Denver Home Bar Galley
Example of a large classic galley medium tone wood floor seated home bar design with a drop-in sink, raised-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, brown backsplash and wood backsplash
0 notes
Denver Traditional Home Bar
Inspiration for a large, traditional, seated home bar remodel with a medium-tone wood floor and raised-panel cabinets, granite countertops, a brown backsplash, and a wood backsplash.
0 notes
Denver Home Bar
Seated home bar - large traditional u-shaped medium tone wood floor seated home bar idea with a drop-in sink, raised-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, brown backsplash and wood backsplash
0 notes
Home Bar U-Shape in Denver
A large, traditional, seated home bar with a medium-tone wood floor and raised-panel cabinets, granite countertops, a brown backsplash, and a wood backsplash is an example.
0 notes
Traditional Home Bar - Galley
Seated home bar - large traditional galley medium tone wood floor seated home bar idea with a drop-in sink, raised-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, brown backsplash and wood backsplash
0 notes
Denver Home Bar
Example of a large classic galley medium tone wood floor seated home bar design with a drop-in sink, raised-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, brown backsplash and wood backsplash
0 notes
Ah, excellent question. Very good. No. No, it is... not... easy... to setup a supervillain franchise. You see, today's supervillain is, in essence, the small business owner of his franchise. He does the purchasing, the hiring, the firing, plus must maintain medical, dental and benefits for an unstable and terribly dishonest group of henchmen.
But if you are dedicated and not afraid of a little hard work, then you'll find that the field of supervillainy can be very rewarding.
82 notes
·
View notes
My Batfamily piercing headcanons
(note: these are just my personal headcanons)
Dick: Has thought about getting a piercing but always ends up deciding against it because he doesn't like needles
Jason: Got his nose pierced when he was 14 and never told Bruce(don't ask how he hid it idk readers choice). Was pissed to find the hole had closed after his dip in the Lazarus pit, so he got it re-pierced but doesn't wear it often, usually just at night. And no of course it doesn't have anything to do with the fact he still hasn't told Bruce. Nope not at all
Tim: Got his left ear pierced when he was 15 because Steph told him a bunch of other skaterboarders were doing it and he ended up liking it. (she lied she just thought it would make Tim look hot. She was right) He doesn't wear it on patrol or for important meetings, but he still makes sure to wear it often enough to not let it close
Stephanie: Has both her ears pierced as well as a double helix piercing and a smiley piercing. She wants to get more but keeps changing her mind as to where.
Cass: Only has her ears pierced and that's only because Steph and Babs did it for her. Doesn't trust needles (see Batgirls #2)
Barbara: Has both ears pierced and got her belly button pierced when she was a teenager. Her belly button piercing ended up closing after she kept it out too long when recovering from getting shot and hasn't gotten around to getting it redone.
Duke: Has no piercings or a particular desire to change that fact, but he isn't really against the idea either. (Stephanie is determined to get that boy an eyebrow piercing because he would "totally own that look")
Damian: Went kinda crazy with it after Alfred died and he went off on his own. First Nika convinced him to get his eyebrow pierced and it just escalated from there. At present he has a grand total of 7 piercings with plans to get more. His piercings currently include his ear lobes, snake bites, his eyebrow, his nostril, and his septum. When Dick first saw him with all his piercings in he nearly passed out
Bruce: Had some wild teen years and got his ears, tongue, and septum pierced. Stopped wearing them when he traveled to train and they ended up closing. The only evidence they ever existed is a few stray paparazzi photos/videos and Alfred's word(he is sworn to secrecy)
Alfred: Everyone thinks the answer is a big fat "NO" as to if he's ever had a piercing but in reality he has had exactly One. When he was very young, before he met the Wayne's, he lost a bet and let an army buddy pierce his nose. A great deal of alcohol was also involved. He took it out after a few weeks when it got infected because the needle hadn't been sterilized and they were still out traveling around North Africa with little supplies. They never spoke of it again.
142 notes
·
View notes
☆ from gold, i am undone
{☆} characters tsaritsa
{☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts
{☆} word count 0.9k
You weren't meant to be here.
You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.
You are changed, and you are whole.
But you are so unbearably broken.
A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.
Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.
All you see is a monster.
Something new, something old.
A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.
But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.
You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.
But you know it will not satisfy you.
Nothing does anymore.
You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.
And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.
There is nothing left but absolute authority.
You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?
Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.
Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.
You welcome it.
It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.
Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.
You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.
For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?
Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?
Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?
Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.
For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.
219 notes
·
View notes