I would love to meet him one day.” Logan replied.

“Very well! We will have you set up for the next visit to the site. The SCP Foundation will provide you with a private jet so you may visit the wondrous horse.” The doctor told him.

“Very well! I can’t wait.” Logan replied.

After some more time with the animals, Logan left the two animals to play with each other. Next on the SCP list, was SCP-131 a and b! Logan had been missing them and really wanted to visit them for quite some time. And now was his time to do so! Logan walked down a few flights of stairs, even rode down one of the stair handles to get down quicker. But he quickly abandoned the idea the moment hitting the ground gave him a bruised tailbone. Logan rubbed his butt for a moment before running to the next flight of stairs.

Soon, Logan stood in front of the door and looked at the card. He inserted the card, removed it and listened as the door clicked its way unlocked. Then, Logan walked in and looked at the little cute-looking eye pods. It was SCP-131-A & B! Logan smiled widely as the eye pods slid down a tiny slide and rolled up to Logan.

“Hello guys! Hello! It’s been a while, huh?” Logan greeted. The pods jumped around and rolled around in circles, showing their excitement. Then, the eye pods rolled the cars that Logan made, right up to their creator to show him. “I know! I made those for you two to play with!” Logan reacted. Logan started to wonder if A & B remember him for the toys they got. It could be possible.

The SCP’s rolled the cars up to him, and bowed their rain drop tops to the rings that were attached. The eye pods wanted the rings placed into their narrow tops! Logan agreed to help them and placed the rings into their head poles. The eye pods suddenly started rolling absolutely everywhere the moment the rings were placed onto them. They wouldn’t stop driving around with the cars! Logan bursted out laughing as the eyeballs went ballistic with the toy cars.

Then, the eye pods started headbutting a pair of paintbrushes, cups and tubes of paint that laid on the ground. “It looks like they want you to paint their cars.” Dr. ████ explained. “I believe one of the staff members was planning to paint them, but they got caught up in work. But since your job is to meet them and entertain them…” The doctor offered.

“I’ll paint them for A & B.” Logan replied.

“Excellent!” Dr. ████ declared happily. “You may use this paper towel for wiping off the paint if you so choose. And here’s a water bottle for cleaning the brush.” Dr. ████ placed a Dasani water bottle and a roll of paper towel into the dispenser in their room, and listened as the paper made a soft shifting sound into the dispenser, while the water bottle made a ‘CLUNK’ sound into the other end with the paper towel.

Logan nodded, walked to the opening and grabbed the paper towel and water bottle from the dispenser. “Thank you.” Logan told him.

Logan spread some paper towel down and filled the painting cup with the water from the yucky water bottle. Logan also placed some orange onto A’s car little wooden car and started painting. Logan painted in stripes to help the paint smoothen out and go on nicer. Logan then scooped up the blob of access paint on the top of the car, and would start painting the engine roof, the sides and the bottom. Logan looked very precise when painting the car. He looked calm as well. The eye pods watched him with interest and fascination. It was like watching someone do their career in front of them. Logan was really that good! Or at least, it looked like he was.

Logan finished painting SCP-131-a’s car first, and moved onto b’s car. This car was gonna be a slightly darker yellow, compared to the reddish orange that the first car was. Logan wanted to specifically do this because he wanted them to be able to distinctively see which cars were theirs. That way, they can play with their designated cars, or even share the cars and switch up who gets what car color.

Logan finished coloring the cars and let them dry for a bit. While the cars dried on a paper towel-covered stool, Logan played around with the eye pods and ‘became their race track’ for a while. The eye pods moved up Logan’s hands, up the arms slowly, and raced up and down his chest and belly. Logan’s giggles when they got to the belly, made his belly and chest jump around a little. This made the eye pods wobble slightly.

The eye pods ignored his wiggles and giggles, and continued racing slowly on top of Logan’s middle. At one point, eyepod A got stuck on Logan’s dipped belly. This caused the eyepod to rev up its wheel to get going. This tickled SO MUCH for Logan!

“OHOHO GEHEHEHEEZ!” Logan laughed. “WAHAHANT HEHELP WITH THAHAHAT?” Logan asked.

The eye pod shook its head and looked at him with a single smiley eye. Immediately, the eye pod revved up its wheel again and ‘increased the speed’ to tickle Logan more.

“HEHEHEY- HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *snort* EEEEHEHEHEHEHE!” Logan laughed and snorted. Well this is certainly a change of pace!

The eye pods bounced up and down and kept going. The bouncing didn’t hurt Logan at all, surprisingly. It just felt like a tiny, weightless puppy jumping on Logan’s belly. The orange eye pod joined the yellow one, and started revving up their wheels at the exact same time!

Logan just about DIED from that. It tickled WAY TOO MUCH! And then the eye pods started alternating revving their wheels...How about AAAAAAH?!

A, B, A, B, A, B...Left, Right, Left, Right, left, right, etc…Talk about infinite tickles!

Logan was cackling and snorting at this point. It was so ticklish! But it felt great! It felt amazing to be back with these cute little guys! They were always so fun and cute to look at! They never failed to occupy him and make him gush in cuteness overload. Even if he gets to see them every single day, he knew he would never get over how cute they were.

Logan allowed the pods to have their fun against his belly for a while. He was not complaining whatsoever. He loved every second of it, no matter how ticklish and tired it made him.

Soon though, the fun had to end. Logan tapped out of the tickles and got up. The pods looked at each other with worry in their eyes. “No no no, don’t worry. It’s okay. I’m alright.” Logan reassured them.

A & B still looked at Logan with worry, and rolled to Logan to nuzzle him with their ball-like bodies. Logan appreciate this gesture and petted the pods as gentle praise. The pods appreciated this praise and closed its eyes as they enjoyed the pets.

Soon, Logan was waving to the eye pods and leaving them be. He felt happy to be able to spend time with them. It’s been a while and...it was definitely worth the wait. Next on Logan’s list, was...you guessed it:

SCP-999!

Logan practically ran his way to the elevator and pretty much bounced on the spot as he rode the elevator. When the elevator opened, Logan walked out and ran for the door.

“LOGAN!” Someone yelled.

Logan stopped and grabbed the Walkie Talkie that had called him. “Yes?” He replied into it.

“A gentle reminder that the last time you were this excited, you had to leave them unexpectedly due to a strong chemical unbalance. I would strongly recommend you take a deep breath so we don’t have a repeat of that incident.” The doctor ordered.

Logan did as he was told and took a few deep breaths to help his excitement dissipate. When he felt fully ready and a lot more calm, Logan put the keycard in to open the door. With the door unlocked, Logan opened it and immediately smiled upon seeing his favorite SCP.

“Hi 999!” Logan greeted.

999 immediately turned around and gurgled lots of happy sounds with the most puppy-like dog eyes it naturally had. Logan ran to 999 and gave the squishy blob a BIIIIIIG hug! 999 gave him a big hug right back and even grew more pseudopods to add more hugging arms! Logan laughed as he felt more squishy arms against his back and neck.

SCP-999 gurgled, squished around and wiggled as excitement filled its body. Logan smiled and pulled his head away from the blob’s body. “How are you?”

999 nodded its head rapidly and ran around the room with Logan in its arms. It made eager gurgling and flopping sounds as it ran around. Logan wasn’t sure how sick he might end up being if 999 kept this up. But, he didn’t care. He enjoyed it anyway.

“WEEEEEeeeee! Okay! Okay that’s good. That’s enough buddy.” Logan told the SCP.

999 stopped running around and picked up Logan. They summoned 2 more pseudopods which grabbed at the waist, while the original two pseudopods grabbed Logan’s wrists as gently as it could. Logan hummed curiously, and was quickly thrown off guard as Logan was held onto primarily by his wrists, making his hands stay raised above his head.

Logan immediately blushed at the vulnerable situation. He couldn’t even look at 999, his face was so red. “Ihihi...Ihihihi should’ve known- BAHAHAHAHAHA!” Logan interrupted himself with his own laughter as 999 tickled Logan with a few new pseudopods. One of them tickled his hip, two of them tickled his belly, and two of them tickled his vulnerable armpits.

Cause, you know: why wouldn’t you attack the vulnerable parts if they’re exposed?

Logan was laughing and squealing as he was tickled in fairly bad spots all at once. Logan didn’t know what to do with himself. So he started off with kicking and shaking his head around as he laughed. He watched the puppy-like 999 as it flopped and gurgled with glee while tickling and skittering its slimy pods on his ticklish spots.

Logan was gonna lose his mind long before his breath was gonna be out, he could tell you that!

“NIHIHINE-NINE-NIHIHIHIHINE! COHOHOHOME OHOHOHOHON!” Logan yelled.

999 tilted its head and smiled. Then, it stuck out its tongue and blepped at him! Logan covered his face with his arm and whimpered. “NOooooooo! You’re tooooo cuuuuute!” Logan whined. 999 shook a bit, laughing at him.

Holy crap that was so cute! Why was that so cute?! Why must 999 be the adorable bean it is?! AAAAAAAAAHHH!

Logan squirmed and kicked 999 as he was tickled and unintentionally teased. His feet kept bouncing back like it was a ball against a big bowl of jelly. It was so weird! 999 was such a strange, mind-altering being that...they really should’ve existed! But, it does! And boy, was Logan grateful!

Logan soon tapped out from exhaustion. 999 quickly stopped and let out a whimpery-kind of gurgle and looked at Logan with a worried face. Logan looked at 999 and practically melted. “Awww, it’s okay. I’m alright, 999.” Logan reassured him.

999 looked up at him and lightened up a little. They smiled brightly and pulled Logan into a big bear hug. Logan smiled and hugged him back, feeling pure joy and nostalgia the longer he stayed with the creature. Logan reached into his bag, and grabbed a few things out of it: A few full bags, a box for a kitty pool, and an air pump. Logan pulled open the previously open box and pulled out the kitty pool before opening the air hole. Logan put the end of the pump into the air hole and started pumping with his foot.

As Logan pumped and pumped and pumped, 999 watched and grew more and more excited as to what it might’ve been. Soon, Logan had filled it completely up. Logan grabbed the bag, opened it, and started dumping out its contents:

Tons and tons of small, flattened plastic balls had started falling out of the bag and into the kitty pool! 999 let out an excited squeal and clapped its pseudopods with joy. “I know! I got you: A ball small ball pit!” Logan declared.

999 started bouncing around and letting out squeaky gurgles in pure excitement! 999 was ecstatic! She wouldn’t stop jumping around! 999 jumped into the kitty pool, and did a BIG flop upon impact! 999’s body started flopping and rippling like an ocean as an aftereffect of the hit, and started playing with all the balls that were in the kitty pool.

There were so many balls! So many to push through! Though some of the balls stuck against 999 as they moved through the balls. Then, 999 grew itself SUUUUUPER tall…

And fell down into the kitty pool like an elastic band, throwing multicolored balls absolutely everywhere! Logan had bursted out laughing as he watched. It was so entertaining to watch a blob play in a ball pit!

“Wow...I don’t think we ever made the connection that 999 would enjoy a ball pit!” Dr. ████ reacted. “And we should’ve at this point!”

Logan smiled. “That’s alright. You couldn’t fully guess anything.”

The doctor leaned back. “For the record, the sticking balls might end up needing to be removed by staff. So there’s a possible chance you may have made extra work for the workers in 999’s room.” Dr. ████ stated.

Logan’s excitement completely drained from his body.

Oh shit...he didn’t think of that…

“However:” Dr. ████ continued. “The staff LOVE 999. So, the ball pit will give them an excuse to visit the creature!” Dr. ████ declared.

Logan’s excitement filled right back up again. He was turning into a metaphorical emotional phone with a broken battery, with all his draining and rising of emotions. “That’s good! That means 999 isn’t alone in the slightest.” Logan reacted.

“He’s really not. He’s got more friends than I’ll ever have!” Dr. ████ added.

Not long after that gift, Logan had to leave. His jet trip had been later in the day than usual, so Logan didn’t have to wake up quite as early in the morning. So that sacrificed some of the time he had with the SCP’s on the first day. Logan pulled out a flashlight to ready himself for lights out, and put his map away.

But before he did any sort of leaving:

Logan kissed 999 good night on the forehead.

#scp foundation & sanders sides #scp 999 is loving #scp fandom #ticklefic #ler!131-a&b #ler!999 #lee!logan #scp-529 #scp-530 #scp 131 is back #tooth rotting fluff

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sincerelybluevase · 4 years

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Careful, Madam Chapter Four

A/N Thank you guys for all the kind comments! They really mean a lot to me and help motivate me to keep writing, hence why there’s a new chapter now 😉. Tagging @need-not, @emptymasks @thegirlisuedtobe @halewynslady @solattea @alice1nwond3rland @ladynephthyss

The rain came down in thick sheets. It drummed on the roof, against the walls and the mullioned windows. Someone had opened the window of my room and the sweet, green scent of summer rain drifted in, pure and cool and cleansing. How easy it was, to sit quite still and listen to the water gurgle in the drainpipes, to smell the scent of the azaleas, and not think, not feel…

Mrs Danvers kept looking at me with those liquid eyes, my knuckles dimpling her cheek. Funny, how far she and I had come, and so suddenly, too. This time yesterday I had feared her enough to scurry through the halls of my own home afraid to make a sound, as if she was some sort of predator who would pounce and break my neck if I was not careful. Now, she seemed my only friend and ally.

“I can’t be with child,” I said, very calmly, very coolly. “You are mistaken, and Maxim is, too.”

“Then why the nausea, Madam, the loss of your appetite, your heightened sense of smell? And all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve only bled once.”

“How would you know?”

“Did you think I took no interest in the habits of my new mistress, in her health and wellbeing?”

I wished to go back to that state of numbness that had held me prisoner only moments ago. It seemed preferable to the panic that now threatened to engulf me. It made my mouth dry and my heart hammer. My frock stuck to my neck and back.

“You don’t understand. I can’t be, I mustn’t be…” I pulled my hand from her grip and pressed both palms hard against my eyes, watching sickly colours bloom.

Days before, I had pictured the children Maxim and I were wont to have one day, strapping boys with grazed knees and a penchant for sports and mischief. I had imagined them running through the halls of Manderley, leaving their things everywhere, tennis rackets and cricket bats, wellington boots, thumbed adventure books, leather balls. Most of all, I had thought of Maxim’s face as he beheld his sons, the pride and fierce love making him handsome. He would look at me then, that strong look softened, and he would put his arm about me and kiss my forehead, and I’d be so desperately happy I could choke on it.

Now, all I could see was that haggard, haunted look of quiet madness as he told me how he had put a bullet through Rebecca and had felt only triumph, the straying bitch at last brought to heel…

Mrs Danvers clasped my wrists and pulled my hands away. “What do you mean, Madam? Why mustn’t you be?”

It all moved about inside of me, twisting and turning, scraping my innards like a little sharp-nailed hand. It clawed its way up my throat, cutting it to ribbons, and it could not be swallowed down and hushed, it could not be denied…

Mrs Danvers rubbed the tears from my cheeks with her thumbs. “Why, Madam?”

“Because I shall never be free of him once I give him a child,” I whispered. We stared at each other, both shocked by my words. I had not known what I would say until it was said, and now it could not be taken back.

“I… I didn’t mean that,” I stammered. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Mrs Danvers. He’s my husband; of course I wish for us never to be separated….” But the words sounded hollow to me, and the rapid thumping of my heart screamed liar, liar, liar.

Mrs Danvers hardened. Gone was the soft, liquid look. “Of course,” she said, her voice that mechanical thing once more, stilted and lifeless, “why would you? Not even Rebecca wanted a divorce, and she cared nothing for him, despised him, even. You, who love him, who says he is your whole world, would not want to miss him, not even for a moment.” She stood and went to the window to shut it, the rain splashing on her hands and face. She did not come back to me but remained standing there. The windowpane reflected her face remarkably well. It looked pale, tight.

I felt as if I might cry. “Mrs Danvers,” I said, “Mrs Danvers, Danny, please.”

“Please what, Madam? What do you want? You still don’t know, do you? To have his child, to be free of him, to be a perfect little wife, to be another, to love him, to love me. You can’t make up your mind.”

“Please don’t,” I whispered.

She turned round, pressing her hands hard against her ribs, curling slightly forward, as if in pain. “They found her boat, but you knew that already, didn’t you? They found her, yet all Mr de Winter could worry about was you, your little sickness, your delicate condition. Sometimes, it’s as if I am the only one who wishes to remember her, the only one who truly cared. He doesn’t even speak of her.”

“Oh, Mrs Danvers,” I whispered, “you wouldn’t like him to. I promise you, you wouldn’t want to hear what he has to say about her.”

Two spots of colour burned high on her cheeks. “Does he call her names? Does he rail at her, denouncing her for a whore and an adulteress? Does he, Madam?”

They came again, those traitorous tears. They stung, burning hot. I nodded feebly.

She laughed. “Well, then he hasn’t forgotten to be jealous, has he? Men! When they look at women, they only see whores and saints, and like nothing better than to tear a woman down they lifted up. Trust a man never to see a woman for what she really is.”

I thought of my father, of his warm-heartedness, his laughter and love. “No, Mrs Danvers. They’re not all like that. Most men are normal.”

She laughed again. It sounded like keening. “Perhaps, but that’s the worst of it, Madam; how are we to know who is and who isn’t? Safer to assume they’re all pigs.”

I was tired as a dog, all wrung-out. “But they aren’t, Mrs Danvers, truly they aren’t. I’m sorry you think they are, but that isn’t right and it isn’t healthy.”

“It isn’t right?” She tore at her cuff, pushing the fabric up to her elbow, and held out her arm to me. With a finger she traced the scar there, the neat purple line in her flesh. “You’ve wondered how this came to be, didn’t you? I shall tell you. I went to care for Rebecca when she was seven. Her mother had died when she was born, and so a nurse had taken care of her all her life. Now that she was seven, it was time for a governess, and I was employed. I was twenty-one; my employer, her father, a man of forty-six.”

She kept moving her finger over the scar, rubbing it red. “I found out the first week that he had wandering hands, and within a month, that his hands were not the only things doing the wandering. I wished to resign then, but he wouldn’t give me a proper reference, and without one, I was worth nothing. And there was Rebecca, of course. Such a charming child. The longer I stayed, the more I loved her. The more I loved her, the harder it was to leave. Her father’s… ministrations were never quite bearable, but I grew used to them. They had to be borne, for love of her.”

Still she rubbed, harsher now, her clipped nails leaving white streaks that flushed crimson. “And on and on it went, until one day when Rebecca came home early. I never knew if she suspected what her father and I did; he made sure she was not around when he paid me his little visits. Rebecca was supposed to be riding her horse, but the animal had thrown a shoe and so she’d returned earlier than expected. Sixteen she was then, with all the wit and beauty of a woman twice her age.”

Mrs Danvers smiled at the memory. It was a fragile, broken thing, this smile of hers, and it cut me deeply.

“We didn’t hear her. How could we, over his groans? But in she came, dressed in her riding habit. I didn’t know she was watching us, not until her father screamed and rolled off of me. She had struck him with her riding crop, and she kept striking at him, over and over again, breaking his skin and drawing blood. He nearly lost an eye. In the end I had to intervene; she was so wild, I thought she might strike him dead if I did nothing. I had to restrain her.

“‘You won’t ever lay a finger on her again,’ she told her father, ‘do you hear me? She’s mine now.’ He laughed through his tears, as if it was all a great joke. ‘What, do you want to fuck her yourself?’ he asked, so she hit him with her bare hand. Afterwards, she took me to her room and helped me clean the gashes she’d made, and then I was safe. So you see, I know men are not all wicked, but you’ll forgive me for not taking any chances.”

How could I ever tell her what Maxim had told me?

I went to her and stilled her scratching hand. She had broken the skin, and little beads of blood welled up. I put my mouth to the soft inside of her arm and sucked at it, fighting through the nausea to lave her poor skin with my tongue. “I’m sorry you were hurt,” I murmured.

Her hand curled against her ribs, pressing hard against her stomach. “I miss her so much I sometimes wish to destroy myself,” she whispered.

If anyone deserves to know what happened to Rebecca, it is Mrs Danvers. She’s the only one who truly loved her, I thought. Rebecca, with her brain and breeding and beauty, her wit and charm. Nothing of that had mattered in the end; she had died like a dog at the hands of the man who had sworn to love and cherish her.

If I did not tell her now, I feared I never would. I had to tell her, even though it smote me.

“Mrs Danvers, I must tell you something, something that Maxim only just told me.” My throat was still painful from where she had bruised it last night, pressing my face against the sheets as she made love to me. I swallowed thickly; the lapping at her skin had made me salivate. I kept kissing the sore spot at her arm, postponing the moment I had to talk, until she took hold of my chin and made me look up.

“What must you tell me, Madam?” she asked softly.

“It’s about Rebecca. Maxim told me…he killed her, Danny. Maxim killed Rebecca.”

#rebecca #my fanfic #danvich #a short chapter #but i hope a good one

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second-hand-heaven · 6 years

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a hug is worth a thousand words

For @batfamweek2018 Aug 3/Day 6: Hurt/Comfort

Ao3

Summ: A collection of hugs between Alfred and Bruce over the years.

Robert Bruce Wayne is five hours old when Alfred first holds him. Martha, half asleep, her eyes glossed over, watches on with a warm smile. "He likes you," she says, but Alfred pays her little mind. He's watching this tiny creature cradled in white and blue blankets, amazed and afraid and feeling a warm kind of love bursting in his chest.

A shy part of him had thought he wouldn't be allowed this, to hold the infant at all, least of all so soon. This was a time for Martha and Thomas and their child, not for him. But no, the Wayne's wouldn't have it. “You're family,” Martha had insisted, voice firm and commanding as ever, and Alfred was never one to disobey her. Thomas had taken Bruce from Martha's arms and passed him to Alfred, showing him where and how to hold the baby. So now, Alfred holds him, reluctant to let go.

The child starts to cry, a fiercely shrill sound that one day will become a bellow. Alfred rocks the small infant in his arms nice and gently. “Now, now,” Alfred says, his tone as no-nonsense as ever, “there will be none of that.”

The crying stops, like Alfred’s performed his first miracle and now he only needs two more to become a saint. Watery blue eyes watch him, curious, and yes, this boy is going to be smarter than all of them, he knows it. This child is going to outshine them all and Alfred can't wait to see it unfold.

Bruce is four years old, tottering around the gardens of Wayne Manor in a pair of bright yellow rubber boots that Alfred insists on calling wellingtons, Americanisms be damned. The boy’s cheeks are flushed as he runs up and jumps into puddles, laughing at the splashing water and the mess that he can make.

Alfred half watches the boy, focusing on the car before him. It's a lovely spring day, tomorrow will be even better, and the Waynes planned for a drive out into the country for a picnic. Which meant, of course, the Rolls needed to be washed, on top of all the other preparations that Alfred needs to make. He hoses off the last of the suds, surveys his work, and reaches for the chamois and squeegee.

He’s finished with the windows and about to start on the roof when he hears a soft thud, the scraping of gravel, and a high pitched wail. Alfred looks up from his reflection in the car bonnet. Bruce is on his hands and knees, face growing red.

Oh dear.

"Alfred," Bruce cries, making his way to his feet unsteadily.

Alfred tosses the chamois over his shoulder and is there by Bruce’s side in a moment, kneeling down in front of him. "Oh my boy," he says, sympathy in spades, "you're alright. Let me have a look." Alfred takes Bruce’s small hands in his, surveying the damage. His hands are a little scraped and reddened, but far from harmed. Bruce's legs, however, are another matter. There's gravel embedded in the boy's knees, a small trail of blood snaking down the front on each calf and into his boots. Alfred stands. "Come on, let’s get you cleaned up."

Bruce holds up his arms and Alfred bends down to scoop him up, resting the boy over his hip. Bruce clings to Alfred's lapels, crying softly into his shoulder.

With Bruce in his arms, Alfred hurries to the Manor, berating himself for letting this happen. Bruce is a child and children get hurt all the time, it’s part of growing up: skinned knees and climbing trees. It’s nothing too serious, but Alfred can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

They make it to the bathroom, Bruce's cries now only soft whimpers as Alfred sets him down on the vanity. Alfred pulls off the rubber boots, setting them down on the floor. With a damp cloth, Alfred wipes up the blood that's snaked its way down Bruce's stumpy legs and into his previously white socks. They'll definitely need to be soaked before they're washed, Alfred thinks to himself, continuing to clean away the blood.

He peels off the socks, and positions Bruce so that he is sitting on the edge of the basin, his feet dangling in. Alfred turns on the faucet, waiting until the water is a satisfactory lukewarm temperature. The water trickles down Bruce's legs, turning a light pink as it mixes with the last traces of blood. Most of the dirt washes away with the blood, but there are a few tiny pebbles still there. Alfred reaches out to brush them away. At the first touch to his knees, Bruce winces, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. Alfred pauses, biting his cheek. "Master Bruce," he says, "I know this hurts, but I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?" Bruce nods, the word 'brave' working its charm on the boy. "Good boy." Alfred tries again, this time much slower. With gentle hands, he washes the water over the wound, helping to ease away any gravel and dirt still left. Satisfied, Alfred turns off the water and grabs a towel.

From the cupboard beneath the basin, Alfred pulls out the first aid kit. He retrieves a tube of antiseptic cream which Bruce eyes warily,

Bruce's leg twitches as Alfred dabs the cream onto the cuts, but the boy remains steadfast and silent as Alfred makes quick work of the task. "All cleaned up. Now let's put a plaster on these and you'll be as good as new!"

"Alfred," Bruce says slowly, "can I have a yellow one?"

Alfred raises an eyebrow, recognising a word missing from Bruce's request. "What do we say?"

A pout, and then, "please?"

Much better. "Of course." Alfred rummages through the box and finds two bright yellow bandaids. He peels back the wrapping and sticks a bandaid over each knee, smoothing the edges neatly against Bruce’s skin. "All done."

Alfred reaches under Bruce's arms, about to pick the boy up and place his feet back on the ground, when Bruce wraps his small arms around Alfred's neck, clinging to him tightly. The hug says thank you, something the boy still struggles with. It’s alright though, a hug is more than enough.

"You're welcome, Master Bruce," Alfred says, hugging the boy back.

Bruce Wayne is eight years old and an orphan.

Gotham speeds past in a blur of grey and misery as Alfred races to the scene. All he can think about is the boy. Alive, the officer had said, the Waynes are dead but their son is alive. It’s the only thing that keeps him going, his foot heavy on the accelerator. He pulls up at the curb in front of a 'no parking' sign, and leaps out the door before the car comes to a complete stop.

Here he is at the scene of the crime. At the mouth of the alley, Alfred pauses. Police tape is pulled back to allow two gurney's to be pushed out of the alleyway and toward the coroner's van, two bodies encased in black. Martha and Thomas Wayne. Alfred swallows a curse, a denial, his throat tight around a lump of pain.

He pushes it all down. He can grieve later, but for now, he needs to find the boy. In a sea of police officers, Bruce might just get washed away. He scans the scene, eyes wide and desperate. He knows what he must look like, but he doesn't care.

There he is, impossibly small under a silver blanket, his pale fingers clenching tightly at the material. Bruce looks sickly, face tight, but he's alive, and that's more than Alfred could ask for right now. "Master Bruce," Alfred cries, his words hoarse.

Bruce looks up, as does the mustachioed rookie cop beside him. Catching sight of Alfred, Bruce leaps to his feet. They run to each other, meeting in the middle, and Alfred drops to his knees to envelop the boy in a crushing hug.

"You're okay," Alfred chokes, "you're okay." He's not sure if his words are for Bruce or himself. His collar grows damp, Bruce's tears soaking his shirt, but Alfred doesn't care, never cared, because Bruce is right here, in his arms, sobbing and shaking and breaking apart but he is alive. This wasn't a hurt that could be healed with bright yellow bandaids, but time would help, and so would Alfred. "I'm right here," Alfred says, "I will keep you safe. I promise you that."

He feels Bruce nod against his chest, those small fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. Alfred has questions, so many goddamned questions about the sonofabitch that did this, but he waits. The officers want a statement, have paperwork they want him to sign, but that can wait, it can all wait. Right now, he holds Bruce to him fiercely and refuses to let go.

Bruce is nineteen and he's saying goodbye.

"I have to go," he says, eyes steeled with determination. His cases are packed, but Alfred knows it's only for show. There's a duffle stacked on top of the luggage that has everything Bruce could possibly need for the first part of this journey, and the rest, Alfred supposes, Bruce will find along the way.

"I know," Alfred says, and he means it. He always knew Bruce would leave, even before he got the daft idea of become a vigilante stuck in his head. Gotham breaks everyone, and Alfred knows it's true. Bruce got a front row seat to the bitterness of this city when he was eight years old, a fate none of the Waynes -not Martha, not Thomas, and certainly not Bruce- deserved. Alfred wants to keep Bruce safe, vowed that he would, and if that means allowing this charade of the Bat to continue, then so be it. Bruce has to get away from this city, and once he does, a dark part of Alfred prays, may he never come back. "I expected you to sneak out.”

"I thought about it," Bruce admits, "but I couldn't leave without saying goodbye." Bruce holds out his arms, and Alfred doesn’t hesitate before stepping closer and wrapping the boy in his arms.

Bruce's growth spurt had finally hit, although it was a lot later than Bruce would have liked. He stands almost as tall as Alfred now, a frustrating inch less than six feet. "I love you," Bruce whispers into the creases of Alfred's jacket.

Alfred can't remember the last time he heard Bruce say it. "I love you too, my boy,” he says, and he prays this time won’t be the last.

Bruce's arms tighten around him for a moment, before he finally lets go. Collecting his luggage, he heads out the door, not looking back.

"Safe travels," Alfred says to Bruce’s shrinking back, knowing that they will be anything but.

Bruce Wayne is almost twenty three when he steps foot in Wayne Manor again.

"Alfred?" he calls out, taking the great step across the threshold. Alfred watches, words frozen in his throat. The prodigal son has returned after all, and all Alfred can do is stare.

An extra few inches in height, almost as tall as Thomas had stood, and a ridiculous amount of muscle mass, Bruce Wayne stands in the foyer of Wayne Manor, duffle bag slung across his shoulder. There's a scraggly beard and moustache attached to Bruce's lower face, the hair on his head not looking much better.

"Did you forget how to use a razor while on your adventures, Master Wayne?" Alfred snarks from the top of the stairs. Hardly the first thing he planned to say to Bruce when he returned (if he returned) but the words fall from his lips all the same.

Bruce grins, under all that hair, head tilted back to catch a glimpse of Alfred. "Seems I have."

Alfred makes to reply, but there’s a lump in his throat. His son is home, and it takes all his restraint not to run down those stairs and embrace him in a tight hug. He takes the stairs one at a time, gripping the railing tightly. Alfred’s slow, measured steps lead him an arms length apart from Bruce, waiting for the other to move.

“Not much has changed,” Bruce says, and it’s obvious he means the house. Alfred kept it all in order, even without another soul in the building. It’s all the same, but with Bruce home, here, alive, maybe the house could feel alive too. Maybe Alfred could.

Bugger it, he’s going to hug his son. He surges forward, The moment Alfred wraps his arms around him, Bruce freezes, and Alfred berates himself for being so stupid. It's been years, and Bruce is not the man he was when he left the Manor all those years ago. But Bruce hugs him back after a moment, and that anxiety melts away. The arms that embrace him are so much stronger, much more lethal than before, but now they hold Alfred’s ageing frame with a gentleness, a protectiveness, that makes Alfred’s eyes sting.

“Welcome home,” Alfred says, and his voice doesn’t waver one bit.

Bruce Wayne is... old, apparently. If Bruce is old, Alfred thinks to himself, what does that make him? Ancient? A relic? But he digresses, and in truth, Bruce is old. The things he's seen on Gotham's streets, the toll it's take on his body, Bruce Wayne has grown old before his years. He’s far too old to dress up as a bat and prance around the city, but Bruce insists, and Alfred’s protests seem to mean nothing these days.

Alfred finds Bruce in the sitting room, slumped against the arm of the sofa, just where Alfred thought he would be. He'd told Bruce to get some sleep, but of course, why would Bruce listen to the old man?

Bruce lifts his head, noticing Alfred as he enters the room. "Alfred?" he asks, a strange smallness to his voice.

Alfred masks his concern with a blank look. "Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Will you sit with me?"

It's such an odd request that Alfred almost drops the tea tray he's carrying. It never used to be an odd request though, not before Bruce became a Bat in the nighttime.

So Alfred sets the tray down on the coffee table and sits down on the sofa beside Bruce, enough space between them that it makes Alfred's chest ache a little. He remembers Bruce as a child, crawling onto the couch to sit right beside him, storybook held out in silent question. But Bruce is not a child anymore, and Alfred won't accept silent questions. "What is it?"

Bruce looks at him. "I scared children tonight, terrified them," he says, as if Alfred didn't know. Of course he knew, he'd been listening in through the earpiece the whole bloody time. The Bat had encountered the unfortunate situation of battling criminals in their own home, which never tended to end well. This time especially, when one of the men drew a gun and started firing. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault, and Alfred had said as much, but Bruce had shrugged him off. There was too much weight on Bruce’s shoulder, it seemed, that it couldn’t bear Alfred’s hand of comfort. "I swore that no child would have to go through what I did," Bruce continues, "and I can't keep that promise anymore."

A crisis of faith, of course. Alfred swallows and tries to find the words. "You cannot save everyone, no matter how hard you try. So you save who you can, and mourn those you cannot. You are trying to save a city that doesn't know how to be saved, Master Bruce. It doesn't deserve you, and yet here you are."

Alfred doesn't get a reply, instead he gets a pair of arms wrapped around his chest, a face pressed against his collarbone. There are no tears, not yet, but silent sobs that Alfred can only feel. Alfred hugs him back, rubbing soothing circles across Bruce's back.

He has grown into a great man, but at heart Bruce is still a boy. Martha and Thomas's boy. His boy. Alfred's arms tighten around Bruce's broad chest and holds him in silence, words vanished from his mind. The silence doesn’t matter, or maybe it does, but regardless, the embrace doesn’t need words spoken, it never really did.

You are safe here, the hug says, you are protected.

You are loved.

FIN

#batfamweek2018 #bfw2018 #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #dc #fic #my fic #butlerdad #hugs #so many hugs #my contribution to the week

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wichitacleaning12 · 4 years

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snshinepw · 6 years

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lilianpad-blog · 7 years

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Things I Love: A super long list

Parchment Paper

Sunsets

Peach-Pink

Peach-Pink Clouds

Laughing till your mouth hurts

Smiling till your mouth hurts

Good books

Perfect Test Scores

Dad’s Jokes

Chicken soup

Fresh Bread

Forget-Me-Nots

Lillies

Arctic Wolves

Fairy tales

Musicals

Playing the Ukulele

Getting a Clarinet piece perfect

Origami Stars

Drawing eyes

Police Boxes

Knitting

Harry Potter

Percy Jackson

My Family

Adventures

Travel

Wearing Swishy Dresses

Acorns

Chesnuts

Walnuts

Scissors that glide

Wildwood Chronicles

Costumes

Going to Wellington

Sharp pencils

Inky pens

Awards

Ted and his Scarf

Neat doll’s houses

Fantails

Sitting by the fire

Roasted Marshmallows

Bonfires

Grandma and Grandad’s Farm

Warming your hands by the toaster

Toast

Seeing old friends

Tight hugs

Singing

Writing

Bunny tails

Finding pipi in the sand

Ivy

Kittens

Cold, fresh air

Cold, fresh air when you can see your breath

Finding friends in the supermarket

New friends

The smell of bacon frying

Pizza

Little cousins

Compliments

Dainty necklaces

New babies

Nice Photos

Italy

The luge

Queenstown

Lake Taupo

Spongy soft grass

Blue glass

Double rainbows

Marbles

Ribbons

Sewing

Completing a hairstyle

My red bag

Fine-tip pens

New notebooks

New book smell

Old book smell

Lavender

Making tea

Successfully made dinner

Pancakes

Waffles

Maple syrup

Lemon Muffins

Bird-banding

Cleaning bird boxes

Ninja teddy

Good jokes

Teacher puns that everyone groans at but secretly loves

Inside jokes

Doctor who

Minimalist posters

New shampoo bottles

Homemade lemonade

Climbing trees

Pulling up carrots

Running in the sprinkler

Daisy chains

The Beach

Bodyboarding

Spotting for water skiers

Rollercoasters

Scarves

Beanies

Gloves

Slippers

Trampolines

Foam pits

Deep brown eyes

Chocolate

Caramels

Vanilla

Getting a haircut

Yorkshire Terriers

Going to Elly’s house

My books

My bookshelves

Feathers

Quills

Ink bottles

My Desk

My Dwarf coin

Good Movies

Getting work done

Giant eagles

Waterfalls

Small streams

Forests

The smell of crumble

The taste of crumble

Crumble

Frothy Milos

Blackcurrants

Blackcurrant flavoured things

Dried runner beans

Tiny books

Libraries

When the library has the book you wanted

Just-brushed hair

People you can be crazy with

Soft hands

Swings

Slides

Flying Foxes (both kinds)

High ropes

Worried chihuahuas

Baby seals

Hedgehogs

Baby Hedgehogs

Owls

Written letters

invitations

Wollen blankets

Happy Couples

Choirs

Playing piano

Inside grand pianos

Writing in code

Painting

Playing spies

Giant origami

Fortunetellers

Fresh biscuits

Milk and chocolate chip biscuits

Favourite clothes

Getting cards

Presents for no reason

Bookstores

Tiny shoes

Giant mirrors

Castles

Ruins

Old houses

Pony Rides

Horse Treks

Fairs

Fireworks

Sparklers

Disneyland

Disney movies

Re-watching Disney movies

Brown paper bags

Old bibles

Finding things you lost

Getting lost then being found

Birds nests

Speckled eggs

Duck egg blue

Art class banter

Herb gardens

Rosemary

Chips and dip

Grandma’s christmas stuffing

Grandma’s blackcurrant pie

Christmas trees

Christmas stockings

Christmas decorations

Christmas eve

Staying up for new years

Skiing

Mountains

The desert road

Bouncy castles

Lambs

Fish ponds

Photo albums

Comfy beds after a long day

Reading

Autumn colours

Red leaves

Capes

Warm coats

Spas

Bush walks

England

Old-fashioned lolly shops

Arrowtown

Cathedrals

The royals

Bubble wrap

Card games

Good music

Cobblestone streets

Snow

Frozen puddles

The sound of rain on the roof

Being warm in a storm

Hot water bottles

Weddings

Parties

April fools

Tricking the teacher

Round stones

Bottle caps

Badges

Moss

Rides on Grandad’s truck

Rowan berries

Holidays

Weekends

New Stationary

Stationary

Hardcover books

Pretty bookmarks

Foxes

Esplanade train rides

WOW shows

Playing in an orchestra

Getting stuck in the mud

Flower Crowns

Leaf Crowns

Garden mazes

Roses

Tiny ferns

Link handwriting

Bunting

Mini outdoor candles

Jazz band

Spinning chairs

Reading armchairs

Blanket forts

Treehouses

Nutmeg the bunny

Coronations

Royal weddings

Birthdays

‘I was thinking of you’ gifts

Advent calendars

New diaries

Red curly hair

Fountains

Bow and arrows

Thatched cottages

Little villages

Unexpected book shopping

Homemade cordial

Sticky date pudding

My brothers

The ECU

Finding that someone likes the same thing as you

Lace

Model villages

Giant goldfish

Watching waves

Aquariums

The chronicles of Narnia

Blossom trees in bloom

Freckles

4 leaf clovers

The weta cave

Flower fairies

Snapdragons

A midsummer night’s dream

Icy blue eyes

#things i love #positivity #stay positive #motivation

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pressurewashersconnect · 6 years

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digitwebsolutional · 2 years

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tuakiribysarahsomerville · 7 years

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Thought Process

Following is the ramblings that is my thought process throughout the developed/final stage:

PRIVATE

Bedroom Double Bed (For two, smallest size necessary as big beds are obnoxious and unnecessary. Looking out over the view. There is storage above their heads for phones, books, etc. No headboard thing as that adds bulk where its not needed. Small houses need no clutter so as not to make it feel too small and induce claustrophobia. Also needs the least amount of thing to distract them for when they try to go to sleep. Also some lighting above their head, with a central switch or a tap or clap one. Switch would be cheaper and easier to find. Spotlights give only a small field of light, especially at the height the light would be at. Normal sconce or pendant lights look pretty but can be obstructive, taking up more space than necessary, also could distract from view. A tube light could be good, won’t take up too much space, disperses light nicely. Yellow and warm lighting, softer, not harsh on the eyes. Placed underneath the above-bed storage. Storage below the bed, in the base? Yes, good use of space, use it to hold other sheets. Maybe a few different departments, one for duvet covers, sheets, blankets and pillow cases. One for larger clothes, like jerseys. User can decide where the items go, and how to organise their stuff, helps from their own identities in the space. Big draws though. Bed could be custom-made, made from mdc or timber. Timber might be unnecessary, mdc would do the job. Colour of base? Stained to be same colour as timber floors as storage. Don’t want to introduce too many colours, keep is sleek and simple to make the rooms seem bigger. But not too big. Linen colour left up to residents, forming their own identities and decorating to their own tastes. Flush up against one wall, can accessory climbing across bed lengthwise and widthwise. ) Storage (For Clothing, Shoes, Phone, Laptop, Books. Clothing will have closet of some kind, shelves and a hanging space, make a hook or two along the wall for additional everyday use. Am looking to encourage some minimalism in their possessions, as I believe we don’t need so many things. Shoes could go below bed or organised on shelf. I think shelf could work better instead of underneath the bed in draws, better organised. Using full height of wall, maybe have a stool in room that could also be used as a seat, so shorter people could reach top shelves, but also have another thing to sit on to put shoes on, as beds are sometimes too soft to be a stable surface. Stool doesn't need storage, can be put against wall. Materiality, wooden structure, maybe creating a grid system. At least something simple and not obstructive. Adding white would break it up a bit, make it blend in with walls. Cover the closet? Would hide it, less obstructive, but would be ugly a firm bulk in the corner. Maybe leaving it open would be better, for ventilating clothing, force people to be cleaner, would potentially distract from view, but I am okay with that. A solid box is more distracting than a nice display of your possessions. Solid box has mystery, looks like it is hiding something. Nice display it is! Above bed storage too. At good height so people can sit against wall and not hit head. Average height for woman is 5’4” is, leaving sitting height being less than 800mm. Top height for normal people is 6’3”. I think having the storage start at 1 metre above the mattress top leaves plenty of space. Accommodating to giants is not fun, so fuck you giants. Below bed is a good use of space, maximising every hidden spaces, see double bed section for more thoughts.) Lighting (Bedside, Ceiling. Pendant, hanging, spotlight, recessed into the ceiling? Ceiling light would be on when it gets dark… Its dark when they are getting ready to sleep. Is it necessary? Yes it is, they need to be able to see the storage in the dark, and when the curtains are closed too! Pendants could be a nice feature, something sleek, simple that would add to the view. Or would the pendant always distract from the view, would you always look at it instead of the view. But i have to consider when the curtains are closed, the room would have no fun it there was no pendant light. So maybe a pendant light is good, maybe something not obstructive when its off, because of the sun is out, then the view is worth looking at, but if the sun is down, then the view isn't worth seeing. But that depends on the view! In Wellington all views are nice. But a pendant is still a good idea. Maybe something the same colour as the curtains, so you have limited colours in the space. If the curtains are green, then the pendant is green and then you have some fun in the space, also acts as a visual clue as to what to look out for, with all the green around you notice it more. Shape of pendant light, something nice, I’ll look around. Yellow light though, warm, more soothing on the eyes. See bed section for thoughts on bedside light.) Power Points (For Phone, Laptop, for various chargers. In above bed storage, so the phones, etc have a space to sit while being charged. simple really/ How many? Four outlets.) Window Treatments (Slidy ones could be nice, the roll-down less so, indoor shutter tricky and bulkier than necessary. I like the normal slide one, adds softness and more warmth, also holds in more heat. Choice for how they move? Between small, incognito plastic slides or wooden rods. I think i like the small plastic slides as they are less in your face. Full wall or just above the window? Full wall would look more intentional, so that. Hide the tops of them? Not necessary as the slides are small. Colour of curtains? Either something light and complementary to wood, not white, like a cream. Or something contrasting, bright. No, because then it would take away from the view, so maybe complementary to the view, like a green. Green could bring out the colours of the trees, play nicely against the wood and white of the walls. Texture? Soft, woollen, nice to feel, something you’d want to touch while you admire the view. Patterned or not? No, because then it would take away from the view, and i like the idea of the of a solid, slightly darker green framing the view.)

Kitchenette Storage( For Snacks and necessary cutlery, plates, cups, bowls. Simple cupboards, fill the given space, allow plenty of space for residents to choose where to put things. are there cupboard doors? Am i hiding all the storage, fridge, etc? Storage yes, fridge no, sink and bench space no. Why would i need to hide them? No reason at all, so i won’t. Simple cupboards above the bench and below. Not too much thought needed for this, nothing revolutionary. How to open the cupboards? Maybe cupboard doors with a finger-sized hole so you open it by pulling with one finger. Yes thats the one. Materiality? Mdf, stained to be same colour as the floors. Simple, flat exterior. With hinges. Fill the height. There’s a stool in the bedroom. Another one for the kitchenette too! Power points (Electric kettle, other accessories. Two maximum, on kitchenette bench top. Sink and bench space (Is this necessary? I use the kettle for tea and dishes, drinking water, etc. Can the residents get this from the bathroom? Technically yes, but culturally no. What happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom. Kitchen sink is necessary. That means bench space is necessary too. Allows space for the kettle. I am assuming that everyone uses electric kettles, i know some people don't make hot drinks, but I do, so I’ll add space for one. The sink will be the normal size for a kitchen, not too big, not like something that would be considered for heavy duty cleaning but something you’d have in your normal kitchen. Water supply is necessary then, design allows for the outer wall to technically be the same wall so pipes don't have to reach too far. Have nearer the bathroom just in case. Where to but the water tank? Above them so less power need to get the water places, would also need extra support. Below the bathroom flooring? Would need compartment, water wouldn't need to travel too far, I am having earth come right up to the walls. If i put a retaining wall outside and create a mini room beneath the bathroom to accommodate the water tank, maybe the water from the roof goes to tank, after some sterilising. That all could work. More research is needed to figure out the exact plumbing system, but the placement is the water tank should not be a problem. ) Small fridge (For cold snacks, water bottles etc. Smallest possible, underneath bench space, i need a power supply for that, i’ll have one in the wall behind the fridge. Lighting ( Each level will have lighting, if they are all the same, gives more sleeker design feels. So same one as decided for the bedroom. I’ll have lighting above the bench space too, maybe if the storage is above the bench then the lighting could go beneath the cupboards, like in the bedroom, use same light style too. Colour of light? White? It would encourage action, awaken the residents, but would also show every gross part. Yellow? Nicer on the eyes, lights things prettier. I think white is better for the purpose of a kitchen, people should not relax in a kitchen. Wait, is one above the bench needed? Bench will be use to hold things, cut the occasional snack, hold the kettle, all of which don't need a spotlight, the lighting from the pendant would be enough. So one above the bench is not needed so I wont include one.

Bathroom Storage (Towels, Tooth Stuff, Soaps, Hair stuff, Toilet Stuff, Cleaning Stuff, Face Stuff. Storage below sink Toilet (Water Supply needed. Water tank and the other water system stuff in a ‘room’ below the bathroom with pipes that feed to bathroom and kitchenette. Pretty simple toilet, not built in to wall, standard toilet. Toilet paper on wall beside, toilet brush in storage beneath sink.) Sink and bench (on bench, standard size, materiality? Bench Mirror Shower ( tiled walls, with tiled and raise bottom, pipes leading to shower heads. Light tiles all around the shower space to keep the space looking more spacious. More research in to type of tiles, have same tiles in other tiled areas. Floor and wall tiles the same? No.I think I can afford to have some fun in the bathroom. The floor of the bathroom will be wooden like the rest of the building, although i wonder whether you can fit out a bathroom in wooden tiles? Something to look into really, because it could look really cool. Lighting Ventilation Water Tank

Workspace

COMMUNAL

Kitchen Bathroom Laundry Living/Recreational

Communal area vs private area? which one to focus on?

My approach to wellbeing is to focus on the fact that living in and affecting communities, having positive relationships with your neighbours, friends and family and liking where you live is beneficial to your wellbeing. So to show how i tackled this would be to show how the residents interact with each other, thus the communal part would be better to show. But i have done a lot of work on the private, including the structural and a better use of my time would be to continue on with the private. But to counter that, as of today, the private space bores me, i have worked so long on it, i am losing steam and the work process is taking longer than necessary. So maybe reinvigorating my work by focussing on the communal area could be good for my own wellbeing and also inspire me to work faster and better. Like i really am inspired by the communal space. And i have done a lot of work for the private probably enough to satisfy the secondary part of design. At the moment i am leaning towards finalising and detailing the communal space. I mean if i want to show that living in a community is best for you and then provide evidence for the opposite is kinda shit. I’ll ask the tutors, see what they think. I can finish all the communal space stuff. The overall design is simple, and sleek, leaving it bare so the residents could form a relationship with the space and have a positive affect on the space is an intentional thought.

Concrete vs Timber? The age old struggle. Concrete achieve the shape better but is cold and i don’t know how it works. I understand timber framing, but its frustrating to try and make a curved wall with timber. Timber is prettier as well. Concrete could be made warmer with wood accents. I could make the design more faceted, nope, that would be ugly and not what i want. I want a smooth, sleek, simple design that snakes around the tree and sits nicely in the landscape. Concrete can do that, maybe having wooden vertical slats would be nice, brings warmth. Inside was always going to have white walls, wooden floors, which would be achieved by having concrete foundations. Timber is something i understand, blends better in to the trees. I am of equal mind. One doesn't appeal to me more. Concrete is simpler. I might have to work out exactly where the power points are and the lighting, but i could easily do that, I was probably going to do that anyway. Could inspire to bring a living wall in. Living wall isn't necessary. i don't know. I’ll ask tutors.

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