#What subjects you study in Interior Design

[ivsschool001]

What is Interior Design Course

https://www.ivsindia.com/blog/what-is-interior-design-course/ An interior design course is an educational program or series of classes that teaches individuals the principles, skills, and knowledge required to become a professional interior designer. Colleges, universities, and design schools typically offer these courses.

[pomefioredove]

Just read the whole "Yuu gets sold off by Crowley" stories and OMLLL THEYRE SO GOOD XDDD Any chance you could do more on it like if Niege won or if the parents heard about it and also decided to adopt Yuu and Grim?? Maybe the other staff adopting her too or more on Crewel's adoption please???

requests for the crewel ending are in high demand I see...

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | 'bad' ending | RSA ending

summary: a crewel ending type of post: short fic, mostly speculation characters: crewel ft. other staff additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, definitely pre-book seven, parents being cringe

If Crewel were allowed to beat Crowley to death with one of his designer handbags, he would have.

...Unfortunately, with the adoption paperwork fees (...and a need for more designer handbags), he regrettably still needs this job.

And he'd like to keep an eye on you while you're still here, too.

The animosity between Crowley and the rest of the staff is unspoken, shared through passing glances and dry remarks at meetings, and though the matter is "settled", in Crowley's own words, no one seems keen on letting it go anytime soon.

The students who participated in the bidding war are subject to months worth of extra homework, harder exams, and worse studying hours from Crewel himself. To teach them a little responsibility, he says.

You, at least, are exempt from his radical new lesson plan. You have enough on your plate as it is.

After all, as soon as the legal proceedings are through and your identity as an autonomous human being in Twisted Wonderland is secured, the "fun" begins.

Your uniforms are tailored and rightly fit, you're given a proper meal plan, even Ramshackle is decorated with a few of Crewel's personal touches. A throw rug here and there, a fresh coat of paint, anything to cover up the rotting interior and turning it into something worthy of envy.

"...Given that Grim doesn't start shedding everywhere," Crewel had said. "Ugh, pets."

The rest of the staff are just as helpful, citing your recent experience with the bidding war as reason to take it easier on you for a while (or for the rest of the semester, really). Trein gives you less homework, Sam "accidentally" doesn't ring you up a few items...

It starts to feel more like the entirety of the staff has adopted you.

Not that you mind, of course. This is the closest thing you've had to family since... well, since coming here.

There's just the one thing, though.

"I don't know why you waste your time with those untrained pups. Honestly. The idea of their tacky shoes touching the rugs in here..." Crewel sighs. His eyes turn to you. "You know, I hear Vil Schoenheit has been looking for someone to take to his next shoot..."

Ashton chuffs. "Don't be ridiculous, they need someone who's strong enough to take care of them! Kingscholar is a real star once he gets motivated,"

"Please tell me I didn't just hear that," Crewel massages his temples. "And might I add, I'm their father, not you. I give the blessing. You're more like the unwelcome uncle crashing the family barbeque."

Grim nudges you with his elbow, muttering a quick yikes before darting out of the kitchen. You groan in embarrassment. "Guys..."

"I'm just thinking about what's best for them," Ashton says, puffing out his chest. "They're at an age where they're going to start thinking about dating, and we want them to make good choices."

"Guys,"

"Exactly. Schoenheit is a perfect gentleman, a master in my class, and has the style to back him up. Kingscholar can demonstrate occasional intelligence, but he's still another housecat," he shudders. "The shedding..."

A tired voice from the doorway interrupts their tense back-and-forth, much to your relief.

"Goodness, the two of you, at this again?" Trein scoffs, taking a seat at the table. "This conversation is highly inappropriate. You shouldn't be controlling the poor thing's romantic prospects, if they even have them. When the time comes, the choice will be theirs to make."

Crewel huffs, rolling his eyes and leaning against the table. Ashton kicks his feet. And neither utter another word.

"Good," Trein says, then clears his throat. "Ahem. But that's not to say that we can't offer our guidance. That Vanrouge did quite well on the last History of Magic exam..."

You groan.

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter six)

18+ 4.6k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, abuse, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. gif credit | fic directory | AO3.

“You must never run from anything immortal. It attracts their attention. Walk slowly, and pretend to be thinking of something else. Sing a song, say a poem, do your tricks, but walk slowly.” ― The Last Unicorn

When he first moved into it, Homelander loved everything about his penthouse. He’d given extensive feedback to the interior design team, even going so far as to offer crude sketches of what he wanted.

He’d always had a specific vision for his home: spacious and open, but not vacant. Rich colors that wouldn’t strain his eyes. Windows and mirrors that gave and reflected as much light and space as possible. 

No white walls. 

Not a single blank space. 

He wanted art on the walls, but not just any art. He wanted historic portraits and moments of history. A face on every wall, the same way that the people on TV had pictures of people on their walls.

Pictures of their family.

He doesn’t have a family, so familiar figures from his studies would have to do instead.

His favorite place was his bedroom. The mirrors give not only the illusion of space, but company.

To this day the bed is as plush as it was then. It’s stacked with fluffy pillows, and the sheets are made of soft cotton. They’re always vibrant, always colorful. The staff washes them in gentle detergent instead of bleach.

He spent his first night in that bed with his face buried in the pillow just smelling it.

It smelled like home.

However, the longer he’s lived in his penthouse, the more the spaciousness of it began to feel like absence. The distinct lack of something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on right away.

It eased on the odd occasion that he had company, but as soon as they were gone, it was as though their presence had carved out holes in his home that he couldn’t fill.

He added statues. More portraits. He left the television running because the silence of his own isolation had become deafening. He started spending more time away. His home had gradually morphed from a place of freedom into a finely decorated version of the same horrible fluorescent box he spent his childhood in.

At least in the box he’d known there were people watching him. With him.

How he’d hated it back then. He hated how he could always hear the camera lenses adjusting as they monitored him from somewhere else.

It makes him sick to have missed it even a bit.

Thanks to you, he no longer has to.

There’s an inherent thrill to coming home that had been lost before you. Excitement starts to prickle up his spine as soon as he steps into the elevator and hits his floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been so excited to go home.

Every day this week you’ve cooked for him, sat with him, laid in his arms, lived with him. In the last three days you’ve come a long way from the timid thing you started as, no longer jumping at his every move. You still tense at his touch, but he’s willing to bet a few more of those massages will remedy that.

Your presence can be felt even when he’s at work. He recently connected the hidden security camera on his balcony to his phone, ensuring he gets pinged any time you open that door. He isn’t worried about you going off unattended that way, given that it’s a hundred story drop.

It makes him smile to see you getting braver, occasionally stepping out onto the concrete to stare out across the cityscape. Soon he’s going to have to take you for that flight he promised. 

While he’s spent these evenings with you blessedly free of obligations, tonight will be different. He has to leave, and he won’t be able to bring you with him. At least not yet. You aren’t ready for that kind of exposure, nor what being revealed as his beloved would entail.

The media would eat you alive. He won’t subject you to them without proper preparation.

He isn’t cruel.

Vought’s hosting a gala that will serve as the early foundation of their campaign to move supes into the military, and as such, the U.S. Secretary of Defense will be in attendance, and it’s Homelander’s job to convince the man of the innumerable benefits of the operation. 

Ridiculous. He might as well try and argue the benefits of a smartphone to a fish.

If these people can’t understand why having honest to god superheroes in their military is a good idea, he doubts anything shy of a hand delivered miracle from God would sway the morons.

It’s just common sense, for fuck’s sake. War has only ever been a matter of who could bring the biggest gun. They will never find a greater weapon than him, much less a weapon that chooses to protect them.

However undeserving of it they may be.

He lets out a rough breath and shakes his head to knock loose the talking points that have been bashed into his skull over the course of the week, determined to leave work at the door. 

“I’m hoooome,” he sings as he steps in through the doorway, the mechanism locking behind him with a soft beep.

It feels good to know you’re safe here. While he doesn’t have enemies, per se, there’s no telling what some lunatic could be driven to do if they knew about you.

“Living room,” you call.

The familiarity of it makes him smile.

This is what coming home was always supposed to feel like.

He hums a little tune to himself as he walks, a slight bounce to his steps.

“Something smells good,” he says as he rounds the corner, finding you curled up on the couch under a blanket.

Cute.

On the table across from you is a neat little stack of glass containers full of food. He cocks his head, pausing to pick one up for inspection. “You meal planning out here or something?”

You slip out from under the throw and stand. Something is… off. He hears you picking your nails before he even looks at you, and when he does meet your gaze, there’s a subtle apprehension you’re clearly trying to mask with a cordial smile.

“It’s just leftovers from lunch,” you say, eyes flickering from the container of food back to him. “How was work?”

“The usual,” he says a little curtly. Due to your unusual demeanor, he’s forgotten the laundry list of complaints he’d saved up at work with the intention of sharing with you. 

In his experience, it’s rarely a good thing when people suddenly start behaving differently.

Especially when they try to hide it.

“Something wrong?” He asks, giving the penthouse a cursory sweep. Everything looks to be in order.

Your eyes widen a fraction, but you catch yourself from looking overly surprised at being caught.

Got’cha, he thinks. He’s spent his entire life reading the subtleties in people’s body language, seeking out ways to understand the things they say when they’re not speaking. The things they won’t say. Particularly to him.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to… I want to ask you for something,” you say, hands falling to your sides, your spine straightening.

His brows lift, his curiosity piqued. “Sure. Fire away.”

You’ve been here for days, but you haven’t made any requests of him despite his numerous offers. There isn’t a thing in this world he couldn’t obtain for you. Hell, he doesn’t even care if it’s legal. It’s about time you took him up on a little self-indulgence.

“Do you remember my friend John?”

His head gives a sharp little tic of a turn, his brows furrowing.

John.

He hates the effect hearing you say that name continues to have on him. It isn’t as though he has a meltdown every time he hears the name John. That would be pathetic. It’s the most common name in America, for fucks sake. 

However, there’s something particularly vile about hearing you say it with such gentleness.

“What about him?” He asks flatly, hackles rising. He was hoping you’d ask for something fun.

“I’m worried about him,” you say, clearly fighting to keep your tone even. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your pants. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so nervous. It makes him suspicious.  “And I don’t want him to worry about me. We’ve had a routine for months. So I thought–”

“Oh,” Homelander interrupts, setting the container of food back down as understanding dawns. 

They’re scraps for your stray pet. 

“No problem, I’ll have someone take this to him,” he says, gesturing encompassingly towards the food. 

“No,” you say, the firmness in your voice catching him off guard. “I want you to take me, and I want to give it to him myself.”

He bristles, needles of suspicion creeping further up his spine. “Why?”

Though you’re quick to swallow it back, he doesn’t miss the flash of frustration in your eyes.

“You said you’d take me anywhere I wanted to go. Were you lying?”

He lifts his hand sharply enough to make you flinch, his index finger pointing only inches from your face.

“Don’t you ever call me a liar,” he says slowly, fist curled so tightly that the leather of his gloves groans in protest. “I didn’t say no, I asked you why.”

Your eyes are wide, your heart drumming loudly in his ears. He hates that look of fear, the look that tells him you’re waiting for him to hurt you when he’s never done anything of the sort.

You have no right to look at him like that.

“Because I want to. I want to see him, and make sure he’s okay, and because… because I want–” You stop mid sentence and break eye contact, pressing the back of your hand to your opposite cheek. You take in a slow breath to compose yourself. 

With a start, he realizes your eyes are welling with tears.

“I want to say goodbye.”

At a loss, Homelander stares for a long moment. For the life of him, he cannot fathom how this little charity schtick could possibly be so important to you. Isn’t he enough for you?

You’ve been spending your days carefree in domestic bliss, yet here you are crying because you aren’t taking a box of food to some bum. It’s baffling enough to give him a migraine.

On the other hand, it was that persistent nurturing that drew his eye to you. If not for your diligent care, he may not have seen the same potential in you. He likes that you care. He just wants you to care for him.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t cry,” he says, voice full of his exasperated bewilderment. He lifts both hands in a placating show of surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll take you, and you can do whatever it is you need to do.”

“Thank you,” you practically sigh. Your hand drops from your face and you look at him with palpable relief, your lips spreading into a faint smile. He likes your smiles. He likes being the reason for your smiles. That, at least, comes as a slight boon.

He clicks his tongue, observing you for a moment before he blows out a raspberry. He cups either side of your face, stepping in close to you.

“I hate it when you make me take a tone with you, you know,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. Your breath catches. “You should know by now that I can’t say no to you.”

His thumb strokes your cheek. He’s been gentlemanly in your time here, accepting of your hand in his, your lips on his cheek. When he wakes up hard as a rock with your body pressed to his, he’s taken care of himself in the bathroom. Frankly he’s been more than a gentleman; he’s been a fucking saint.

“I’m downright pussy whipped, and I haven’t even gotten any yet,” he huffs through a little laugh, almost close enough to taste your lips. 

He hasn’t felt your lips on his since that night in your apartment. He wants them exactly as they had been. Pliant and without tension or fear, yet still you tense as he holds you close. You place your hands on his chest and though you don’t push him away, they’re braced to prevent him moving closer.

There’s a faint tremble running through you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still scared of me,” he says, offering you the sharp edge of a smile. He means for the words to sound playful, but even he can’t deny that there’s an underlying ache. Insecurity and impatience in equal measure.

Can’t you see how good he’s been for you? He’s had enough of having to beg for and pry every scrap of affection in his life from reluctant hands. All he wants is–for once in his life–to be freely offered tenderness.

“Your strength scares me,” you eventually admit, palms flat against his chest, stare focused on the backs of your hands.

He tips your head back, coaxing your downcast gaze up to meet his. The closeness of you makes your eyes look large and deer-like: a prey animal that recognizes its hunter. 

“It’s unreal, I feel like I’m not…I feel like I’m made of glass when you touch me.”

As a boy he snapped bones as easily as other children snapped twigs. He cradles your skull knowing exactly how much force it would take to crack it. 

You’re right to feel the extent of your own fragility in his hands.

“I won’t break you,” he says, the words little more than a breath.

“Do you promise?” you ask, your own voice barely a whisper.

“I promise.”  

All those that have come before you have taught him his limitations. And yours.

With that, the tension in your arms softens a fraction. He takes a mile from the inch you give, moving to encircle you in his arms. You slide your hands up his chest in turn, moving over his shoulders, around his neck. The way your fingertips settle on the nape of his neck feels like heaven.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes. He listens to the tempo of your heart gradually slow, settling like the wings of a bird finally accepting the safety and kindness of its cage.

Just then, ever so slightly, you tilt your head and lightly press your petal-soft lips to his. The shock of it knocks the wind from his lungs. Joy hits swiftly afterwards, sweeping through his body from his head to his toes. He kisses you in kind, his lips spread in a smile against yours. 

This–more than any kill or record breaking profit for Vought–feels like a victory.

He cups the back of your head as he savors you, branding the memory of your yielding lips against his into his mind. You move to pull back, but his yearning is a beast he cannot tame, and it’s the beast in him that holds you still, intent to relish the kiss just a second more, which becomes just a moment more.

Trapped, you slide your fingers up into his hairline, combing through his sheared undercut into the longer blonde locks. You send a jolt through him when your fingers tighten suddenly, pulling his hair taut between them. 

The sensation shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. His stomach flips, suddenly aflutter with butterflies. He makes a noise against your mouth, which regrettably makes you stop, your fingers going slack in his hair.

It doesn’t hurt–you don’t have the strength necessary to hurt him–but he can still feel it, and it feeds a gnawing hunger in him to be made to feel anything at all. 

“Do that again,” he says between fervent presses of his lips. “Feels good.”

To his delight you slip both hands into his hair and grip it, eliciting a low moan.

Fuck.

He could get lost in this. In you.

Your pulse has kicked back up, but so has his. Your heartbeats dance with one another as you kiss, drowning out the rest of the world. He moves from your lips to your jaw, your throat, peppering hungry kisses down your neck, ignoring the tension he can feel building back up in you.

He could make your whole body sing if you’d just let him.

Your hands move from his hair, pressing once more to his chest. With how weak you are, it takes him a beat to realize you’re actually pushing against him.

An impatient little growl escapes him. He holds you in place, too deep into it to let you go now.

You suck in a shuddering breath, pushing harder. “Homelander–”

His teeth graze your pulse point, and his tongue presses in to taste the rapid flutter of it. The taste of you is intoxicating, your skin salty-sweet.

Do you know his taste yet? Do you crave it the way he craves yours?

There’s fear in you but there’s desire there, too. He can feel it in the way your skin warms under his touch, hear it in the quiver of your breath, and smell it in the heat between your legs. 

“Wait, wait, just–would you just wait–” 

He exhales roughly and pulls sharply back, leveling you with a harsh stare.

“What? What! You kissed me, remember? So which is it; do you want me, or do you just want to be a fucking tease?”

He feels his desire like a longstanding hunger he’s only just become aware of. A painful, gnawing thing that demands he sink in his claws and rip, devour, relish. He’s been so good in all of this that one little taste was all it took for the feel of it to come crashing down on him.

For as badly as he wants you, he wants so fucking badly for you to want him, too.

The look of you is one for the history books. Flushed and wide-eyed, you’ve taken his words with a shock like you’ve been slapped. Your hair is mussed from his hand pushing against it, into it. Your lips are kiss bitten and shiny, plump with all that blood rushing to the surface.

It makes him want to bite them, bruise them, claim them. 

Those same lips open and close as you struggle to form a response before eventually settling on one.

“I’m sorry.”

He recoils from that, features twisting up in displeasure. 

No, no, no.

“I’m sorry, I just–”

“Shut up,” he snaps, letting go of you. He screws his eyes shut, not understanding how he got from where he was a moment ago to where he is now. 

All that sweet delicious heat is fading away, leaving him feeling emptier by the second, his skin prickling uncomfortably under his suit. 

He would be clawing at it if he could.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says, hitting the word like a hiss. “I want you to–I want you–”

I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you.

He pushes his hands into his hair, gripping the short strands tight enough to ache, digging for pain so that it might bring him clarity and stop the terrible repetition his mind has latched onto. He can imagine so clearly how things should be, what you should be saying, feeling, and I’m sorry is nowhere in that vision.

He hates that word. It echoes in his psyche like a curse, dragging him back by the throat to the only stretch of time in his life he ever felt weak enough to say it.

Back then, in his days in the lab, Vought was always testing the boundaries of how human he really was. At one point, when he was still a boy–maybe eleven or twelve–they began to reduce his sleep by an hour every few nights.

Each day they would repeat the same grueling tests to see at what point the lack began to affect not only his cognitive abilities, but his powers. Given the sheer amount of Compound V in his system, there were some who wondered if he really needed to sleep at all.

It would have been miraculous if he didn’t. It would be one more aspect of his perfect design that they could pat themselves on the back for. 

Unfortunately for both him and them, it was not so.

When they realized the deprivation did affect him, they wanted to understand how badly. They continued to deprive him until they had reduced his sleep to nothing at all, keeping him awake by any means necessary for days. He begged for sleep. 

It’s a marathon, John, Vogelbaum told him. Eleven days. That’s the record for a human. You can beat that, can’t’cha, tiger?

Tiger. It always made him feel stronger when Jonah called him that.

Ultimately it was less about his perseverance and more about his endurance. He didn’t have much choice in the matter of whether or not he would fall asleep. 

Every time he started to doze off, an alarm would blare in his room, startling him back awake. 

I’m sorry, he would sob, riddled with guilt for the failure.

There was never any answer.

When it was over and neither he nor the scientists had anything to show for it–nothing but misery and a newfound insomnia–he decided he would never be sorry for anything ever again.

His temples are throbbing, his skull aching from the pressure of his own strength. 

Though his eyes are tightly shut, he can feel the searing heat of his laser vision pressing against his eyelids. 

It makes him want to scream, to run, to fly, to break apart everything around him, but he can’t. He’s too powerful to ever allow himself a physical outlet.

When the average man throws a punch to blow off steam, at worst they’ll put a hole in the wall.

Homelander could punch through to the core of the planet. 

Maybe he could split the whole damn thing in half. He’s never been allowed to find out.

Instead, he focuses it all inward. He swallows the feelings like bile and fights not to choke on it, on the tension of his own impossible power straining his muscles. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, it’s drowned out by his own blood rushing in his ears.

Or it’s not there at all.

You’ve fled, he realizes. His stomach churns, and still his mind is on a punishing loop of all the things he has ever wanted that he cannot accept he’ll never have. 

I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want.

Anger surges through him and the heat of it is painful, twisting all his already tautly wrung innards and flushing them with fiery rage.

She’s not sorry. She has no idea the fucking meaning of it. If she wants to know what it’s like to be sorry, then we’ll–

Arms slip around his neck, and suddenly his mind hits a deafening quiet.

What?

The feeling is so alien to him that it takes several seconds to understand that it’s you. That you’re here. That you’re… holding him.

Faintly he feels the tug of your meager strength, and he leans into it, his cheek coming to rest on your chest, head tucked under your chin.

He opens his eyes, the world still awash in the crimson glow of his lasers, and he feels you flinch at the sheer heat of them. He works to blink the light away, his hands resting on your hips, gripping at the fabric of your pants.

“You’re still here,” he says, voice frayed with confusion and steadily ebbing tension. 

“Yes.”

“I thought I was alone.”

“You’re not.”

Gently, you comb your fingers through his hair. He doesn’t need his super senses to know your heart is pounding. He can feel the hammering pulse of it against his cheek.

Your fear is so tangible he can practically taste it, but he wouldn’t know it existed at all if he went only on the way you’re holding him.

How is it you can be so afraid and yet feel so firm against him?

“It’s okay,” you whisper, a faint tremble in your otherwise firm voice. “You’re not alone.”

Tears sting his eyes. He moves his grip from your hip to the fabric at your back, your shoulder, his hands climbing your clothes with a clawing desperation to ensure every bit of you is real and within his reach. He envelops you in his arms and nuzzles you, exhaling another breath of the terrible miasma that had built up like sulfur in his lungs.

You move your other hand in soothing patterns between his shoulder blades–just as you had before–and with every repetition of the pattern he feels the rage, the pain, the fear, the misery of it all drip away, like a wet cloth being wrung dry.

The two of you stand like that for a long while, focused only on the sound and feel of the other. The burn in the back of his throat and in his eyes fades. By the end of it, he feels heavy with the exhaustion of holding back the weight of his own might.

Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze. You’re somehow even more beautiful than you had been. Your edges are frayed, and though there is lingering fear, it doesn’t repulse him to see it.

Because you stayed.

Your fingers slip from his hair, moving to his face. It isn’t until your thumb moves through the wetness on his cheek that he realizes a tear had escaped the burn of his lasers and streaked down his face.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you tell him, and to his own pleasure, he believes you.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I know you didn’t,” he says, cupping your face in turn. He brings you forward and presses a firm lingering kiss to your forehead. 

He’s in control again, and he speaks as if that were always true.

“Just like I know you’ll make it up to me.”

He draws away with a crooked smile, the episode fading to a distant corner of his mind as he puts the fractured pieces of himself back into something cohesive. He strokes your cheek, admiring your features. Your eyes.

In hindsight, it’s strange to think that he’s always thought of you as the sweet, doting little rabbit to his wolf. 

Staring at you now, he’s sure he’s looking into the eyes of a fox. 

“C’mon,” he says, siding his hands down your shoulders so that he can take hold of your wrists, guiding you towards the balcony. “It’s about time I take you for that flight I promised.”

Wouldn’t want to keep John waiting for his meal any longer.

( chapter seven )

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 2: Lunch

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers Word Count: 3.2k Summary: Your day transitions from the morning tour of the interior of the Winged Heritage Foundation's estate to the grounds, followed by lunch with Natasha and Steve. You get to openly ask more questions, but the experience revealing and concealing information in turns.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: No real notes here... we're still slow-burning the plot in this part.

Previous: Arrival

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You emerge from the elevator back into the ornate splendor of the mansion's main floor, and you find yourself blinking at the abrupt transition. The juxtaposition between the futuristic underground facilities and the classical elegance above ground is jarring, to say the least.

Natasha leads you down another corridor, this one adorned with intricate tapestries depicting mythological scenes. You catch glimpses of winged creatures, celestial bodies, and figures that seem to dance between worlds.

"These tapestries are some of our most prized possessions," Natasha explains, noticing your interest. "They're said to contain hidden messages and prophecies, though their true meaning has been lost to time."

You nod, captivated by the intricate designs.

As you follow Natasha down the corridor, your eyes are drawn to one tapestry in particular. It depicts a winged figure surrounded by swirling cosmic patterns, with what appears to be a full moon prominently featured. The figure’s face is obscured, but the shrouded beauty is alluring. Studying it sends a shiver down your spine, though you can't quite put your finger on why.

"That one always catches people's attention," Natasha says, noticing your gaze. "It's said to represent our founder, though of course, that's just speculation."

You're about to ask for more details when Natasha smoothly changes the subject, guiding you towards a set of French doors that open onto a stunning terrace.

Outside, the warm sunlight caresses your skin, and a gentle breeze carries the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The gardens below are a masterpiece of landscape design, with winding paths, vibrant flowerbeds, and perfectly trimmed hedges creating intricate patterns.

"This is where we hold our outdoor events," Natasha explains, gesturing to the expansive space. "It's particularly beautiful under the moonlight."

You can't help but notice how she emphasizes the word 'moonlight', her green eyes flashing with something you can't quite decipher. Before you can dwell on it, she's moving on, leading you down a set of stone steps into the garden itself, the sweet fragrance of roses and jasmine enveloping you. The path winds through the manicured hedges and flowerbeds, and Natasha guides you past a bubbling fountain adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures.

"Our gardens are more than just aesthetically pleasing," Natasha explains as you walk. "Many of the plants here have been cultivated for their unique properties. Some are quite rare, others are thought to be extinct in the wild."

You pause beside a bed of flowers you've never seen before - their petals are an iridescent blue that seem to shimmer and change hue as you move.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Natasha says, noticing your fascination. "These are known as Luna's Tears. They only bloom during the time of the full moon."

You lean in closer, marveling at the otherworldly beauty of the Luna's Tears. Their iridescent petals seem to pulse with an inner light, drawing you in. For a moment, you feel almost dizzy, as if the flowers are pulling you into their shimmering depths.

Natasha's hand on your shoulder breaks the spell. "Careful," she says softly. "They can be a bit overwhelming for some people."

You straighten up, blinking rapidly to clear your head. "They're amazing," you murmur. "I've never seen anything like them."

"They're just one of many unique specimens we cultivate here," Natasha says, guiding you away from the flower bed. "Our botanical research is quite extensive."

You can't help but notice a pattern emerging. The moon seems to be a recurring motif - in the tapestries and artwork, in Natasha's comments, and now these flowers. You wonder if there's some significance to it that you're missing.

"The full moon must be a special time here," you remark casually, hoping to probe for more information.

Natasha's eyes gleam with something that might be approval. "It is," she says. "The lunar cycle plays a significant role in many of our endeavors."

She doesn't elaborate further, instead guiding you deeper into the gardens. You pass by herb gardens filled with plants you recognize and many you don't, each section meticulously labeled and cared for.

As you round a corner, you come face to face with the entrance to a massive hedge maze. Its guarded by the statues of two wolves, their stone eyes seeming to follow you as you approach.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Natasha says, a hint of pride in her voice. "The maze is one of our most beloved features. It's said that those who reach the center will find enlightenment."

“And is the saying true?”

She arches an eyebrow at you. “Maybe you’ll have the chance to find out.”

It’s just the kind of coy answer you’ve come to expect now.

You peer into the maze, trying to gauge its size. The hedges tower over you, their dense foliage creating an impenetrable green wall. "How big is it?" you ask, unable to hide your curiosity.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "Bigger than it looks from the outside. Some say it changes, growing and shifting when no one's watching. But that's just a story, of course."

Standing there, contemplating the maze, a strange sensation washes over you. For a brief moment, you could swear you hear faint whispers coming from within the leafy walls, beckoning you to enter. You shake your head, attributing it to your imagination running wild after all the wonders you've seen today.

Natasha gently touches your elbow, drawing your attention away from the maze. "Perhaps we'll have time for you to explore it later," she says with a knowing smile. "For now, we should head back. It's nearly time for lunch."

As you follow her back towards the mansion, you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you, but looking around, you don’t see anyone.

After the trek back to the mansion, the two of you ascend the steps back to the terrace, where you're greeted by yet another impressive sight that almost takes your breath away.

An elegant table has been set for three. Crystal glasses catch the light, and there’s a centerpiece of stunning white hydrangeas. Silver cutlery is arranged with military precision, flanking fine china plates adorned with delicate, hand-painted floral designs.

Steve Rogers stands beside the table, his imposing figure softened by the warm smile that lights up his face as you approach.

"Welcome back," he says, his voice warm and rich. "Did you enjoy our grounds?”

"They’re absolutely stunning," you confess easily, still a bit awestruck by everything you've seen. "I've never experienced anything quite like it."

Steve's smile broadens. "We're quite proud of our little kingdom here. Please, have a seat." He pulls out a chair for you, ever the gentleman.

As you settle into your spot, a waiter seemingly materializes out of thin air, pouring water into your crystal glass with precision. The cool liquid is a welcome relief after your walk through the gardens. In the moment, it tastes better than any glass of water you feel like you’ve had in your life, but you know that’s unrealistic, only an exaggeration of your mind and your thirst.

Natasha takes her seat across from you, while Steve sits at the head of the table. There's a moment of comfortable silence as you all arrange your napkins and take in the breathtaking view of the gardens stretching out before you.

"So," Steve begins, his blue eyes twinkling with interest, "what do you think of the Foundation so far? I hope Natasha hasn't overwhelmed you with too much information."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, acutely aware of their attention on you. "It's been enthralling," you say, trying to find the right words. You have been shown so much, and yet you also feel as if you still don’t know why the Winged Heritage Foundation exists or what it does. "The facilities are unlike anything I've ever seen. The blend of historical preservation and cutting-edge technology is fascinating. I feel like I've only scratched the surface of what goes on here."

Steve nods approvingly. "That's exactly what we strive for here. A perfect balance between honoring the past and pushing the boundaries of the future."

As he speaks, the waiter returns, this time bearing a tray of appetizers. The dishes are works of art in themselves - delicate arrangements of colorful vegetables, artisanal cheeses, and what appears to be some kind of smoked meat.

"Please, enjoy," Natasha says, gesturing to the food. "Our chef takes great pride in using ingredients from our own gardens."

You sample the appetizers, savoring the explosion of flavors on your tongue. The vegetables are impossibly fresh, the cheese rich and complex, and the smoked meat has a depth of flavor you've never experienced before. As you eat, Steve and Natasha engage you in light conversation, asking about more about your background and interests. But as you get to the end of the appetizer course, Steve brings it back around to business.

"So, what drew you to apply to the Winged Heritage Foundation initially?" Steve asks, his tone casual but his gaze intent.

You take a sip of water, considering your answer. "To be honest, I didn’t know much before I applied - the little I knew was the Foundation's emerging reputation for excellence and I was looking for a next step with an organization that I could take pride in being a part of. The more I learn, the more fascinated I become by the scope and depth of your work here."

Natasha nods approvingly. "What aspects have you found most intriguing so far?"

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to voice the questions that have been eating away at you.

"Well," you begin, choosing your words carefully, "I've been amazed by everything I've seen today. But I have to admit, I'm still a bit unclear on the Foundation's core mission. There seems to be such a wide range of activities happening here. What exactly is the mission of the Winged Heritage Foundation?"

Steve and Natasha exchange a look, a silent communication passing between them. Steve leans forward slightly, his expression serious but not unkind.

"That's an excellent question," he says. "And I appreciate your honesty. The truth is, the full scope of our work is… complex. We operate on many levels, some of which aren't immediately apparent."

Natasha picks up where he left off. "Think of us as guardians," she says, her green eyes intense. "We preserve history, yes, but we believe that to truly understand and preserve our heritage, we need to approach it from many angles."

Steve picks up the thread smoothly. "Our founder had a vision of an organization that could bridge the gap between the past and the future. We study history not just to preserve it, but to learn from it and apply those lessons to the problems at hand.”

You nod slowly, taking in their words. "So, the research I saw downstairs, the artifacts, the gardens - they're all part of this larger mission?"

"Exactly," Steve says with an approving smile. "We use cutting-edge tools to analyze artifacts and historical data in ways that weren't possible before. But it goes beyond that. Some of our research involves… let's say, rediscovering lost knowledge. Everything here serves a purpose."

As he speaks, the waiter returns with the main course - a beautifully presented plate of what appears to be roasted game hen with seasonal vegetables. The aroma is mouthwatering.

Natasha forward in, her voice lowering slightly. "Throughout history, there have been technologies, practices, and knowledge that have been lost or hidden. We seek to uncover these secrets and understand how they might benefit us today.”

You feel a thrill of excitement at her words. The idea of uncovering lost knowledge is intriguing, but you can't shake the feeling they’re withholding something.

"That sounds fascinating," you say carefully. "But I get the sense that there's more to it than that. The level of secrecy I've observed today seems to go beyond just historical research."

Steve and Natasha exchange another look, this one lasting a beat longer. You notice Steve's jaw tighten slightly before he responds.

"You're very perceptive," he says, his voice measured. "And you're right, there is more. But understand, the nature of our work requires discretion. Not everyone is ready for the truths we uncover."

"What we do here goes beyond conventional understanding,” Natasha adds. “The knowledge we seek, the artifacts we protect - they have the potential to reshape the world as we know it. That kind of power needs to be guarded carefully."

You feel a shiver run down your spine at her words. The implications of what Natasha is saying are both thrilling and slightly terrifying. You're about to ask for more details when Steve clears his throat.

"Perhaps we've said too much," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "Let's enjoy our meal, shall we? There will be time for more in-depth discussions later, if you're the right fit for us."

You nod, understanding the subtle warning to back off for now. As you turn your attention to the exquisite meal before you, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. What kind of organization have you stumbled into? And more importantly, what role do they envision for you in all of this?

The conversation shifts to lighter topics as you eat. Steve regales you with amusing anecdotes about life at the estate, while Natasha occasionally chimes in with a wry comment or clarification. You find yourself relaxing despite the lingering questions in your mind, drawn in by Steve's charisma and Natasha's subtle charm.

As the waiter clears away the main course dishes, Natasha leans back in her chair, fixing you with an appraising look. "You've handled yourself well today," she says. "Many candidates find the uniqueness of our organization overwhelming."

The waiter appears once again, this time bearing a tray of desserts that look too beautiful to eat. Delicate pastries, fresh berries, and what appears to be some sort of shimmering, iridescent pudding are arranged artfully on the plate. The interruption gives you room to consider Natasha’s observation without needing to immediately respond.

You take a moment to savor a bite of the exquisite dessert. The flavors dance on your tongue - sweet, tart, and something else you can't quite place. It's delicious, and there's an underlying complexity that leaves you wanting more.

"Thank you," you start, meeting Natasha's gaze. "I have to admit, it's been a lot to take in. But I find myself more intrigued than overwhelmed, even though there's clearly so much more to learn about the Foundation."

Steve nods approvingly. "That's a good sign. We need people who can adapt quickly and maintain their composure in the face of the unexpected."

As he speaks, you notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The air seems to thicken slightly, and you feel a strange tingling at the base of your skull. It feels like someone is studying you again, but with the feeling coming from behind, you don’t dare to turn and look in front of Steve and Natasha.

“After lunch, you have a series of meetings with a variety of members from our organization,” Natalie shifts the focus of the conversation. “And while I don’t want to encroach on our last bit of relaxed time here, I do want to ask if you’ve had a chance to thoroughly review the elements of our proposed compensation package.”

“Oh, yes, I-”

Steve cuts in. “She’s asking because we would like you to have a pretty clear idea of whether or not you see yourself accepting a position with the Foundation after your afternoon meetings.”

You open your mouth, but close it again, unsure of how to respond.

“We’re aware that it’s an unconventional ask, but we have a unique timeline we are hoping to facilitate today. If you accept a position with us, we are hoping to extend your stay with us through this evening. There’s an event tonight where you would see so much of the Foundation’s true purpose up close and personal.”

You take a deep breath, considering your response carefully. The compensation package had been incredibly generous - almost too good to be true. And while you still have many questions about the exact nature of the Foundation's work, you can't deny the allure of being part of something so mysterious and potentially world-changing.

"I appreciate your directness," you say, meeting both Steve and Natasha's gazes. "The compensation package is certainly attractive. And everything I've seen today has been fascinating. I'm very much interested in learning more and potentially accepting a position, but..."

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. "I still feel like there's so much I don't know about what I'd actually be doing here. It's hard to commit without a clearer understanding of the role I would play."

Steve nods, a look of understanding crossing his face. "That's fair. And I admire your caution. It speaks well of your judgment. But take the afternoon, really utilize the meetings, and we’ll see where you land after that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be on my way to my next meeting.” Steve stands, offering a warm smile. "It's been a pleasure dining with you. I look forward to hearing how the rest of your day unfolds."

As he leaves, you're left alone with Natasha. The air seems to crackle with unspoken tension.

Natasha leans forward, resting her folded arms on the table, her voice low and intimate. "I know it feels like we're asking a lot of you. But trust me when I say that what we do here is important. World-changing, even. And we believe you could play a crucial role in that."

Her green eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you feel as if she's looking right into your soul. There's an intensity to her gaze that both unnerves and exhilarates you.

"The afternoon meetings should help you really get a bearing on our culture," she continues. "But I want you to know that I've been impressed with you today. Your curiosity, your adaptability, your willingness to question - these are all qualities we value highly here. You are just the kind of person we are looking for to fill the position."

Your chest couldn’t help but swell at her words - the esteem she expressed for you going to your head, shooting you into the stratosphere. You knew she was playing her cards in courting you as a candidate, and yet you also knew that she didn’t say anything she didn’t mean. The thought that you had won her over, that she favored you for this position? It felt damn good to have that satisfaction surging through your blood.

“Thank you,” you finally say, a beat later. You take a deep breath and try to tamp down the adrenaline from this moment. Another sip of water helps bring you back to reality.

"Well," Natasha says, her voice silky smooth, "shall we move on to your afternoon meetings?"

You nod, rising from your seat, and follow Natasha back into the mansion.

NEXT PART: CONSIDERATION

I KNOW!

BUT THEY CAN'T TELL YOU MORE YET, OKAY?!

What do you think is going on here? What's in the maze? What are they researching? Why the horticulture? Is someone watching you - and who is it?

What's in that compensation package?

...

Will you get more info in the next installment?

Maybe.

Even if you don't, I can tell you that the pace starts to pick up more and you will be introduced to some interesting new characters.

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 19-- Healing

SE Saeran reflects on his healing journey on a visit to your favorite museum (788 words).

A year ago, Saeran would never have been able to do anything like this. It would surely have upset him too much to be confined on all sides in this kind of space— a museum would only have reminded him of his guilt, the marble floors too similar to Magenta’s and the old photographs on the walls too similar to V’s. But he’s made strides with his therapist since then, and he’s excited to be joining you for an afternoon alone together at your favorite place. 

“I love big buildings like this,” you admit, “Especially if the lighting is bad.”

“That’s a joke,” Saeran observes, not laughing. Sometimes, the strange things you say are funny to him. Other times, not so much. Either way, he won’t lie to you about how he feels.

“No, I really like places like this,” you assure him, fiddling with your wristband. “Is yours too tight? I haven’t been here in a while. Last time I went, they were doing ticket stubs, not wristbands. I didn't know they were gonna give us these, honestly, otherwise I would’ve—”

“It’s fine,” says Saeran, because it is. True, the pressure on his wrists isn’t something he’s experienced since he wore stacked leather bracelets as Unknown, but he’s easily able to separate this experience from that one. He’d be hard-pressed to convince himself that he’s back at Magenta when you’re here by his side, and it’s difficult to believe that he’s a monster when you’re so gleefully walking in step with him. 

“Okay.” You grab two maps, one for yourself and one for Saeran. It’s these simple gestures in consideration of his autonomy which make it clear to Saeran exactly how safe he is with you. It’s not just that you look out for him, it’s that you do it without thinking. “Where to first? My favorite is the Ancient Egyptian wing— there’s no live mummies there, unfortunately, but they have a couple masks, some statues, and one pretty cool coffin.”

“Maybe another time,” Saeran is okay hearing the word ‘coffin,’ but having never seen one in person, he’s not sure how he’d respond. “Sorry. And aren’t mummies dead? So there wouldn’t be live mummies.”

“For now,” you reply with mock solemnity.

Saeran can’t help but snort at that while he studies the map. “What’s this furniture collection?”

“Oh,” you nod, “Yeah, that’s with the Korean art. Basically, a bunch of antique cabinets and stuff. A lot of them are really interesting because they’re made with persimmon wood, so the grain naturally makes super cool patterns. If you like dark wood, you’ll love it.”

Saeran wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think about wood colors.”

“What?” you grin, “Saeyoung explicitly told me that he was giving you culture. He didn’t say anything about interior design?” You’re joking, of course. If Saeyoung had said anything about interior design, he probably would’ve launched into such lectures as How Much Checkerboard Print is Too Much Checkerboard Print? (Trick Question) and The Artful Placement of Chip Dust, Crumbs, and Decommissioned Traffic Lights.

Saeran smirks. “He made me watch those superhero movies.” 

“Oh,” you seem to consider this. “Did you like them?”

Saeran shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay, good. Correct opinion,” you nod solemnly, in yet another attempt to make Saeran laugh. “I’m just kidding. I don’t care what kinds of movies other people watch. Or what their interior design preferences are— although, last time I came over, your brother had clothes all over the floor, and he told me they were decorative, which I do take issue with.” When you try so hard, you can be a little bit awkward, but Saeran doesn’t mind. He enjoys your company.

“Hm,” Saeran confirms his understanding. “I got rid of those.” 

You snort, but elect not to take the subject any further. “Well, anyway, here’s my plan, and you can take it or leave it,” you pivot, “I say we come through here and look at the furniture and whatever else you want to see, then we loop through the rest of the museum like this.” You trace your finger across the map, showing a path through blocks of color, presumably representing different exhibits. “And then if we come back again, we could do the south wing, since we probably won’t have time to see that part today. Thoughts?"

“Okay,” says Saeran. He trusts you, after all. “Let’s go,” he decides, reaching for your hand. It’s a good day for him, and he’s feeling comfortable with that level of contact.

“Let’s go,” you agree, accepting his hand and leading him into the museum. Saeran can’t believe how easy and natural all of this feels. He really has come a long way since leaving Magenta.

[whimsyswastry]

15 Questions for 15 Friends

Thank you very much for the tags @pigeontheoneandonly and @favoriteblogonthecitadel 💛💛💛

Are you named after anyone?

No, but I’m often asked if I’m named after a location in a famous movie. I was not.

When was the last time you cried?

Two days ago. I’ve been struggling with an ulcer that just won’t heal and I woke up in horrendous pain and nausea on Saturday morning.

Do you have kids?

We do not. There’s a 25% chance of passing on my connective tissue disorder and sometimes it’s the fun “I’m so great at gymnastics!” kind and sometimes it’s the less fun “my brain won’t stay in my head” kind. I don’t want to put a child through all that.

What sports do you play/have you played?

I was a ballerina, gymnast, and soccer player until the injuries started becoming too frequent.

Do you use sarcasm?

Very rarely and even then only with people I’m very comfortable with (most notably my partner and my sister).

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I’m not sure if there’s one thing I always notice. I’m pretty quick to pick up on moods, even with total strangers. So probably that. Their vibes 🙃

What’s your eye color?

Brown

Scary movies or happy endings comedies?

I used to love scary movies but I’ve noticed that as I age I have lower and lower tolerances for things like gore and screaming (especially screaming). I much prefer a comedy these days. Or a low stakes drama.

Any talents?

I had to ask my partner because I’m not good at these kinda questions. He said “interior design…like arranging stuff, and baking, and storytelling.”

Where were you born?

Literally like 2 miles away

What are your hobbies?

Video games, writing, baking, rearranging furniture in the middle of the night, reading, bird watching, crocheting, web design, quilting (I’m awful at this one but I enjoy it nonetheless)

Do you have any pets?

I have a basset beagle dachshund mix (unsure of the percentages) named Daisy Mayhem. See her Booplesnoot under the cut.

How tall are you?

5’6”

Favorite subject in school?

I liked social studies in elementary school, English and Stats in high school, and my favorite class ever was biological psychology in college.

Dream job?

Freelance web design, if it could be 100% HTML and SASS based instead of JS. I hate JavaScript. My brain just doesn’t work that way.

No Pressure Tags -> @n7viper @quietborderline @satashiiwrites @greypetrel @hauntedjellyfishtraveler @unicorn-farm @swords-n-spindles @ad-astra13 @hockles @trickythedino @captain-peroxid3 @dairsmuids @lyriumwolf @destiel-wings @hawkeshep

[vivivox]

Theory about Virgo on the cusp and reading preferences 📚

There’s a theory I’d like to test ..

📚♍️ Theory

the House where you have Virgo on the cusp shows what kind of things you like to read (about)

EDIT: in combination with your Mercury and 3rd House (sign, house, aspects)

Examples:

1 - self-development, self-help, (auto)biographies, character studies, personality systems, memoirs

2 - how to make money, gaining resources, gardening, cooking/food, beauty, DIY, real estate, health, nature, re-cycling and upcylcing, home interior, design and arts

3 - comics, humor, short stories, subject literature,… for dummies, linguistics, skill learning

4 - history, family sagas, heritage, children’s books, novels, gardening/cooking, real estate, fairy tales & fables, memoirs

5 - comics, humor, satire, dating advice, children’s books

6 - work-related things, health, routine, cleaning, self-help, skill learning

7 - romance, relationship books, dating advice

8 - psychology, self-discovery, self-help, spirituality, occultism/wicca, mystery, fantasy, crime, thriller, horror

9 - philosophy, ethics, law, religion, cultures and languages, scientific papers, history

10 - news/newspaper, career, business, politics things that help with career like scientific articles, society, history

11 - utopia/dystopia, society, social criticism, computer science, blogs, online articles, alien/ paranormal stuff

12 - fantasy, god, nature, religion, spirituality, utopia, novels, poetry, love and romance, books set in other worlds or other eras , books about past lives, dreams or time travel

➡️ So I have Virgo at the cusp of my 8th House and I do like to read about psychology, spirituality, the occult and I loved reading fantasy as a child (still do)

I think the Mercury sign, house placements and aspects will be another indicator for what and if someone likes to read, as well as the third house (to some extent).

Personal example about Mercury:

- Mercury trine Jupiter → I like to read (and write) in foreign languages, especially English

- Mercury bi-septile Neptune and Uranus → I like to read fantasy and supranormal things

Personal example about 3rd House:

- Sun, Mercury and Venus in 3rd House → I love (Venus) writing & reading, it’s one of my talents (Sun, Mercury) and part of my personality (Sun)

📚 What’s your Virgo House and what do you like to read about?

Would love your comments as well as your answers on the poll!

[backgroundagent3]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

Thanks for the tag @brekker-by-brekkerr! 🥰

Are you named after anyone? My first name was my great grandma's middle name.

When was the last time you cried? The other day discussing my future.

Do you have kids? No, but I really want to some day!

Do you use sarcasm a lot? More and more every day.

What's the first thing you notice about people? I guess their appearance?

What's your eye colour? Light blue.

Scary movie or happy ending? Happy ending all the way.

Any special talents? I have a really good memory (both a blessing and a curse).

Where were you born? A hospital in Madrid.

What are your hobbies? Watercolour painting, making bracelets and reading.

Have you got pets? No, but I've had two tortoises and a cat as a kid.

What sports do you/have you played? I've played basketball, volleyball, tennis and badminton throughout my life.

How tall are you? I think 1,71 cm, which I believe is 5'5"? Not 100% sure though.

Favourite subject in school? Maths, Geography and Art.

Dream job? I'm studying to be an architect, and I'd love to do something more related with interior design.

No pressure tagging @fangirl-couch-potato, @aintinacage, @accidental-spice, @likea-black-widow-baby, @artist-withnoname, @achromaticerebus, @mewwinx96, @just-a-latina-fangirl, @trapezequeen, @firefoxtessa, @marvelsaos, @stilltryingtowrite, @daisyssousa, @gingerpeachtea and @sheisamelody!

[hlvraik]

Why do you think Bubby's so obsessed with space?

Listen. For the past, what? Thirty years of Bubby's entire life, they've only known not only the circular encasing that was their tube but the labatory room where they were created and are currently being studied. (Hell, aside from a professor, call them an interior designer or architect.) They know everything—every measurement, every minute detail of the room—off the top of their heads.

With that being said, as a young child, although they understood the concept of space, thanks to the knowledge they were pumping into them, they didn't want to believe it. They considered space to be similar to that of a fairy tale, as they're stubborn and have only been subjected to Black Mesa and what it has to offer. Sort of like object permanence, since Bubby can't see space, even though it's constantly present, they don't believe in its presence.

So whenever Bubby fell in love with Coomer and Coomer busted them out of their tube to go sit on the top balcony roof of Black Mesa to see the stars, it struck a chord with them. Not only was space real and beautiful, it showed them that there was more to life than this shitty laboratory; they didn't have to be confined and restricted to such a small space.

TLDR; Bubby adores space for a multitude of reasons. It not only makes them think of a special time they had with their future husband, but it also gives them comfort. In contrast to being confined to a very stuffy tube that regrettably doesn't grow as they get older, space itself is constantly growing allowing for a multitude of ideas and possibilities.

[elisysd]

4. I love you, it's ruining my life

Summary : Kyle Dawson would never be more than a childhood crush to Romy Schumacher and she had made her peace with that fact a long time ago. But when a drunken night leads her waking up next to him, new and old feelings come back to the surface and what started as a mistake quickly becomes an habit. Even if she swore to herself that she would never fall again for the world champion, her heart has other plans. After all, the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Fortnight - Taylor Swift ft Post Malone

He didn’t miss Kentucky's sun if he was honest. Or more like he didn’t miss working like a mad man under it. It had been a long time since he had sweated that much. He had spent his day with his dad taking care of the farm. It reminded him of his childhood, years before he had left the US to follow his dreams.  His father had complained a lot when he had arrived to tell them that he was there to help. But he couldn’t stand still. He hated how he had not been there when his mom told him about his dad’s stroke. It hurt him when she had said that she didn’t want to bother him while he was about to win his second title. His family was important. More important than anything. He would have dropped everything to be there. So, to ease the guilt feeling he had made sure his dad benefited from the best and most expensive treatments. It was the least he could do.

“We are thinking of upgrading the barn.” his mom told him, showing him the plans.

“We also want to buy newer equipment. You send us more money that we can use, Kyle,” his dad mumbled.

“I have too much money. It’s only fair that you get some of what I earn. After everything you’ve done for me.”

“I can still remember when you were a kid and you were begging me to tie your kart to the tractor so you could fake going fast.”

Kyle laughed. He remembered those days. It was a bittersweet feeling. He had left home at thirteen years old to integrate a school in Italy where many promising athletes who had to be away from home were studying. Everything had been made to accommodate him so he could travel for races. It had been tough but the whole experience was part of his best memories. He couldn’t forget about the many sleepovers with Ludwig and Ethan during race weekends, too. They were his brothers and he would give his all for them. 

“So, ready for the season? How is the car?” his dad asked.

“We don’t know for sure. Simulation wise, it’s nice but we only will know for sure in Bahrain.”

“You are the big favorite, though.” 

“Everyone improves each year. Winning last year doesn’t mean that it will be the case this year. Especially since we don’t know how much other teams improved.”

“I have faith in you. You will beat them.”

Kyle smiled, digging into his soup.

“I’m going to get you passes for the US races. I hope you will be able to make it.”

“We have the farm, Kyle… you know it’s tough to leave.”

“I’ll take care of everything. Accommodations, flights… just be there please. It means a lot to me.”

“We will try.”

“You say that each year.”

“We are not like your friends’ parents who don't have a job that occupies them 24/7.”

“I just want you to see me race, at least once. You’ve never come to any of my F1 races. Never seen me on the podium. And the television doesn’t count.”

He didn’t mean to sound this bitter. He saw his dad slightly flinch and his mom trying her best to ignore the tension.

“Anyway… you’ll never guess who I ran into at the supermarket earlier,” his mom said, changing the subject. After a dramatic pause for good measure, she added. “Margaret.”

“Margaret?” Kyle repeated.

“Hilary’s mom. We chatted a little bit, told her you were there and of course asked how her daughter was doing. You would be delighted to know that she landed a position as an interior designer in one of the most prestigious firms in New-York. I’ve always thought she was super smart. A beauty with a brain, truly.”

“Nice. Good for her. Really. It was her dream to work there.”

“And still no ring around her finger.”

Kyle sighed. Of course she would go there, he was surprised that she hadn’t already. She loved Hilary like her own daughter and had never really forgiven her son for breaking up with her. In her head, he would get married to her and she was crushed when Kyle dropped the news.

“Maybe you should contact her. Rekindle the flame.”

“Mom. It’s over. For good”

“But why?”

“Because I wasn’t in love with her anymore and look, it was probably the best decision ever. She is accomplishing her dreams and I’m not stringing her along.

“Love comes and goes. It’s a concept, not a linear path. You can’t love someone forever, at some point it fades and you’re just content with the person, right Richard?”

Kyle looked at his dad throwing his arms in the air as if to say he wouldn’t join the debate.

“I won’t have this conversation again, mom.”

“Your career is not everything, Kyle, you should start thinking about what you’ll do after it. And a family should be on top of your priorities.”

He didn’t bother to reply, only left the table to go outside and cool off, soon joined by his dad.

“Your mom can be annoying but she only wants what is best for you.”

“What is best for me is not Hilary.”

“She just wants to see you happy.”

“I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You have to admit that your break up with her was very sudden and came from out of nowhere.”

“Maybe, but I did what was best for us at the time. I had to break up with her.”

“Was there someone else?” Richard asked cautiously.

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either.”

Kyle leaned against the barrier as a horse came by to nuzzle his nose in his hand.

“There is a girl that I like, I really do. But it’s hot and cold between us, she is hard to understand. One day I think there might be something and the next she doesn’t even look at me. I don’t know where this is going to lead, if even it will lead somewhere. We are different.”

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe you need someone who challenges you.”

“She is a firefly, dad. Bright as the shiniest light when it's dark outside and gone as soon as the sun is rising or when I try to catch her.”

“Well, you just have to be quicker than her then, son,” his dad added, winking at him.

Thoughts all over the place, he wished the night would help him clear his mind. His room had not changed over the years, it was still the same one that he had grown up in. He laid on his bed and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift to Romy. Again. Talking about her, even without mentioning her name, felt nice. She was shaking up his whole world and convictions, making him do things he had never thought he would do. Like, one night stands. He was a relationship kind of guy. He liked that, he liked commitment. And he knew himself, he was falling fast, he could feel it. He also knew that Romy was not the type of woman to commit. She wanted to be free. Maybe his dad was wrong, maybe staying away was a better idea. But why did that perspective hurt him more than being rejected, then? Torturing himself, he looked at his phone, searching for her last text. The one where she had told him that there would never be something more between them. He contemplated it. He missed her. Not her body, not her lips on his. He missed her. In every way she was. If they couldn’t be more than friends, then he would be just that. A friend. Even if it was killing him inside.

He went through his phone, searching for something to send to her. She knew she was back home, she knew how much she liked horses and ironically, his parents had a few. He was not a huge fan of riding but he still liked being around them. He finally found what he was looking for.

Donny would love to meet you.

It was a picture of him from a few years ago, taken during the summer break with an appaloosa. Maybe it was straightforward but he didn’t care. He put his phone in airplane mode and went to sleep, not expecting an answer anytime soon.

He woke up the next day feeling weird, his eyes having a harder time than usual adjusting to the lights. It was blurry. He rubbed his eyes, not thinking twice about it. The stress of the new season, added to the pressure of being a two-times world champion, was probably playing on his health. He had to relax. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out and suddenly he was seeing clearer. He unplugged his phone and his heart almost dropped when he noticed Romy’s name on his screen along with a picture of her younger self, on a black horse.

I’ll meet him if you meet Indigo.

Author's note: A little trip into Kyle's family and a glimpse of his past 🥰

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

If you wanna be part of the taglist, let me know.

Taglist: @smoooothoperator-admin

[your7oxygen]

5 Essential Tips to Elevate Your Home’s Luxury Interior Design

Luxury interior design is about creating spaces embodying sophistication, comfort, and exclusivity. Here are five essential tips to transform your home into a luxurious haven.

1. Define Your Own Luxury

Luxury is subjective and personal. Whether through high-quality materials, bespoke craftsmanship, or the sheer comfort a space provides, luxury should evoke a sentimental response and utmost comfort. Explore styles like traditional, transitional, art deco, or contemporary to find what resonates with your sense of sophistication.

2. Find Inspiration

Before diving into the design process, take time to gather inspiration. Look for ideas that spark your creativity and align with your preferences. This step helps in narrowing down your needs and can also involve seeking professional advice to capture your unique vision of luxury.

3. Plan Your Luxurious Space

A well-thought-out plan is crucial for a seamless design process. Once you have your inspiration, meticulously plan every detail with care. Working with professional interior designers can ensure that your luxurious space is executed flawlessly, saving you time and effort.

4. Invest in Quality

Quality is a cornerstone of luxury interior design. Invest in high-quality furnishings and services to ensure long-term satisfaction and value. Choosing the best options for your living space reduces worries about potential issues and enhances your overall experience.

5. Elevate Your Space with Lighting

Lighting plays a pivotal role in setting the mood and highlighting the features of your space. Incorporate a mix of lighting options to create different ambiances. White light is ideal for productive areas like study rooms, while warm yellow light adds coziness to bedrooms and dining areas. The right lighting enhances the luxurious feel of your home.

[enable--llamas]

15 Questions for 15 Mutuals

Thank you @rstarsims3​ for the tag 🤍

◒ ◐ ◓

1. Are you named after anyone?

No. My mom picked my name solely on ✨vibes✨

2. When was the last time you cried?

Uh, I don’t actually remember? I’m not really a crier.

3. Do you have kids?

No.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Constantly.

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

Volleyball in middle/high school, nowadays I ski and ice skate when I have the time but it can hardly be considered much of a sport lol I’m lazy. Also I’d occasionally do a bit of yoga, but once again in a very half-assed way 😅

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

General appearance and scent I guess?

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both? Both is good.

8. Any special talents?

I can procrastinate anything for unbelievable amounts of time. That and being constantly late to things.💀💀💀I guess I can also draw and am generally handy, but these pale on comparison to the first two.

9. Where were you born?

In the hospital?

10. What are your hobbies?

Sleep I’m an avid reader, I like art and interior design as a hobby ig? and simming/creating stuff as a direct result of it; I love traveling, I’m a bit of a wine enthusiast - that’s off the top of my head.

11. Do you have any pets?

No, but hopefully soon.

12. How tall are you?

1.77m

13. Fave subject in school?

Uh, that was so long ago 😅 I was always good at languages, tho idk if a favourite per se. We had an Ethics and Law class in high school that was pretty interesting, and I really enjoyed when we studied Genetics - but the rest of the Biology modules not so much 🥴

14. Dream job?

Something in my current sphere for sure (design).

15. Eye colour?

Hazel 👁

◒ ◐ ◓

I think most people have already done it at this point, but if you haven’t - consider yourself tagged, I’d love to read!

[gamingavickreyauction]

My defense of welfare economics's methods would be that the bar for them is very low because we don't really have any good options. Deciding how many hallways to add according to the principles of welfare economics might seem bad because clearly it inevitably leaves out a lot, and at best will include some off-the-top-of-the-head figure for far-down-the-list intangibles (you can't do a willingness-to-pay study for everything) like the benefit of a scenic route, and the conclusions you reach will reflect that. It looks arbitrary, and it is arbitrary - and most social cost-benefit analysis doesn't even do that, it will leave out intangibles like that entirely.

But the alternative seems to be arbitrarily, subjectively weighing these things against each other, which is at least as arbitrary and leaves out just as much (compared to welfare economic methods done well). This may seem to reach less flawed conclusions because it doesn't depend on putting a monetary figure on a nice view of the sunset, but I think it only seems to be less flawed conclusions because its conclusions are intransparent.

Whoever makes that judgment must have some ideas in their head about how to weigh the interests of different people against each other, or the future against the present, or how to weigh very intangible things against much more pragmatic concerns, or they wouldn't be able to make those decisions. Somewhere in their reasoning, they must be doing something akin to putting a price on a view of a sunset, only that's obscured from our view and we don't know what price they chose.

One architect might fancy themselves an artist and place a high premium on a good view, while another prefers to design a building that is ruthlessly utilitarian. But neither would be expected to be any closer to the actual desires of the people using that building than a welfare economist picking a number out of thin air, and it is likely to be a lot further from the mark than a welfare economist surveying people about what their priorities are.

And this also leaves room for bias: your subjective judgment will be better at accounting for the interests of people like you, or that you spend time around. If you care a lot about the beauty of the sunset and little about the beauty of the interior, then your arbitrary judgment will reflect that, and you will have missed a lot more than a welfare economist who surveyed a few people about how much they would be willing to pay for a prettier interior or a better view of the sunset, as much as that methodology still misses.

Basically, the difficulty of the kind of comparisons (interpersonal, intertemporal, tangible to intangible) that need to be made is a fundamental issue that any decision about nearly anything faces, and welfare economics somewhat fudging it isn't a problem particular to welfare econonomics as a methodology for these descisions. By necessity, any decision involving these tradeoffs has to make similar fudges somewhere, it just might make them intransparently.

I am kind of talking about a modification of the standard social cost-benefit analysis procedure here, which I intend to better account for intangibles - this is something that I am very critical of mainstream SCBA on, but the point I am making here is about the potential of these methods at their best. That we should reform and improve this methodological toolset, rather than cast it aside, and that, at its best, it is very useful for a lot of problems.

I am responding here to this comment thread with @max1461 because it became unwieldy to put in the replies.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

hi! i‘m not sure if you are still taking match up requests, but i read your HP works, and I REALLY hope that you do ahahaha

if so, could i request a romantic match up for HP (preferably, marauders era, but any, really). i go by she/her, and i am happy to be matched with a character of any gender. i am a short young woman, with short blonde wavy hair and bangs, i have heterochromia also.

i study history of art and architecture and also visual arts. i love architecture, interior and furniture design, urban planning, and such. i‘m a huge dramatic theater lover, and I act. i love dressing up - my style is kind of like if Paris and Berlin had a child on a budget and none of them had an eating disorder. i work in a museum, and i also volunteer in media and publications. so i love written words. i live reading a lot!! virginia wolf is my forever favorite. i love the colors green and blue. i am vegan, and i love sour green apples, coconut-milk curry with tofu, and oat-milk flat whites. i also obsess over anything that smells or tastes like cherries. i am a libra, infp. i paint my nails dark red pretty much at all times. i love dancing and generally moving my body a lot. i can walk all day and anywhere. i grew up with my mom, and she is the best. i also have a collection of tote bags, obviously😌 and that was my last bit of chaotic info splurge.

thank you so much!

Hello! Yes, I am still doing matchup! Thanks for requesting one! I hope you enjoy it! <33333 I went a bit crazy ;) (A Room Of One's Own is my fav!)

---

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Harry Potter -

Marauders Era;

Remus Lupin:

🐾 You meet Remus when you were in Hogsmeade looking at some cute tote bags that a shop had for some reason, who wouldn't want a tote bag? You ended up buying three; turning to go purchase them, you almost ran right into Remus, who looked as surprised as you

🐾 It was pretty awkward, Remus apologizing and then you insisting that it was fine, nothing broken right? But after the initial embarrassment and shyness, you asked if Remus would like to join you for a drink before heading back to the school; you didn't really realize you had asked him that until after, startling you slightly, but Remus agreed and you both went to a cute place to eat

🐾 You had ordered a Shirley Temple, mentally obsessing about the cherry flavoring before you and Remus got to know each other a bit, from classes, to favorite subjects; both of you felt like you had a connection, some sort of electricity that coursed through both of your bodies and into your souls

🐾 From then on, you and Remus hung out a lot when you both could, sometimes the other Marauders joined, sometimes, (most of the time), teasing Remus about his obvious crush on you; Sirius mostly teased you, (James was smart enough not to since you were friends with Lily), but Sirius would always either nudge you or wiggle his eyebrows when you were near Remus

🐾 Finally, finally, Remus asked you to the Yule Ball, which led to your first kiss, which led to becoming a couple for the next three years and even after Hogwarts; Remus greatly admired you, finding you the most beautiful woman he has ever met, from your intelligence to your love of architecture, (not to mention, you are incredibly understanding and always made sure he was alright), you are his soulmate

---

Lightning Era;

Draco Malfoy:

🍏 You met Draco, (you've heard about him around school, but never had really seen him surprisingly), but you had recently become friends with Harry, Hermione, and Ron and with being friends with them, you'd have to face the wrath of the Draco Malfoy; and boy or boy did you think he was exactly what your friends had told you he was like, (rude, entitled, cute, cunning, etc.)

🍏 Now you were at an impasse with your heart and your brain, you hated that you thought Draco was cute and you hated how much of a git he was, your thoughts were all over the place; but nothing ever really happened, besides Draco being a little ferret jerk, until the last two years of Hogwarts

🍏 You had been wandering the school, reading a book by Virginia Woolf, when you heard crying... Odd... Ignoring your instincts, you decided to see if you could find this obviously upset person and help them; surprisingly, it was Draco, and in the beginning Draco didn't want or need your help, sympathy, or pity, (in Draco's words)

🍏 Though, somehow, Draco did let down his red brick walls and let you in, and it did help him a lot, you were understanding, you never judged him, and you didn't run away when he told you what good ol' Voldy wanted him to do; when you could, you'd find Draco and spend as much time as you could with him, whether that being studying, eating sour green apples, or just talking... (you both were getting pretty close)

🍏 At the battle, you stood beside Draco, holding his hand tight as his mother called to him, your hand tightened, worried he'd leave and go to the other side, but he stayed; you and Draco's connection was a deep one, you both understood each other and were there for each other, through thick and thin

---

[archi-journal]

Archi journal #1

As the first post on the blog, and as one does at the beginning of everything, we start by asking why. I feel like I must explain the premise of why I enjoy architecture, and how do I perceive architecture.

Personally, there are a few ways I look at architecture as a subject, aesthetically (the matters of the heart), and conceptually/theoretically (the matters of the brain).

Perceiving beauty

There is no denying that when one enters a beautiful space, their mood can be instantly transformed. Human bodies recognise beauty in unexplainable ways. For me, it comes as a form of elevated excitement, and sometimes an overwhelming sense of being moved. When I enter a space I enjoy, I sense an ecstatic emotion that is so strong that I sometimes feel like I am hit by a truck (not that there is anything ecstatic about that, but you know what I mean) and my heartbeat falls in step with the light and shadow interplay within the space. It is very similar to art, you can enjoy beauty without any explanation and the connection is instant.

This is one of my favourite structures in Tokyo, the National Art Center Tokyo, designed by Kisho Kurokawa (黑川 紀章). I still remember the intense joy I felt as I climbed up the stairs from the metro, walked through the glass walkway and entered through the side entrance to be greeted by this light-flooded space. This, to me, is the definition of "instant beauty" I am describing above. No explanation is needed and you feel the space with your senses.

Contextualising space

After my heart decides that I am a fan of the space, my brain then desperately wants to understand, "but why". And that is when I think, for me, the fun begins. Context is crucial for me to make sense of the space, and this means the following information:

who designed it

what school of thought influenced the design

when was this built

what was the socio-economic condition in the region/country surrounding the construction

was there any specific historical, practical, technical considerations influencing the final design

I am a complete layman when it comes to architecture with no formal training, but I am interested in the connection of things. The fact that one structure is designed a certain way can be a reference to something else, and chasing through the association is an intellectually fun trip for me to make. If I enjoy this structure designed by Tadao Ando, I need to understand Le Corbusier. If I like Mies van der Rohe, I must learn about Bauhaus. And so through all the visits, my list of to-read books becomes longer and the bricks of books are also getting bigger and heavier (why can't they make pocket books about architecture baffles me). I still have a lot to learn and I have barely scratched the surface, but the satisfying moment when you had an 'ah ha' moment connecting features you see in one structure with another building you've studied, is so worth it.

For example reading about Álvaro Siza made it much easier to perceive the spatial design of Foundation Serralves and the interior design ethos.

Well, this is it, I suppose. Thanks for reading through my random ramblings. More to come. Ciao for now.

[7ndipity]

Shipping game, woohoo

Introvert, depression, audhd and ocd 🥲

Huge hopeless romantic.

I love taking care of people but I also love being taken care of (Lord please send me someone I am desperate, I am practically on my knees...)

I'm 5'2 42kg I work out but I don't really look muscular 😔. I have a hush cut and my hair is black at the minute but I do bleach and dye it red from time to time when I'm bored of my hair.

My fashion style is a casual grunge sort of style I would say but I love so many other styles like gothic lolita, gyaru, futuristic, etc.

I'm a more reserved quiet person and don't like going out often because I get over stimulated when around tons of people and loud spaces. Though, I'll still go out to parties and go clubbing every once in a while.

I go to college and I'm majoring in interior desgin (Though I should honestly do psychology because I'm a very good therapist 🙏). I do have a job at a chuck e cheese lol... but I also earn money through art commissions.

Okay I don't really know what else to add so here are somethings I like lol: psychological horror, true crime, cats, baking and cooking, music, photography.

Annnd yeah that's all! Also, I love your writing so much. Everyday after work I just like relaxing and reading something, so thank you 🫶🏼

I would ship you with Yoongi, Hobi, and a little bit with Jin! They all definitely have acts of service as part of their love languages, so taking care of each other is a given in a relationship with them.

Yoongi also has ocd, Jin and Hobi are both quite sensitive to loud sounds and crowds, so I think they’d be very understanding of those aspects of your life.

I think Yoongi would love that you’re studying interior design, as that’s a subject he also has an interest in.

Jin and Hobi are also hopeless romantics, so they wouldn’t be able to resist spoiling you(also I think Jin would find your height difference super cute!)

Hope this was okay💜