#Wall hung toilet seat

[esselbathfittings]

Pick the Perfect EWC for Your Bathroom Space

When we say European Water Closet or Western toilets, it is to the design which is enhanced to be very sleek and worthy, in other manner it is that the design is integrated with multiple other mechanisms that might not be found in any other simpler toilet seats. EWC hence, creates an ecosystem of the bathroom with the outlook as well as the built-in advanced features.

Even if not for the looks the Western toilet works better than a traditional toilet setup, it is due to the integration of multiple features which makes it more flexible While a regular toilet seat is just the lid and seat part that sits on a standard toilet bowl, an EWC or western toilet is a complete unit that includes both the bowl and the flushing mechanism. It is all curated to make a better toilet seat for an experience in the bathroom.

One Piece EWC/ One Piece Toilets

One piece EWC curates a design that has a single unit for every combination or setup of the tank or other parts. The major development with one piece EWC or western toilet is that it eliminates the need for multiple joints making them almost invisible. Now these joints might be of no relevance to you only if you didn’t know that they will have less chance to be clogged. This is because the absence of joints in between of tank and bowl makes it easy to flow and even better for the cleaning process. The installation process with one piece toilet also makes a lot of difference with one piece of EWC, as the single unit of EWC is not exactly hard to install. They are all ready to be installed. One piece EWC will use much less amount of water and yet flush better due to an efficient flushing mechanism.

Few options for One Piece EWC

EARL- One-piece water closet with seat cover EAST- One-piece water closet with seat cover ELMO — One-piece water closet with seat cover

Wall Hung EWC/ Wall Hung Toilet Seat

Let us take a shot at the big space bathroom. More than showers and a few other accessories you can minimize your bathroom with the EWC you choose. Wall hung western toilet is mounted and fixed on the wall. More than beating gravity from inside the wall, it takes the minimum space in the bathroom and makes the area more open to new requirements.

By beating gravity it does not beat gravity, while we must ensure that the base does not touch the floor which makes the floor clear to clean and has a very fair advantage with hygiene. Nevertheless, the design of the wall hung toilet Seat always has complexity during the installation because beating gravity behind the wall takes time and effort and to give a chic appearance it is required to keep it that way ensuring safety for the longest time. It is also required to have a strong wall support that will further create support for the structure of the wall hung EWC.

Few options for Wall Hung EWC

ECAR — Wall Hung Closet with UF Seat Cover EDIA — Wall Hung Closet with PP Seat Cover ELECTI — Tankless Wall Hung WC with electro Flush, UF Soft close slim seat cover

Conventional EWC

Have you seen the very retro style of the western toilet? If not then here is one such western toilet which has the traditional mechanism. In conventional EWC, the tank is mounted on the back of the bowl, and the flushing mechanism is typically integrated into the tank. This is what we call a traditional bathroom, retro-styled. They are easy to be installed and do not need too much work while installation. Although they might catch more grime at the joints and require frequent maintenance. The flexible installation makes it easier to clean and maintain. Furthermore, these toilet seats must use more water than the modern western toilet unless they are designed with water-saving features.

Few options for conventional EWC

EACT — Conventional EWC square with seat cover EBAR — Concealed — Conventional EWC EBIO — Universal with seat cover

Conclusion

The types of EWC or western toilets depend on your preferences, if you need a minimal look go for wall wall-hung EWC, if you need a sleek design with efficient function function, go for a piece EWC and if you need a traditional western toilet, go for a conventional EWC. all play a major role with the preferences but most importantly look for the needs for each with your bathroom style and design. With bath fittings, Essel also has paved its strength in the trust of all these types of western toilets.

Source Link

[essco-bathware]

Top Wall Mounted Toilet Seat with Soft Close Seat Cover: Artize

Artize Wall Mounted Toilet Seat: Sleek design, silent-close cover. Modern functionality for a stylish bathroom. Redefine your space effortlessly!

[raajrajasharma]

Upgrade Your Bathroom with a Trendy Wall Mounted Toilet in india | Frikly

Elevate Your Bathroom with Premium Wall Mounted Toilet from Leading Manufacturers at Frikly. Discover a wide selection of branded Wall Mounted Toilet online, offering unparalleled quality and style. Whether you seek a sleek and modern design or a bold and unique statement piece, our collection has it all. Transform your bathroom into a stunning sanctuary with our lowest-cost options, without compromising on quality. Shop now and buy the perfect Wall Mounted Toilet for your space, exclusively at Frikly!

[orynbathstore]

Maximize Your Bathroom Space with Wall Hung Seats

Upgrade your bathroom with our stylish and space-saving wall hung seats. Explore our range for modern designs and premium quality. Visit Oryn Bath Store today!

[payetasoiree]

Master Bath Bathroom Baltimore

Walk-in shower - small modern master yellow tile and porcelain tile porcelain tile and gray floor walk-in shower idea with flat-panel cabinets, brown cabinets, a wall-mount toilet, white walls, an integrated sink, solid surface countertops and a hinged shower door

[ketan31]

Sanitaryware - Buy Premium Quality Sanitaryware & Cisterns At Low Prices In India | Frikly

Sanitaryware & Cisterns - Shop Best Quality Sanitaryware Online at Lowest Prices in India on Frikly – Best Online Shopping Store For Home Decor Materials. Free Delivery, Easy order cancellation & returns, COD, Best Offers, and Affordable Prices.

[ukbathroomshoponline]

Explore a full range of wall hung toilets with soft close seat online at Bathroom shop UK, Wall hung toilets, also known as wall mounted toilets or floating toilets, are stylish & practical. UK's most popular Online Shop for Wall Hung Toilets. Choose from our range of Wall Hung Toilets and get a clean modern look to your Bathroom or Cloakroom.

[rileyslibrary]

The Log Cabin: Wish and Hope

Synopsis: You go on a vacation with the Lieutenant at his log cabin.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2,617

A/N:

Wholesome fluff.

This is the final part of the story, but you can also read it as a one-shot. (Part 1 & Part 2 if you’re interested)

The inspiration behind the exterior/interior of the cabin.

Also, writing this chapter was quite the journey.

———————————————————————

The sun has almost set by the time you reach your destination.

Simon parks the car at the bottom of the hill, where the road ends, marking the boundary between civilisation and the wilderness. He retrieves his balaclava from the back seat’s pocket and scans the surroundings before getting out of the car.

“Get the axe and Bourbon from the backseat,” he instructs as he steps out.

You follow his directive, picking up the well-worn axe and a bottle of amber liquid from the backseat.

Simon slings his rucksack over his shoulder and tucks his mask into one of the front pockets. He takes your bag with one hand and a red toolbox from the car’s floor with the other.

You show him the axe and Bourbon from across the car, shaking both in your hands. With your supplies gathered, you exchange a nod—a habit you picked up from the field—and begin your way up the hill, leaving the car behind.

———————————————————————

You walk beside him, but he’s gaining ground quickly. He looks unfazed by the long journey—as if he hadn’t spent the entire day driving.

You, on the other hand, are exhausted. Each stride feels heavier on your legs, and the uneven path doesn’t help. The moss cushions your steps, making it difficult to gauge the depth of the ground beneath you.

Sometimes, you stumble, and he glances back to check on you. He looks you up and down, assessing you, before returning his attention to the trail ahead.

“Tired?” he asks, which feels more like a rhetorical question—an observation, a statement—than as a genuine concern.

You shake your head. Fatigue clouds your thoughts, and you fail to register that he can’t perceive your nonverbal response. He turns around once more, waiting for an answer.

“Nope,” you reply, forcing yourself to stand a bit taller. “Not tired at all.”

His gaze shifts forward, and you slump.

You try to focus on your senses, hoping to distract your mind until you reach the cabin. You look up at the tree branches, outlined by the fading light, casting a dark shadow above you. You listen to the birds calling, the insects responding, and a stream nearby. You take a deep breath, smelling the pine and wet ground. It seems like it rained not long ago. It’s a bit chilly. You wonder why you didn’t bring your jacket, only to recall that it’s August. Then you realise it’s August but in the Scottish woodlands.

———————————————————————

You must have walked for another fifteen minutes before the cabin finally reveals itself. It’s almost dark now, but you can see the worn wood that graces it. The hut is tiny, way smaller than you imagined, with a triangular roof and a chimney. How does one fit a fireplace in there? How does he fit in there? How are you both going to fit in there?

A small front porch extends from the cabin’s entrance, complete with a lone chair and a lantern hung next to the door. A serene pond reflects the darkening sky nearby, its surface motionless, still, mimicking the night.

As you approach the cabin, you notice a smaller room that you assume to be the toilet—a logical consideration given the cabin’s size. An open shower is nearby, next to a tree, shielded by strategically placed vertical logs for privacy.

Simon places your bags on the porch and retrieves the lantern. He fills it with fuel, lights it up, and hands it to you. He unlocks the cabin door, pushes it open, and motions with his head for you to take the first step inside.

It’s cosy. Intimate. How will he handle such closeness?

A two-seater brown leather sofa invites you to relax while a small fireplace stands against the wall. A compact table with a lone chair marks the boundary between the living room and the kitchen, which consists of a fire stove, a single counter, and exposed cabinets stocked with plates, cups, and utensils.

You concentrate on a nook at the far end of the kitchen, where a double bed is placed. It’s so snug it looks like the room was built around it. A small window in the bed’s headboard frames a view of the outside shower.

“Did you build this by yourself?” You ask, placing the axe and the Bourbon on the table.

Simon’s head pops in from the doorway at the sound of your voice.

“What?” he asks.

“This,” you gesture to the cabin. “Did you build it on your own?”

He seems surprised by your question. “Me?” he points to himself. “Nah, I found it like this.”

“You found it like this,” you echo, raising your eyebrows.

“I bought it that way and made a few tweaks,” he explains as he places your bags on the sofa and proceeds to get into the details of his modifications.

You focus again on the interior, capturing the nuances he points out. The stove, the sofa, the solitary chair beside the table – they all reflect his choices. That’s him; you’ve never seen him like this. Or, at least, this side of him.

“Also installed a couple of solar panels; I’ll go check on ’em,” he concludes, grabbing a flashlight from the toolbox. “We eat when I come back, yeah?”

You nod, but he’s already heading out, leaving you alone in the cabin. You set the lantern on the kitchen table.

You want to rest, but the sofa is covered with bags and equipment, and you’re too weary to clear them away. The lone chair by the table doesn’t look like it would do any favours for your achy back. Instead, you opt for the bed. You sit on its edge and pat the mattress.

Thoughts bubble to the surface, and your mind focuses on a particular issue—the sleeping arrangements. Yes, you’re comrades who shared a bed out of necessity before, but that was a different scenario—now, sleeping together in a bed while on vacation? A shared vacation? That’s an entirely different matter.

As you reflect, your fingers graze the sheets. They’re soft—inviting. Leaning back, you sink into the mattress, its comfort drawing you in. The hiss of the lantern, paired with your breath, becomes a lullaby in the cabin’s silence. As the emotional strain and the tension in your body eases, the bed cradles you, its comfort pulling you deeper into its embrace. The day’s worries fade away with each breath. You close your eyes one last time for the day.

———————————————————————

The morning sun filters in through the bedroom window, gently nudging you awake. You blink, focusing on the wooden wall that stands inches away from your nose. You sit up slowly. Strange—your body isn’t positioned the way it was when you drifted off to sleep.

You turn at the empty space beside you; he is not there, yet the slightly flattened pillow and the tousled sheets hint that he has occupied that spot. There’s also a subtle change in your clothing; while you’re still dressed the same as yesterday, your shoes are missing. You wiggle your toes.

The sounds of the outdoors seep into the cabin, and you look out the window. Yesterday must have drained you completely. Sliding to the edge of the bed, you plant your bare feet onto the cool wooden floor, spying your shoes near the cabin entrance. As you approach them, you instinctively reach for Simon’s jacket, hanging over the chair. Wrapping yourself in it, you inhale deeply at its collar.

You slip into your shoes and open the cabin door. The brisk morning air greets you first, biting at your skin, and you hug Simon’s jacket tighter around you. A weird sound is coming from somewhere nearby that feels out of place from its surroundings.

Your eyes narrow toward the source—something by the pond. You shield your eyes from the sun’s glare, and the source becomes clearer. Simon stands at the pond’s edge, wearing a grey shirt that clings to his sweat-dampened chest. Gripping the axe with both hands, he raises it overhead, the blade briefly shining before descending with a solid thud. It bites into the wood and splits it in half with an audible crack. Then again. And again. And again.

Occasionally, he lets out a soft grunt as he swings the axe, releasing the tension from his body until he repeats the same movement. The sweat glistens on his skin, and his biceps flex with every lift, then relaxing with each hatch.

“Morning,” you finally say.

He pauses mid-swing and looks up. He sets the axe down against a log and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Dark patches are spreading from his underarms. He’s breathless, so he nods at you instead.

“What happened in there?” you ask, motioning towards the bed.

Simon’s lips curl up. A single droplet drips from the tip of his nose as he bends and picks up the axe again.

“You confused sleeping with dying; that’s what happened.”

You chuckle. “You couldn’t wake me up, huh?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “For someone who claims to be ‘not tired at all,’ you sure fell asleep like a rock,” he says, swinging the axe once more to split another log.

“Tea?” you offer.

“Please.”

You grin. “Beg a little, will you?”

He lets out a chuckle. “Careful now,” he warns you jokingly, giving the axe a casual twirl in his hand and keeping on working.

You roll your eyes and make your way to the kitchen. You grab a kettle, fill it with water, and place it on the stove. Opening the tea box, you browse the selection with your finger, then turn to search for Simon outside, thinking of asking him about his tea preference. However, he’s nowhere to be found. Redirecting your focus to the options, you speculate he’d be content with whatever you choose; he wouldn’t bring them here if he didn’t like them. You settle on Earl Grey.

As the water heats up, you ready the teapot with the tea blend and look out the window above the bed. There’s movement. You take a closer look.

Simon stands right by the shower. He slowly peels off his shirt, revealing his upper body inch by inch, and drapes it over the partition as he steps into the shower. His jeans and boxers follow suit, finding their place next to his shirt. He lifts his hand and turns on the shower head, finally releasing the water he yearns for after his hard work. His eyes shut as he lets the water flow down his body, starting from his head, tracing the line of his neck, and continuing down to his shoulders.

Did you lose your ability to breathe, or did time slow down? Does it matter? And, close your gaping mouth; you’ve seen nothing extraordinary. I, on the other hand, have seen every inch of him. Pathetic.

At least, that’s what the kettle appears to be screaming at you as it whistles for your attention. You remove it from the heat, pour it into the teapot and set it aside. You return to the window above the bed; Simon is no longer there.

You curse at the kettle.

———————————————————————

With the soothing warmth of tea inside you, you set out on a hiking adventure into the forest. It’s a familiar trail to Simon, yet the landscape seems untouched—whispering leaves, twittering birds, the distant murmur of a nearby stream. Sunlight filters through the foliage, draping the ground with a delicate pattern of golden lace. Moss and decomposing leaves mingle with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers to create a unique scent.

As you continue on the trail, you get captivated by an ancient tree standing alone, gnarled and weathered by time. Its roots grip the earth like they were there before your kind began to call this place home, and its branches reach for the sky as if praying to the gods. You touch its trunk and feel unworthy.

“Naychuh.” Simon’s voice breaks the silence. It takes a few seconds for you to register what he just said.

“Indeed,” you add. “Nature.”

“It’s amazing how they can withstand everything and remain so strong,” he observes, tracing the tree’s bark with his fingers. “Resilient.”

“I wish I were like that.” You murmur.

He averts his gaze, releasing his grip on the trunk. “The environment definitely helps,” he comments, shrugging. “Plant this tree in the Caribbean, and it’ll be dead in a week, but here?” He taps the trunk. “It flourishes.”

“Our environment isn’t very… flourishing, Lieutenant.”

“Simon,” he corrects you with a smile and motions towards the path ahead. “This way.”

The walk continues, each step leading you deeper into the woods. Neither of you utters another word. The nearby stream does all of the talking for you.

———————————————————————

The journey back to the cabin is easy; you both seem relaxed, no matter the distance you have walked. The forest’s inhabitants appear to switch shifts, preparing for the night; birds cease to chirp, and owls take their positions. Shadows lengthen, and the air carries a gentle chill, hinting at the approaching evening.

You’re filthy but content. Happy. You light the lantern and pull out fresh clothes from your bag.

Simon squats in front of the fire pit outside, preparing it for grilling. He piles the logs he cut earlier into the pit, tosses in some dried pine needles, and lights them up.

Two very different ways of getting burned stand before you. You step closer to him.

“Mind if I hit the showers?” you ask.

“Go ahead,” he says, nodding towards the enclosure.

“Promise you won’t look?”

“Not a fucking pervert like you are,” he jokes with a playful smile on his lips as he pokes the fire. “Spying from the windows.”

“I beg your pardon,” you snap, your face slowly turning red. “I wasn’t spying!”

“Sure, you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” You retort and smile. “I was simply enjoying what nature had to offer.”

He stifles a chuckle and shakes his head. “We eat in 20,” he announces. “Go.”

———————————————————————

With the sun now entirely gone, the fire glows brighter against the darkness.

You sit side by side, close to the fire, content from the shared meal. Each of you holds a glass of Bourbon and looks up at the sky, admiring the shooting stars.

A chuckle escapes you, catching Simon’s attention.

“What?” he asks, his brows knitted together.

You look down at the glass in your hand, then back up at the sky.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “I just find it funny how trees stay resilient while stars fall.”

He follows your line of sight to the night sky.

“Trees fall, just like stars,” he says, swaying his glass. “And just like us.”

“Interesting perspective, Lieut—”

“Simon,”

“Interesting perspective, Simon.”

He nods. “We all fall when the time comes.” He whispers.

You tilt your head, studying his profile. He’s aware of your gaze, yet he doesn’t shy away.

“But every fall serves a purpose,” he continues. “Trees offer us warmth, for example.”

“And what about us?” You ask.

“We put ourselves on the line to protect others.”

“Is that what you think we do? Protect?”

“I try to find some reasoning behind it,” he admits, shrugging.

Your focus shifts back to the night sky.

“And what about stars?” you wonder. “What purpose do shooting stars hold? Creating a spectacle for us, the protectors?”

He takes a sip from his glass, a soft smile on his lips.

“They make us wish,” he murmurs. “They make us wish and hope.”

———————————————————————

[tvgals]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ IN EVERY UNIVERSE .

— when traveling across multiple universes, miles learns the two of you are together in every single one .

e1610! miles morales x black! fem! reader .

miles pants as he’s in a universe that looks eerily similar to his own, but he knows it’s not his due to the sound of his own voice ringing from his bedroom. miles soundly walks through the house — going unnoticed due to his invisibility — and peeks through his bedroom door to see you and miles sitting on his bed, you placing stickers on his face.

“just stay still!” you giggled, placing a heart sticker on his tip of his nose. “what are we doing this for again?” miles asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could but not being able to hide the amusement in his voice. “gotta take pictures of you for our scrap book, plus i can’t let these stickers go to waste.” you tell him, snapping a picture on your phone and smiling when looking at the results. “see! isn’t it cute?” you questioned your miles, a love struck look in his brown eyes.

-

the next universe was by far his favorite. miles walked around looking at the pictures that hung on the walls or were placed carefully on a table or shelf, it was pictures of you and him — about 10 years older — with two little kids, one boy one girl. miles was taken out of his train of thought when he heard the giggles of a little girl. he waited to make sure no one else was in the way and he poked his head in through the crack in the door, watching you put the little girl’s afro into two puffs held together with pink ribbons.

“is daddy gonna like my hair?” the girl asks you, looking up at you with curious eyes. “well i dunno. let’s go find out, yeah?” miles instinctively moved out of the way and watched you and the little girl walk into the room where older miles was, watching your daughter jump on the bed and ask — “do you like my hair?” just for him to respond with picking her up and telling her how much he loves it.

-

the last universe miles was able to travel to was interesting. in this universe, it was just you and him inside an assumed shared apartment. miles tip-toes down the hall to hear you laughing at something he said.

“miles, just put the mask on!” you tell him, a goofy grin on your face. “i’m trying! the wand is too small.” miles complains, struggling to get the mask on his face. “here, lemme do it.” you say, taking the wand from his hand and applying it yourself, watching miles look down at you with love. “there.” you say, proud of your work. “now, let me do your nails!” you grin, watching miles’ eyes go wide.

“like paint them?” miles asks, following you with his eyes while you walk around the bathroom and gather the clippers and clear nail polish. “kinda. it’s a clear coat and it helps with breakage and stuff.” you tell him, coaxing him to sit on the toilet seat. “it won’t show?” miles asks, sadness in his voice. “well why are you sad about it?” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “i just wanna show everyone what good of a nail artist my girlfriend is.” miles says, a dopey grin on your face. “we can do blue afterwards, i promise.” you say to him, smiling right back.

-

and this universe, miles was finally home. he knocks on your door, being let in by your mom.

“what brings you over here, miles?” your mom grinned, leaning against the door. “is it okay if i stay over? mom and dad are working late and i don’t wanna be alone.” miles says, twiddling his thumbs. “of course! rio and jeff know you’re here, right?” your mom asked, letting miles in. “of course. thank you.” miles says, practically racing up the stairs and into your room.

“miles!” you exclaimed, seeing him walk into your room. “hey, y/n!” he exclaimed back, catching you with a grin when you threw yourself into a hug. “where’ve you been?” you asked, checking his face to make sure he was okay. “had to stay over at school, just some project stuff.” miles shrugged. “oh, and i brought some face masks and a new notebook!” miles says, holding up the bag excitedly. “what’s the notebook for?” you ask, flipping thought the pages.

“i thought we could take up scrapbooking.” miles grins.

-

a/n this was based off of an idea i saw on my feed and i can’t find it 😞

TAGLIST ;— @looking4chanel @draculara-vonvamp @therealcees-blog @laylasbunbunny @lovelytayy @kisminarii @d7n3 @deadgirlkisses @darkknightpeanutbagel @thecoloredpages @xricly @princesslilisworld @mxspiderman2099 @marcelineormars @23victoria @ravereina @stevenknightmarc @laaailuh @diorsbrando @madz-rulez @planetspiderzz @chinieh @asensitivecookie

[imaginecolby]

caretaker || c.b.

summary: when you have a little too much to drink on a night out, colby jumps into caretaker mode.

requested by anonymous.

“which do you like better?” you asked aloud, stepping out into the bedroom wish two dresses in your hands. colby looked up from his phone, eyes flicking back and forth between the options you held in front of him.

“of course i’m going to choose the black one.” he laughed. “but i do like that blue one on you.” he added.

“mm, the black one is more comfortable though.” you said. you were getting ready to go out with some of your girlfriends for a celebration of one of their birthdays.

“well, there you go.” colby laughed. you finished getting ready, spritzing on your perfume and sliding into your shoes. you looked up in the mirror and caught colby giving you a once over, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth.

“mmm, dont look at me like that or i wont ever leave.” you said to him.

“maybe that was my intention.” he said, raising a brow at you. you laughed and rolled you eyes. you finally finished getting ready, said your goodbyes to colby, and made your way downstairs to catch your uber to the restaurant you were having dinner at. 

you met up with your friends, made it to your table and the night ensued. dinner, drinks, conversation, and good time were have by all. after dinner, you ended up at a nearby bar for more drinks. as the night continued, you could tell that you were reaching your limit. you’d downed another shot, and it did not sit well with you. 

you drunkenly ran to the bathroom, quickly making your way into a stall. you immediately started spewing the contents of your stomach into the toilet. 

“you okay in there?” a strange voice called from the neighboring stall.

“yeah,” hiccup, “im okay now.” you said out of breath. you fumbled around your clutch and pulled out your phone, tapping on colby’s contact profile to dial his number.

“hey baby.” he said softly when he answered.

“hey. did i wake you?” you asked.

“no, i was up. are you okay? your voice sounds raspy.” he asked.

“yeah im fine. but, um, can you come pick me up?” you asked.

“yeah, of course. text me your location.” he answered without hesitation. you agreed and hung up, immediately texting him the address of the bar you were at. you took a deep breath and pulled yourself up

from the floor. you stumbled out to the counter and cleaned yourself up before heading out of the bathroom back to your friends.

“hey, are you okay? do we need to call someone to get you home?” they asked.

“im okay. i just called colby to come pick me up.” you said, and they all nodded. they got you some water while they waited for colby with you. he text you once he was outside, and you said bye to your friends before you walked out. 

as soon as you stepped out into the cool night air, you immediately felt a ton better. colby met you at the door and walked you to his car, helping you get settled into the passenger’s seat. he drove slowly back home, as to not upset your stomach or make you feel any worse than you already did. 

once you finally got home, colby held a tight grip around your waist as he helped you upstairs and to your room. you stumbled into the bathroom, standing over the toilet, thinking you were about to spew again.

“more?” colby asked as you braced yourself against the counter. before your brain even had a chance to answer, your body answered for you. you crouched down in front of the toilet, colby crouching down next to you. he wrapped your hair around his hand and rubbed your back, consoling you as you threw up. 

once you finally finished, you leaned against the wall to catch your breath.

“i’m sorry you have to see me like this.” you sighed.

“please, you don’t have to apologize.” colby said as he helped you stand, wrapping his arms tight around your waist.

“yes i do. because now i feel bad for making you think you were getting any tonight. i was all done up and sexy before i left, and know i looked like hot garbage.” you said, resing your head on his chest.

“oh, you’re sexy to me all the time.” he said, resting his chin on your head. “although, and dont take this the wrong way, but your breath does smell like hot garbage.” 

“oh, shit. sorry.” you said, pulling away from him. you slowly moved to the sink and brushed your teeth, slowly as to not trigger your gag reflex again. once you finished, you walked out into the bedroom to find colby had laid out some sleep clothes for you. you finished changing just as colby walked back into the bedroom.

“alright, here’s some aspirin so your head doesn’t feel like three bowling balls in the morning.” he teased, handing you the medicine and a glass of water. he also handing you a pack of crackers for you to munch on. you ate a couple of the crackers before you finally laid down in bed. colby pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before placing down a wet wash cloth.

“thank you, for everything.” you said softly, catching colby’s gaze.

“always.” he said, kissing you again. you laid as still as possible, as to not jostle your stomach. you felt colby situate in bed next to you, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both started to fall asleep.

you fell asleep almost at quickly as you closed you eyes, and you felt better knowing that colby was there next to you.

[esselbathfittings]

Wall Hung

"Wall Hung" refers to an elegant design feature where an object or fixture is mounted directly onto a wall, creating a floating effect. This style not only maximizes floor space but also adds a modern, sleek touch to any room, seamlessly integrating functionality with contemporary aesthetics.

[arjunp99]

A Sleek and Stylish Choice: Two-Piece Wall-Hung Toilets

Experience the elegance and functionality of two-piece wall-hung toilets. These modern fixtures offer a sleek design, enhanced hygiene, and space-saving benefits. Explore Astral Bathware collection and find the perfect toilet for your bathroom.

[ckret2]

Guess who shows up in this chapter! With a ✨summer job✨!

Unlearning the "act like a rich snob" instinct is an ongoing process.

Here's "Bill is the Mystery Shack's extremely sulky prisoner" chapter 10, featuring: a haunted living doll, a trip to Greasy's, Bill acting like a playground bully, and the twins figuring out how they feel about another summer of triangle bullshit. Other chapters here.

####

Late in the morning, Mabel came home from a sleepover at Candy's. She went to the upstairs bathroom to shower.

The bathroom looked like a salon got in a fight with Bill's hair and won. The wet floor was coated in shorn golden locks like fallen soldiers. The air reeked of hair treatment chemicals and sick. There was a towel smeared with blood.

Maybe she'd brush her teeth downstairs and shower later.

She fished her toothbrush out of her sleepover bag, gingerly plucked the toothpaste from the sink, and retreated.

Bill's nest by the attic window seat was abandoned. In his place were half a dozen empty cans of hard cider and a sandwich with three bites taken out of it.

Mabel descended the stairs warily.

Soos's blanket of the anti-Bill zodiac no longer hung on the living room wall. 

Mabel moved on to the downstairs half-bath. She pulled aside the doorway curtain.

There, sitting in the dark, curled into a ball in the small space between the sink and the toilet, was a human shape. Draped over it was Soos's zodiac blanket. The head of the thing under the blanket lifted and blindly turned toward the sound of Mabel drawing the curtain. The zodiac was positioned just right so that the image of Bill Cipher covered the hidden face like a mask. The false Bill stared into Mabel's eyes.

Mabel quietly backed out of the bathroom. She let the curtain fall shut.

She stood in the hallway, hand to her chin, contemplating the omens she'd witnessed.

She said, "Something happened last night."

####

Less than a week into summer vacation, Dipper and Mabel had seen every single movie currently playing. (They'd even seen the R movies, after getting advice from Jeff on how to convincingly pull off the "two kids in a trench coat" gambit. Thompson made direct eye contact with Dipper in the theater lobby. He said nothing.)

They'd hung out with all their friends, had at least one meal over at each of their houses, and caught up on a school year's worth of gossip. Mabel had sleepovers nearly every night, alternating between Grenda's and Candy's houses. Even Dipper had voluntarily subjected himself to an evening of aggressive girliness in order to tag along for one of the sleepovers. (They'd probably only gotten permission because Grenda's mother assumed "Mabel's twin" must be a sister.)

They found a fairy ring in the forest that connected to a crop circle in Wiltshire, England. They discovered a crane game at the mall that was full of haunted dolls. They took Waddles for a walk and had to save him from a cult of feral flower children that wanted to sacrifice him to their love shack.

In other words, they did everything they could think of to avoid home.

When they were in the Mystery Shack, they were either in their bedroom or using the bathroom. They avoided the kitchen and living room as much as they could, and they fell silent when they heard the floor creaking outside their room, in case of an eavesdropper. They tiptoed whenever they had to go near Bill's nest by the attic window seat to reach the stairs. They grew accustomed to strange thuds and quickly cut-off arguments, although they never became comfortable with them. They got used to waking up afraid.

The plague of hair was new; but it was, they had to agree, exactly the kind of thing they expected at this point.

"You could collect some of the hair," Dipper's haunted porcelain doll suggested. "You could make a poppet. It would let you control him. I could teach you how. All you need is that hair, five black candles, a doll—"

"Nope," Dipper said. He was getting dressed in their bedroom alcove with the curtain drawn. "You're always trying to make more haunted dolls, Bartholomew, and the answer's always no!"

"It won't be haunted!" Bartholomew insisted. "Honest! I promise! Not initially. Until you use it to kill Bill."

"Listen, young man." Mabel scooped the porcelain doll up from the cardboard cradle she'd made for him. "We've told you, we can't kill Bill until we know it won't cause the apocalypse. Do you want the world to end?"

Bartholomew let out the longest, heaviest sigh that had ever come out of a doll with an unmoving face. "No. I don't."

"That's right. So reign in that bloodthirst, Barty!"

"Ugh. Fine."

"Good!" She set Bartholomew back down.

Dipper asked, "Could we use a poppet to control him in non-fatal ways, though?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Torture it, restrain it, freeze it, burn it, cast spells on it, soak it in lemon juice, throw it in the dryer—hey, that one's really funny—"

Dipper pulled aside the curtain and looked at Mabel. "Maybe a poppet wouldn't be a bad idea. In case Bill tries anything."

They collected the biggest, healthiest lock of hair they could find off the bathroom floor, stuck it in a sandwich bag they found at the bottom of Dipper's backpack, stored the bag in the backpack, and left the house to look for brunch.

####

Dipper and Mabel had been putting off visiting Greasy's Diner as long as possible, hoping that at least Grunkle Stan could come along for their first visit of the summer, if not the whole Pines family; but after coping with another morning of Bill-related nonsense, and hearing from Soos that Stan and Ford had also been up half the night dealing with said nonsense and would probably sleep in, they decided they really needed to visit somewhere as comforting and familiar as possible. And so, off they went to Greasy's. Lazy Susan warmly greeted them, asked when Stan would come by, showed them to a booth, and then left them with a couple of menus and their glum thoughts.

"Dipper?" Mabel spun the laminated menu on the table top. "You remember how at the start of last summer, we just thought Grunkle Stan was some weird smelly old guy and we wanted to do anything except hang out with him?"

"Ugh, don't remind me. If this was last year, I'd be sweeping up dead hair instead of getting breakfast right now." He laughed weakly; but he knew that wasn't what Mabel was getting at. "This is even worse, isn't it."

She stopped spinning her menu to look across the table at Dipper. "We still haven't spent any real time with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, but this time I feel all guilty about it."

"I'm pretty sure they feel guilty about it, too."

"It's not their fault, though."

It wasn't Dipper and Mabel's fault, either, but pointing that out wouldn't help. Dipper felt like they'd callously abandoned their grunkles in Bill-infested territory while they ran off to have fun. The fact Stan and Ford kept telling the kids that they wanted them to have fun didn't lessen the feeling that they were traitors. "Grunkle Stan did say we could take a fishing trip once everyone's figured out the best... guard schedule."

"I know, but there's still..." Mabel waved a hand in vague circles. "All this. I almost feel like..."

She didn't want to say out loud that she wanted to go home; saying it would start tilting their course in that direction. If she said it, and if she found out that Dipper agreed, then it might come true. And nothing would be worse than that.

Dipper didn't want to say it, either. "This won't be all summer," he said. "Grunkle Ford's already got a weapon that can get rid of B—Goldie's body and whatever's inside of it, no matter if he's human or alien. It's just out of fuel. He only needs enough to take one shot, and then the rest of our summer goes back to normal. Right?"

Mabel took a moment too long to reply. "Right," she said. "It's that quantum jumbo-laser thing you told me about, right?"

"Yeah, the quantum destabilizer."

"How long will it take him to get the fuel it needs?" Mabel asked. "Is there anything we can do? I hate just having to... steer around everything while the grown-ups try to deal with it without us."

"Yeah. So do I."

Before Dipper had to admit that he didn't know what it would take to refuel the quantum destabilizer, someone approached the table. "Hey, I'll be your waitress this morning. Do you guys have any questions about the menu, or..." The waitress trailed off in horror as she registered her guests' faces. "Oh no."

Dipper and Mabel gaped. "Pacifica?!"

She hid her face behind her notebook. "Don't say anything. Do not say anything."

"You work here?" Mabel asked, followed immediately by Dipper, "You work?"

Pacifica's cheeks flushed. "Don't make a big deal out of it okay! I'm not, like, working-working! I'm just—making some pocket money, that's all!"

"That's working-working," Mabel said.

"Pacifica—" Dipper had to choke back a laugh at the absurd sight. She was wearing normal people clothes. She was wearing an apron. "What."

"Okay, look!" She slapped her notebook on the table. "It's not like I'm poor or anything? But after we built a smaller manor, my parents slashed my allowance—my wardrobe budget only covers a new summer/spring wardrobe instead of summer and spring wardrobes—and like... it's hard, okay? So I'm just—doing a few odd little gigs or whatever. To keep up with my hobbies! That's it."

Dryly, Dipper said, "Wow. Earning money if you want to buy things."

"It must be so hard." Mabel was doing a slightly less successful job of maintaining a poker face.

"Oh, whatever! You two just don't appreciate the value of hard work." Over Dipper and Mabel's giggles, Pacifica stuck her nose in the air and went on, "I'm investing in my future. I'm picking up part-time jobs while you two are spending your summer goofing off! It's like you're saying you don't want to have money."

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Mabel said, "Soos said he'll pay us $20 an hour to help in the gift shop."

"He what?!" Pacifica's jaw dropped. "Shut up! There is no way that cheesy tourist trap can afford those kinds of wages! Is it even legal for Soos to hire you! Aren't you, like, thirteen!"

Dipper said, "Aren't you thirteen?"

Pacifica huffed. "Never mind, I don't even care about your dumb job! This isn't even my main income stream. I've got this great modeling gig coming up with a huge paycheck, so—forget you you guys!" She flipped her hair and stomped off.

And immediately stomped back. "I forgot to take your orders."

"Pancakes." "Also pancakes."

"Fine." She re-flipped her hair and stomped off.

Mabel leaned across the table to whisper to Dipper, "Wow, the return of Rudy McSnootypants! Did she switch from acting snobby over being rich to acting snobby over being working class?"

"She's probably just embarrassed," Dipper said. "She's actually been pretty cool the last few months. When we play Bloodcraft together, she's... I mean, okay, during PVP matches she's the rudest person you've ever met, and she's the worst to healers—but she's nice enough outside of that."

"Oh, yeah." Mabel grinned. "Guess she never mentioned her new job while you guys were playing, huh?"

"Nope."

"You're probably right! She was nice when I talked to her about making her blanket. She even shipped new materials to me when she wanted alpaca yarn instead of acrylic."

Dipper laughed, "Wow, I can't believe Pacifica had to get a job just to afford your blanket."

"What can I say, I'm a master artisan!"

Pacifica returned, set down two plates of pancakes and two sodas, and said, "This is a bribe. Free drinks all summer if you don't tell anybody else about this. The only reason my friends don't know is because they wouldn't be caught dead here. They cannot find out."

Mabel considered the offer. "Free drinks and dessert."

Pacifica bounced a heel as she considered the offer. "Only out of the half-off day-old pie case."

"That sounds fair."

"Okay. Deal. Um, thanks." Pacifica turned to go, then paused. "Hey, Dipper. Your uncles don't use the Internet, right? Does that mean you won't be available for Bloodcraft this summer?"

"Soos finally got the shack online. He says the Internet goes out when the weather's eldritch, but I can borrow his computer for our guild's weekly raids. He understands how important it is."

Pacifica's eyes lit up. "Cool. Then I'll see you on raid night."

"Yeah! See you then."

Pacifica left to tend to another table, and Dipper said, "Yeah, she was just embarrassed. She's fine. ... Why are you smiling."

"Weekly raids? Am I gonna have to warn Kelsey about Pacifica—?"

"Mabel!" Dipper's face flushed. "Come on, we're not—! Worry about your own love life. We've almost been here a week, haven't you found a new crush yet?"

"I've decided love will find me when it finds me. For now, I'm focusing on my matchmaking services."

"Well! Make a match somewhere else."

"You're sooo red right now. Bop." Mabel leaned across the table to poke Dipper's nose, then dug into her pancakes. "You know... even with everything going on—I'm glad we're here. Think! If we'd gone home as soon as we found out we'd be stuck with him all summer, we'd never have found out Pacifica is a waitress. Or met Barty-Mew! Mew-mew. Meow."

"So that makes it worth it, huh?"

"Yes! Being around our friends! Being part of their lives again. I don't want to miss out on that because I'm—afraid. Do you?"

Dipper half smiled. "No. I don't. If we were home, I'd just be missing Gravity Falls, and still worrying about him. At least here, we can keep an eye on him."

"Yeah!" Mabel beamed. "We got off to a little bit of a rocky start, but this summer's gonna be great! And there's nothing he can do to stop it! Right?" She offered her fist.

"Right." Dipper fistbumped her.

####

Stan and Ford were worrying over coffee mugs in the kitchen when the door opened, but both their faces lit up when they saw Dipper and Mabel in the entryway. Stan said, "Hey, kids! Whaddaya doing back here?"

"Soos said you'd just gone out," Ford said. "We weren't expecting you back until this evening."

Mabel bounded into the kitchen. "We decided to hang out here today!" She hugged Stan and Ford in turn.

Stan looked between them in surprise. "Really? To do what?"

Mabel said, "Art project!" at the same time Dipper said, "Sorcery."

"I'm gonna sew a doll with Barty," Mabel said. "We'll figure out what to do with the rest of the day after that."

Dipper said, "Grunkle Ford, do you know anything about poppets?"

"Huh." He stroked his chin. "I'm familiar with the concept, but I've never encountered a working one myself. I probably can't tell you much you don't know yourself."

"That's okay." Dipper puffed his chest out. "After we've made one, maybe I can show you my research on them?"

Ford smiled. "Maybe you can. We still haven't compared our past year's research notes, have we? I just haven't been able to find time, with..." His smile faltered.

Firmly, Dipper said, "We'll make time."

"But later!" Mabel insisted, hanging off the kitchen doorframe by one hand, "C'mon, Dipper! Arts and witchcrafts!" She bounded up the attic stairs two at a time. Dipper followed after her.

Stan turned to Ford. "Who's Barty?" Ford shrugged.

Mabel's upward dash paused at the top of the stairs. The zodiac blanket-bedecked specter was back upstairs in his usual spot, curled up in the window seat, apparently trying to read a book through the gaps in the yarn.

But she quickly gathered her courage again. "Hey! Stinky!"

Bill turned to face her. "Yello?"

Mabel planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not afraid of you! There's nothing you can do to make me afraid of you ever again!"

The yarn triangle face stared at Mabel in unimpressed indifference. "Ouch. You're breaking my heart, Shooting Star."

"And I'll break your face if you ever try to hurt my family again!" She turned away from Bill, did her best approximation of Pacifica's dismissive hair flip, and flounced off to the bedroom.

"Pfff." Bill turned toward Dipper as he came up the stairs and asked wryly, "What did I do to warrant that? Have I not been minding my own business and avoiding you people intimidatingly enough?"

Dipper did a startled double-take—this was his first time seeing the zodiac blanket ghost—but he said, "No. No quippy banter. We're not doing that. Banter is for friendly chess club rivals, not attempted murderers."

"Oh, you joined the chess club?"

"Shut up." Dipper stomped after Mabel, stopped, and about-faced to squint at Bill's book. "Is that—? How did you get my journal!"

"I summoned a living shadow and tasked it with bringing me your worst and deepest secrets— Just kidding. You left it in the bathroom, genius."

Dipper must have taken it out of his backpack when he was looking for a baggie for the hair sample. "Give it back!"

Bill held out the book—and jerked it back when Dipper reached for it. "Too slow!" He held it over his head. 

"Hey! Bill!" Dipper jumped for the book. "I know martial arts!"

Bill got up on his knees to keep the book out of Dipper's range. "And I like pain! Fighting me will annoy you more than it'll hurt me!"

"Come on, man!" Dipper stuck his fingers in the blanket like a cat climbing a curtain as he tried to reach the book. He took a deep breath. "GRUNKLE FO—"

"Don't!" Bill shoved Dipper back.

Dipper fell to the ground, taking the blanket with him. He groaned—then froze, staring at the burns, the bandages, the raw red-rimmed eyes.

Until Bill shoved Dipper's journal in his face. "Sheesh, relax." He glared down at Dipper, eyes squinting unevenly, a hard smile forced onto his face—then he snatched back the blanket. "You can't take a joke." He turned the blanket in his hands until he'd found his face again, then pulled it back on.

Dipper gave him a dark look, but retreated after Mabel.

Ford climbed the stairs just high enough to shoot Bill a suspicious look.

Bill returned the stare, head cocked in a pantomime of wide-eyed innocence. "What?" He flung his hands in the air. "What! I'm just sitting here!"

Ford narrowed his eyes, but went back downstairs. 

Bill's gaze drifted again to the kids' door. "'Not afraid of me,' huh? Pfft." He turned to watch the world through the window. "Yeah. That could be useful."

####

"What do you think?" Mabel asked, plopping the Bill-shaped doll in front of Bartholomew for inspection. It looked like a fabric gingerbread man. It had X's for eyes and was sticking its tongue out. "I made his dress out of a sock!" 

"I guess it'll do," Bartholomew said. "The clothes could be nicer."

"Nice clothes are for nice people. He can deal with the sock dress." She considered her handiwork again, then said, "I guess a few more flowers on the dress wouldn't hurt." She rummaged in her craft supply basket for her yellow puffy fabric paint, and asked, "How's that pentagram coming, bro?"

"Just about finished." He set the last candle on the fifth corner of the chalk star he'd drawn between their beds, checked to make sure all the lines were connected, then pulled out a matchbook and lit the candles. "Okay, now what?"

Bartholomew said, "Now, we wait until the next full moon to start the binding ritual."

"When's that?"

"In about two weeks."

Dipper looked at the pentagram, looked at Bartholomew, and said, "So why am I setting this up right now?"

"That's what I've been wondering."

Dipper grumbled and started blowing out candles.

Mabel pulled out a couple balls of yellow yarn and asked, "Hey Dipper, can you get the hair baggie? I need to see which shade of yellow matches Bill's hair better."

"Sure." He rummaged around in his backpack. "Although if you want the poppet to be accurate, you might as well leave it bald." He looked at Bartholomew. "Does accuracy affect how well a poppet works?"

"Not much," Bartholomew said. "Give it the hair. Blondes are hot."

"You're a creep." Mabel threw a yarn ball at Bartholomew's face. "What do you mean, 'leave it bald'?"

Dipper said, "I saw under the blanket. Bill looks like he burned half his head."

"Whaaat?"

"Yeah, except for a few patches on the back of his head, he's almost totally bald. Not much of a surprise, considering what the bathroom looks like, but—yeah." He snorted. "He must have tried to copy Grunkle Ford's shaving technique."

Mabel laughed; but it quickly petered out. "So... he's hiding because he's embarrassed?"

"Guess so," Dipper said. "Huh. Wow. It's... kinda less creepy when you put it that way. Even Bill Cipher can have bad hair days, I guess."

"I guess so."

Bill was in Sweater Town. Mabel considered that, staring at the bald doll she'd made.

Then she grabbed her ball of yarn and started giving the doll hair.

[xo-jocii-xo]

sloppy violent unprotected painful torturous ravenous jaw dropping from the floor to the kitchen sink from the couch to the toilet seat from the balcony to the patio from the rooftop to the basement from the bed to the wall till the walls peel till the bed creaks and breaks till the hinges come off from the door till the ceilings crumple till the carpet peels till the curtains tear till the bathtub overflows till all the cabinets break off till all the pictures hung up come crashing down till my legs give out till my head hurts till my eyes are permanantly rolled back till chunks of my hair are gone till I faint till i till I'm shaking and crying and till I fuckin die.

[ziggyzolch]

Your Prettiness is Seeping Through III (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Warnings: probably bungled the mental hospital descriptions. Bulimia and gross descriptions. suicidal ideation. anything surrounding those two topics tbh. A/N at the end.

Previous Chapter!!!!

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------look at the cage i've been caught up in------- ❅❅❅

You wouldn’t consider yourself disordered.

Mentally ill – maybe – but not because of your bulimia. Your scars were enough evidence to prove that you weren’t well, but your purging never felt like part of your self mutilation. It was just a weight loss method. A disgusting, slightly extreme method, but one nonetheless. It’s not like you had an irrational fear of food, nor did it affect other aspects of your life. Your social life didn’t take a hit, if anything it got better.

You wouldn’t consider yourself an introvert in any way, having been a social butterfly since 10th grade. Before then, you kept to yourself.

‘The funny, fat kid’ is what you considered yourself at the time. People enjoyed talking to you, but they never stayed long after the joke died. Not until you lost half your body weight.

You often showed people old pictures of yourself when you were tubby, letting them make fun of you and often joining in. If you thought about it long enough, you’d get sad. It was still kind of you that they were making fun of, but she wasn’t you anymore. You’d never go back to being her.

You knew it was objectively disgusting. Having to wipe vomit off the toilet seat and floor, saliva from your forearms and jaw; having to change your underwear because you strained so hard you pissed yourself. Despite all of these things, you never felt disgusting. If anything, it gave you a sense of control. Bulimic characters in shows were never relatable, always feeling some kind of guilt or disgust about their ‘disorder’.

You didn’t.

So being here, at the doors of a mental institution, felt unnecessary. You’ve been purging and smoking for a little over 3 years, and your heart hasn’t failed you.

Watching the automatic doors slide open, you walk into the hospital. You’re at least grateful for the fact that you were sent to a high-end institution. Well, as high-end as a place filled with a bunch of crazies was.

“Welcome!” You hear a voice from the front desk the second you step past the doors, smooth and practiced. “Hey.” Waving awkwardly, you walk further into the room, towards the receptionist. She was dressed in all white, looking to be in her early to mid 30’s. Her clothes are pristine, not one wrinkle in sight, and an impossibly wide smile.

A chill went down your spine at the sterile environment. All white walls surrounded you, with random, expensive looking paintings hung around. You took a shower before you left, but this place makes you feel dirty. Handing the receptionist your folder, she asks you to take a seat.

Your parents didn’t come with you. As mad as you were that they made you check into the hospital, you wanted them to be here for it. Your mother at least. The relationship you had with her was complicated. It felt like she popped into your life when you were 12, having been raised by nannies up to that point. She didn’t raise you, dress you, play with you. It felt like after your older brothers, she gave up.

All you remember of her during your childhood was the image of her on the living room couch, playing candy crush and smoking a cigarette.

She wasn’t all bad, though, having moved to America with your father in your second year of university to be closer to you. She still cooked for you, did most of the chores without asking for help, making sure you were at least safe. You’re not sure if it was because she cared or if being a mother was all she knew, often making too much food and sweeping rooms that were already pristine.

“Alright! Come along now.” A nurse pops into your view. He looked young, not much older than you. You smile at him, standing up and pulling the handle of your suitcase. He ushers you to the elevator, entering after you. You pick at your cuticles, the ride seemingly taking forever. A hand stops you before you could start biting your nails, “Don’t be nervous. This is a safe space,” The nurse releases your hand, “We’re here to help you heal.” You ignore your discomfort at the statement.

You sigh in relief when the elevator finally dings, signaling that you’ve reached. The nurse, who you noticed had ‘Ezra’ written on his nametag, leads you down a hallway. You adjust your bag as your footsteps and your suitcase squeaking echo throughout the otherwise silent building. Ezra notices your discomfort, patting your shoulder, “Everybody’s having lunch right now, don’t worry.” You nod.

“This is your room,” He pushes open a door labeled ‘402’, “There’s two beds, if you haven’t noticed. You’ll be having a roommate.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. You hated being alone. You just hoped your roommate wasn’t an antisocial weirdo.

Ezra gestures for your suitcase, which you hand to him without a fight. He searches through it, pulling out your mascara and lip gloss and setting them aside. That’s fine, you could live without them. Your eyes widen when he takes out your earphones, “Sorry, protocol.” He says. Music was half of what kept you going. You wish you had enough of a backbone to argue against it.

“We allow electronics here, as most of the residents are students. We do have some websites blocked, but nothing that would inconvenience you.” The nurse smiles. The last thing he takes out of your suitcase is a worn down hoodie, stating that the strings were a hazard. He put it back after you took out the strings, though. You’re surprised he hadn’t taken away your cigarettes.

Ezra explains your weekly routine, pointing at the schedule next to the door. There are group sessions everyday, whether you decide to attend is your choice, however it would increase your chances of being discharged. From eating disorders to drug addiction, they had groups for everything. There were also therapists you could talk to at any time, which was neat. He left the rest of the facility for you to discover on your own, which you were grateful for. The nurse points out the list of rules hung up next to the schedule before he bids you goodbye, leaving the door open as his footsteps fade.

Looking around the room, it wasn’t all bad. The windows were barred, all the sharp corners in the room were padded, and the mirror in the attached bathroom was made of this weird, plastic that warped whatever it reflected back at you.

They couldn’t have possibly thought that’d be a good idea in a facility like this.

There were basically two of everything. Two toothbrushes, two tubes of toothpaste, two mouthwash bottles, two beds, two bedside tables, and two closets. The room could be mirrored if it weren’t for the single desk in the corner.

You pull your suitcase towards the closet and shove all your clothes into it, taking out black sweatpants and a random band t-shirt to change into.

You’re looking for a place to put your suitcase when you notice a shelf high up in your closet.

❅❅❅

“We’re here.”

Clint announces he parks the car in front of the building. If not for the big sign with ‘Mt. Massive Psychiatric Facility’ written in bold, she would’ve thought it was a 5 star hotel. She unbuckles her seatbelt and exits the car, moving towards the trunk with the archer, Natasha following after them. “God, what is in here?” Clint grunts as he takes out Wanda’s suitcase. She rolls her eyes, taking the suitcase and holding it above her head, “Maybe you’re just weak.” She jokes. Clint’s eyes widen. Natasha laughs, opting not to mention the red mist surrounding the witch’s hands.

Wanda places the bag back down, walking towards the entrance. “Are you sure this isn’t the Four Seasons?” Wanda asks. Clint shakes his head, “We weren’t going to send you to any random facility. This was very expensive!”

Guilt pierces Wanda. Noticing, Natasha chimes in, “Tony paid for it. Probably didn’t even make a dent in his wallet.”

Clint winces, realizing what he did. The Widow shakes her head at him.

The archer cared, he really did. He just didn’t know how to deal with these kinds of things. He wishes he could be of more help. If he could, Clint would take away all of Wanda’s pain for himself. He couldn’t though, so he insisted on driving them to the facility. It was the least he could do. Wanda was like a daughter to him, though he’d never admit it.

As they walk into the facility, Wanda notices a pack of cigarettes on the couch. She quickly moves to take a seat, taking the pack and shoving it in her pocket. Clint and Natasha go to the receptionist to check her in.

“A nurse will be with you shortly.” Natasha smiles at the receptionist's statement, dragging Clint with her to the couch. They sit on either side of Wanda.

The witch sighs, placing her head on Clint’s lap. He looks down at her, “You’ll be alright kiddo. They’ll fix you right up.” Clint ruffles Wanda’s hair. Natasha places her hand on Wanda’s knee, giving her a look. The widow wasn’t very good with words, but Wanda understood.

“Hello!” Wanda jumps at the sudden greeting, “I’m Nurse Janet, but you can call me Jan.” She wouldn’t be doing that.

They all stand, letting the nurse direct them to Wanda’s room. The weight of the situation hits the witch as they walk down the hallway. She’s going to be here for 9 weeks, at least. No work to distract her. No alcohol to numb the pain. Nothing.

The sound of a crash from Wanda’s room catches their attention.

“Fuck!” You fall backwards off the desk chair, banging your head on the carpeted floor. Groaning, you curl up, grabbing your head.

They all stare in shock, not expecting to be greeted with a random girl on the floor of the room. Clint rushes towards you before you put your arm out, stopping him from getting closer. “I’m fine. It’s all good.” You ignore the pounding in your head as you get up. You offer a big smile while you take in the group in front of you, “Hello!”

Wanda’s eyes widened in recognition, but you didn’t seem to know who she was. Your accent catches her off guard. She offers a tight-lipped smile, scooting slightly to hide behind Natasha. Clint chuckles, putting out his hand for you to shake.

Nurse Janet approaches you, moving to inspect you for any injuries before you back up. “I’m good!” You try to convince her. She backs off.

“Okay,” She squints her eyes, “Anyways, this is Wanda, your roommate!” She points behind her. You move to shake Natasha’s hand before she chuckles and moves to the side, revealing the witch.

You put your hand down, sensing her discomfort. Wanda glances up at the band aid on your head, giving you a questioning look. “Oh. I tripped over my cat.” You laugh, the lie coming out easily. You don’t even have a cat.

Not believing you, Wanda tries to dig around in your mind for the truth. A sudden piercing headache makes itself known. You sit down on the corner of the bed, holding your head in your hands. The nurse rushes forward, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The witch stops, causing you to sigh in relief. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

“I think we should check you out for a concussion.” The nurse mumbles as she leans down, pulling a flashlight out of her back pocket and shining it into your eyes.

You push it away, nodding your head and getting up, letting her lead you out of the room.

Wanda watches you walk away, feeling slightly guilty. Nobody’s ever reacted that badly to her poking around. Natasha punches her shoulder lightly, “You’re gonna have to put those powers to rest while you’re here.” She sighs. The witch rolls her eyes, trudging to the bed and laying down with her legs dangling off the edge. Clint unpacks her bag, placing everything in the unoccupied side of the closet, as well as putting your bag onto the shelf you were trying to reach.

“I can’t share a room with her.” Wanda says as Natasha approaches her.

“Come on. Give her a break.” Clint grunts as he lifts Wanda’s suitcase onto the bed.

Natasha crosses her arms, “She’s a sweet girl. She probably just wants to make the best of her stay here.”

Wanda sits up on her elbows, “She was the girl who thought I was skinny, back at the hospital.”

“Maybe she’s anorexic.” Clint tries.

Wanda groans, “Or she’s a bitch.”

The witch would rather share a room with a suicidal hermit than an extroverted anorexic. You seemed nice enough, but that was only 5 minutes of the rest of your stay together. She imagines how annoyed she’d get watching you poke around at your food, or hearing you exercise at the asscrack of dawn. Right now, more than ever, she wishes her attempt worked.

The conversation dies out as Clint finishes up. Wanda stands up, giving each of her friends a hug, before they leave. “We’ll visit as often as we can, alright?” Natasha says, tightening her hold on the witch. Wanda hums, letting Clint give her a kiss on the forehead before he and Natasha exit the room.

Sighing, Wanda takes a seat at the desk. Taking out the pack of cigarettes she found, she inspects the box. She’d never been a smoker, fearing she’d get addicted. It’d just be one more thing she couldn’t control. From her brothers death, to her failed suicide, and now being made to go to a mental facility, it was like any control she had over her life was slipping through her fingers. In all honesty, she had no idea why she took the pack. She’d never shoplifted, stolen from a friend, or even picked a dollar up off the floor. Pietro would’ve scolded her for this.

Pietro.

Wanda shakes her head. Now's not the time.

Putting down the pack, she gets up and walks to the attached bathroom. The brunette places her hands on the edge of the sink, looking into the mirror. She needs to get out of here as soon as possible. She’ll go to whatever groups they have, she’ll take whatever meds they give her, and she’ll follow whatever bullshit rules in place. Wanda watches her face warp in the mirror as she forces a smile.

She’ll get out of here, and she won’t fail again.

❅❅❅

Next Chapter

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A/N : hello, sorry for the late chapter! do u guys still care about this fic. I know im writing for a somewhat niche audience but i dont want to keep u guys waiting too long. i spent a lotttt of time just scrapping paragraphs and rewriting and eughgugh. yknowhatimean. anyways, i just want to say that this is mostly based off my own experiences, so it may not be fullyyyy relatable. thank you for reading and i appreciate any comments/criticisms! love ya

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