#i just prefer doing interiors <3

[birdietrait]

a little snippet of a little nursery

[chateaunoirsims]

Anatomy of Iris’ room ~

[tellafairy]

get anything you desire overnight; what is SATS? how do i use it? — a quick guide.

STATS is short for “state akin to sleep,” a phrase used by neville goddard several times.

for example, one of neville's most popular experiments utilizing SATS is called the "ladder experiment". this experiement demonstrates how useful sats is.

what was the experiment?

1. During one of his lectures, Neville instructed his students to visualize themselves climbing a ladder vividly. He asked them to repeatedly imagine this scenario in detail each night before going to bed. They were to feel themselves climbing the ladder, using all their senses to make it as real as possible.

2. on top of this, Neville told them to write down or say affirmations throughout the day such as, "I will not climb a ladder." This was meant to consciously contradict their nightly visualizations, creating a sense of disbelief in the process. The challenge was to see whether their repeated visualization of the ladder would override the conscious denial of the event.

3. Many of the participants reported that within a few days, despite their daily affirmation of "I will not climb a ladder," they ended up encountering situations in which they physically climbed a ladder. The experiment was intended to show that the subconscious mind, which was being impressed by the vivid visualization during the SATS state, was far more powerful than their conscious thoughts or affirmations.

essentially, Neville wanted to show that imagination, particularly when focused in the relaxed state akin to sleep, could create real-life outcomes, aka — attract your desires instantly.

so . . . how do i use SATS?

1. relax. sit or lie down, and relax your mind and body. this method does not need to be used at night. many people have used it during the day and have gone to sleep for only a few moments before waking up with their desire. This is basically just a form of meditation. A similar mental state occurs naturally in the morning right after awakening, and in the evening before bed, hence why some may prefer to do this method at night despite it not being mandatory.

2. embody the feeling. now while in this state, visualize your goal. Feel your desire completely. want someone to text you? imagine yourself opening your phone to that text message. want a new car? imagine yourself feeling the interior, smelling the new car freshener, testing out the radio. whatever it is, fully immerse yourself in the desire.

3. focus and persist. loop this desire on repeat as you fall asleep, it should be the only focus on your mind. quickly shift any other thoughts that may appear, back onto your desire. the more you do this, the more you'll feel the desire completely.

brief comments;

1. over time, it becomes more and more natural. it's very easy to get into the habit of using SATS to manifest whatever you desire. i often find myself using it without even intending to, just randomly deciding i want something and it becomes all i think about as i fall asleep. it's a very natural method that's easy to custom to.

2. yes, you can use this for shifting realities. there's a reason why so many people "randomly" shift when they stop using long complicated methods and just go to sleep with their DR in mind.

3. you don't need to take action. you don't necessarily need to do anything when manifesting. this doesn't just apply for SATS, but any other form of manifestation. you don't need to take action or do anything further to get your desires if you don't feel like it. remember; they're already yours. they can fall into your hands out of the blue. you don't need to put in effort.

i used several different articles and videos for this to explain it in the most simple way possible, since i know a lot of people tend to struggle with understanding this stuff to the maximum!! so i hope this is easy to read! ૮ ◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

4. does this mean affirmations don't work?

no, it does not. affirmations DO still work for LOA. you CAN achieve anything through affirmations, it was never stated that you couldn't or that SATS is the only way. this only states that according to neville goddards experiement, sats appears to be a more powerful method than affirmations and that's how he viewed it. more powerful doesn't equate to the other method being completely incorrect or impossible. i also personally find this method to work a lot quicker as well.. similar to the void state.

edit; i didn't realize i wrote stats in the title and not sats lol, my mistake it was autocorrect

[nevisiity]

FAMA (408)

Fama Definition: Fama(408) means to be popular or well known, having reputation FAME!!! Personal interpretations of Fama in the houses below!! Please let me know if you relate or care to share anything else! Thx for reading <3 post 1/4 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 1ST HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 1st house is LITERALLY the house of your physical body, how you look, how you are seen by the general public, self image surface level identity. Approach to life, this can also represent early childhood. So, In my own personal interp of this sign I have concluded that girl… YOU ARE THE MAIN CHARACTER. Like BIG star energy, You might have been popular in childhood, if not then you have no problem getting attention. It may come to you naturally, even if you don’t want it…you have it.. And here they come “I never get attention 🥺” PUT. YOURSELF. OUT. THERE. Cause you got it! Don’t be afraid to flaunt it ;) This also reads to me as a natural star, actors, musicians, artists even just big personalities. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 2ND HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 2nd house relates to personal finances, money, mula, green. It also reminds me of the earth…”natural energy” mother nature. Anything green. The second house also contains personal possessions(jewels, cars, houses, etc) and emotions. Fama in the second house gives off “that girl”(IFYKYK) vibes. Natural earthy beauty. Maybe you prefer less makeup and may get complimented more because of that. But a way you can achieve fame is through hard work, getting money and showing off jewels. Showing off cars. Flaunting your wealth may not be a bad thing after all…Kind of Glamorous if you ask me. If I had this placement I would adorn myself in jewels…try a more natural style, you are beautiful just the way you are…enjoy getting that attention.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 3RD HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 3rd house is COMMUNICATION. Writing, speaking, conversing, editing, and translation. Perhaps you are excellent at communicating, Your voice is most likely really nice. Fama here to me indicates a good songwriter…maybe even a poet. You could probably write a nice script as well. Fluency in languages. You can get famous for these skills. Maybe you can even sing! Wouldn’t  surprise me :) Go on and let your voice shine then! 🌟Let your writing speak…you never know who could be listening! If you have this placement and want to write a book..write and publish poetry, music, any of that. Do everyone a favor and WRITE IT or SPEAK IT!! Your words are your superpower. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 4TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 4th house represents family, roots, old age but also physical structures, our homes (houses, real estate). Fama in the 4th house could mean your whole family is popular or well known where you live, especially if it's in a smaller place. Maybe some of you could get famous from where you come from… how you grew up, childhood, etc. This could also mean a family business that could get you fame or recognition. Reminds me of Tabitha Brown and her daughter (Tik Tok). Or you could get famous later in life. Maybe you could create a future of fame for your family. Maybe you could be a famous interior designer as well. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 5TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 5th house rules creativity,(The house of PLEASURE)  hobbies. something you enjoy doing! This can be anything from painting, music, sketching, tattooing, crocheting, any-damn-thing!!  Your hobbies are where you shine. If it puts a smile on your face and a fire in your belly DO IT!! And post it on social media! I didn’t want to mention zodiac signs yet but hun…this is the house of leo…and what is leo known for?? BEING SEEN!!The sun shines bright and you can’t miss it…The attention-getter of all the signs. Just remember to post it online! Especially if you are passionate about it. This is really the all encompassing house. Fama SHINES here. It takes a little work, but not too much..enjoy what  you are doing first though. To add, if you enjoy working with kids, want to start a business having to do with children you are sure to succeed. You could really just do your own thing and shine though.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 6TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆The 6th house represents health, wellness, daily routines and odd jobs. Now FAMA in the 6th house reads to me as a health influencer, Your daily routine will help you shine. Maybe you pretend to have a youtube channel in the mirror, showing your routine. Whether that be skincare, a day in my life, makeup tutorial. Maybe some of you are gym-bros or are really into fitness, maybe you will have a famous social media based on fitness, or healthier meals. You may even be into clean beauty, no real leather, vegan, etc. Your health is your strong suit and maybe people even ask you what they can do to be healthier. Maybe you are more on the fit side and people inquire about this too. You could be really well known personal trainer! Or chef 🧑‍🍳 Reminds me of famous chefs Gordon ramsey and Raechel Ray. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 7TH HOUSE.. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 7th house represents partnerships, beauty, fairness, legalities and even enemies!! If you have FAMA here, You could be a very famous model one day!! Probably very beautiful, whether that's unique or conventional. Besides physical beauty, I feel this also relates to art. I feel we have some amazing artists here. You could also be a great judge, family or relationship type therapist. Just anything ruling beauty and fairness. Maybe you are even a muse for some people. They want to paint you, write about you, etc…this can bring you fame. Famous fashion designer as well, beauty influencer, jewelry maker, etc! 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 8TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 8th house represents taboos, death, debt, other people's resources, sex. I read that it can also rule over legacies and wills! FAMA in the 8th house means you would get very famous doing astrology, tarot, spiritual guidance. Some of you may even be witches and could get popular doing that. Some of you may be into sex work….could get very famous that way! Whether that's stripping, only fans, DOMINATRIX. May be a good accountant or personal financer (idk what the profession would be called sorry).  Some good tarot accounts to look into if you’re interested would be (kino tarot, firefly tarot, lexi the leo, The gem goddess) You remind me of them a bit…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 9TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆The 9th house rules over philosophy, religion, higher education, I also feel good careers for this asteroid in 9th are psychics, export/import business. Just a search for the truth. You could be a very popular philosopher, this reminds me of all the greek philosophers (socrates, plato, apollodorus of athens, aristotle) Religion! You could get very famous being some type of pastor or spiritual guru. Maybe a very famous, sought after teacher. You could be a travel influencer. Love to learn about different cultures and could get very famous doing that. Very smart people here and that is your starshine. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 10TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 10th house is at the peak of your birth chart, it rules over professional career image, Public image, business relations and career achievements. I feel you could be a very famous business man/woman. You could even own a company one day!! Giving boss energy. The 10th house also rules over positions of power/authority. FAMA here could mean you even start your own business from square 1! From nothing! CEO’s with this placement. Directors, photographers, superintendent, managers. ALL things BOSS. Maybe even popular overseas due to business relations, lavish lifestyle because of riches here. Could be very popular for work ethic. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 11TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 11th house rules over The friendship of the collective, social media, friendships and groups, and HOPE. as well as idealism. FAMA in this house can indicate big social media fame. You just shine on social media. Like I said with the first house. PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE. Giving alien vibes. Reminds me of the theme of Beyonce's latest “renaissance”. Very modern, maybe even futuristic, Reminds me of fit checks I see on my TL and they have thousands of views. Maybe you yourself represent things people can’t understand, maybe with the way you present yourself. You def keep up on all the trends and memes. Maybe you could get very famous with a commentary type channel, expressing your opinions especially on pop culture. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 12TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 12th house rules over dreams, rest, BIG SPIRITUALITY, traumas, addictions, all that is below the surface.  FAMA here I think is very beneficial for people who want to speak about things that happened to them. Best spiritual gurus, psychics. You could CHANGE LIVES with this FAMA placement.Reminds me of FKA twigs song “Cellophane”. Most of you here could write a novel about things that happened to you. Or how you connect with god(s), spirit, whatever you believe in. You are magical, like a crystal ball.  Also may be gifted with clairaudience, channeling, mediumship, etc. Maybe you could see dead people/talk with them. You are stardust ☄️

Thank you for reading!! FAMA in the signs is next. Stay tuned <3

[chick-it-out]

everything 2 know about sendin a SASE 🐥📬

what you will need: if you live in the US: two envelopes and two first-class stamps if you live somewhere other than USA: two envelopes and one global stamp

instructions: 1.) Write your address on the first envelope. You will be the recipient of this envelope, so make sure it's going to you at your preferred location! Don't seal the envelope. leave it open so I can put stuff in :v Domestic/US mailers: Use a forever stamp or stamps that equal the current postage (73 cents as of August 2024!) International mailers: Do not stamp this interior envelope; I will cover return postage. Just make sure that the stamp(s) you use will cover global shipping - so your mail can go international! (These cost a lil more so i'll cover half. Also the US postal service only likes their own stamps lol) 2.) Fold the stamped/addressed envelope in a way that's going to fit inside your second envelope. 3.) Then tuck that first envelope in there! (You can put whatever else in there-- words, requests, good vibes, whispers and dreams, etc. etc. anything you want to send to me-- just make sure it weighs less than 1 ounce [28g]!) Also, mail needs to be flat. Please make sure the combined situation is no thicker than 1/4 inch (0.6cm)! 4.) Seal the second envelope. 5.) Write Flockin Together's address on the second envelope. Stamp this envelope!

(if you are outside of the USA, please add "USA" after this address!)

6.) Once you got an envelope inside a stamped envelope and it's all sealed up and ready - go ahead and mail it!

7.) I'll send goodies back - stickers, bookmark, temp tats, whatever's flat enough for da mail :) as my schedule allows (1-2 weeks + more if you live farther from me)

if there is anything else that'd be handy to know, just msg/ask! 🐔

[dorcas4meadowes]

thinking abt daughter of aphrodite reader decorating lukes face w/ kisses in different shades of lipstick🫶🏻🫶🏻

Lipstick Smudges - Luke Castellan

Pairing - Luke Castell x Aphrodite!reader

Warnings: kisses

W/c - 1k

Masterlist (this was such a cute request <3)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The Aphrodite sanctuary were the epitome of beauty, but it would be nothing if not for its inhabitants. Its delicate walls were adorned with oil paintings and a collection of mirrors, reflecting the children who called it home. A majority of the interior were carved marble with streaks of grey and gold, including the pillars that held up the roof that were enhanced with flourishing blossoms. The flooring harmonised with the column structures and quite adamantly noted the arrival of heels against its solid surface.

Mary Janes were the only sound that were produced when you entered your dainty cabin, your skirt lifted over your thighs with each step and your heels ceased to be heard when you drifted against the comfort of your seat. You veered towards your vanity and skimmed your fingers against the veneer, admiring the new possessions you had acquired since you last return to your cabin.

The surface was embellished with blooming tulips from you Demeter admirers, dark chocolate from your siblings - who had a fondness for the treat - and seashells from Percy who noticed you love for the sea's gift.

Grateful for your offerings, you reached for you signature perfume and allowed the subtle hints of cherries and wild flowers to enchant your clothes and those who ventured too close.

You broke of a piece of the chocolate and let you esteemed appearance to muse your glowing features, matching your movements through the mirror. 

You readjusted the ribbons that were weaved through your hair, reaching into your draws to touch up your exterior. You dusted a deep blush along your cheeks and leant for a gloss which had seemed to have additional companions. You were confused at the increase of lipsticks, but that didn't pose you from setting them on your desk.

You received plenty of tokens from unknown campers, but this gift seemed too particular to be from a stranger. You slipped the lid off of one of the cases and took no time to apply the creamy formula against your lips, astonished at the specific shade which complimented you greatly.

"Thought you might like them". 

You peeled your eyes away from your vanity and found your boyfriend leaning against the door frame, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"I do, very much, thank you" you chimed, placing your feet on the marble to float into his arms. His hands rested against the small of your back as you planted a kiss on his cheek, the mark reflecting the crease of your lips.

You never questioned where he got your gifts from, you preferred to linger in the feeling of being doted on and he took the pleasure in spoiling you. He sought out pearls and dewy lotions, sun kissed flowers and dresses which reached just above your thighs, he made you feel adored.

You were an angel, a breath of fresh air and he never once let you feel anything other than purely cherished. You were an embrace from the Elysium, the triple repeated numbers on your thighs only reinforcing the notion of your soft voice and gentle hands. He often toyed with the pleasuring thought that only his eyes would see your tattoo, that only his fingers would graze against the skin of your thighs and that the numbers were your shared secret.

"Wanna come in?" you asked to which he nodded, he would rather throw himself into Tartarus that reject an invitation to your cabin. You linked your hands together and tugged him into the room and closed the door. You pulled him towards your desk and sat him amongst the golden swirls and satin ribbons.

His hands took not time and settled around your waist, toying with the hem of your skirt while his arms swayed with your movements. He admired your busy eyes flutter around your space delicately as your reached for a lipstick behind him and applied a generous layer to your lips blending a lighter shade into the deeper tone. He was unaware of your next move, but he knew he would do anything if you asked with your lips.

Everything slowed when you draped your arms around his neck and brushed a kiss just above the previous stain, coming to a stand between his stretched legs. He felt you smile against his jaw as trailed deliberate kisses down his neck, leaving small bites along his skin.

"Can you pass me the darker one?" you questioned, your breath against him.

 He wordlessly agreed and let a hand fall from your side and retrieved you case, slipping it through your fingers. You set a warm kiss on his other cheek, and grew to cover the thin scar on his skin, a small laugh leaving your lips as you decorated your boyfriend in your kisses.

Luke relished in the feeling before it stopped. "Do you need something my love?"

You nodded mindlessly and took his prying hands off of your waist, "My shoes are digging into my heels" you replied.

You know you didn't have to say much to have Luke leant to your ankles to unstrap the attachments while your fingers found his curls, playing with a few coils as he individually lifted each heel from your feet to place them beside your desk. His head slowly rose.

"Better?"

You smiled in response and peppered a few more kisses against his dizzy face noting how his skin had been tinted by pinks and reds.

"My pretty boy" you gleamed, pulling away, his thumb wiping smudged colour off from under your lip. "Wait one moment".

"What?"

Within a few moments you had evaporated from his arms and were reaching into one of you sisters draws, you rummaged until you found an old camera and brought back to your desk and to your boyfriend. "Smile" you mused. Your fingers eagerly gripping onto the polaroid as it came from the camera, you shook it lightly and handed it to Luke.

"I hope this comes off" were his only response as he took you back in his arms and held you close.

You were an angel with a sweet smile and he were a boy with soft curls and a mind full of thoughts. You were the perfect couple, the perfect combination of wits and ambition, but nothing could truly ever be as fragile as love. It was a drug which made your world rose and trusting, but the repercussions of this action are not for you to worry about, at least not at this moment of time.

What could possibly happen? Nothing with your boyfriend at least, he wouldn’t’ even hurt a fly let alone a scorpion.

The sweet memory of your day was encapsulated in the picture which was later weaved between the space in your mirror and it's frame, highlighting your affection for the boy and subsequently and your biggest anguish.

_________

Taglist:

@prettyinsatiable @daisydark @creamsweets @auttumnsayshi @y0urm0m12 @ashr0

[emelinstriker]

May you share your TFP Decepticon headcanons 👁️👁️

If you want specifics, then their domestic lives? (Or what one can achieve akin to a domestic life in time of war 💀)

I did NOT expect to see any ask regarding TFP- Or at least till I switch fandoms again- So like I can't really think of many X Reader headcanons right now. So I just wrote down like 3 for each. I'm also not quite sure how to condense domestic points, cuz I suck at general fluff when my hyperfixation is elsewhere- So sorry if these don't feel like they're really in the domestic direction fhgnfhg

Only doing some Decepticons though-

☆ ~ Headcanons ~ ☆

☆ Megatron

He do be a busy mech, so he doesn't have too much time on his servos. Therefore he cherishes it whenever he gets to have private moments with just his human and no interruptions.

Likes to carry you around on his shoulder pad- It just generally makes it safer for you, in his opinion, and more comforting for him.

Any that would merely look at you weirdly would face the wrath of Lord Megatron. You can tell him not to punish the other Cybertronian though. He does listen... sometimes.

☆ Starscream

Mans refusing to show affection towards you around other Decepticons, especially Megatron. But he's just melting around you when in private.

He prefers recharging with you lying on him. It's oddly soothing having his human on his chassis.

Tends to look for you as comfort whenever he had a bad day with Megatron.

☆ Soundwave

Despite the amount of work he does and how busy he is, he doesn't really fail at also paying attention to you. He's truly a multi-tasker.

Would let Laserbeak play with you though if his extra appendages and music can't keep you busy.

Very loving towards his human. He may not talk, but he uses emoticons on his visor to display how much he loves you.

☆ Shockwave

Just don't play with whatever materials he needs to conduct his experiments and you're good to go. Play with his antennae and ear fins while on his shoulder pad instead.

He gets easily distracted by his human. He knows it's illogical with the major size difference, and how he should just be able to ignore you. But he can't help it nor explain this phenomenon.

He also also can't explain why he has this urge to gently pat you with a digit.

☆ Knockout

While he does buff himself on his own, or has Breakdown help him, he does enjoy it when you're buffing him instead as well. Especially when he's in his alt mode.

Speaking of which, expect drive-in theater dates. Just don't get his interior dirty with snack crumbs.

Worries a lot about your health. If you're sick, he'll keep you close to him to make sure you're actually alright. But no kisses from him till you're no longer coughing and sneezing. He just buffed himself and doesn't need your sickly fluids on his frame.

☆ Predaking

Tends to pick up you up whenever he wants attention. You were talking to Steve? Nah, now you gotta give you giant mecha dragon pets and kisses.

He also enjoys carrying you around on his frame whenever he can. At least he won't have to look where he goes this way.

While he has to go on missions from time to time, it's not a common thing due to his value, so a lot of his time is spent protectively watching over his human.

[xoxochb]

different anon but I could I please request another part to that Leo x daughter of hades??? I loved it so much Xx

⋆·˚ ༘ * call it what you want to

warnings: none pairing: leo valdez x daughter of hades a/n: I was watching this video and it reminded me so much of leo and his hades girlfriend <3 part one (although this could be read as a stand alone)

today was one of those rare occasions that you got your cabin to yourself. nico was spending the afternoon in the infirmary annoying helping will and leo was busy ‘finishing a couple projects’. you didn’t mind the silence of cabin thirteen, who were you to give up a moment of tranquility? but you were sure you would much rather prefer to spend your time with leo. before your relationship blossomed you were skeptical about the son of hephaestus spending every free moment with you but he made sure you knew there was nothing else he would rather do- even if it meant sitting in absolute silence as you read (a difficult task for leo, he has trouble sitting still)

you closed your book, letting out a sigh. you take in the surroundings of the cabin. nico had remodeled most of it saying it was too stereotypical for children of hades. you would have to agree, the appearance of the original interior was absurd. after the remodel you had the ability to let in sunlight, illuminating a soft light into the cabin, a harsh light when the door opens

“close that door, idiot” you call, throwing your book on your nightstand

“oh? you want it locked too?”

“leo valdez get over here and stop being stupid!”

the boy jumps on your bed causing you to hit his head before you pull him into you, his head rests against your chest and arms quick to find their place around your waist

“did you miss me, sunshine?” asks leo

“I might’ve”

leo moves up to come face-to-face with you. he admires you for a moment before placing a singular kiss on your nose. you murmur his name but he doesn’t listen, instead continuing his work. he places more kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, ending with three kisses to your lips before he settles under your chin, laying still for a moment until you feel soft peppered kisses to your neck

maybe you missed him. just a little. or maybe more than you think

[thelemonsnek]

graphic interior design is my passion

[image id: an aerial floorplan of Ingo and Emmet's apartment. It is relatively small and not overly fancy. There are only two bedrooms, Ingo's and Emmet's, with a pullout couch to make up for the lack of a spare room. Most of the house is carpeted with a navy blue carpet. Off to the side, a tiny Ingo and Emmet look over at the apartment. End id]

additional ramblings under the cut for reasoning about some of this!!

ingo typically takes night shifts, so he took the room without the window so he could sleep better during the day. emmet preferred the room with the window bc the sunrise helps him wake up easier

their bed colors are based off their ex outfits in masters. emmet's is lighter and ingo's is darker to match the white/black theme

if you happened to notice, ingo's trashcan is beside his desk. emmet's isn't shown because it's under his desk. ingo also has one of those desks with built in shelves, both because it makes up for him not having a bookshelf, and also because i just think he'd enjoy the efficiency of it

for all of the chairs, they're out from the tables to demonstrate the space they would take up if in use. the twins do in fact push in their chairs. the exception is ingo's desk chair, which he leaves pushed out on purpose. freak

the dark carpet helps to hide dirt - important for trainers with so many pokemon in the house!!

speaking of pokemon, the hallway is intentionally larger than i'd expect of real life houses, in order to accommodate large final evolutions

the couch is a pullout, since they don't have a spare room

the rug isn't plain white i'd just rather die than actually design the pattern

there's also a lot of clutter/decorative stuff that i didn't include

the laundry room is sparse for easy access to the fire exit! safety first :)!

there are "floating" cabinets over the counters, i just couldn't figure out an effective way to draw that. the microwave is above the stove

i think that they're a higher up floor in the apartment, but not the highest. maybe like,,,,3 out of 5 or 6 floors?

space for ghosts was originally a little joke comment i wrote for myself when drafting the layout, then kept in. i could've extended the kitchen down and given them more room but the space for ghosts is important to me now. chandelure needs her alone time

[steviewashere]

Deserving

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Unspecified Eating Disorder, Food Insecurity Tags: Post-Season 2, Pre-Season 3, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Different First Meeting AU, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Insecure Steve Harrington, Lonely Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Strangers to Friends, Sharing Food, Food as a Metaphor For Love, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Has Rich Parents, He is Not Rich, Dialogue Heavy Originally, this was going to be 5+1 where Eddie shares his food five times and once where Steve shares his food, but I just couldn't finish the original plot.

🥪——————🥪 There’s a boy in Eddie’s lunch period that doesn’t have anything to eat. It’s weird because he knows who this kid is; Steve Harrington—cocky and rich and bitch with no bite—the kid who’s fallen from grace thanks to a few punches to the face. And the same kid who doesn’t really talk to anybody.

As it is, Steve is sitting by himself at one of the lunchroom tables. Arms crossed on the surface, head down on his forearms, hair limp at the crown of his head. Unusual and unseen. His shoulders are hitched, shaking like he’s crying unsubtly, yet quietly—unseen and unheard. It’s weird, he thinks, because Steve had just been looking out one of the windows, eyes a little hazy, glazed like he’d been gearing up to cry. Eddie had caught Steve pushing his hands into his hair, tugging like he was trying to rip it all out. But then he’d gone ahead and collapsed into this sad, huffing little heap onto the table.

Eddie maybe keeps his eye on Steve for too long, too often. To know the multitudes. The little fractures in his mask—spider webs, that’s what they were, spreading and sprawling. He supposed that, at some point, the web would be completed and be easy enough to knock down. Leaving in its wake a sad, mole-dotted, half-bruised, white-scarred face.

A face with a hungry maw, if the way Steve clutched his stomach said anything.

He makes a last minute decision today. Eddie curves his path away from the Hellfire Club’s table. Lunchbox dangling in his hand—a measly bologna and mustard sandwich, a baggie of salted pretzel sticks, and a Yoo-hoo he didn’t need to refrigerate all clinking against the metal interior. And then he plops himself down in front of Steve without a peep, just the hard clink of his wallet chain on the bench and his too big rings on the table.

All at once, slow, yet purposeful—Steve’s head springs up. He looks worse up close. Mottled purple. Swollen and shiny. There’s one of those terrible scars on the edge of his hairline, though this one’s different: pink, long, jagged, and fresh.

Steve squints at him. Covers the side of his face by the window, hand cupped around his one good eye, and swallows hard enough Eddie almost recoils. “Munson?” Steve croaks—literally, Eddie notes, like a strangled, old frog—“what’re you doing?”

“Mm, having lunch with my pal,” Eddie answers, prying open his lunchpail, food pulled out one thing at a time. He catches his thumbs in the Ziplock fasten, and from it produces that sad, drooping sandwich his uncle made last night. It’s a little soggy in his hands, too much mustard. And the bologna is sort of…lukewarm, but not inedible. Eddie digs around in one of his vest pockets, pulls out a small Swiss Army knife, and cuts the sandwich in half. Licks the blade, mustard just a little left of what’s meant to be tastefully sour. Then, he pushes a portion of the sandwich across the table to sit right in front of Steve. “Usually, I’d bring a lunch of your preference, but this is all I’ve got right now. So, hope you don’t mind some bologna.”

“I don’t wanna take your food away from you, man. I’ll be fine until I get home.”

Selfless is a trait he didn’t think Steve could really have. Well, from the assumed version he has in his head anyway. But it’s a trait he’s learning he probably won’t like. Not all the way, at least.

“Right,” Eddie murmurs, “and you clutching your stomach out of hunger seems like something to be fine about.” He picks up his half and takes a large bite, licks the bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth. With his mouth full, “It’s weird, y’know, I never see you in here with food. Not even lunch lady Donna’s mashed potatoes and gravy. If you wanna know my opinion, that’s one of the better lunches she makes, and it’s something anybody should try at least once.” He wrestles around in his lunchbox again, a glass bottle of Yoo-hoo now in his grip. The cap pops off satisfyingly and he takes a small swig, swallows the incredible glob in his mouth, and then offers the drink across the table. “Or, y’know, I thought maybe a rich kid would have their own lunch. With all of the good brand stuff. Like uh…Pringles? Yeah, Pringles and Coke? That seems like your game.”

Steve sniffs, looks down at his sandwich, and picks it up gingerly. He keeps staring at it, though. Not out of thought, like maybe he’s wondering if he should give it back. Something more…somber. “Correction,” he mutters, “I have rich parents. I’m just the kid they let live in their house.” Finally, he takes a bite with a gentle, low hum. As if it’s the greatest thing he’s ever put in his mouth. Which can’t possibly be true because, even though Eddie knows this meal is one of Wayne’s specialties, it’s honestly one of the shittier ones. If anything, this sandwich is just placeholder food—something that’ll get them by until Wayne gets paid next, if he gets paid on time.

Eddie hums, taking in the information. “They can’t even bother to send you on with at least a little something? Dude, tell me you at least get some breakfast. You’re breakin’ my heart over here.”

Again, Steve looks at his sandwich. Somber and small. He won’t look at Eddie, though. But Eddie can see him. His flushed cheeks—blotchy and tear track stained. Red rimmed eyes. Shaky fingers. He’s pale underneath the ruddiness. Lips chapped, eyes sunken, dark circles.

He looks like shit.

“Sometimes,” Steve murmurs, “I used to have a bagel in the morning, but my mom said the carbs were bad. I stopped buying them. So…I dunno. It’s not like she even”—He stops. Shakes his head. Takes another bite.

“She even…?”

Steve catches his eyes for all of a second. Places his sandwich on the baggie it came in. Wipes his cheeks, just barely missing some of the bruising. “She’s not even home most of the time anyway. It doesn’t really matter,” he states quiet and bitter. He clears his throat, the sound strained. Shrugs. Rests his face in one hand, looking out the window again. Face going pinched and pained. “You ever had a fend for yourself kind of day?”

“Eh…I’ve had fend for yourself nights. But that’s because my uncle works late, sometimes it’s just up to me to figure something out. Those are cereal nights, man.” He watches Steve again. At the way he doesn’t go back for the sandwich. Not even disgusted. Just…blank. “Was today one of those, Steve?” he asks quietly.

No verbal answer. Just one, small, shaky nod. Eddie won’t stand for that.

“What food do you like? Maybe I can help you come up with like a…a meal plan calendar or something. So that you know what you have at all times and you can, like, make sure you’re eating good.” Steve still doesn’t say anything. Lips rolled tight to his teeth. Eddie tries again, “Or at least just eating, Stevie. I know we don’t really know each other at all, but I see you in here everyday. No lunch. Not even one of those stupid boxes of raisins. You gotta eat, man. Or else, y’know, that shit catches up to you.”

Across from him, Steve sniffles again and wipes the back of his hand on his nose. “I don’t know what I like,” he says, “sandwiches are fine, I guess. It’s fine”—

“Good, great actually. Steve Harrington is getting a tour of the Munson sandwich recipes. Passed down from my uncle, the master of sandwich art. Y’like black forest ham? Maybe a bit of grilled chicken? Tomatoes?” Steve’s finally staring at him now. Wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Mouth dropped ajar with slight disbelief. “What?” Eddie says, “don’t look at me like that. We don’t have to be friends or anything, but you gotta eat. It’s equity, dude. I already got what I need in terms of food and eating, but you don’t. So, I getcha what you need. I help you out.”

Steve droops, breathes out a little sigh. Digs his thumbnail into the stale crust of the sandwich, picking at it, crumbling it onto the table. “You don’t have to do that, Eddie,” he speaks quietly, “I…uh…I don’t want to assume anything, but I don’t think it’s fair that somebody who makes less money than my whole family has to make up for my parents’ stupidity. It’s not your job to look out for somebody like me anyway, right? Just another screw up who can’t get his shit together, can’t even figure out how he’s going to pay for worthwhile groceries for the month.” He finally stops picking at the sandwich. Wipes his nose again. “Thanks for trying, though. I’m sorry that you have to care at all.”

Eddie eyes Steve for a silent beat. And then, with careful, languid movements, he lays his hand palm up on the table. Steve looks to it, but pretends to pay it no mind. Even if his face crumbles a bit more. “Steve,” Eddie speaks, keeping his voice measured and low, “I want to help. I—I know that my uncle and I don’t make a lot. And, sure, maybe figuring out a way to get you some good homecooked meals is a little out of my budget. But I don’t care. You deserve to eat, man. No matter how much money your parents make.

“If I can make your day a little easier—because, I gotta be honest, it seems like you’re just having…the toughest time a person can ever possibly have—then great. If it means me giving you a dollar for the school lunch or just coming here with an extra sandwich in my lunchbox, whatever.

“Nobody deserves to go without eating because their bullshit parents prioritize work and social lives over their own children—and no child deserves to believe they’re the problem. Let me help, okay? Even if we have to start out small, so be it.” Eddie takes a moment to pause, to breathe, to let the cafeteria background noise mingle around them. He crinkles the edge of the Ziplock baggie, pushes it further into Steve’s space, and does the same with the bag of pretzel sticks. “I want to take care of you. Even if we’re just strangers in the hallway, I want to make sure that you’re doing okay.”

He does his best to lean across the way, to block off the rest of the cafeteria from their table. As Steve lays his shaky hands flat on the surface and his face turns bright red, tears steadily streaming down his face. Eddie digs the bandana out of his back pocket and slides it across the table, too, offering it up in silence.

Steve takes it with a shaky hand and pats the tired fabric on his tacky skin. He blows a sharp, wheezing, snotty breath from his nose. “If you’re sure, then I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a lot. But I…I wanna make sure I can pay you back, okay? Don’t wanna—I don’t wanna like abuse your generosity or something.”

“You wouldn’t be,” he quickly amends. “I’m offering, man, don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, but I…I don’t think you understand,” Steve adamantly presses, “I know it’s gonna make me sound all whiny and like uptight or whatever, but I don’t earn an allowance from my parents anymore. Not since…well, I’m sure you know how stupid I am.”

“Hey,” Eddie gently scolds. “You’re not stupid, Steve. You know what you’re talking about, I’ve heard you.”

Steve snorts like Eddie said something funny. “Try telling that to all my college rejection letters and my dad’s crumbling expectations of his only son. I’m sure they could find a million ways to explain just how…how worthless I am. That I’m a burden or…or a stain.”—those last sentences sound like echoes, if Eddie cares to explore it enough. Like they come from a different, more expectant mouth. Steve continues, “How am I even supposed to get a mediocre job? Just feels like I’m too nothing for anything out there. I don’t even know how I’m gonna pay you back, Eddie. Shit, I just shouldn’t accept. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get back up from all this garbage—I—I’m such a fucking loser now. I don’t even have anything going on anymore.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, not sure which part of any of that to unpack. Instead, he goes with, “You’ve got sports, Stevie. Surely you can figure something out with that. I’ve seen you perform, man, you’re fucking phenomenal.”

“My brain’s too fucked up now to play,” Steve quietly admits, “too many concussions. Coaches say I’m too befuddled to make heads or tails of where my targets are. Sports are over for me. I literally have nothing.” He blows out another wet, shaky breath. “So, I’m just saying, I’m sorry if I can’t make this up to you.”

“Steve,” Eddie says firmly, “look at me.”

At the demand, he’s met with Steve’s sad, hazel eyes. Clogged with discontent and miserableness he never thought he’d see out of a guy like Steve. Every part of him wants to reach out, cradle Steve’s face in his hands, wipe away his tears, caress his injuries with a tenderness he’s sure Steve has long forgotten. A part of him wants to hold Steve forever, no sign of letting go. 

Heart in his stomach, shattered yet beating, he speaks as softly as he possibly can manage. “You owe me nothing, Steve. You don’t owe me your best. You don’t owe me your money. You don’t owe me payback or…or a job on your back. There’s nothing that I want from you, I promise. But if you want to give me something…how about just being my friend, huh? Just sit down with me at lunch, share the food I brought, give me as much of a conversation as you want, and just…just let yourself be cared about.

“That’s what I’ll ask of you. If you feel the need to give me something, give me friendship. That’s it. Nothing more than that. Anything else that arises in the future, we worry about then. Bridges waiting to be crossed later, y’know? That’s doable, right? Just being a friend.”

Steve nods in slow understanding. “You wanna be friends with me?” He asks in a whisper. “You know that I’m not the best company, right? I’m…I’m stubborn and I’m bitchy and I—I know sometimes that I don’t use my brain half the time and I just say shit before I really think about it. And I…I’ve been a jerk and I’m—I’m sort of bullshit, Eddie. Is that really something you want in your life?”

Eddie merely shrugs. “You think I don’t have my own flaws? Everybody’s got shit. All of us have baggage. You’re just a teenager, as am I, and we’re still figuring shit out. At least you’re aware, right? Means you can try and…and be more thoughtful about what you do, how you act. And, besides, stop giving me reasons to leave you alone. I want to be your friend. I’ll say it from here to fucking Mars, man.” He raps his fingers against the table, darts his eyes to that sandwich. There’s not really a good way to keep drilling the want of it all into Steve’s head. So, finally, he relents. Gives Steve the step away that he wants. “Go ahead and eat, Steve. I’ll bring you a PB&J tomorrow, yeah? You like grape or strawberry jelly?”

A lapse of silence. Wherein they stare at each other. Two things work their way onto Steve’s face. Adamant protests that, in turn, are squashed and cornered into becoming stubborn acceptance. Jeez, Eddie can’t help but think, what’s it gonna take to get this guy to realize that people can care about him?

“Mm…strawberry, please,” Steve finally decides.

He simply nods. Looks out the window to the courtyard. Cafeteria white noise and Steve’s soft chewing surrounding him. The light hits him just as a cloud begins to move, yellow sunlight, warm and new. It marks the beginning of something unexpected, good, Eddie believes. “I think you’re a good guy, by the way,” he murmurs, “you probably don’t believe me now, but you will one day. Swear on it.”

🥪——————🥪

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (14)

She ever thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and the team face a setback in the investigation. wc: 4.6k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: This one is a beast. I don't usually write multiple scenes in one part but it seems fitting here.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER HATED DRIVING. The feeling of confinement, the cacophony of honking horns, and the ceaseless traffic had always grated on his nerves. Yet his line of work often required him to be the one behind the wheel, and usually, he didn't mind, but now the car's interior seemed to close in on him as if mocking his discomfort.

He wondered whether his detest for driving paled in comparison to the regret consuming him. Or was this anger? Was this anger coursing through his body that had him feeling more uncomfortable than he usually was?

He could feel his knuckles turn white as he clenched the wheel. The anger burned hot within him, directed both outwardly at the situation he had thrust into and inwardly at himself for allowing it to happen. He couldn't understand how he allowed his urge to consume him, leading to actions that inflicted pain upon her.

It was consensual on my part.

If that was true, then why was there regret gnawing him? Why was he still angry at himself? Spencer always prided on self-control, that he could resist any urges and avoid causing any harm. But tonight he had shattered that belief. He had let his defenses crumble and now he had to deal with being the one who painted those bruises on her skin.

The shrill ring of his phone sliced through the heavy silence inside the car, momentarily diverting his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID on the dashboard's console, seeing a familiar name flash on the screen. With a hesitant sigh, he pressed the answer button.

"Where the hell have you been?" Garcia's voice filled the space, her frustration was palpable even through the speaker.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and cleared his throat before responding, "I got caught up in something."

She let out a sound of frustration. "You can't just disappear like that, Reid, we've been trying to get hold of you."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "What's the update?"

"Oliver Walsh is nowhere to be found," a third voice cut in, who Spencer caught on as Hotch's. It seemed they were in the same room. "Morgan and Prentiss are checking his house."

"They found anything yet?"

"There were countless photographs of our witness—candid shots, close-ups, and even pictures taken from a distance."

His chest tightened, his jaw clenched, and his teeth ground together as the anger surged through him. He felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks, his face contorting with the intensity of his emotions. It was as if a fire had ignited within him, each flickering flame fueled by his frustration.

But beneath all that, he could hear the uncertainty in Hotch's voice, the contrast between his usual commanding presence and the hesitant tone in his words.

"What is it?" Spencer asked cautiously.

"The pictures were taken professionally." There was a pause. "There isn't a dark room in his house or any sign that he possesses camera equipment."

There was a momentary silence on the line, broken only by the sound of the road beneath his tires and the occasional distant siren. Spencer took a deep breath. "Do you think he hired someone?"

"Based on his victims, he seems to prefer working alone."

"He could have a hideout," he suggested, his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he navigated through the quiet streets. "Criminals often use secret spaces. It gives them a sense of control over their environment where they feel safe from prying eyes."

Hotch hummed a sound of approval. "Hideout location often has a sentimental value. Garcia, find any places that might be mentioned in his files."

Spencer's ears picked up the distinct clatter of keyboards in the background.

"There's a church where his family used to go to... but it's still open to the public so no... oh, the house he grew up in? No, it was sold a few years ago—wait, I found something." Garcia paused, allowing a brief silence to settle in as the sound of keys clicking continued. "There's an old article mentioning an abandoned warehouse that he and his group of friends used to frequent during their youth, a secluded spot for underage alcohol consumption."

"Where's the location?"

"Give me a minute." Garcia typed away, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, summoning information that surprisingly only took her twenty seconds to retrieve the location. Spencer counted the exact time. "It's not far from here."

Then suddenly, she let out a sudden shriek. "Hotch!" There were footsteps in the background followed by fingers frantically flying across the keyboard. A sound of frustration left her lips not long afterward. "Damn it!"

"What happened?" Spencer asked in an alert. "Did you find something?"

"I-I've been trying to tap his phone, you know, trying to locate him in case he decided to turn it on, and I got a signal before it disappeared again."

Spencer asked, "Can you retrieve the last coordination it located?" At the same time, Hotch cut in with, "Can you trace it back?"

"Hold your horses, boys." With a series of rapid keystrokes, Garcia initiated a deep scan on her laptop. The seconds seemed to stretch as the scanning progress bar advanced before a notification popped up on the screen. The location data had been recovered.

"Oh my god." Her eyes zeroed in on the coordinates, and she quickly cross-referenced them with a map application to get a visual of the area. "It's six miles away from the warehouse."

Hotch wasted no time after receiving the information. "Reid, check the location. I'll coordinate with the tactical unit and dispatch a team of officers to assess the area. JJ and I will meet you there."

"I'm on it."

"I sent you the coordinate," Garcia mentioned, the same time his phone pinged with an alert.

"Don't do anything until we get there," Hotch reminded him. "And Reid?"

He hummed a reply, notifying that he was listening.

"I need you to stay focused."

His eyes flickered over the console. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Hotch's reminder struck a nerve. His words, though well-intentioned, were a stark reminder of the fine line he was walking between his personal struggles and his professional responsibilities. He sat there, and the call quickly cut off before he could even reply.

The noise of the bustling street faded into the background as his thoughts began to spiral, repeating his mentor's words, his expectations of him weighing heavily on his shoulders. Spencer shook his head, trying to ground himself. The case was important, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles jeopardize his work.

He slowly took a steadying breath, forcing himself to compartmentalize, a skill he had honed over years of dealing with high-stress situations, and silently drove toward the coordinate Garcia had sent over.

Y/n hated crying. She despised the way her throat tightened, constricting her voice as if it were trying to strangle the tears before they could escape. The way her chest heaved with each silent sob. Her hatred for the involuntary quiver of her lip and the trembling of her hands was as potent as it was irrational.

The irony wasn't lost on her, when her boss was found lifeless on the floor that day, she had stood strong, her eyes dry, absorbing the shock without a single tear. Yet, here she was, broken by the rejection of a man who had once held a fragment of her heart. It was baffling, the way he had become the chink in her armor, the one who could shatter her composure.

But could she even call that rejection? To be rejected there surely had to be some form of confession and she was one hundred percent sure she hadn't conveyed anything that indicated her affection for him... right?

Use me in any way you like.

She groaned into her pillow. To be fair, that wasn't a confession. And to be fair, he did exactly what she asked for—It just happened that it ended the exact opposite of what she expected.

With swollen eyes and a heavy heart, she finally pushed herself out of bed. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint glow of streetlights seeping through her curtains. As she rose from her tangled sheets, she felt the weight of her emotions as her thoughts went haywire.

She couldn't stand being alone at the moment. Her own thoughts seemed too loud, too suffocating. It felt like the walls were closing in, and every moment alone was just another reminder of how lonely she felt now.

That was why she reached for her phone and dialed Sandy's number, that was why she properly got dressed as she waited for her to arrive, and that was why she quickly rushed over to her front door when she heard the constant knocking. But as the door swung open, an unexpected sight froze her in her tracks.

Standing there with Sandy was Eric wearing a bemused expression. Her mind whirled with a mix of emotions–surprise, confusion, and a hint of embarrassment. She hadn't expected her to bring someone else, and now they were all standing at her doorstep, an unusual trio in the midst of an unanticipated gathering.

Sandy, sensing the tension in the air, was quick to speak up. "Oh, um... I brought company?"

"You brought Eric," she replied, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to mask her surprise.

Eric, ever the easygoing coworker, greeted her with a friendly nod and lifted the plastic bag in his hand. "And I brought Chinese. Hope you don't mind me tagging along."

For a moment, she hesitated, struggling to find her footing. It wasn't that she didn't like him, he was one of her good friends at work, which meant something because most of the men she worked with were chauvinistic, sexist pigs. But she did plan on having an emergency Margarita Night with her friend when she made the call. Although she couldn't find herself to send him away—not when he was looking at her expectantly—so she managed a hesitant smile and stepped aside.

"Come on in then." She tugged the door open. "The more the merrier, I guess."

Eric's eyes studied her distraught face as he walked in. "You okay? You look..."

"Bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad."

"I bet you wouldn't say good either."

He frowned as if trying to choose the right words. "You look stressed," he decided to say. "Everything alright?"

She paused, torn between opening up about her feelings and maintaining a sense of privacy. But in the end, she chose honesty, if only to ease the awkwardness of the situation. "Not really. I don't want to talk about it though." She motioned them into her living room. "What were you guys doing together anyway?"

"Eric has been stopping by at everyone's place in search of Oliver," Sandy responded, already making herself comfortable on the couch. "My place was his recent quest."

Y/n turned to Eric. "You still haven't heard from him?"

He shook his head, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face. "No, not a word. That's why I decided to put in a missing person's report."

"What?" Sandy chimed in. "When?"

"This afternoon." He settled onto a nearby chair and turned his attention towards Y/n. "I met with Dr. Reid. You remember him, right?"

Remember him? They were here because of him in the first place. "Yeah, I remember him." She then shook her head, dismissing her personal feelings for the time being, and refocusing on the conversation. "You think Oliver's gone missing?"

Eric's concern was palpable as he replied, "His phone is off, his family is unreachable, and his house is empty. I'm starting to get worried."

Sandy's brows furrowed with concern as she leaned forward. "That doesn't sound like Oliver. He wouldn't just disappear without a word."

"That's what I've been trying to say."

She glanced between the two and listened as they continued to discuss the possibilities of his whereabouts. But as they did, Y/n couldn't help but feel that something was off, that there was an air of strangeness and suspicion surrounding his sudden vanishing act.

Her thoughts wandered to the peculiar way Oliver had always been interested in her, and her mind couldn't help but draw a parallel to her own situation, where a serial killer seemed to have an odd fascination with her. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to align themselves in her mind, forming a picture that was both unnerving and hard to accept. It sounded almost silly, like a twisted plot from a suspenseful thriller. It was all too surreal to be true.

She quickly shook her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thoughts, clinging to the hope that her mind was simply playing tricks on her. Because Oliver, her good friend Oliver, wouldn't do something as sinister as murder... right?

Spencer arrived an hour later. A single, isolated warehouse stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation, tucked away in a remote corner of the district. He parked his car discreetly before stepping out of the vehicle, his footsteps making a soft crunch on the gravel beneath his feet.

His breath hung in the crisp night air as he scanned the area meticulously, the slightest detail not escaping his analytical gaze. The warehouse stood against the backdrop of a vast, starlit sky, its silhouette imposing and enigmatic. Dim light spilled out from the high windows, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the surrounding ground.

Suddenly, the distant rumble of an approaching engine reached his ears. He turned sharply and was greeted by a convoy of vehicles making their way toward the warehouse. As they drew closer, he recognized the familiar silhouette of his unit chief behind the wheel and JJ seated right beside him.

The vehicles came to a stop, and the officers quickly disembarked, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Hotch approached him, his expression grave but determined. "We need to split into teams. Reid, you take point with me. JJ, coordinate with the other officers and enter from the side."

With a nod from him, the officers sprang into action, fanning out to explore the warehouse thoroughly. Spencer and Hotch approached the building cautiously with a flashlight in one of their hands and their weapons in the other.

The front entrance was partially obscured by a tangle of overgrown weeds and graffiti-covered walls. Spencer stepped closer toward it, his footsteps echoing louder in the silence. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He had faced countless crime scenes and dangerous situations, but there was something about this abandoned warehouse that seemed eerie.

His mind immediately kicked into gear as he followed Hotch into the building. They stealthily moved from one corner to another, examining the objects that had been left behind in this desolate place. Piles of old crates were stacked haphazardly, their contents long removed or forgotten.

They came across a set of stairs that led to an upper level, and without a word, they ascended, their footsteps echoing on the metal steps. Upstairs, the darkness seemed even more suffocating, and the sense of isolation heightened. His flashlight landed on a stack of old files on the floor, their pages yellowed with age. He picked one up and flipped through it, but it appeared to be nothing more than old inventory records.

"There's nothing in here," he whispered. "We should check the other side—"

"Hotch! Reid! Over here!"

JJ's urgent voice alerted them and they both descended the stairs, her voice reverberated through the cavernous space. Spencer stepped into the room down the hall, his flashlight illuminating the scene before him. His steps then faltered, the sight that greeted him sent a shockwave of alarm through his already heightened senses. They had found him. Their suspected Unsub was right where they had predicted.

But he was lying in a pool of blood.

Oliver's unconscious form was a stark contrast against the cold, concrete floor. JJ was already at his side, checking his pulse and issuing urgent commands into her intercom for paramedic assistance. "Stab wounds," she announced to the room. "He's still breathing."

His mind raced as he took in the situation. How had Walsh ended up in this state? Who had inflicted the stab wound? And what had brought him to this remote area?

But his attention was soon drawn to the second startling discovery—the writing on the wall. His flashlight revealed a message scrawled in front of them, seemingly written with blood. He took a step closer, examining the writing carefully. The texture and consistency of the blood suggested it had been written recently.

Proverbs 14:8

Hotch, who entered the room with the rest of the team, observed the scene with a steely resolve. He instructed the officers to secure the area and preserve any potential evidence as paramedics rushed inside. His eyes scanned around him and he noticed Spencer's intense scrutiny of the message on the wall.

Spencer recited the verse as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. "The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways, but the folly of fools is deception."

"Any idea what it means?" Hotch asked, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Spencer furrowed his brow, his mind racing through possible scenarios. "It's a message to us. The verse underscores the idea that wisdom involves careful consideration of one's actions and beliefs..." And then his voice slowly trailed off. "...while deception can lead to foolishness."

The words hung in the air, its implications weighing heavily on his mind. It was a declaration, a challenge, and a warning all at once. His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Who had written this message? Was this a desperate act from Walsh himself, or was there another player in this dangerous game they had been entangled in?

His stomach dropped.

That was it.

"It's a trap."

His mind then processed the surreal scene before him—the injured suspect, the message scrawled in blood—it was increasingly clear that this wasn't a straightforward apprehension; it was a carefully orchestrated plan, and they were mere pawns in a dangerous game. And as the realization began to grip him, his anxiety surged. There was only one thought in his mind.

With trembling fingers, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had kept in his phone but never seemed to use. The seconds felt like an eternity as he anxiously waited for her to pick up. His mind raced with a thousand scenarios, each one more alarming than the last. Hotch stepped closer as he noticed the dread in his eyes.

"Reid."

There was only silence on the other end of the line. She wasn't answering. The fear that had gripped him intensified, and a knot of dread formed in his stomach. He tried again. There was still no answer. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably as he clutched his phone, the device suddenly feeling like an anchor pulling him deeper into a sea of fear.

"Reid."

As panic began to surge, he dialed Officer Anderson's number next. His trembling fingers pressed the buttons, and he held the phone to his ear, there was no response—no ringing, no voicemail, just a disheartening silence. His panic intensified. His chest tightened, and each gasping breath felt insufficient, leaving him feeling suffocated and—

"Reid!"

He exchanged a glance with Hotch. "I-I can't reach her," he said, sounding defeated. His palms grew clammy as he tried to regain control while he leaned against a nearby wall, attempting to steady himself.

JJ stood up and approached him. "Reid, take deep breaths," she urged, her voice calm and reassuring.

Spencer tried to steady his breathing, but his lungs felt constricted, and the air refused to fill them properly. He felt lightheaded, disconnected from reality, as waves of panic washed over him. JJ placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Focus on your breathing," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "In and out."

But the words struggled to penetrate the fog of panic that had enveloped his mind. His thoughts spiraled into a chaotic mess of fear and helplessness. The walls of the warehouse seemed to close in on him, and he gasped for air.

JJ guided him to a nearby crate. He complied, allowing himself to sit down as his trembling hands found the edge of the crate, fingers gripping tightly as he tried to steady himself. She crouched in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

"Spence, look at me. We're going to find her, but I need you to breathe, okay?" His gaze met hers, and he nodded, albeit shakily. He knew that he couldn't let his panic consume him, not when there was a chance of her being in danger, not when there was a possibility of her being taken away—he quickly shook his head.

The warehouse's oppressive atmosphere seemed to recede as he concentrated on his breath. Spencer became acutely aware of the controlled chaos unfolding around him. Hotch's firm and authoritative voice as he started to make calls, the flashlights dancing over the walls, and the low murmur of voices filling the space. He closed his eyes briefly, attempting to center himself.

But as he waited to regain his composure, the minutes felt like hours, and the fear of losing her weighed heavily on his mind.

Please, let her be safe.

"Y/n!" Sandy's voice called from the other room, prompting her to emerge from the bathroom. "Your phone keeps ringing."

"Can you check who it's from?"

Sandy checked the caller ID and responded, "Unknown caller."

She let out a dismissive sigh and started to head back into the room. "It's probably just spam."

But then, Sandy's voice broke the silence again, this time with a question that hung in the air like a heavy cloud. "This might sound crazy, but do you think Oliver has anything to do with Jamison's death?" Her breath hitched at the unexpected question. She turned to face her friend as she continued, "Just think about it, Oliver went missing right after the murder. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

Eric's frown deepened, and he interjected, "Don't say that. He could be in danger for all we know."

"I forgot you're protective over him." Sandy turned toward Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, caught between their exchange. "Did you know Eric and Oliver grew up together?"

Her frown deepened as she processed her words. "You did?" She asked Eric, her tone marked by surprise.

He shrugged, his casual demeanor unchanged. "We weren't exactly friends. We just grew up in the same community."

She continued to express her curiosity. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because it's not important? Like I said, we weren't even friends."

Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise mixed with a tinge of confusion. "I've known you both for what, two—almost three years now, and neither of you mentioned this?"

Eric dismissed her concern with a simple explanation. "It's not really a secret, though. We just don't talk about it." He then glanced over at Sandy. "I mean, she knows."

"It's really not an interesting topic," her friend agreed. "Why does it matter?"

She found herself grappling with that very question. Why did it matter? Why was this information tugging at her concern more than it probably should? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this felt unsettling, like a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit, and it left her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.

In the end, she decided to let it go, at least for now. She shook her head, dismissing her lingering thoughts. "I... never mind."

She dismissed the topic and left the two to talk as she entered the kitchen, her steps echoing in the quiet space. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim overhead light, casting elongated shadows across the countertops.

With a sigh, she made her way to the refrigerator, its white exterior gleaming faintly in the light. As she pulled the door open, a cold gust of air rushed out, ruffling her hair. She bent down and stared into its content. While her unanswered phone calls continued to chime softly in the background, her eyes scanned along the stacks of drink lined across the shelf.

"Do you guys want a refill?" She called out, her voice breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

She waited for a response, only to be met by silence.

"Eric! Sandy! Do you want a refill?"

There was still no answer.

"...Guys?"

It was then she realized the gentle sound of conversation from the other room had stopped, replaced by an eerie quiet that seemed to envelop the entire house. The only sound that persisted was the soft, persistent ringing of her phone in the background. Slowly, she began to stand, her movements deliberate and cautious.

She froze in place, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she heard a sudden sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It echoed through the room, breaking the eerie silence that had enveloped the house.

But it wasn't the thud itself that startled her, it was the deafening silence that followed, as if the very world had gone mute. The absence of any other sound, the stillness that hung in the air, was unnerving. It felt like the calm before a storm, the hush that precedes a revelation, and every instinct in her body screamed at her to be cautious.

Her breathing became shallow, and she strained her ears, hoping to catch any sound that might offer an explanation. "Sandy?" She took a step forward. "Eric?"

She slowly merged from the kitchen, her cautious steps carried her down the narrow hallway that led to the living room. The silence pressed down on her felt like a heavy weight, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her.

A sense of unease settled over her as she stepped into the living room. At first glance, everything seemed eerily normal. The furniture was in its usual place, the soft glow of the lamps still casted a warm hue across the room. Yet, amidst this apparent calm, her eyes landed on a sight that sent a shock of fear coursing through her veins.

A gasp caught in her throat, because there, on the floor, lay Sandy's unconscious form, her body sprawled in an unnatural position. The room seemed to close in around her as she rushed forward, but before she could even move, she felt a sudden, oppressive presence behind her.

A heavy arm closed around her waist in a tight grip, and another hand pressed firmly against her mouth, muffling any cries of surprise or fear. She struggled, her heart pounding in her chest, as she was pulled backward, away from Sandy's prone figure.

"Hey, hey, don't move." A hushed and urgent voice whispered in her ear. She froze, her heart still pounding, her eyes wide with fear. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

It was in that terrifying moment that she realized a cloth was held over her mouth, and with a gasp, she inadvertently inhaled something that left her world spinning. The room seemed to blur and distort, shadows swirling into a chaotic dance as her body went limp.

The last thing she recalled was the persistent sound of her phone ringing before everything went black.

>> NEXT PART

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[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Here's a fun (modern au) one: full hc for the M6's airport/airplane flight experience >:3

The Arcana HCs: M6 at the airport

~ loosely referencing this old ask arcana post from the nix hydra era - @themushroomgoesyeet hope you like this friend! I had so much fun writing it!! ^.^ ~

Julian

Does Julian love the concept of flying through the air as a mode of transportation, travel, and adventure in general? Sure!

Does that mean he does well with it? Not at all

Major flight anxiety and will cope with it to varying degrees of healthy depending on who he's with and what his options are

If you're the sort of person to pack soothing gummies and noise cancelling headphones with pre-downloaded guided meditation tracks and some sleep meds, he'll be all over them

If you're the sort of person who doesn't mind a drink or two before a flight just to soothe the nerves - well - he won't say no to that, either. Just make sure he's sober by the time you land, so he doesn't take a ride on the luggage carousel out of relief

Can and will grip your hand during take off and landing and then apologize when it briefly cuts off your blood circulation

Always offers to put up at least three people's luggage for them in the overhead bins and drops at least one on his head

Asra

They are one of those very weird people who think airplanes, airports, and any public area of transportation are relaxing

He's in tie-dye loungewear, a neck pillow, crocs, fuzzy socks, hair pushed out of his face with a sleeping mask-turned-headband, a rolling duffle bag dragged by one hand and a snack in the other

They are v i b i n g

Misses flights way less than you would expect him to, mostly because he's so familiar with all the major airports at this point that he has boarding just in time down to a fine science

And when they do miss a flight, it turns into an extended chillout session because they know all the best hangout spots there

His capacity to fall asleep anywhere, anytime works in his favor on cramped flights beautifully

They've started a new tradition with you of looking through all the available in-flight entertainment and picking what promises to be the cringiest movie, just to make you laugh with their commentary

Nadia

Her usual reason for flying is business, which is exactly how she approaches the entire traveling process

Her luggage is all one elegant, efficient set (she has bought you a matching one) with personalized tags for ease of spotting

Always purchases business class tickets, refuses to take any chances on missing her special traveling experience and arrives at the airport three hours early as a result

There are multiple reasons for this - first, less stress at security, second, she has one of those fancy passes that gets her into just about any exclusive club lounge in the world

Enjoys the hour or two pampering you in the lounge with nothing else to do more than she does any other part of the travel

Won't hesitate to critique/send back her meal on the airplane if she doesn't like it, tends to load up on sleeping meds for longer flights since the fluctuating air pressure triggers her migraines

Brings an extra skincare routine for you to do during the last hour

Muriel

Look at him. Do you see him? Look at him. Now look at the size of an airplane interior. Look at him again. Now look at the amount of available legroom. Look at him again. HE IS 6'10.

Muriel would prefer almost any form of transportation to flying. It's busy, security makes him move too fast, all the signs and bustle of the airport are hell on his anxiety, and that's before boarding

Always tries to get an aisle seat because that lets him expand into the walkway if he needs to, and so he's less likely to glance out the window and see just how far away the ground is

The ground belongs right here. Under his feet. Not a terrifying drop down through the clouds!!

The airplane experience is sensory hell for him in general, the deafening sound of the engines, the constant vibration, the recycled air, the ways his ears pop, the stiff seats, the armrests -

Really the only way he'll get through this is if he knows there's no other options and if you're next to him as his emotional support

Portia

An airport champion

And it's really not from that much experience. She's traveled enough to know she likes it, but it's still so exciting every time she gets the chance to fly somewhere! Especially with you!!

Has done all of her research ahead of time and is packed for everything. Her massive mom bag has pockets for snacks, documents, meds, chargers, electronics, drinks, travel cushions ...

Does get restless before a flight and will drag you all up and down the terminal to take a look at every single shop and restaurant

The type to start chatting with whoever's in line with her, whether in security lines, bathroom lines, coffee lines, or boarding lines

Will befriend whoever is sitting next to/across from her and spend half the flight getting to know them and trading stories

Will offer to hold any nearby crying baby if said baby's caregiver could clearly use five minutes to use the restroom or eat

Takes so many pictures out the airplane window

Lucio

Traveling is one of those things that he tries (and fails) to hide his excitement around. In his mind, this is something that he as a worldly, well-traveled person should be nonchalant about

He is not nonchalant. He is thrilled to be doing something fairly exciting and to spend a whole day with excuses to be in close quarters with you - and to book a first-class ticket

The only issue is that (if it's left unchecked) his FOMO will prompt him to try to squeeze every single thing to do out of the terminal before he boards the plane, which can end in missing his flight

Massage chairs! You two should definitely get a massage

A massive perfume section! You two should sample five each

Gets extremely impatient during the boarding process and will start grumbling and fidgeting in place when the person in front of him is taking forever to put up their luggage

Laughs loudly enough at the comedy he picks to watch for the whole airplane to hear him

[jennelikejennay]

One thing that bugs me about the way Vulcans are usually depicted (with some lovely exceptions) is that their philosophy—logic, or the teachings of Surak, for short I'm just going to call it Surakianism—is very often shown as a bad thing. Either that, or Vulcans aren't following it at all.

Writing about religion (and I do think Surakianism is best approached as a religion*) is always fraught. Because generally as a writer, you don't actually practice the faith in question, so naturally you'll have an outside view. That's doubly true of Surakianism, a way of life humans basically can't follow and it would probably be bad for us to try.

[*I know they don't call it a religion. But the way it deeply affects the interior life of Vulcans, their ethics, and so on feels very religious to me. It doesn't seem to have a position on theism; Vulcans get their beliefs about god(s) from elsewhere, such as traditional Vulcan polytheism and their own perceptions of the universe. But the way it exists as a social structure AND a guide to the inner self is absolutely religious to me.]

We are told that Vulcans developed this philosophy specifically because they needed it—they were destroying themselves without it! Their emotions were overpowering and violent, and they were clannish to the extreme. So despite what most of the human characters say, especially Bones, I think the path of logic is a good thing for Vulcans, even if humans don't get it at all.

Surak's teachings can be summed up into three basic points (a Vulcan somewhere just raised an eyebrow clear into their bangs at this oversimplification, but I'm doing my best here):

1. Logic, or the use of reason as a guide and the control of emotions

2. Nonviolence

3. IDIC—infinite diversity in infinite combinations.

Of course we only ever hear about the first one, because that's part humans notice. I'd say it was like reducing Catholics to fish Fridays and Mormons to underwear, but that's exactly what people do, so I guess it's understandable.

But I think the ordering goes the other way for Vulcans. First, acknowledge that others are of value, including and especially when they're different from you. Then, do them no harm. And finally, to achieve that goal, control your wild, violent emotions.

People imagine pre-reform Vulcans a lot of ways (and I never get tired of reading about them), but I think the best guide as to what they're like is by looking at Romulans. Romulans aren't wildly expressive with their emotions, we're certainly not talking about people who would otherwise be laughing and crying constantly. Instead, they're secretive and carry long, hateful grudges. They're loyal only to those closest to them, and they seem entirely without empathy otherwise.

Imagine the Vulcan emotions are like that. They have strong bonds to their clan, probably in part because of their telepathy. They're suspicious of outsiders, angry, prone to violence. Preferring the familiar is an instinct in humans too, but a mild one. Certainly humans have been and still are racist, but it's something we can generally overcome. I'm not sure the Vulcans could, not by relying on their emotions.

So they came up with the solution to control their emotions completely. Use reason instead as a guide to behavior, because logic will tell you that your own clan is not more important than another, and that reaching out in peace is beneficial to yourself and others. Don't give your emotions any credence and don't let them run wild.

Humans do some of this ourselves, and should arguably be doing more. We spend a huge chunk of our childhood learning to control antisocial impulses like screaming, hitting, and biting. We demonstrate self control in many tiny, unnecessary ways, in order to show to others that we are in control of ourselves: stuff like etiquette, social rules, even just leaving the last cookie on the tray for someone else. These are signals that say I am not governed by my appetites; I can be trusted to consider the needs of others.

And we could obviously be doing more. Too many political questions are being answered by people's emotional, knee-jerk responses like "I feel threatened by people who are different" or "I am angry about my enemies and want them punished" instead of "what produces the most benefit for everyone?" If we leaned more heavily on logic and reason to get us our answers, we'd make way better decisions than we do. Star Trek doesn't often acknowledge that in real life, making a snap gut decision doesn't actually have a very high success rate. Logic gives you better odds of saving the day.

But, you might say, Vulcans aren't doing very well at any of this. A heck of a lot of them that we've seen are racist. And while they repress their emotions just great, they don't actually make the most logical decisions most of the time.

But I don't think this actually discredits a religion at all. We all know Christians who are great at the easy parts of their religion—learning Bible verses or saying rosaries—but don't seem to be even trying to love their neighbor. That's in fact the way religions are usually practiced! External elements that people can easily see (like never smiling) are adhered to by social pressure, but more heart-level things are aspirational at best. That doesn't mean the message of a religion is bad; it doesn't really tell us anything.

This is especially true for a religion whose practice isn't optional. You have to follow Surak to stay on the planet. I can see this rule was necessary during the time when the Romulans were kicked out—pacifism doesn't work as a global solution unless everybody's doing it. Now, it seems a bit harsh. I think they get around it by not exiling anybody who's at least giving lip service to logic. That racist baseball guy in DS9 isn't a good Vulcan, but as long as he doesn't do anything violent or openly reject Surak, they're willing to say he counts.

Why are Vulcans so often the opposite of what their religion teaches? I think it's the other way around: their religion focuses specifically on their chief faults: clannishness, racism, ego. It just hasn't successfully transformed everyone. Makes perfect sense, really. We might as well ask why Christianity goes on and on about sex when humans are well known to be super obsessed with sex. Well that's WHY! It's one of our strongest impulses which in the past we felt the most desperate need to control.

The best argument against Surakianism is that total repression isn't the best way to handle emotion, that we need self-awareness of our emotions before we can account for them.

To which all I can say is, don't you think Vulcans know that?

I imagine there are lots and lots of viewpoints on this among Vulcans. Some favor repression and some favor understanding and acceptance; some think it's okay to have a little dry humor and some think we should be serious. We have the kolinahri who believe in the excision of all emotion (which I imagine is universally seen as extreme, like we might see cloistered nuns or monks who reject the world to achieve enlightenment). And surely there are ancient, wise Vulcans who deeply understand all their emotional impulses and are completely in control of them. Spock certainly seems this way by the movie era if not before: he knows that he has emotions, what they are, and how to respond to them. He has overcome the emotion of shame. So he seems not impassive on the outside, but a person at complete peace inside and out.

I just feel like we could stand to see more good Surakians, who are good not in spite of their belief in logic, but because of it. Kind of like how we see both good and bad followers of the Prophets on Bajor. I'm kind of anti religion myself, but I still want to see it given its due—especially a religion founded on such good principles. Sure, it's not a religion humans can really practice, nor need—a good half of our emotions are positive and pro-social, so it's no wonder a person like Bones would be convinced Vulcans are just punishing themselves unnecessarily. But it successfully turned Vulcan from a planet so violent it almost destroyed itself to a home of peace and learning. Of course Vulcans aren't going to mess with what works!

That has been my rant about logic for today. I highly recommend @dduane 's book Spock's World for a much deeper dive into logic and the path Vulcan took to get there.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Cozy Secrets || Chp 3

Character: Spy!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: Y/N found herself at her high school reunion, accompanied by her unexpected fake boyfriend, who also happened to be a spy.

Chp 1 , Chp 2, Chp 3, -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

The days turned into weeks, and there was still no sign of Bucky returning home. Y/N continued with her life, focusing on her work as an interior designer. Today's agenda involved meeting a new client, Mr. Kensington, an eccentric aristocrat who had recently acquired a house in New York.

Y/N arrived at the grand mansion, its façade oozing opulence and mystery. The butler led her through the elaborate corridors adorned with priceless artifacts until she reached Mr. Kensington's study. The room was filled with antique furniture, rare paintings, and an air of sophistication.

"Ah, Ms. Y/N, delighted to meet you," Mr. Kensington greeted with a flourish. He was a distinguished man, dressed in impeccable attire that matched the grandeur of his surroundings.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Kensington," Y/N replied, taking a seat.

Mr. Kensington wasted no time in getting to the point. "I've heard of your extraordinary skills in interior design, particularly your ability to keep matters discreet. I have a rather unique project for you."

Y/N nodded, intrigued. "I'm all ears. What do you have in mind?"

Mr. Kensington leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a spark of excitement. "I need a secret vault hidden in my study. A concealed door, perhaps behind a bookshelf or a portrait. I trust you can handle such a task?"

A secret vault, Y/N thought, the intrigue deepening. She had designed various rooms and hidden spaces in the past, but this request added a layer of mystery she found intriguing.

"Of course, Mr. Kensington. Creating concealed spaces is my specialty. Do you have any specific preferences or themes for the hidden door?"

Mr. Kensington stroked his chin, contemplating. "I fancy the idea of a bookshelf that reveals the entrance when a particular book is pulled. As for the theme, surprise me. I enjoy the unexpected."

Y/N nodded, mentally noting down the details. "Very well. I'll start working on the design, and we can discuss any adjustments or additions as the project progresses."

"Excellent, Ms. Y/N. Money is no object, so spare no expense in ensuring the utmost secrecy and sophistication," Mr. Kensington declared with a sly smile.

As Y/N delved into the intricacies of the project, discussing potential materials, hidden mechanisms, and the overall aesthetic, she couldn't help but be drawn into Mr. Kensington's eccentric world.

Days turned into weeks as Y/N meticulously planned and executed the design for the hidden vault. Mr. Kensington, appreciating her dedication and creativity, granted her access to the entire mansion, including rooms filled with his vast collection of artifacts.

One day, while working in the study, Y/N felt a subtle change in the atmosphere. The workers seemed unfamiliar, and a hushed voice whispered, "Psst, it's me."

Startled, Y/N turned to see Bucky disguised as one of the workers. The realization dawned on her – Bucky had been undercover in Mr. Kensington's mansion all along.

"Y/N," Bucky greeted with a smirk, "Surprised to see me?"

A mixture of relief and curiosity washed over her. "Bucky, what on earth are you doing here?"

Bucky chuckled. "Let's just say, your client and I have a mutual interest in keeping things hidden."

Y/N's surprise at seeing Bucky in disguise quickly transformed into a mix of confusion and intrigue. As she absorbed the revelation that Bucky had been undercover, she couldn't help but wonder about the true nature of Mr. Kensington's secrets.

Bucky, maintaining his cover among the workers, approached Y/N with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Fancy meeting you here, Y/N. Turns out, our dear client has more than just a penchant for eccentric designs."

Y/N, still processing the information, replied with a subtle nod. She had become accustomed to the unexpected twists in her life, but this one took the cake.

Bucky leaned in, speaking in a low voice. "There's a nuclear code hidden within Mr. Kensington's vault. My mission is to retrieve it, but the security here is tighter than I anticipated."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, realizing the gravity of the situation. A nuclear code – a high-stakes game that transcended the realm of her usual discreet designs. She glanced at the intricately designed vault, wondering how it concealed such a dangerous secret.

"So, what's the plan?" Y/N asked, her words measured and composed.

Bucky explained the intricacies of the security systems and the need for Y/N's expertise. Her task was to create a diversion, something significant enough to draw attention away from the vault, while Bucky maneuvered through the mansion in pursuit of the elusive nuclear code.

As Y/N immersed herself in planning the diversion, she couldn't shake the feeling of being caught in a web of espionage and secrecy. The mansion, once a canvas for her creative designs, had transformed into a labyrinth of hidden agendas and dangerous secrets.

The night of the operation arrived, cloaked in shadows and suspense. Y/N, clad in dark attire, executed the diversion with precision. A well-timed malfunction in the mansion's power grid created chaos, diverting attention and leaving the security team scrambling to restore order.

In the midst of the commotion, Bucky, still disguised as a worker, stealthily navigated through the mansion. His every move calculated, blending seamlessly with the chaos Y/N had orchestrated.

As Bucky approached the vault, the tension escalated. The intricate mechanisms of Y/N's diversion worked their magic, creating a window of opportunity for Bucky to access the vault without raising suspicions.

However, just as Bucky reached for the vault's hidden entrance, an unexpected voice echoed through the study. "What's going on here?"

Y/N, stationed strategically to monitor the situation, recognized the voice – Mr. Kensington himself, drawn to the scene of the disturbance.

Bucky froze, his disguise momentarily at risk. Y/N, acting on instinct, stepped forward, her voice calm and authoritative. "Mr. Kensington, there's been a technical glitch. We're working to resolve it. Please return to a secure area."

Mr. Kensington scrutinized Y/N for a moment, his gaze piercing. Yet, something in her demeanor convinced him to heed her instructions. With a reluctant nod, he retreated from the study, leaving Y/N and Bucky in the tense aftermath.

As the seconds ticked away, Bucky resumed his mission. The hidden door creaked open, revealing the vault's mysterious contents. The nuclear code, concealed within a secure compartment, awaited extraction.

With the mission accomplished, Bucky discreetly exited the study, merging back into the chaos of the diversion. Y/N, maintaining her composed exterior, discreetly observed his retreat.

Once the mansion returned to a semblance of normalcy, Y/N and Bucky reconvened in a discreet location. The weight of the mission lingered between them, unspoken words echoing in the air.

"Thanks for the assist, Y/N," Bucky acknowledged, his gaze a mix of gratitude and an unspoken understanding.

As he prepared to depart, a sincere expression of gratitude painted his face. Bucky enveloped Y/N in a heartfelt hug.

"Y/N, you're a lifesaver," he whispered, the weight of unspoken appreciation hanging in the air. With a nod and a final glance, Bucky disappeared into the night, leaving Y/N to navigate the aftermath of espionage and the echoes of a world she had unexpectedly become a part of.

Y/N returned home, the events of the covert operation still playing in her mind like a suspenseful movie. The intricacies of espionage and the clandestine world were not something she had ever imagined becoming a part of, yet here she was, entangled in the mysteries that unfolded beyond her interior design projects.

The next day brought an unexpected visitor to her doorstep. A woman dressed in black, exuding an air of mystery, stood on her porch. She introduced herself as Natasha, a member of the same agency as Bucky.

"Y/N," Natasha began, her gaze sharp and assessing, "you handled the situation with Mr. Kensington admirably. You have a knack for navigating high-stakes scenarios. We could use someone like you."

Y/N, still processing the surreal turn of events, regarded Natasha with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. The agency, with its covert operations and hidden agendas, seemed like a world far removed from her artistic endeavors.

Natasha continued, "You've proven yourself resourceful and discreet. We have a proposal for you – join our ranks. Work with us, and your skills won't be limited to interior design."

Y/N hesitated, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. The quiet life she had known, filled with designs and creative projects, now stood at a crossroads. The allure of the unknown, coupled with the desire to unravel the mysteries that had become intertwined with her life, tugged at her curiosity.

"What do you say, Y/N?" Natasha inquired, her expression unreadable.

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[survivalove]

Air Temple Island, the Water Tribes & the Real Life Influences that bring them together

I was gonna screenshot a post I saw and add it to my post but I don’t feel like giving that individual attention (and the 300+ notes they got), so I just decided to make my own standalone post debunking this narrative that air temple island is this fully air nomad brothel (yes they said this) with ZERO water tribe motifs which katara is forced to live in until aang passed away.

frankly it just reminded me of how little people in this fandom actually bother to analyze the actual content, instead preferring to write entirely made up scenarios of katara being reduced to an air nomad incubator along with dozens other female acolytes (yes they also said this lmao. also them acting like both male AND female acolytes weren’t living on the whole other side of the island 😭)

when in truth, i’ve come to find a lot of elements of both water tribes as well as traditional inuit elements across air temple island:

1. the paifang

a traditionally chinese element that for some reason is exclusively found in the northern water tribe (why do they have a gate inside a throne room, you ask? ask the white people that made this show). the one on the left is actually one of two aang BUILT, at the main entrance and another at the temple entrance. this is just one example of water tribe design on the island.

2. the bagua mosaic

another structure is the bagua mosaic on the training grounds. bagua is a set of traditional chinese symbols of the cosmology, taoism. the bagua composes of 8 sets of broken or unbroken lines that represent yin and yang. where have we seen yin and yang in the original series? oh yeah, as tui and la of the water tribe! (because atla is a mess of asiatic and indigenous motifs joined together and spread out across each nation, mainly traditionally chinese elements at that.) aang building this right next to the air nomad training grounds is a symbol of the dual bending heritage their children will have.

3. gold and blue accents

now, gold and blue are the main colors of the exterior structures but is also very strong inside the air temple itself. note, the massive air nomad symbol designed fully in blue in the center and the blue banners and rugs throughout the temple. this is no doubt, for me, a visual depiction of both katara and aang’s representative cultures, but of course this is not limited to color only.

4. cloud carvings

now, this is a slight detour since clouds aren’t a significant part of either of their individual cultures (that we know) but i love the kataang monopoly they have on clouds as a couple so i’m talking about it. if you look at these images very closely what do you see? CLOUD CARVINGS!! specifically near the ceiling of the pavilion (left) and the arches and walls of the temple (right) just imagining aang painting and etching these very consistent swirls, like he’ll never be the selfish inconsiderate unromantic loser you people want him to be, but let’s get more into the southern water tribe style interior.

5. interior design

so here is a southern water tribe white lotus outpost vs the air temple island main dining room. first thing, the seat cushions and rug! while we don’t see air nomad eating quarters we do get to see enough SWT customs both in atla and lok, to know this is how they traditionally eat compared to the north (limiting myself on pics cuz mobile).

another thing is the dining table itself. both have what i believe to be built in fire pits (i couldn’t actually tell for the air temple island one cuz of the quality but if you zoom in you can see the lines go in the table plus the hanging kettle on it makes it obvious to me idk). the southern water tribe one however is clear and likely a more traditional version of what aang and katara have.

thirdly, the exposed timber on the ceiling. i actually looked it up and found this is a common element of these two inuit structures: left is an aasiaat peat house and right is an igloolik turf house. all this for me to believe not only did aang build air temple island to be a haven for the TWO of them but also that katara herself had a lot of input on the interior than people care to notice lol.

maybe instead of projecting these loser fantasies of katara being some unwilling air nomad baby making machine so you can feel better about your fantasies of katara living in a red palace with people that tried to wipe her out for a whole century, you all can go study the actual canon you were shown and the real life cultures the franchise takes from.

6. lastly, some of my own headcanons/stuff i want to see in the movie

the bathroom because I LIVE for a white marble tiled bathroom. i just know katara has to have a HUGE tub and they have one of those insane glass showers that can fit like 3 people, with cloud swirls everywhere because aang clearly got it like that

the KITCHEN, i imagine it being timber like the dining room and is probably on the other side behind the built-in shelf (get into the details like hello). in a perfect world, it would be open plan but hey

the bedroom, now we saw it in lok a bit but i wanna see it in the gaang movie too. i’m on pic limit but there’s a lot of artwork and flowers throughout the whole house which i give katara credit for because I can. like the desk, the bookshelf, that fancy looking vase thing? these two clearly have taste like don’t talk to me rn

I also didn’t show the rooms and aang’s study but there’s a lot of blue decor in those places which makes me think katara decorated the whole house, even the acolytes’ hall has blue sitting cushions and columns which i think is such a nice detail.

if you guys have any air temple island headcanons of your own please reply with some i’m feening lol

big shoutout to this user:

atla-annotated (their page is so great and filled with a lot of incredible information if you guys like this sort of stuff)

[lavenderbexlatte]

day 3: mirror sex

stray kids 1.5k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Bang Chan NSFW

🖤 warnings: undernegotiated kink, implied consent, themes of negative body image🖤

🎂 happy bang chan day~

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Truly, these are the dangers of not pre-booking a place to stay.

Last-minute travel isn't usually your thing, but an unexpectedly long weekend means that there's finally time in your favorite guy's backbreaking schedule for a little getaway.

But last-minute travel, with no hotel booked, means love motels.

They're not as creepy as they sound, not usually dirty or weird. Inexpensive, yes, and usually a little older than the resorts and boutiques that most people prefer. They get a bad rap just because of the connotations, but like, people have sex in all kinds of hotels.

You think it's kind of cool, honestly. Homey, in a weird way.

The person at the front desk is a nice older lady, and she doesn't even blink as she asks if the two of you have any plans this weekend.

"Plans outside the room, I mean."

She winks. She's not subtle, but it's sweet.

And now, in the elevator, Chan is looking around in unmasked horror. Taking in the garish burgundy interior, the thinly-veiled adverts for sex workers taped to the walls.

"It's not that bad," you say.

"It'll be fine for two nights," Chan replies, sounding as if he doesn't believe that at all. "Anyway, we're only sleeping here. We'll have stuff to do."

"Oh, come on. We might as well put the place to its intended use."

Chan scoffs, as if the idea of using the sex motel for sex is ridiculous.

"As long as the room's clean, that's all I care about," you continue. "It's a hotel. Whatever."

"Whatever," Chan agrees tentatively.

He's still lying to himself, but he does relax a little.

When you get to your floor, things are extremely normal. Nondescript hotel decor, the faint smell of carpet cleaning solution and lemon furniture polish. Cleaner than other places you've stayed for far more money, honestly.

The room itself is at the end of the hall, which you like, for the privacy, even though there are only five or six rooms on the floor.

You let yourself into the room, and it's as clean and fresh as the rest of the hall. Again, about as good as it gets in terms of a cheap hotel.

"See?" you say.

Chan looks at you, clearly unimpressed.

"What? It's clean. I'll check for bedbugs, but other than that..."

He points upward.

There is a giant mirror stuck to the ceiling above the bed, but nowhere is perfect.

"Even that's clean," you joke.

The surface of the glass is spotless, no fingerprints and not even any dust that you can see from down here. Chan still looks unhappy. Cleanliness is obviously not his concern.

"Don't be a downer," you say.

"Why do people like that?" he grumbles.

You've set your bag down on the armchair in the corner of the room, rifling through it for your toiletries to set out in the bathroom, but you humor him without looking. "Like what?"

"The mirrors."

"In the room?" you glance at him. "Isn't that, like, the sex motel cliche? The heart shaped bed, the red lights, the mirrors?"

This room only has one of the above. Pretty tame.

"It just means you have to - I mean, you can already see your partner, why would you need-"

"You're really thinking about this," you interrupt.

He is. He really is, standing beside the bed and staring up at his own reflection pensively.

"It's so you can see yourself," you add, walking past with your armload of cosmetics.

From in the bathroom, you hear his answer, still pouty.

"Why would I wanna do that?"

Oh, here we go.

"Some people get off on it," you say.

He scoffs a laugh, humorless. You're being generous by not calling him out, here, because he's being self-deprecating. You hate that.

"I'm gonna terrify myself in the middle of the night," he says.

That might be true. He's a little bit of a scaredy-cat. But that's beside the point.

"That's not your actual problem, though," you reply, as you come back into the room proper.

He shrugs.

"Haven't you ever been curious?" you ask.

"About what I look like?" he shoots back, glancing back up at the mirror. "Done. Wow."

"I mean during."

Immediately, like flipping a switch, his ears flame pink. "Not really."

"No? Never?"

He looks at you pointedly. He knows what you're doing. You're not subtle, so that's fine.

"We should find out," you say, grinning.

It's a challenge, now.

Your gorgeous, gorgeous boy hates how he looks. That's common knowledge for anyone who's tried to get him to take a photo together, or shop for clothes, or compliment him on a new haircut. Most of your mutual friends just ignore it. But sometimes you just can't stand it.

He would never be the type to want to see himself in the mirror in the throes of passion, uninhibited. Which is exactly why he needs to give it a try.

"How easy do you think I am?" he accuses, correctly.

"I dunno." Instead of bothering him more, you flop down onto the bed yourself, feet still on the floor, staring up at your reflection. "You tell me."

The bait is laid, and like always, his insatiable ass can't help it. You two haven't had proper alone time in what feels like forever. He nudges between your knees, standing over you as you lay there on your back. You already like the look of the scene in the mirror, the way that his reflected form looms, the way it makes you look small.

"You know," Chan says, "We could put this place to its intended use."

You grin at your own words recycled. Great minds and all that.

"What an idea."

"Just an idea," he assures you.

He drops onto his knees, nudging you up the mattress to make room for himself.

You almost lose track of your own plan, once he kisses you. Hands roam, clothes are lost, the ease and comfort of something you've done so many times. For a while, it's just an encounter like all the others. His hands that know you, his warmth and presence and attention.

And then you remember, suddenly, once you're nude and he is too, and he's asking you how you want it.

"You on your back," you say, trying not to smile at your own ingeniousness and reveal the plan.

"You got it, baby."

He flips over, and he's settled fully into the pillows with you halfway onto his lap before he looks up. He looks up at the ceiling, and he realizes.

"Wait-"

"Gotcha," you smirk, settling fully on top of him.

He could very easily just knock you over and change things up, or he could ask you to stop, and of course, you would. But he doesn't. He just flushes, red again down his ears, his neck, and he covers his face with his hands.

"That's not gonna work," you say, peeling his fingers away from his eyes.

"I can't believe you tricked me," he says pitifully.

"I did no such thing," you reply. "But now that we're here, why don't we play a game?"

"Something tells me I won't like this game."

"Here's the rules," you say.

You pause long enough to rise onto your knees, to seek out his length - desperately hard, revealing that you haven't freaked him out too badly - and line him up.

"I'm gonna make us feel good. And you...have to look."

Chan pouts, putting his full lips to good use. "I'd rather look at you. Don't you want me to look at you?"

He punctuates it by running his hands up your back, hips to shoulder blades, soothing attention from gentle fingertips.

"I think you should look at yourself," you tell him.

"But-"

"Actually, no. I think you have to look at yourself," you decide.

He peeks upward. His flush deepens.

You're not sure why he doesn't like what he sees. From where you are, it's stunning. His slim body lines, the sharp cut of his face and his dark eyes against the bleached-white hotel sheets. Distractibly, biteably pink and embarrassed.

"If you don't look at yourself," you add, dropping your hips just enough so that he can feel you, "I'll stop."

He looks overdramatically betrayed, like a dog when you take their toy away to throw it. It's cute enough that you reach down to squeeze his face in your hand.

"That's the game," you say.

"Fine."

His voice is an embarrassed squeak, but that's consent, baby. You trust him enough to know that although he hates losing, he's not going to yes you to death if things are actually feeling uncool.

Permission granted, and his eyes dutifully trained on the ceiling, you ease yourself down onto his waiting length.

Curiously, once you're seated and he's swearing through his teeth, you tilt your head up to look at yourself, too. The angle isn't as good to see you, but you've got the gist of it. Your spread thighs, your arched back, the little bit of motion as you grind on top of him.

Nice.

"Don't we look good?" you ask, sweet as can be.

He nods against the pillow. "You look-"

"Not me," you tut. "You're not supposed to be looking at me."

Chan swears. You wait.

"I...I look..."

After a second, he swallows, and squeezes his eyes shut.

Pity.

You pull back up onto your knees. His wet cock slips free.

"I told you the rules. Keep looking at you."