#bring the carpentry tools

[lunasilvis]

Gonna build some ass and arms in the gym today 🍑👷‍♂️ <- me

[jekna]

Don't get me wrong, I love videos where people make cool things. But I NEED them to wear protective equipment when they do it!

MA'AM YOU ARE OPERATING A JIGSAW BAREHANDED WITH SANDALS ON, YOUR HAIR IS TWO FEET LONG AND IS FLOWING FREELY AROUND YOUR SHOULDERS, AND YOU ARE BRACING THE UNSECURED BOARD BY PUTTING ALL YOUR WEIGHT ON IT VIA YOUR KNEE AND HOLDING SAID BOARD WITH YOUR HAND RIGHT NEXT TO THE BLADE YOU ARE TURNING.

I am SO glad that she wasn't hurt doing this. I audibly gasped when I saw her do this. Literally the only thing she did to protect herself was put on some protective eye wear. This is like a masterclass in what NOT to do when using power tools.

[seat-safety-switch]

In the evening, it's not unusual around here to hear a lot of birdsong. Once the heat of the day begins to break, all the little robins and chickadees head out for some delicious grubs and worms. And I'm no different, except I head to the garage. Recently, though, I've felt like a bit of a landlord. Not just because I earn money without doing much work through an artisanally-arranged combination of government-endorsed financial scams, but because I'm building affordable housing for birdie tenants.

It all started when I was shoplifting tools at Home Depot. Loss Prevention had hired a new lady, and she was fast. So fast, in fact, that she was going to catch me if I didn't do something. I ducked into a nearby display, which turned out to be some kind of odd gathering. "Father's Day Build-A-Birdhouse Workshop," it advertised. There were dozens of children and presumably their fathers in attendance, all working hard to construct a simulacra of a human house for a bird to enjoy later.

To throw the Loss Preventionatrix off even more, I swiped an unused apron and started helping out the less capable dads. We all need a little bit of assistance sometime, even if it's something as basic as "which end of the hammer do you use?" (just hit it with a socket wrench, coward) and "do you have something with which to medicate my child?" (model airplane glue.) I found the entire experience fascinating, and it gave me a real urge to do some amateur carpentry of my very own. Not all the dads had shown up, so I helped myself to the several dozen unbuilt kits and headed for the fire exit.

Now, I have a utopian backyard. Our avian friends flit through the air, bringing new life into the world. They feast on the seeds dropped by the frankly ridiculous amount of overgrown plants, supercharged by iron-oxide-rich water falling out of my shitboxes. My fence sags under the weight of fifty-plus tiny little homes. Birdsong fills the air to such a degree that my neighbours all wear hearing protection to bed.

As well, the local news has noticed: did a whole profile on me on the evening news, in between the red-faced screaming at federal politicians for eating the wrong kind of cheese. Speaking of, we managed to leverage the positive coverage into a pretty good-sized cheque from the city government, too, enough for another Volare, because they forgot to specify in their homebuilding incentives that "affordable housing" should be human-sized. Better luck next time.

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 2: Two weeks and Counting Down

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

You steered the Expedition off the main road, guiding it onto the lengthy driveway leading to your home.

Jake looked around, his curiosity piqued. "Where is this?"

"We're on the driveway to our house," you explained.

As you continued, trees bordered both sides of the driveway, creating a secluded path. Gradually, the tree line began to thin, revealing fencing on the left side as the landscape opened up to your property.

Jake's eyes widened in amazement as the log cabin emerged into view. You directed the vehicle toward the garage, which automatically opened, allowing you to smoothly park inside. As you switched off the engine, the garage door began to lower behind you. Opening the truck's door, you were greeted by the sight of Chuck standing in the doorway to the mudroom.

Turning to Jake, you offered a gentle, "Welcome home." Then, you stepped out of the truck, and Jake, taking in his surroundings, opened his door to follow suit.

In his early to late fifties, standing about 5'8" tall and dressed in Wrangler jeans paired with a flannel shirt, Chuck approached the Expedition. His white hair was just visible beneath a well-worn baseball hat. As he neared, he announced, "Dinner's ready, Y/N."

"Thanks, Chuck," you responded with warmth in your voice. Turning to facilitate the introduction, you said, "Chuck, meet my husband, Lieutenant Jake Seresin. Jake, this is Chuck." You made the introductions as Jake walked over to join you.

Chuck extended his hand, offering a respectful greeting, "It's nice to finally meet you, Sir."

Jake accepted the handshake. "Likewise," he said, his gaze briefly wandering around the garage.

"Chuck, there are 4 bags in the truck. Could you grab them and bring them to," you started, glancing at Jake for a moment. He met your gaze.

"The master bedroom," Jake concluded.

"The master bedroom," you repeated, directing your attention back to Chuck. "I'd like to give my husband a quick tour of our house."

"Of course, Doc," Chuck replied, ready to assist.

As Chuck busied himself with retrieving the bags from the back of the truck, you focused on Jake, seizing the opportunity to share more about the home he was returning to.

"The place is heated," you mentioned casually, then gestured towards a section enclosed by a barn-style door. "Over there's the workshop. Chuck's pretty handy with repairs, too."

Jake followed your gaze to the workshop area, his interest piqued. "That's good to know. I might have a thing or two that needs fixing," he said, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

You smiled, walking closer to the barn-style door to give him a better view. "We've got a decent setup. Anything from vehicle repairs to some basic carpentry. Chuck has been invaluable around here."

As you slid the door open, revealing the organized chaos typical of a well-used workshop, Jake stepped in closer, inspecting the array of tools and machinery. "Looks like you've got everything you need."

"Yeah, Chuck likes to keep things organized. Says it makes the work go smoother," you explained, watching Jake as he ran his hand over a workbench, inspecting the tools laid out.

He turned to you, a thoughtful look on his face. "I used to help my uncle in his workshop back when I was a kid. Taught me a lot about fixing things, making do with what you have."

"It's a valuable skill to have," you agreed, closing the distance between you two. "Especially out here. It's not like we can just run to the store for every little thing."

Jake nodded, his gaze lingering on a half-assembled engine on one of the benches. "Maybe I can help out around here, too. It's been a while, but I'm sure it'll come back to me."

"I'm sure he'd be into that," you said, catching the direction of his gaze which had settled on a partially assembled engine. "I believe that's from the tractor."

"Come on. There's so much more to see, and tonight you'll only get a glimpse of it." You began to lead the way towards the door that opened into the mudroom.

Jake followed you, his steps mirroring your own anticipation. As you reached the door to the mudroom, you paused, hand on the knob, and glanced back at him. "Ready?"

He nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Lead the way."

Opening the door, you stepped into the mudroom, a well-organized space that immediately spoke of a home lived in and loved. The aroma of the outdoors mixed with the scent of clean laundry filled the air. You pointed out the various features, "Here's where the magic happens after a long day's work. Laundry, pet wash station, and plenty of storage. That bathroom is attached to the guest bedroom."

Jake's gaze wandered over the room, taking in the practical yet cozy setup. "I like it. It's... homey."

"That door over there takes you down the back porch steps and out towards the stables," you explained, moving towards the sliding barn door that would lead into the kitchen and living area.

The kitchen, living room, and dining room flowed together in an open concept layout, imbuing the space with a rustic charm.

Jake surveyed the surroundings, visibly mesmerized. "You built and planned all of this?"

"Yup," you confirmed with a sense of pride. "It was a lot of work, but worth every moment," you continued, watching as Jake absorbed the details of the space. "I wanted a home that felt welcoming, where every corner had a story or a purpose."

Jake walked over to the dining area, running his hand along the back of one of the chairs before turning to face you. "It's incredible. It has warmth, character… It's a reflection of us."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment. "Thank you. I hoped to create a place that felt like a sanctuary, somewhere we could find peace and comfort."

He nodded, understandingly. "You've succeeded. It's more than just a house; it's a home."

Chuck descended the stairs, interrupting the moment with a practical inquiry, "Are you ready for dinner?"

You glanced at Jake, giving him the opportunity to respond.

"Yeah, I'm actually pretty hungry," he admitted, his attention shifting from the house's interior to the matter of dinner.

"Great," Chuck responded, his tone amiable. "I thought, considering the nights have been getting chillier, we'd have chili tonight." His suggestion seemed to perfectly suit the cozy, rustic atmosphere of the house.

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, pleased with the idea. "Chili is always a great choice for a chilly evening." You smiled at the unintended pun.

Jake chuckled. "Sounds good to me. I can't remember the last time I had homemade chili."

Chuck nodded towards you, "The dining room is all set for you."

"Thank you, Chuck," you replied, appreciating his attention to detail.

He then shifted his attention to Jake, "Is there anything in particular you'd like to drink?"

Jake gave a casual shrug. "A beer is fine," he responded, settling into the homely atmosphere.

"Coming up," Chuck acknowledged, before disappearing down a staircase to fetch the drink.

"Come on. This way to the dining room," you beckoned Jake, leading him to another area nearby.

As the two of you entered the dining room, the ambiance immediately struck you. Candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow in the dimly lit space, creating an intimate and welcoming atmosphere.

The centerpiece of the dining room was a large pine table, accompanied by matching chairs, all contributing to the room's rustic appeal. The wood's natural texture and the room's subtle, earthy tones created a sense of warmth and coziness, enhancing the intimate atmosphere set by the candlelight.

"You can sit wherever you like," you offered, gesturing to the table.

Jake looked around, then asked, "Where do you normally sit?"

You pointed to a specific chair. "When family is here, I sit at the head of the table."

"Then I'll sit next to you," he decided.

As you moved to navigate around Jake, he unexpectedly stepped in front of you, prompting you to stop and look up at him.

"Y/N…" Jake began, but his words were interrupted as Chuck re-entered the room, prompting you both to step apart.

"Here's your beer, Sir," Chuck said, extending the beverage to Jake.

Jake took the beer with a nod of gratitude. "Thank you."

"Dinner will be served shortly," Chuck announced, ready to bring in the meal.

"Great, thanks, Chuck," you replied, appreciating Chuck's help and timing as you sat down in the chair.

The interruption had momentarily paused your conversation with Jake, but as Chuck went back to the kitchen, there was a brief moment of silence between you two.

You looked at Jake, sensing there was something he wanted to say. "You were about to say something?" you prompted gently, encouraging him to continue.

Jake took a sip of his beer, gathering his thoughts. "I was just going to say… it's really nice here. You've done an amazing job with this place. It feels like a real home," he responded as he sat down in the chair to the left of you.

You smiled, touched by his words. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot. I wanted to create a place that felt welcoming and comfortable."

The conversation was interrupted again as Chuck returned, this time with bowls of chili. The savory aroma filled the room.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Chuck said and left.

Jake's gaze lingered on his wife, a mix of emotions swirling within him. Guilt crept in as he remembered how upset he had been when she chose not to quit school after their loss. It was a difficult time, and the distance that had grown between them in the past four years felt more profound in this moment of reflection.

He sighed, his eyes wandering over the dining room. Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel impressed by what you had accomplished in their time apart. The home you had built was a testament to you resilience and dedication. It was clear you had considered both their tastes and needs in its design, creating a space that was both a reflection of your strength and a potential haven for your shared future.

Jake's internal struggle was evident as he continued to observe his surroundings. The home spoke volumes about the person you had become in his absence. It was warm, welcoming, and meticulously crafted—a stark contrast to the empty spaces he had grown accustomed to in his military life.

Realizing the gravity of his past decisions and the impact they had on your relationship, Jake turned to you with a newfound sense of understanding and humility. "Y/N," he began, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I've been thinking about everything...about us. I know I haven't been there for you like I should have, especially after...after our loss."

You looked at him, your eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and cautious hope. You could sense the sincerity in his voice, something you hadn't felt from him in a long time.

Jake continued, "I was wrong to expect you to put your life on hold. What you've done here, it's incredible. You've built a life, a home, and I... I want to be a part of it, if you'll have me."

There was a long pause as you processed his words. The pain and misunderstandings of the past few years hung heavily between them, but so did the love and shared history they couldn't deny.

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. "Jake, I've missed you. I've missed us. But we can't just go back to how things were. We need to rebuild, to learn about each other again."

Jake nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I agree. I want to do that. I want to understand you, to support you. I want us to be a team again."

You took a moment, collecting you thoughts before asking, "When do you have to go back?"

Jake answered, "I have two weeks until I have to go back."

Hearing this, you met his gaze with a determined look. "Then we'll make it the best two weeks we've got." Your voice carried a mix of resolve and hope, signaling a willingness to make the most of the limited time you had together.

Tags:

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[s8nny]

—WHEN Sugawara was younger, he always knew what color he wanted to paint the living room walls. He was also certain that he wanted a sofa with a chaise longue and a rug with an unconventional pattern. For his bedroom, he imagined a balcony that would let in plenty of light and blue sheets on the bed. And for his office, a large-capacity bookshelf. But as he stood amidst the scattered screws and half-assembled boards, he realized that some dreams were easier to imagine than to bring to life

She was certain there were more screws on the floor than there should be, but she didn't say anything because her husband's stress was palpable from the doorway. He had spent almost a month working on the room that was going to be his office, and more than once, he'd been so blinded by the excitement he felt for carpentry that he forgot he was never good at DIY projects.

"How's it going?" she asked softly, hoping her voice would ease his tension.

"Well, it seemed easier to put together when we saw it in the store, I'm not going to lie." Without diverting his attention to the figure behind him, the young man continued assembling the shelves, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands, usually so steady when typing at a keyboard, fumbled with the unfamiliar tools.

Placing her hand on his shoulder, she gently caressed the space of his back that led up to his neck. Knots of stress were noticeable beneath her fingers. “We can always call Daichi,” she suggested, her voice a mix of concern and teasing.

Suga snorted, partly out of frustration and partly out of the stubborn pride that always flared up when he was in over his head. “We’re not going to call Daichi to put together a shelf.” Standing up, he looked at the three wooden boards he had managed to assemble, trying to convince himself that he could still pull this off. “At least, not yet.”

- TWENTY minutes. Daichi Sawamura had put together the shelf in 20 minutes. And he had even enjoyed a cup of coffee while trying out the new coffee maker that Koushi was dying to test. The pout on Sugawara’s lips didn’t disappear until his old friend was out the front door.

She grabbed his elbow and stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek and said, “You have no right to complain about your students.”

Returning to the office, they both began to open boxes and fill the bookshelf. The first shelf would be for bank paperwork. The second, for medical documents. The third for photo albums. And the last, for the drawings.

Sugawara had always been very aware of how quickly time passed throughout his life. But ever since he started teaching, he was even more conscious of it. His first students would be moving on to high school the following year, and he had known them when they still drew the sun in the corner of a piece of paper. He could still recall the way their small hands gripped crayons, and how their eyes sparkled with pride when they presented him with their creations. So he decided to keep every drawing they made. Probably, in a few years, he wouldn’t remember their faces, because they kept changing from one day to another, but he would always have their scribbles. It was a way to preserve their childhood over time, to hold onto a piece of them even as they grew up and moved on.

“Look, this kid drew me with a puppy he found on the street because he said I looked like it,” he said, his voice filled with fond amusement.

Sitting on the floor, they amused themselves with the colorful papers they were finding, each one full of creativity and innocence. As she placed them in folders, carefully sorting through the vibrant collection, the young woman began to admire the way her husband’s eyes lit up when he talked about the little devils he had as students. She could see how much they meant to him, how deeply he cared for each of them, and it made her heart swell with affection.

When the floor of the room was almost completely tidied up, she noticed two large folders that remained empty. Unlike the others, these were bright yellow, standing out cheerfully against the more subdued tones of the other folders. Suga placed them on the shelf and smiled proudly, as if he had just completed a task of great importance.

“What drawings are you going to keep in those?” she asked.

“The most special ones,” Koushi replied, smiling as he gently squeezed her hand, “the ones our children will make.”

a/n: I have this cute notebook in my drawer, full of colorful and creative drawings made by my students and two siblings I used to babysit. At the time they made the drawings, the only thing most of them knew how to write was their names, so the pages are filled with their little signatures. They all know how to write and read now. I like to keep these drawings in the notebook so I don’t lose them. So I can remember them as kids. My mom also keeps a folder in her wardrobe with all her kids' crafts. I like to think Sugawara also keeps the things that kids give him safe.

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 19 | Weirdness in the Walls

Chapter Nineteen | Weirdness in the Walls

For the past two weeks, persistent thoughts continued to nag at the young teen. Everything he did seemed to bring up the most peculiar sensations and odd thoughts. Something about that lunch with his mom continued to bother Parker.

Why did she seem nervous?

Where had that drill bit come from if not from her tool kit?

Did Parker really see a shadow that night when the power in his miniature house started flickering?

The whole thing felt surreal. Confusion clouded every thought and made everything feel off. The entire time, the little boy found himself drawn to the curiosities of the wall.

Parker knew as well as any young boy how houses were constructed. There was drywall and support beams and load bearing walls as well as dozens of cords and electrical connections along with pipes that filled the spaces a normal person couldn’t see. Like the veins and arteries and organs in a person, there was a lot in a house that was unseen.

What else might be unseen?

Mice, for one, were like viruses of the body of the house. They were unseen and could cause a lot of damage when left unaddressed.

But even Parker knew that mice didn’t know how to draw and write.

Try as he might, Parker’s scouring of the internet provided no reference to the sketch he found along the baseboard just inside of the electrical cover when he went poking around two weeks ago. There were no carpentry marks that he could find that looked like the mark he found, though he learned quite a bit about architecture and construction shorthand.

Parker concluded it was either something the previous tenant left or something that was an in-house design for whoever built his family’s home.

Because, deep down, Parker found himself wanting to discount a third option – that someone else made that mark; someone like him.

It was impossible.

Parker knew his condition was rare and that there were practically no reported cases about it. He knew because he spent a lot of time trying to research it on his own late at night when his mom was sound asleep. It was a move of, what he considered, desperation to find someone else to talk to about why he was the way he was.

Being small was hard…

And Parker wished he could talk to someone about it from time to time – someone who was like him who would understand. Someone to compare notes and experiences with.

Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he wanted someone else to be there so he could talk to them.

But the thought of some strange person who was small like him living in the walls sounded like something out of a fantasy book. Parker had heard of stories like the “BFG” by Roald Dahl and “Thumbelina” by Hans Christian Anderson, but those were fiction stories meant for kids.

On the other hand, Parker did exist.

He was alive.

And he was approaching four inches tall now with all of his recent growth spurts.

So… didn’t that mean that those stories could have pulled from a realistic source?

Was it really so far of a stretch to think that these stories might have been pulled from true experiences with someone his size?

These thoughts were keeping Parker awake at night and distracted during the day. It was really bothering Parker. What was worse was that his friends were noticing his absent stares as his mind whirred and worked the same problem over and over. It felt like kneading the same ball of dough as it deflated only to rise again.

Parker tried deflecting the issue continually, making the excuse that he was tired after finals and that he had a bunch of projects he was working on, but it felt dishonest to keep something like this from his friends.

What made it worse was that Parker didn’t feel like he could bring it up to his mom. Her reaction before was enough of an indication that something was off, and Parker didn’t want to bring it up. It felt weird talking to her about it now if he was being honest with himself.

Parker’s friends were really thoughtful and considerate, especially Selina who was calling more frequently to check up on him. It was a nice distraction. Sadly, it wasn’t enough to draw Parker away completely from the nagging sensation that he was missing something – something important.

So, finally, he had enough.

Parker needed to know.

He needed to know why the darkness of the wall felt alluring.

He needed to know why these sensations were infecting his mind.

He needed to know if he was missing something.

So, nearing midnight when his mom was asleep, Parker decided he needed to act.

He forced himself out of bed and pulled on some already dirty clothes, so his mom didn’t suspect he was up when he wasn’t supposed to be. There were a few tools that Parker just felt were necessary that he shoved into his backpack like a spare thumbtack, string, a safety pin, and a spare battery for his flashlight that he pulled onto his shoulder.

Trembling with anticipation, Parker tiptoed out of his little space to the line affixed to the back of the table. It took moments to slide down the line, the fibers making Parker’s slightly sweaty hands burn. Touching down on the ground felt like landing on an alien planet in a dream.

Nothing felt real.

And yet it did at the same time.

Parker approached the electrical cover and heaved a few times before managing to wiggle it free from its place. It slid off to the side and made a slight cracking sound as it fell a few inches, leaving a nice little hole for Parker to slide into.

Once again, the sensation overcame him. The vertigo of the room overwhelmed the small boy while the darkness of the wall beckoned him forward.

This time, however, Parker didn’t resist.

He cautiously hoisted himself up onto the ledge and slid down onto the other side of the wall. Parker hit the ground and immediately found his eyes adjusting to the pitch black darkness in front of him. He couldn’t see clearly by any means, but Parker could better make out outlines of the beams when he was close.

The young teen flicked on the flashlight on his shoulder, readjusting the elastic band he used to keep it affixed to his shoulder and arm, and decided to take an extra precaution to make sure he didn’t get lost. On a nearby exposed nail, Parker fished into his pack and pulled out some of the thread he had placed in his pack and tied it onto the head of the nail.

It was a camping trick his mom told him about so he wouldn’t get lost.

When the thread runs out, I’ll go back. I just have to see.

Parker took a deep breath and closed his eyes before daring to venture forward into the darkness, the light on his shoulder leading the way.

There was something reassuring about this narrow passageway in between the walls. Every towering beam that the nearly four inch tall boy passed didn’t produce the same sense of vertigo that being outside of the walls gave him. The smell of the undisturbed wood between the walls brought with it a sense of nostalgia.

The sense of familiarity washed over him.

But why?

This was only the second time he had dared to peek inside the walls, and this was the first time he ventured forward into that darkness.

Every step felt amplified, like the noise itself of his footsteps could bring down the walls themselves. The thumping in his chest, however, made the little crunch of dust and debris under his feet seem like a whispering wind.

Nauseous and shaking, Parker dared to press forward around the corner and along the next portion of the wall.

Every few inches, Parker paused and looked around for any additional markings or signs of something – anything – that would’ve caused that shadow. Every nerve and fiber of his being felt electrified, buzzing with anticipation. Parker didn’t know if it was fear or excitement that was making his body tremble and shake.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the walls. Probably an hour? Maybe more? Perhaps it was less. Every step further brought curious thoughts and sensations to Parker’s mind that felt familiar and alien all at once. Where were these sensations coming from? And why was it happening now while exploring the weird space between the walls?

Nostalgia was the general sensation that filled Parker, but it didn’t last for long. His nerves were completely and utterly on edge. Every little sound he made by rustling his bag or crunching over long cut drywall made his heart skip a beat.

It wasn’t until he felt a little tug on his line that made his heart jump into his throat. He whipped around and pointed the flashlight back toward the path he just left from. Some weird form of hyperventilation took over his breathing as Parker continued to shake.

Did that just happen?

Did his line just jolt on purpose?

Did something just pull on his line?

“H-h-hello?” Parker called as he dared to take a few steps back along the path he just walked. He glanced down and noticed that there were no footprints behind him. Just the line extending into darkness.

“Hello!” Parker called again, this time a bit louder. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. It was dry and ragged. Fear was starting to take over.

Wait. Calm down. Check your thread. You might be out. That might’ve been the yank.

Parker crouched, not breaking eye-contact with the darkness and the line right behind him, as he reached into his backpack and felt the spool of thread he brought with him. His hands were shaking terribly as he pulled out the cylindrical piece of plastic.

To his complete and utter relief, Parker saw that the little knot he tied in the end was the only thing left on the spool of empty thread. The sigh of relief that came out of him made his shoulders collapse in on themselves as he hung his head in disbelief.

It’s out. That’s all. The yank was the end of the thread.

Parker knew his promise to himself and now that the spool was out he realized he needed to return. While the darkness in front of him compelled the young teen forward, Parker felt his mind beginning to tire and his reasoning return.

He gazed out at the darkness and felt something deep inside him stir. It was the same place in him that flinched away when his mom reached down the pick him up off of the floor. It was the same place that compelled him to climb and jump from high places. It was the same place that urged him to hide when he felt the ground tremble with the footsteps of his mom.

It was some strange part of him that, for one reason or another, wouldn’t be quiet.

It wasn’t logical.

It didn’t make sense.

And that was what Parker decided to believe.

All of those strange sensations had to be because of his condition, and the jumpiness of his mother had to be related to stress from her work.

It had to be.

It was ridiculous for him to believe someone would be living in the walls.

How could they live in the walls? How would they cook and store food? What would the use to sleep if they didn’t have beds?

Also, if they had his condition, wouldn’t they be with someone who could help them perform everyday activities?

Parker chuckled to himself as he hoisted the pack back onto his shoulders and began reeling the thread back onto the spool while retreating back to the original electrical cover. He felt completely foolish that he even considered someone living in the walls, especially undetected.

The drill bit he found must’ve been tucked away in his mom’s kit.

Surely that was the answer.

The stress of finals and his imagination running away with him had to have been the culprit. Deciding he needed a little more sleep and a bit less exciting television and stories before bed, Parker ventured back outside of the walls and shimmied back up the line toward his home.

The bed the awaited him was a welcome sight. So, after slipping off his dusty clothes from his misadventure, Parker slid into bed and let his mind quiet for the first time in the past few weeks.

~~~^*^*^~~~

Perhaps it was better Parker didn’t venture beyond the furthest corner. Perhaps it was best he didn’t look up into the rafters and ridges far beyond. Perhaps it was better the young teen didn’t find what he wasn’t meant to find.

Kers knew it while he walked along the beams. He was on his way back from the kitchen after borrowing some sugar, salt, and a few other odds and ends for his personal stores. It was in that darkness that he noticed a light far below him walking along the walls.

Kers immediately extinguished his own light and followed along the path, realizing immediately that the form below was Parker – the Borrower boy who thought he was a human.

For a while, the experienced Borrower debated on whether or not now was the time to introduce himself to the young teen. He was in the walls after all; and hearing Parker calling out “hello” made Kers stop completely in his tracks as he was terrified Parker might’ve seen him.

Parker eventually turned back and left the relative safety of the walls to return to his home in the human’s domain. The seasoned Borrower watched the young teen inch up his line and vanish back into the dollhouse.

Kers sighed as he crouched and gazed down at the home.

He understood a little of what Parker’s mom must be going through. Parker was old enough to know; but was he old enough to understand?

Parker needed to know the truth, but was it too late? Or was it still too soon?

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

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[virtualtyrant69]

The bad batch as people in theater!!

I'm a theater major and I love the bad batch so I thought why not combine the two lol. Most of this is personal experience working in some of these positions but some I have never worked as and it's just based on my own observations of these people that I have while working with them. Sadly, none of the bad batch are costumers, which is my area of focus but I have done other stuff like lighting and set building. Also, she/her pronouns for hunter because she's a woman to me. Anyways, onto the list!

Hunter- She would be a stage manager. She has the spirit to be one. She's the kind of stage manager that takes absolutely no bullshit at all from anyone but would also be very nice and carry around a fanny pack full of snacks. She would also have first aid essentials, gaff tape, and pins in that thing. Maybe a multi tool too. She is prepared for anything to happen even if she isn’t an assistant stage manager and is only calling cues. She would also be so on top of cues and would run that theater like the navy. Her timing is absolutely impeccable.

Tech- I know in my heart of hearts that Tech is a sound guy. ((respect to people who do sound in theater, I could never)) Like, in TCW episodes, they mention that Tech is always recording sounds??? And they never bring it up again??? Wish they would since that’s so interesting but whatever. Anyways, he’s sound because he likes sounds and I think he would have a genuinely good time making audioscapes and sound effects for plays. I feel like he would get annoyed at having to help actors with putting mics on but I don’t really think he’d be audio crew, just the board operator and the sound designer. ((this also kinda goes along with my hc that Tech makes beats/EDM))

Wrecker- I had a bit of a tough time with Wrecker but I think I’ve settled on him being in set building/carpentry. I feel like this is a bit obvious and uninspired but I really do think it fits him. He would have a fun time doing tasks like welding and painting and carving. I feel like this field really works with his ADHD in that he has a lot of different tasks he can do and the way he would need to build something changes every time. It's a constantly changing puzzle that he needs to solve with his brain and strength and I think he would get a kick out of it.

Crosshair- Another obvious choice to me but Crosshair does lighting. I’m not sure if he enjoys the programming or design aspects of lighting but I’m sure he would love the electrician parts of lighting. He would have such a good time doing lighting focusing. I can also imagine him yelling at an actor to stay in their light lol. Also from what I’ve experienced in college, many people who do lighting do stage management and Crosshair feels like the kind of guy who would also want to be a stage manager so he’s probably an assistant stage manager to like, Hunter. I bet he’s so intimidating backstage lol. The deck and costume crew are shaking in their boots.

Echo- They’re a props guy. I don’t think they work props in a show but instead they design and build them. All the props people I know are pretty chill but really weird and I think that fits Echo pretty well lol. I think they have loads of fun making realistic food out of inedible things. Whenever an actor breaks a prop Echo does the whole “I’m not mad, just disappointed” thing and that shames the actors more than being angry would. They just have a fun time building and finding objects that would fit whatever play they are working on.

Omega- She’s an actor :). And she would be an absolute darling of an actor too. She would have some trouble trying not to talk too loud backstage but she would be able to learn before the performance. I also feel like she gets kinda nervous about her entrances so she’s always really early in places just to make sure she isn’t late. She also does a bunch of weird things to help her memorize her lines like singing them or saying them in funny accents. She can cry on demand and sometimes uses this power off stage and for evil lol

[pensivegreen]

CH 3: Shattered Silence

Whispers In The Dark

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Note: not canon, diverges from storyline. Slow burn.

TW: In-depth descriptions of torture, physical, and emotional abuse. Mention of insecurities and guilt. 

WC: 4.5 K

White noise lulls you from sleep thrusting you awake to acknowledge the pounding pain radiating from your skull. It’s cold yet, even behind your eyelids, light rays are beaming wherever you are. Grunting, you try stretching however your arms are met with resistance. Eyelids fluttering open, you squint at the onslaught of brightness caused by hanging fluorescent tubes. Shielding your sensitive eyes you gaze downward to find yourself fixed to a wooden chair; the cement floor was covered in scratch marks and stains mimicking the wooden pores of the chair. Your shoulders ached from the taunt pressure of your hands bound behind the chair. Yet, the jackass didn’t strap your legs. Interesting.

Eyes now adjusted, you look around the gray slab considered a room: a metal work bench lines both walls to your sides covered in various sharp materials. The sterile nature of the room, in addition to the freezing temperature, is reminiscent of a meat locker. This is where he’s been taking the girls. Their screams of pain silenced as he butchers them like animals for sale. You don’t know how long you’ve been here; not being able to gauge how far you were taken from the original shop is what populates fear for you. If it is too far or off the beaten path it’ll only make the investigation harder. An investigation, now tasked with finding one of their own not just a murder suspect.

"hiss-whump” Your gaze catapulted to the intrusive sound. The large door opposite you began to open inward until the metal left the carved-out frame revealing the figure of the unsub.

“Well well well, look who decided to join the party” his voice was smooth yet lacked the calming effect the tonality usually instilled. You watched a little surprised that the unsub carefully closed the door instead of lazily swinging it behind him. You aren’t totally shocked though, as the team all assumed he was methodical and careful in his maneuvers.

Spinning on his heel, the unsub stalks toward you, tilting his head from side to side in a mocking manner. You steal your nerves trying not to feign fear as this man would get off on it. Still, every nerve in your body flared at the lingering eyes of the man. The one who you have been dedicating time studying his depravities.

He stops 3 feet from your seated body, turning to his left to the tool bench covered in carpentry tools. His fingers dance across the metal instruments like rifling through a Vinyl collection, “You’re the quietest I've had. Although,” he turns his attention to you with a wicked smile, “that won’t last long, It’s a nice change.”

He picks up a small chisel and a hammer, examining them as though admiring fine art. “You know, my father, John, handed down his business to me,” he says, his voice almost wistful. “He was quite the craftsman. People always said his work was impeccable. I guess I took after him, in a way. Only my craftsmanship… well, it’s a bit more personal.”

You meet his gaze with unwavering defiance, even as your heart pounds with a mixture of fear and determination. The taunts come next, each intended to chip away at your resolve. “Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? So delicate and youthful. How does it feel to be here, all alone, a young woman in the FBI? It must be quite a contrast from your glamorous office, huh?”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He brings the chisel closer to your upper arm; the edge of the tool skims across your skin, a cold reminder of his intentions. He seems intrigued by your silence, a cruel curiosity evident in his eyes.

“Not much of a talker, are we?” He murmurs, his voice now dripping with derision. “Maybe you think your silence is a form of bravery. But let me tell you something, sweetheart. Silence doesn’t make you strong.”

He raises the hammer and lets it drop with a deliberate thud onto the chisel, the force sending a shock of pain through your bound arms. You clench your teeth, grunting as the pressure intensifies, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a scream or a cry.

“There we go. I can finally hear that pretty little voice of yours” He grins. You note the discolored rotting teeth adding to his vile characterization. “It’s still not enough though.”

The chisel is set aside, and he picks up a larger, more menacing tool—a clamp with sharp metal jaws. He approaches with it slowly, savoring the moment. “You know, a lot of people underestimate me. They think that just because I’m not using a knife or a gun, my work isn’t as significant. But it’s all about precision, about the right tools for the job.”

He clamps the tool around your exposed ankle, tightening it with methodical care. You huff out a grunt, the pain radiating up your leg. You can take the pain. You need to take the pain, symbolically telling the unsub to go fuck himself. For yourself and all the girls who didn’t make it. He shouldn’t get the satisfaction anymore from the forced power he has created over women.

“You really are something else,” he says, a mix of admiration and ire in his voice. “Most people don’t last this long. They scream, they beg. But you? You sit there and take it, like some kind of hero. It’s almost admirable… if it weren’t so irritating.”

He straightens, his eyes locked onto yours with a fierce intensity. “But keep it up. I’m just getting started, and I’m very curious to see how long that brave front will last.”

With that, he turns away, leaving you alone with your pain and your defiant spirit.

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

The next six hours following your kidnapping had the team thrown into overdrive.

Garcia began looking into the shop’s background, trying to uncover any details that might provide a lead. Rossi and Spencer canvased the neighboring buildings, interviewing people to gather any information on suspicious activities. Morgan micro-analyzed the case files of the victims, searching for any other discernible similarities.

Prentiss focused on geographical profiling, mapping out the locations of previous abductions and the dump sites to find a pattern that might indicate the unsub’s base of operations. JJ handled communication with the media ensuring that information is controlled. She also coordinated with local law enforcement to set up tip lines and gather any community intel that could be useful.

Hotch reviewed the psychological profile of the unsub, looking for any overlooked details that could provide insight into the unsub’s next move. The unsub’s actions suggest a complex interplay of control, sadism, and a need for recognition. He’s likely highly intelligent, meticulous, and capable of maintaining a facade of normalcy.

When hour 10 strikes and the sun has long left the D.C. sky, a large envelope is brought into the conference room. There’s no label affixed to it however written largely in black ink is “BAU”; a beat cop hands the package to Hotch as the team stares over puzzled. Looking up briefly acknowledging the tension in the room, Hotch glares back to the now opened envelope. Walking over to the conference table he tilts the envelope, the contents spilling out. A wooden heart, a note, and three pictures litter the oak table for mere seconds before the team each grabs an item.

Grabbing a photo, Hotch doesn’t have the time to register the image before hearing gasps and Emily exclaiming, “Oh my god”. As tunnel vision claims Hatch’s steely eyes, he now makes out a person a person, you, slumped in a chair in the photo. What looks to be blood covers your clothes and the floor but, your face is covered by your hair and the angle of the camera.

“This sick bastard. He has a federal agent and he wants to taunt us now!” Morgan is thrusting himself from his seat, pacing the room while rubbing his chin in frustration. The pain of not only losing a friend but someone he thought of as his little sister ate at him. These photos made the pain nearly unbearable now that he knows what you are being put through.

“He wants to be revered. Make it known that he is smart enough to get away with murder. Now on a grander scale,” Spencer reminds Morgan. Spencer was the one to pick up the note from the table. “He even says it here, “Thank you for my new project. I’ll make sure you are the first to see it.”.

Rossi shakes his head, staring over at Hotch who is still staring down at the photograph in his hand. “This guy knows he has made it personal. But in doing so he has also given us tenfold more than we had. The photos show where he holds the girls, the shop y/n was taken from has ties to him. It’s only a matter of time before Garcia ties the strings together to nail this guy.”

JJ sighs staring at one of the other three photos in her hand before placing it face down on the table. “well, we need to move fast. We can't let him have the upper hand any longer.”

JJ’s voice brings Hotch back to the present. He glances around the room, taking in the expressions of his team, all showing various degrees of anger, fear, and favor. Without a word, he reaches out and gathers the remaining photos, quickly tucking them into the envelope before more of the team can see them.

"Everyone, take a couple of hours to rest," Hotch orders, his voice firm but strained. "We'll regroup and go over everything again then."

"But, Hotch—" Morgan starts to protest, his frustration palpable.

"That's an order," Hotch cuts him off, his tone brooking no argument. "We need to be at our best. Take a break, clear your heads, and be ready to come back strong."

Reluctantly, the team begins to disperse, casting worried glances back at their unit chief. Hotch remains in the conference room, waiting until the last of his team members have left. The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of the recent events settling heavily on his shoulders.

Hotch takes a deep breath and pulls out the photos again, laying them out on the table in front of him. The images of your tortured body are almost too much to bear. He feels a wave of nausea, but he forces himself to look. He needs to understand every detail, to see if there's anything he missed.

The first photo shows you from the front, sitting in a wooden chair, slumped forward. Blood stains your clothes and pools on the floor beneath you. A metal clamp bites cruelly into your leg, the source of one of many wounds. The sight of your small, tattered body fills Hotch with an overwhelming sense of guilt. It was his decision to send you to "Handcrafted by James," unknowingly leading you into the unsub’s lair. The responsibility for your suffering weighs heavily on him.

In the second photo, there’s a close-up of your bloodied face. A cut splits your lip and another slices through your eyebrow. Your cheeks and eyes are swollen and bruised, and blood trickles from your nose. Yet, what strikes Hotch the most is the look in your eyes—not one of fear, but of cold resignation and a burning fight. Despite everything, you haven’t given up. This only deepens Hotch’s anguish and determination.

The third photo depicts a layout of tools on a surface covered by a long leather fabric. The tools are all carpentry-based, some smeared with blood, others clean. As Hotch examines this photo more closely, he notices that a couple of the tools are engraved with the initials C.C. or J.C. This detail stirs something in his mind, a possible lead they hadn’t considered. He’ll have to fill in the team later, He’ll let them see this image but the other don’t need to be scrutinized. It’ll only cause more pain than being helpful for everyone.

As he stares at the photos, he can’t shake the image of your resigned but fighting eyes, the pain and fear etched into your features. He wishes he could hold you, comfort you, tell you that you’re safe now. The helplessness he feels is suffocating.

"Why did I send you alone?" he mutters to himself, his voice breaking. "I should have known. I should have been there to protect you."

The guilt gnaws at him, threatening to overwhelm his usually composed demeanor. Hotch feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them away, determined to maintain control.

Taking another deep breath, he steadies himself and begins to scrutinize the photos again. He forces himself to focus on the details, to push past the emotional turmoil. He owes it to you to stay strong, to find the clues that will lead them to you before it’s too late.

As the hours pass, Hotch remains in the conference room, alone with the graphic images of your torture. Each moment feels like an eternity, but he clings to the hope that they will find you, that they will bring you back safe. And when they do, he vows to never let anything like this happen again.

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

The metallic clang of the door jolts you back to consciousness. Every inch of your body protests as you struggle to clear the fog from your mind. Your arm throbs where the chisel entered your flesh, and your leg screams in agony from the clamp's relentless grip.

The unsub stalks towards you with a predatory grin. His eyes gleam with a twisted satisfaction, feeding off your pain and defiance. “Good to see you awake again,” he says, voice dripping with malice. “I was starting to think you’d miss all the fun.”

You don’t respond. Your silence is your only weapon, a small act of rebellion against his cruelty. But it’s not long before he forces a reaction. He picks up a hammer, the same one he used on your arm earlier, and brings it down with brutal force onto your thigh. Pain explodes through your leg, and you can’t suppress the scream that tears from your throat.

His smile widens at the sound. “There it is. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

You grit your teeth, trying to regain control. He moves closer, picking up a thin metal tool and eyeing it with a sick fascination. “You know, I used to be a craftsman,” he muses, almost conversationally. “Worked with wood mostly. Tried to follow in my father’s footsteps, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t match his craftsmanship. He used to mock me, saying, ‘Christopher, how do you expect me to give you the business if you can’t even carve a decent chair?’”

He pauses, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he runs the tool's edge lightly across your collarbone. “Well, he had his craft, and now I have mine. And this… this is art.” He stands dead in front of you staring down at the mess he has already created. Lunging forward He punctures your skin just below your shoulder, the cold metal biting deep.

You gasp, the pain sharp and immediate. Blood trickles down your side meeting the puddle already amassing on the floor under your thigh. Christopher grabs your face with his spare hand, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me,” he snarls as he twists the tool further into your body. “I want to be the last thing you see.”

You muster the last reserves of your strength, thrashing against your restraints. You manage to head-butt him, a desperate move that catches him off guard. He chuckles darkly, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “Feisty. But it won’t save you.”

His fist connects with your ribs, knocking the wind out of you. You taste blood as he lands another blow to your stomach, and darkness creeps at the edges of your vision. The last thing you hear before you pass out is his mocking laughter, echoing in the cold, sterile room.

Hours, minutes, seconds—time loses all meaning in the haze of pain. You drift in and out of consciousness, each moment blurring into the next. The only constant is the agony that courses through your battered body.

When you next wake, the room is eerily silent, an oppressive quiet that seems to press in from all sides. The pain, once sharp and immediate, has dulled to a persistent throb, a background noise that never truly fades but instead lingers. You take a moment to orient yourself, noting the stillness of the air and the faint, almost imperceptible hum of distant machinery. The shadows in the room seem deeper, more pronounced, as if they are hiding secrets just out of reach.

Christopher’s voice shatters the silence, soft and menacing. “Good. I was worried my new project wouldn’t last.” He’s standing over you, a mocking smile on his face. “I sent a little something to your friends at the BAU. Thought they’d appreciate a progress update.”

You feel a cold dread settle over you. He’s taunting them, using you as a pawn in his twisted game. Your mind races, desperate to find a way out, but your body betrays you, too weak to fight. Your breath huffs out like a bull taking a break from running, as your torso burns from an excursion caused by a one-sided fight. You try to peer up at the man in front of you but tiredness weighs your eyelids. You can only manage slow blinks of venom toward Christopher.

Christopher leans in close, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re going to die here, and they’re going to watch. They’ll see how powerless they are to save you. How powerless you are.”

He pauses, his eyes scanning your face with a twisted admiration. “You know, you remind me so much of Annie. The way you look, the way you act—it’s uncanny. She had that same fire in her eyes, that same defiance. It’s almost like she’s back here with me.”

His hand reaches out, almost tenderly, to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Annie was before I found my craft, you see. She was special. But you? You’re going to be my masterpiece. That stubbornness, that courage. It’s going to make breaking you all the more satisfying.”

Christopher’s voice takes on a wistful tone as if he’s reminiscing about a long-lost lover. “Annie never gave in either. She wouldn’t let me show her what I had to offer. But you, ooo, now you get to have me and I get to show you how good I am.”

He leans in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. “This is going to be my best project yet.” With that, he pulls back, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “So keep fighting, sweetheart. It only makes it more enjoyable for me. And when it’s all over, when you’re nothing but a broken shell, no one’s going to want you anymore.”

Christopher stands up, leaving you with his chilling words. The door slams shut behind him, the echo reverberating through the cold, sterile room. You’re alone again, but his words linger, a haunting reminder of the twisted game you’re caught in.

· · ─────── · ୨୧ · ─────── · ·

The team reconvenes at the precinct after a restless five hours at the hotel, finding Hotch still at the conference table, staring at the photos from the envelope. Spencer is the first to speak up. “Hotch, have you been here the whole time?” Spencer’s voice is soft, filled with concern.

Hotch looks up, exhaustion evident in his eyes. He moves around the fact that he has been staring at your battered body, instead bringing up the more fruitful details. “I found two different types of engravings on the tools in the photos,” he says, his voice steady but strained. “C.C. and J.C. They could be initials, maybe something that links back to the unsub or someone close to him.”

The team exchanges glances, understanding the gravity of the small but potentially crucial detail. “We’ll look into it,” Morgan assures him, stepping forward. “But you need to get some sleep, Hotch. You’re no good to anyone if you’re running on fumes.”

Hotch shakes his head, the determination clear in his tired eyes. “I can’t rest, not while she’s out there.”

Rossi steps closer, his voice firm yet compassionate. “You look like shit, Aaron. You’re of no use if you can barely keep your eyelids open. Go get some rest.”

Reluctantly, Hotch nods, knowing Rossi is right. He makes his way back to the hotel, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Entering the room he was sharing with you for this trip, he sits on his bed staring at your empty one. He rubs his face with his hands trying to erase the harsh reality. You’re missing and your captor has already done horrible things. How much more time do we have?

The room’s ambient noises are amplified by his internal distress. Memories flood his mind—moments you shared, missions you completed together, your fiery but soft demeanor, and the way your presence always seemed to bring a strange comfort. He thinks back on all the times he has spent with you and notices that you have never once called him Aaron. It’s always “Hotch.” He wishes he could just hear his name from your lips, a small but significant connection.

The guilt gnaws at him, a constant reminder of his perceived failure. He feels a deep pit in his stomach, an ache that has no name but is always there when you’re far away for too long. He misses you, more than he can put into words, and the thought of you in the unsub’s hands is unbearable. He knows he would feel as bad if another one of the team was grabbed but, subconsciously something about it being you has him feeling worse, and he doesn’t understand why.

Finally, he lays down but doesn’t sleep. The sounds of the room—creaking pipes, distant voices, the hum of the air conditioner—only serve to heighten his anxiety. He lies there, eyes open, heart heavy, mind racing with thoughts of you. Of what you are having to go through because of him.

Within three hours of being at the hotel, his phone rings. It’s JJ. Hotch sits up, heart pounding as he answers.

“Hotch, Garcia’s found something,” JJ informs him, her voice urgent.

“I’m on my way,” he grunts quickly, already moving to grab his things. He rushes out of the hotel room, determination and desperation fueling his every step.

Hotch makes it back to the station, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the rush of urgency. He finds the team gathered in the conference room, Garcia pulled up on a laptop, ready to give the details of what she’s found.

“Alright, Garcia,” Hotch says, taking his place at the head of the table. “What did you find?”

Garcia's voice comes through the speakers, clear and determined. “The initials J.C. refer to Johnathan Collin, the creator of the carpentry business. He died about a year ago. However, he has an estranged son, Christopher Collins—C.C.—who just reopened the business after he was fired from his job as a carpentry teacher at Strayer University.”

Spencer leans forward, his brow furrowed. “Why was he fired?”

Garcia continues, “He was fired for harassing and stalking a fellow professor, Annie Bennett. It seems he has a history of inappropriate behavior and aggression, which escalated to the point of losing his job.”

Rossi mumbles out, “That was his stressor.”

Emily asks with a sharp tone, “Do you have a residence address for Christopher?”

Garcia nods, the screen shifting as she brings up the details. “Yes, I do. The address is 1287 Maplewood Drive. It’s about 35 minutes North West.”

Everyone stands, the sense of purpose clear in their movements. Morgan steps out of the room, already dialing his phone. “I’ll inform SWAT to be ready,” he says over his shoulder.

Hotch looks at his team, their faces a mix of determination and concern. “We need to move fast. He’s already proven he’s dangerous and we can’t risk him hurting anyone else.”

Before filling into the Suburbans, everyone equips their tactical vests, unsure of how volatile this guy can get when pressured. The ride to the location was stuffy with tension that seemed to thicken with each passing mile. The final turn onto Maplewood Drive was a long, winding dirt road surrounded by dense trees, their branches forming a canopy overhead. The sun had just begun to peak above the horizon, casting a soft glow that masked the forest in pink and golden hues.

The caravan of vehicles finally reached an opening showcasing not one but two buildings on the property. There was a typical wood cabin, fitting for a carpenter, and a large, imposing workshop to the left, its metal walls glinting in the early morning light. The SWAT team radios in that they will split their team in two, and the BAU should do the same, ensuring simultaneous raids of the property.

Prentiss, Rossi, and Spencer head to the cabin with SWAT 1, moving quietly but swiftly, their eyes scanning every potential hiding spot. Meanwhile, Hotch and Morgan follow SWAT 2 into the workshop, their senses on high alert, ready for any sudden movements. The tension in the air is palpable as they approach the front door, each step bringing them closer to their goal.

Morgan signals to the team, and they breach the front door, their weapons drawn. The room they enter is covered in tools, lumber, and half-finished projects. It’s eerily silent, the only sound the faint creak of their boots on the wooden floor. The coast appears clear, but the men move cautiously further inside, their eyes sweeping every corner.

They spot a large metal door at the back of the room. Morgan motions to SWAT, and they carefully open the door. Morgan heads in first, followed closely by Hotch. Inside, they find Christopher standing to the right side of you. He has a knife in his left hand and your hair clenched in his right.

Morgan’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “Stand down and drop the weapon!” he yells, his gun aimed at Christopher.

Christopher locks eyes with Hotch, a chilling smile spreading across his face. “She’s almost finished,” he says, his voice dripping with malevolence. Before anyone can react, he leans over and plunges the knife into your lower abdomen.

The room explodes into action. Morgan fires a shot, and Christopher collapses to the floor. Your tired but painful whine cuts through the chaos as the knife is driven deeper into your flesh. Hotch immediately holsters his gun and rushes to your side. He gently swipes the hair from your dirty, bruised face, cradling your head between his hands, “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers, his voice filled with desperate reassurance.

With the last bit of strength, you open your eyes and stare at Hotch. “It wasn’t your fault,” you manage to say meekly before the darkness begins to overtake you. In the blackness, you can hear mumbling and Hotch yelling, “Where are the medics!”

[escapetothelake]

Samuel and Ida for the ship asks :3

hi anteater!! hope you enjoy :)

tw: albert mention lol (but its not too angsty dw)

who made the first move: when samuel saw the poster of ida announcing her arrival at rusty lake, he was almost immediately infatuated. he went down to visit her and help set up, and then he brought her lunch after, which they ate in the grass in front of her newly-built tent.

who kissed who first: samuel was taught to be a gentleman by his mother, so he always thought to ask before a kiss. ida made him flustered though. she caught on immediately, and kissed him first. when he came home dumbstruck with red lipstick smeared on his lips, mary smiled and emma just laughed.

who started the relationship: there was a point when they both realized that they were pretty much spending every day together. emma teased samuel about it a lot, and told him to work up the courage to ask to officially court her. mary told him that it was improper to continue the way they were, and samuel's a huge mama's boy, so he listened. the next time he went to visit ida, he went with a bouquet of wildflowers in hand. emma is samuel's best friend, so she was the first one to know about it.

who remembers things: i'd say both of them, but mostly ida.

nicknames for each other: ida - "darling", "my love", and variants of the name "samuel" ("sam", etc); samuel - "doll", "my treasure", and "i" or "da". he also sometimes teasingly calls her "reiziger". on occasion, he calls her "my rose" for her beautiful red hair, and she always gives him a knowing look.

who is more likely to pay for dinner: samuel. ida gets the princess treatment, always.

who normally cooks: kind of a cop-out answer, but mary does most of the family's cooking. she taught samuel how to cook, and he enjoys it too. every once in a while, however, ida will cook a new romani dish for the family. they are always greatly enjoyed.

who remembers anniversaries: ida has an impeccable memory, so she obviously remembers something as important to the relationship as an anniversary. samuel remembers too, and he gets ida an anniversary present without fail. he tells her that her existence in his life is enough of a gift to him.

what would they get each other for gifts: samuel always buys ida jewelry when they go out. otherwise, it's usually flowers he's picked or a little trinket he carved. ida often does readings for him

most trivial thing they fight over: they honestly don't fight much??? the only thing i can think of though is that sometimes ida can be very cryptic and nonchalant, leading to samuel stressing because he thinks she knows something he doesn't, especially about the future. being around ida has 100% turned him into a believer, and sometimes he gets anxious looking at her crystal ball.

how often do they fight: like i said, not often.

who uses all the hot water: samuel. definitely.

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: nobody! samuel can fix it himself 💪

who leaves their stuff around: samuel has a habit of bringing his carpentry tools into the house. it drives mary and emma crazy, if anything, but ida doesn't mind.

who remembers to buy the milk: this one's difficult because it's hard to know how the vanderbooms get groceries from the outside world. it's possible they have a cow??—in which case samuel would milk it—or they even get it delivered. i'd love to see them have a little old neighbor who's like "hmm they never go out so i'll just bring them groceries" and he becomes a family friend whom they have over for dinner often until one day he hasn't heard from the vanderbooms in a while and he rows over and albert's standing on the dock wearing a mask and he's like "your services are no longer required here, old man" and the dude rows away apprehensively, staring at albert who doesn't move an inch until the little boat is out of sight and AHH i'm getting carried away. the answer is probably samuel.

who controls the netflix queue: samuel loves his netflix specials.

who steals the covers at night: samuel. ida will pettily yank them sometimes, prompting samuel to wake up, and they'll both laugh.

who cusses more: samuel, but he has mary, emma, and leonard policing his behavior. the second he swears, leonard is holding a little hand out, waiting for money to add to the swear jar ida mde him.

who does most of the cleaning: kinda both of them? it's a huge house, so domestic labor is split pretty evenly.

what’s their favorite non-sexual activity: hard to say because they do so much together. they like playing games, picnics, traveling and exploring the area around the lake, cooking, and just relaxing together. sometimes they'll stay up late just talking and enjoying each other's company. ida light's samuel's pipe, and they chat until it's time for bed.

who’s the cuddler: samuel. sometimes he'll just pull ida onto the couch with him and fall asleep in her arms after a long day.

who’s the big spoon/little spoon: depends. it used to be samuel mostly, but he finds he really likes it when ida holds him. it makes him feel safe and appreciated.

who’s more dominant: we know it's ida bfr

who is the dirty talker: both. samuel also really likes it when ida speaks romani to him. this isn't dirty talking, but on a related note, he likes it when she holds him, runs her fingers through his hair, and softly says random things in romani.

what do they do when they’re away from each other: samuel does a lot of carpentry and woodworking on a daily basis, so he would just carry on as usual, especially because ida doesn't like to stick around. as for ida, if she were the one out, she'd just enjoy her travels. if it were samuel, she'd turn to her crystal ball and tarot cards.

what would they do if the other one was hurt: it would make samuel anxious to see ida sick or hurt. he would devote much of his time to caring for her and visiting her bedside. eventually, he got used to it when she was bedridden during her pregnancy with leonard, and he became much more relaxed about it. ida, on the other hand, is a very relaxed woman by nature, and she knows a thing or two about injuries since she's spent so much time on the road. she would take it on the chin, and deal with it in an appropriate manner.

a headcanon: leaving the lake was pretty normal before albert became the man of the house. however, samuel was still pretty sheltered as a boy because he didn't leave much after his father passed. ida loves traveling, and she takes him often. the first time they went together, samuel was a little dumbstruck, and in awe of the architecture especially. he spent twenty minutes staring through the window of a furniture shop, and then he finally went inside and bought like fifteen bottles of wood polish. they continued the tradition weekly, and eventually, they saw amsterdam together, and even brussels and paris.

[princehee]

The Wrong Guy Pt.4 (FINALE) || Lee Heeseung

heeseung x fem reader

tw: sadistic and gruesome themes, character death

wc: 1.7k

You blinked your eyes open from your slumber upon the touch of cold fingers stroking your cheek. And as soon as you took in the view before you, you pushed yourself backwards in fear.

"Heeseung?" Your voice came out in a hopeful yet terrified whisper.

But the person in front of you chose to stay quiet, instead brought his other hand to his face and let his chin rest on it.

You knew from the moment you felt his cold touch on your face that he was not the one you wished to see but you chose to play it cool. You took a quick glance at the door, which was wide open, and checked the key behind you, which was right where it was, then you glanced back at him, unsure of how he got in.

"Ever occurred to you that I might have a spare key? I guess if Heeseung wasn't that dumb, he'd have gotten rid of the spare key too, right?"

Your eyebrows suddenly dropped from the frown to an offended look at the mention of Heeseung being called out names.

"Right, hun?" Ethan spoke again in a louder tone to get an affirmation from you, but you just sat there looking at him, feeling defeated. Ethan however was not having it, the man had reached his tolerance with the way you'd been acting up, so without wasting much time, he grabbed your waist, lifted you up and carried you with him out of that room, down the corridors to a special room, his favorite one.

You just gave up and let him have it his way. You could barely even feel your legs or your arms or your body at this point. It had been two days that you went on without any source of nutrition, so it was natural for your body to react in such a way.

Your eyes kept shutting off, but you could see that familiar room again that you saw a few hours ago, the one with the walls tainted with what seemed and smelled like blood. At this point, your toes curled in due to the impending doom that you sensed falling upon you.

"Heeseung, please .... I need you! Now. Please come out. HEESEUNG" You prayed and screamed, if that'd bring him out but you just got yourself plopped down on the steel grey table by the now angry man who walked towards one of the drawers and pulled out long chains with shackles attached to them.

He chained your legs and arms to the table like you were some experimental animal. Whatever one percent of humaneness he had in him was now gone. You had indeed unleashed a monster.

He pulled up some of his carpentry tools while you kept your prayers going.

Suddenly, the sound of a drill made you take a break from your relentless begging, at least for a second maybe.

"If you so badly want to see me like this ... be it" He said as he walked closer to your table with the machine in his hand.

"Where do we begin?" He asked as he eyed you up and down, trying to find a good spot for afflicting pain. He steadied his hands as he adjusted the drill over your ankle, you could see his eyes beaming with excitement, his lips curling up in a grin as he drew the weapon closer to your feet.

"Ethan, please! You don't have to do this"

"I don't have to, but I want to" His grin spreading more and more across his face, just the sight of him making your body quiver and tremble in fear.

With slow motion, he moved the drill across your great toe, his eyes on your face the whole time - The way you arched your back in agony, the way your eyes forcibly shut tight enough to form the wrinkles on your face gave him a great deal of satisfaction.

In no time blood started dripping from the table end, making a puddle on the floor. The loud sound of the drill was now slowly fading away as you started seeing black spots around you, your hands tingling, head dizzy and heart palpitating.

"Heeseung, please! Come back ... I need-" It was getting hard for you to speak, but you were far from giving up.

Suddenly, the faint sound of the drill dropped. Silence filled the room. You tried lifting your head off the table to see what was going on.

The man who was piercing the drill through your toe a couple seconds ago, now just happened to stand there in horror. His eyes grew wider as his mouth fell open, hands dropping to his side with the drill hitting the floor with a small thud.

Although your body was in pain, your heart danced in joy to see the man you've been dying to, literally.

"Heeseung!!" Your scream made him blink a few times and finally take a look at you properly.

Wasting no time, he unshackled you from the table and helped you up. He wanted to say so many things to you, but how could he? The guilt stung his heart and tears started rolling down his cheeks.

As soon as you broke free from the chains, you threw your arms around him, bringing him closer for a hug. You sighed in relief as your face rested on his neck, but he just stood there, daring not to move an inch, his body stiffening each second.

"I'm so sorry Y/N! I know saying that is not gonna take away your pain, but I don't know what to say or do to make you feel better"

"Stay" You said as your grip on him strengthened and you pulled him even closer to your body, letting his shirt soak up all your tears.

But he pulled away from the hug after a second or two and stepped away from you. He reached his pocket and pulled out a phone.

"Guessing its yours?"

You give him a nod and he leaves the phone on the table for you to take. He also puts down a bigger key and tells you to use it on the main door. He then walks to the door and unlocks it and leaves it wide open, hoping you would run away as fast as you could.

As you got off the table, your knees gave in and you almost dropped to the floor but Heeseung was quick enough to grab you and help you up. Once you steadied yourself, he let go of your arms and set his gaze on the floor, as if he was trying to avoid any eye contact with you.

You grabbed his hands and gave them a little squeeze as you tried to smile for him.

"Come with me" You said nonchalantly but Heeseung tried to understand why you'd want to even stay with someone who harmed you in so many ways.

"My uncle is a really good psychiatrist. We'll go see him, I'm sure he can help you." You started to share your ideas, give him some hope, let him re-explore his lost self. But he just stood there, staring at the floor, blocking out every word you said.

"I'm beyond help. I don't deserve to live after what I've done to god knows how many women, after what I've done to you"

"Hey hey. It wasn't you." You spoke gently as you wipe his tears away, bringing your hands up his face and running them through his hair, earning a soft chuckle from him. You then circled your arms over his neck and pulled him closer to you. You both had a lot to say, nonetheless, resorted to silence and let the moment sink in with each breath you took.

Although Heeseung and Ethan were the same person, Heeseung definitely made you feel at ease with his laid-back and friendly demeanor. You wanted to know more about him, his childhood, favorite food and music, just the trivial of things.

You soon felt his arms over your waist, pulling you in deeper towards him. His chest heaving up and down with yours in unison made you want to hold on to that moment and make it last forever.

"I'm so sorry Y/N. But you have to go now and so do I"

You raised your head to look at him and ask him what he meant by he had to go ... but it was too late by then.

His white shirt now turned to red, his hand letting go of the knife that slashed his chest.

"Why? Why would you do that?" You screamed in terror as you ran to him, placing your hand on his slit open wound, trying to prevent further bleeding, but the cut ran a little too deep for your tiny hands to cover all of it.

You looked around frantically, trying to find any piece of cloth or a gauze to control the bleeding, but Heeseung grabbed your hands and forced a smile, to let you know that he appreciated your thoughtfulness, your company while it lasted, your sense of empathy.

"Just why Heeseung? Why would you-"

"This ends with me"

The End

[wouldyoustilllovemeifiwasawyrm]

Steaming With You

Linktober Day 2023 Day 20: Fire/Lava/Heat While Link didn’t often mind the long hike up the mountain to Goron City, he always relished the opportunity to spend just a little time enjoying all that the natural land had to offer.

Warm steam rose into the air, saturating the already heated atmosphere that surrounded Eldin. The heat and humidity clung to skin and muscle, seeping into old, tense joints and relaxing even the most stubborn knots. The water of the Goron springs, pleasantly hot and perfectly salted, soaked into Link’s tired body.

While Link didn’t often mind the long hike up the mountain to Goron City, he always relished the opportunity to spend just a little time enjoying all that the natural land had to offer. He seldom came across a set of springs that didn’t have at least one Goron in it, usually the elderly, whose rocky exterior started to gray with exposure to the elements. During his travels, he enjoyed relaxing in the springs with them, hearing stories of Death Mountain in their younger days, of the mining and smithing and adventures that these rock-bound people experienced in their youth. Grapp and Bohrin especially made good soaking companions, often telling jokes to each other. It didn’t matter that Link hardly understood those jokes—it was enough just to hear them chortle with each other.

However, he certainly didn’t mind having the springs to himself for a change.He opened one eye, having nearly fallen asleep from the soothing warmth of the spring’s water.

Well, not entirely to himself.

His beloved princess rested beside him, having slipped herself so far into the water that only her nose remained above its surface. Her short hair floated out around her like a halo. Her fingertips worked at some knots in the muscles of her neck, loosening what the stress of her duties had tightened.

Most of their clothing and gear had been left on the solid rock behind them, along with a set of towels for when they decided to emerge. Not that Link had any intention to do so soon. His sword was still within reach, and as far as he was concerned, he needed nothing else. Very few monsters braved this heat, and even fewer braved the Gorons that roamed through the rocky landscape, mining and building with loud, clanging metal tools. Still, if anything dared to intrude upon their delightful seclusion, he would have no difficulty quickly dispatching it.

Zelda rose out of the water, exposing her shoulders to the damp, warm air, her hair clinging to her neck. “Link, dear, could you work out this knot here?” She asked, rubbing the tips of her fingers along the curve from her neck to her shoulders.

Happy to oblige, Link immediately set to work. He pressed his thumbs against the back of her neck, on either side of her spine, his hands resting on her shoulders. Slowly, he worked a firm pressure up toward the base of her skull and back down toward her shoulders. Several tense knots resisted him. As he rubbed small circles against the muscle, he could almost imagine the sources. At least one would have to be from the near-constant letters she wrote to Hudson, and the ones she received in reply. Back and forth they went, negotiating and updating each other on the progress of rebuilding. Every slowed project, every unstable structure, every bit of news that held even a whiff of unpleasantness sent this poor woman into a flurry of stress. She’d pulled down books of architecture and geology and carpentry, convinced that she and only she could solve every problem Hyrule faced.

The corner of his lips turned downward as he pressed harder on a particularly stubborn knot. No doubt the children of Hateno accounted for it. She worried about them non-stop. Day in and out, she watched over the schoolhouse, wrote lessons, answered questions, and helped them do everything from coloring pictures to reading books to, occasionally, fixing extra meals when they forgot to bring lunch. She even broke up fights and arguments, though these were thankfully seldom. Although Sefaro and Azu claimed to be best friends, they solved most of their differences by trying to whack each other with sticks behind the schoolhouse. And while Link was more than willing to let the boys be boys, Zelda was not. She’d treated one too many scraped knees and bruised egos to tolerate that sort of conflict resolution.

He pulled his hands across her back, out toward her shoulders. The tension didn’t resist quite as strongly here. Rather than a particular stressor, he could blame this discomfort on her habit of tilting her head down too frequently. Books, letters, maps, the Purah Pad. She spent half her waking hours with her nose buried in some source of information. She could afford to, of course —Link was vigilant enough for the both of them.

“It’s the trapezius muscle.” Zelda said. “One of the largest muscles on the back, extending from the neck, to the shoulders, and down to the midback, forming a sort of triangle, or trapezoid rather, on both sides of the spine.” She formed a triangular shape with her hands, holding the left straight and flat, as if in prayer, and the other perpendicular to it, her right thumb near the tips of her fingers on her left hand, and the side of her pointer finger against the heel of her left palm. As Link worked the muscle loose, he could visualize the shape of it perfectly well, the fibers wanting to push and pull along their natural path.

Link shifted his grip, forming fists and running his knuckles down her shoulder blades. “You’ve been reading that medical book Trissa gave you.” He observed.

“I have. It’s incredibly fascinating!” She confirmed. “Did you know there are pressure points in the body that can render an opponent entirely immobile from pain?”

Link raised a brow, though Zelda couldn’t see it. “Really? I might want to learn that.”

“Here.” Zelda twisted around until she faced him again, the water sloshing between them. She lifted one hand from the water, resting her thumb just behind Link’s ear. “If one were to press just here-.“

Link jerked away. “Please don’t.”

Zelda blinked, stunned for a moment. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, Link. Not really.”

He eyed her suspiciously. After having eaten a raw frog for her sake, he knew better than to acquiesce to her experiments without further inquiry.

Zelda sighed, letting her hand splash back into the water. “Fine, fine. I’ll just show you the illustration later.”

Now assured that she wouldn’t subject him to blinding pain for the sake of science, he rejoined her side. “Thank you. Are there any other knots that are bothering you?”

Zelda stretched out in the water, her legs almost ghostly pale from how little sun exposure her skin received. “No, I don’t think so. What about you?”

Him? What did he have to be stressed about? As long as Zelda remained with him, safe and within his sight, most of his worries could be easily forgotten. One major benefit to being Zelda’s chosen protector was the lack of secondary job duties. Beyond taking care of his princess, almost everything else could be ignored without consequence.

Despite his lack of answer one way or the other, Zelda brought her hands up out of the water again, resting on his shoulders. She pressed her fingertips gently against the muscle, feeling for unexpected tension. Up his neck and down to his biceps she tested him. It wasn’t until she reached the junction of his right arm to his shoulder that she noticed anything out of the ordinary. When she pressed a little harder, he winced.

“Knew it.” She teased. “Turn.”

“Zel-.“

“Don’t ‘Zel’ me. Turn.” She insisted.

With a sigh of resignation, Link obeyed, turning away from her. “It’s just an old archery injury.”

“Mhm.” Zelda hummed, already setting to work, stretching and warming the muscles of his upper back with her fists. “And, of course, you’ve been taking good care of that injury by stretching before you go out hunting and resting when it starts to hurt, right?”

Link kept silent.

“Thought so.” Her triumphant tone, if it weren’t so adorable, might be considered annoying. “You need to take better care of yourself, Link.”

Though he tried his hardest not to give in, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Whatever she’d read in that textbook, it was worth every drop of ink. She pulled and stretched on the muscles of his shoulder and back, digging through the layers until he thought she’d almost hit bone. He gritted his teeth as she pressed her knuckles into the deepest, tensest spot. It hurt. But, oh Goddess, it felt amazing!

“This one back here is called the rotator cuff.” Zelda explained, working the old injury until Link felt that he might very well melt into the spring and become one with the water. “Rather than being just one muscle, it’s actually four distinct muscles working as a group. They’re responsible for stabilizing your shoulder, connecting your arm to your socket, and, as you might imagine, rotating.” She twisted her fist just slightly, digging at a deep knot. The pain, and near-instant relief, almost left him winded. “It’s also the one that affects draw strength.”

No thoughts. Head empty. He is melting.

He pulled his arms up out of the water, folding them onto the rock on the outside of the pool and letting his head rest on top. He could, for this one moment, forget his vigilance.

His change in position must have opened up new opportunities for Zelda, as she quickly shifted herself until she was nearly on top of him. With every pull and press, he felt more certain that his bones would simply turn to pudding and float away. She turned her attention from his right shoulder to his left, then down his back. Her fingertips traced the shapes of the scars across his skin, sending shivers down his spine even in the thick heat of the hot spring.

“When’s the last time you had a proper massage?” Zelda asked.

“Dunno. They’re expensive, for one.” Link answered honestly. “The Gorons are a little too rough for me, and Lurelin is far.”

The heels of Zelda’s palms dragged down both sides of his spine. “I guess I’ll just have to learn myself, then.”

“Please do.” Link groaned, trying to stifle a potentially very embarrassing noise that threatened to escape. “You’re doing pretty well based on books alone.”

He felt her breath against his neck as she laughed softly. “Thank you. It’s just anatomy, really.” Rather than a new group of muscles, she began pressing gentle kisses all along his shoulders, her hands wrapping around his chest. “There are many more sciences I’d love to learn about.”

“Yeah?” Link asked, a low purr rising in his throat, completely content. “Like what, Miss Scientist?”

“Geology, for one.” She answered, pulling herself up to whisper in his ear. “Hot springs like this one are very complex phenomena. Geothermally heated groundwater, warmed by magma beneath the surface. Filled with minerals like carbonate, which precipitate into travertine, sometimes forming natural terraces of deposited limestone.”

A serene smile spread across Link’s face. “That’s hot.”

“Well, it is molten rock.” Zelda teased, resuming her kisses up his neck.

Were it not for the near-certainty that the heat would eventually kill and cook them both, Link would be quite content to stay in the hot spring forever and be kissed and lectured to about whatever interested Zelda at that moment. For now, he would enjoy every second of it.

[manishaasinfratecho]

Breathe New Life into Your Space: Budget-Friendly Design with MITS Work

Do you dream of a stunningly designed interior but worry about the cost? You're not alone! Creating a beautiful and functional space doesn't have to break the bank. At MITS Work, a leading interior design company in Noida and a trusted partner for homeowners across India, we believe everyone deserves a space that reflects their style and personality.

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Finding Inspiration on a Budget:

Embrace DIY Projects: Unleash your inner creativity! Upcycle old furniture with a fresh coat of paint or reupholster tired pieces with colorful fabrics. Explore online tutorials or attend local workshops to learn basic carpentry or craft skills.

Think Outside the Box: Explore thrift stores, flea markets, and vintage shops for unique treasures. You might find hidden gems like antique accent pieces, decorative mirrors, or even artwork at a fraction of the retail cost.

Harness the Power of Social Media: Platforms like Pinterest and Instagram are goldmines for design inspiration. Follow best interior designers in Delhi and other design professionals for trending ideas and budget-friendly hacks.

Maximizing Space with Smart Design:

Rearrange and Repurpose: Before buying new furniture, consider rearranging your existing pieces. A fresh layout can create a completely different feel. Repurpose furniture for multiple functions, like using an ottoman as a coffee table or a console table as a desk.

Embrace Multifunctional Furniture: Opt for furniture that serves multiple purposes. Foldable chairs, ottomans with storage compartments, and nesting tables can maximize space and functionality in smaller areas.

Let There Be Light: Natural light is a powerful design tool. Open curtains and blinds to brighten your space and create a more open feel. Consider strategically placing mirrors to reflect light and make the room feel more spacious.

Creating Impact with Affordable Decor:

The Power of Paint: A fresh coat of paint can dramatically transform a space. Choose bold colors for an accent wall or calming neutrals for a serene atmosphere. Explore affordable paint brands that offer high-quality options.

Accessorize with Intention: A few well-chosen accessories can add personality and style. Visit thrift stores or discount home decor stores for throw pillows, artwork, plants, or decorative vases.

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At MITS Work, we understand that budget-friendly design doesn't mean sacrificing quality or style. Our experienced interior design company in Delhi offers a range of services tailored to your needs and budget. We can help you:

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Conclusion:

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Ready to get started? Contact MITS Work today for a free consultation and discover how we can help you achieve your dream space.

[not-a-seagull]

PRISON CELL – 09: “Carpentry Operations” 

Background: None.

Music: BGM 022

Eiden: Merciful God of Klein, we pray to you that you may forgive our sins with love and affection…

? ?: Finally, we ask that you may return us to the righteous path, with these two hands we pray.

Quincy: ……

Eiden: Finally, we ask you that you may return us to the righteous path…

Eiden: (I can’t believe I’m in prison with Quincy and a bunch of other inmates… praying…)

? ?: Well done, everyone. You may open your eyes.

Eiden: (Oh, and guess who’s leading the prayers…)

Background: None (white.)

Olivine: Wash your hands, let go of the sins of the past, and reaffirm the pious hearts of the God of Klein has bestowed upon us all, His greatest gift.

Background: Prison Workshop. (closed)

Eiden: (Olivine could make a sewer feel sacred… I’ve never seen so many smiles around this place…)

Olivine: Next, I would like to invite each of you to come up and collect a wood block and a set of tools.

Olivine: I will then show you how to make a simple handicraft, which we will bring to the temple to offer to the God of Klein so as to receive His blessing.

***

Background: Prison Workshop. (closed)

Music: BGM 023. (soft sounds of tools working the wood.)

Eiden: (Edmond sure works fast— by pressuring the prison to allow the church to help with rehabilitation, he was able to get all the inmates to take part in a carpentry activity.)

Quincy: Here’s yours.

Eiden: Ah, thanks… Hmm, but there doesn’t seem to be anything special about this wood…

Quincy: Uh-huh, it’s just regular wood.

Eiden: So where are they hiding the you-know-what—

Quincy: Shh, keep quiet.

Music: None.

The two halt their conversation and glace along the long work table.

Walking in their directions, hands held neatly behind his back, the Warden closely observes the inmates at work.

Eiden: (It’s just like Edmond said… He’s the only one observing.)

Eiden: (Better focus on the task at hand for now… I’ll discuss the rest with Quincy later…)

Quincy: ……

The forest guardian, head bowed, deftly works his cutting tool across the wood block, carving out a model boat far more intricate than the other inmates.

Eiden: (I know he’s good at this kind of thing, but I can’t help feeling a little envious of his skills…)

Eiden: (But I won’t be beaten! I used to make model toys all the time! There wasn’t a better designer around for miles—)

(More sounds of tools softly working the wood)

Warden: ……

***

Background: Prison Cafeteria.

Music: BGM 023

Eiden: (Looks like it’s back to business as usual… it wasn’t easy getting Olivine here— i just hope our plan worked…)

Eiden: (But I have to admit, it was fun trying something new for a change… Olivine even complimented our work—)

Music: None.

Warden: Attention, everyone. There has been a slight change to the afternoon’s work schedule.

The Warden pauses and turns his gaze on Quincy and Eiden.

Warden: You, and you. Come with me to the carpentry workshop after lunch.

Quincy and Eiden: …!

Eiden: … Yes, sir!

Eiden: (Hook, line, and sinker!)

Eiden: (Hehe, it’s no surprise the Warden selected us for carpentry duty after all the praise we got for our carvings this morning…)

***

Background: None.

Music: None. (sounds of footsteps)

As they’d hoped, Quincy and Eiden have been selected for so-called carpentry duty.

Walking single file behind the Warden with the other select inmates, they make their way to the workshop.

Background: Prison Workshop.

Music: None. (sound of door opening)

The long work table sits littered with drawings, tools, and wood blocks— an almost identical setup to earlier in the day.

Warden: Here you will find the necessary materials, and over here are carving instructions. You may use any of the provided tools as you see fit.

Warden: Today’s assignment is a tough one, so be sure to put your best foot forward.

Eiden: Lemme see… Whoa, this looks super complicated!

The instructions show an intricately complex design that appears to be some sort of pendant.

Eiden: (If we can really make these, I bet they’ll sell like hotcakes…)

Eiden: (But these wood blocks look identical to the ones we used this morning—)

Quincy: … It’s faint, but I sense essence radiating from the wood.

Eiden: Essence?

With the Warden surveilling the other end of the room, Quincy sits beside Eiden, an ordinary-looking wood block in his hand.

Eiden: Ah, I see what you mean… It feels as if it’s coated with a layer of essence…

Quincy: It’s a camouflage spell.

Quincy cautiously checks his surroundings, then squeezes the wood block in his fist, channeling his essence in order to reverse the spell—

In his palm sits an ordinary wood block no longer. Instead, there lies a smooth, fragrant, densely-grained piece of lumber as black as night.

Eiden: Is that… crowcave?

Quincy: Yes.

Eiden: Edmond was right! the Warden really is using the prison as an illegal crowcave processing plant!

Eiden: We better meet up with him after we’re done here to discuss our next move.

Quincy: ……

Offering no reply, the stoic forest guardian slips the crowcave block—so fast you wouldn’t notice it—into his sleeve and gets back to work.

End of chapter.

Sources:

Background Images: NU Carnival wiki.

Transcript: did it myself, with the help of this video.

Last chapter: Prison Cell 08 | Next chapter: Prison Cell 10

[scrivenger-grimgar]

A List of Ideas I Have But Am Unsure How To Execute or Where I Would Begin

ADHD/Memory Clothing!

clothing specially designed to keep things on or near you so you don't forget them, lose them, or leave them behind.

must be machine washable, and made in your preferred fabric to stop texture/sensory issues.

pants/shorts/skirts: a loop at the waist for a clip-tether that attaches to your wallet/phone case. pocket specifically for your phone. if you stand up without your phone, it will hit your leg when you walk away, so you remember to put it in the phone pocket.

shirt/jacket: two loops on each shoulder for clips on a specially made chest bag, easy to clip on and off. the bag has room for credit/debit cards, ID, inhaler/meds, and small fidgets/earbuds. in sight, in mind so you can't leave it behind!

Community Arts & Life Skills Centre!

a community-building specifically for people to come in and work on art of all kinds.

1) quiet rooms: minimal talking, please be quiet, don't just walk up and talk to people!

2) social rooms: talking allowed, people here are open to conversation, indoor voices, please! teaching and critiquing others is encouraged here! good for people looking for help and advice.

3) music rooms: minimal talking, music playing on a community playlist; add your own songs through submission and review. extended talks outside, please.

1, 2, & 3 are all for visual arts. painting, drawing, charcoal, sketching, digital arts, origami, calligraphy, etc. General materials (ie. paper, pencils, crayons, charcoal, erasers, brushes & watercolors) will be available, but bringing your own tools is encouraged!

fabrics room: sewing machines, black/white/red thread, needles in different sizes, practice scrap cloth, needlepoint/cross stitch frames, knitting, crochet, macrame, and braiding are done here!

foods room: for cooking, baking, and meal prep. Things made here are made in bulk, and given to patrons and employees as free breakfasts and lunches.

metals room: for metallurgy and jewelry making. donated scraps are melted down and used for practice materials, but the use of tools and torches is (if feasible) free.

woods room: wood carving, carpentry, and general handiness skills are practiced here. safety goggles are provided, as are masks. knives, drills, nails, practice woods, and screws are also provided.

take care of the workspace; not cleaning up will leave you with a fine, as will irreparably breaking more expensive tools (hammers, sewing machines, saws etc.). tool care is also taught in each of these spaces!

trouble at home? nowhere to stay tonight? feel free to sleep in the arts centre, at the cost of helping clean the place up at night. leftovers from the foods room are free to take as well, but please remember to sign in with your name and age at the front.

[shawfamilyhomerepair0]

Shaw Family Home Repair Services: Your trusted handyman for every home repair need

Owning a home is a major achievement and a source of pride. It is where we make memories, spend time with loved ones and find solace. But with home ownership comes the inevitable need for maintenance, repairs and improvements. When things start to break or wear out, fixing them yourself or finding a reliable professional can be stressful and time-consuming. That's where Shaw Family Home Repair Services comes in

As a trusted name in handyman services, Shaw Family Home Repair Services is committed to providing quality work, excellent customer service and a wide range of services to meet all your home repair needs. In this article, we will discuss the benefits of using handyman services, the range of services offered by Shaw Family Home Repair Services and why they should be your go-to for home repairs.

Advantage of handyman service Handyman services offer several benefits to homeowners. Here are a few reasons why you should consider using a professional handyman:

Time-saving A handyman can complete a wide range of tasks in a short period of time. Instead of spending your weekends attempting DIY projects or maneuvering multiple contractors, you can rely on a single professional to handle everything efficiently.

Cost-effective Hiring a handyman is often more cost-effective than hiring a specialist contractor for each job. Handymen are multi-skilled, allowing them to solve multiple problems in a single visit, reducing labor costs and saving you money.

Professional skills Handymen have experience and knowledge in a variety of trades, ensuring that the job is done correctly and safely. You can trust that your home is in capable hands.

Reduce stress Dealing with home repairs can be stressful, especially if you lack the tools or skills to handle them. A handyman takes stress out of the equation, allowing you to focus on other aspects of your life.

Shaw Family Home Repair Services: A Trusted Name Shaw Family Home Repair Services has earned a reputation for providing reliable and high-quality handyman services. Here's why they stand out from the competition:

Comprehensive service Shaw Family Home Repair Services offers a wide range of handyman services to meet every need. They have the expertise to handle everything from small repairs to larger projects. Their services include:

Plumbing Repairs: Fixing leaky faucets, unclogging drains and repairing toilets. Electrical work: installing light fixtures, outlets and ceiling fans and troubleshooting electrical problems. Carpentry: Repair or construction of decks, fences and furniture. Painting and Drywall: Interior and exterior painting, drywall patching and more. General Repairs: Fixing doors, windows and other common household problems.

Experienced professionals The team at Shaw Family Home Repair Services is comprised of experienced professionals who are skilled in multiple trades. They bring a wealth of knowledge to every job, ensuring that the job is completed efficiently and to the highest standards.

Customer-centric approach Shaw Family Home Repair Services emphasizes customer satisfaction. They work closely with clients to understand their needs and preferences, ensuring that the end result meets or exceeds expectations. Their friendly and approachable team makes the entire process seamless and enjoyable.

Transparent pricing Nobody likes surprises when it comes to prices. Shaw Family Home Repair Services is transparent about their pricing, providing detailed estimates before any work begins. This approach ensures that you know exactly what to expect and can budget accordingly.

Licensed and insured Shaw Family Home Repair Services is fully licensed and insured, giving homeowners peace of mind. You can trust that their work adheres to industry standards and you are protected in case of any unexpected problems.

Why Choose Shaw Family Home Repair Services? If you're still wondering why Shaw Family Home Repair Services should be your go-to handyman service, consider these additional reasons:

Reliability Shaw Family Home Repair Services is known for its reliability. When they schedule an appointment, you can trust that they will arrive on time and get the job done as promised.

Versatility Their versatility is a significant advantage. Whether you need help with plumbing, electrical work, carpentry, or any other home repair, they have the skills to handle it.

Local expertise As a local business, Shaw Family Home Repair Services understands the unique needs of area homeowners. They are familiar with local building codes and regulations, ensuring compliance on every project.

Customer loyalty Shaw Family Home Repair Services has a loyal customer base that speaks to the quality of their work and exceptional customer service. Many customers return for additional projects and recommend the service to friends and family.

Conclusion When it comes to home repair and maintenance, Shaw Family Home Repair Services is a name you can trust. Their comprehensive range of services, experienced professionals, customer-centric approach and transparent pricing make them the ideal choice for homeowners for reliable and high-quality handyman services. Whether you have a small repair or a large project, Shaw Family Home Repair Services is here to help you keep your home in top condition. Contact them today to schedule an appointment and experience the difference they can make in your home.

Contact Info: Shaw Family Home Repair Services Address: Anderson CA, 96007, USA Phone: 951-292-0063 Website: https://shawfamilyhomerepair.com/

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[somediyprojects]

DIY Salvaged Spool Ottoman

Project by Shelly:

i know ottomans aren’t the most indispensable piece of furniture in the house, but is it criminal to say they bring me the most joy? i think upholstery maven shelly (aka ModHomeEcTeacher) would agree with me; she’s made a whole collection of smart looking ottomans using a range of found fabrics and materials. i am so excited to follow her instructions and craft an adorable plaid ottoman of my very own, just in time to welcome fall. click here to see more of shelly’s amazing work, including her tutorials on everything from upholstering with rugs to aligning atomic legs. thanks, shelly! –kate

When Lowes stopped selling the pre-cut wood circles I used to construct my ottoman frames, it was a dark day. I soon discovered that cutting perfect circles with a hand-held jigsaw wasn’t easy, or even really possible. Weeks later, while roaming the store searching for an alternative, I discovered the empty electrical spools that are routinely discarded. Two perfectly cut round pieces of 5/8” plywood with a removable cardboard cylinder in the middle? Now we’re talking. With a tiny bit of carpentry, I came up with a way to easily re-work these into frames for my upholstered ottomans. I would label this as a mid-level DIY project that you could complete in a weekend. Once you get the hang of it, you these would make fantastic handmade gifts for friends and family. –Shelly

Materials:

-1 20” diameter empty electrical wire spool (hardware stores usually throw these out, so ask about picking them up instead) -8 pre cut 1”x 2”x 6” pieces of wood (a hardware store will cut these for you) -Wood glue -32 1 ¾” screws -A piece of foam (anywhere from 3” to 6” thick and at least ½” larger all around than the wood) -Spray adhesive (Elmers makes a spray adhesive available at the craft store) -Scrap fabric ( this to attach around the ottoman frame measuring about 8” x 65”. An option would be to use a bendable piece of cardboard) -1 ½ yard of cotton or dacron batting -1 ½ yard of 54” wide fabric -¾” yard of scrap fabric to cover the bottom of the finished ottoman -Thread and straight pins -Staples -4 screw on leg plates (hardware store) -4 fabulous ottoman legs (look around for good legs on cruddy, inexpensive Goodwill furniture)

Tools:

-Big marker -Drill -3/32” drill bit and a 3/8” drill bit -Electric knife -Electric stapler -Scissors -Measuring tape -Flat head screwdriver -Pliers (crescent or needle nose) -Sewing machine

Instructions:

Making the frame:

1. Take the spool apart and make a pattern by tracing the circle on a large piece of paper, adding ½” all around for the seam allowance. The pattern will be used for cutting out the foam, batting, fabric and a dustcover for the bottom. Lay aside.

2. Glue and screw 6-8 posts evenly around the outside edge of one wooden circle, then add the other piece of wood on top of the posts and attach. Be sure to keep the wood circles aligned.

Padding:

1. Use the staple gun to attach the long piece of cotton muslin around the outside edges of the top and bottom circles. Keep fabric pulled taut. The fabric serves to fill in the open spaces between the support posts. Cut off excess fabric. (Option: use bendable cardboard)

2. Trace the pattern onto the foam and cut the foam using the electric knife. Keep the knife blades perpendicular to the foam to get a crisp, even cut.

3. Use spray adhesive to glue the foam to the top of the ottoman frame.

4. Trace the pattern onto the batting, cut out. Also, cut out a long strip of batting equal to the total height of the ottoman, from the top of the foam to the bottom edge, plus two extra inches.

5. Pin the batting strip to the batting circle, starting 1” from the short end of the strip and ending 1” from the other end. Stitch in place.

6. Remove from under the sewing machine and stitch the open seam closed and go back and complete stitching that section of the band to the batting top.

7. Trim off the excess seam allowance, turn the batting covering right side out and pull it down on top of the ottoman frame.

8. Measure and mark the batting band (all the way around the covering ) so that it will be stapled evenly from the top seam to the bottom EDGE of the frame. Do not attach the batting to the underneath side of the wood. Attach it to the edge and cut off the excess batting.

Sewing and Upholstering:

1. To make the fabric covering, which is a bit like a snug slipcover, trace the pattern onto the fabric and cut it out.  You’ll need to cut a band of fabric 3” longer than the height of the ottoman and 5” wider than the circumference. If you need to stitch two pieces together to get a long enough piece for the band, split the circumference measurement in two and add 3 extra inches to each piece.

2. To prepare the fabric covering for stitching, fold one short end of the cut fabric band over 1” with wrong sides together.  With the right side of the band to the right side of the fabric circle, patterns matching, pin and begin stitching at the folded short edge all the way around to the other short end. Overlap the excess fabric 2” past the folded short end. Cut off any excess fabric beyond the 2”. Pin and stitch the overlapping fabric to the seam.

3. Turn the fabric covering right side out and topstitch the folded seam closed from the bottom of the band to the top seam.

4. Pull the fabric covering down over the dacron covered ottoman. Adjust the fabric pattern and straighten so the pattern or plaid is aligned.

5. Pull the fabric down firmly and staple in place evenly and snugly.

Upholstery Tip: It works best to start with one section and attach with a few staples, move to the opposite side and do the same. Then repeat for the other sides. Attach the fabric between the set staples by smoothing and easing in the fabric.

Attach Legs:

1. Measure and mark the bottom of the ottoman base for leg attachment.  Place the leg plates on the marks to make sure they are equidistant from each other. Mark the center hole of the plates. Use the 3/8”drill bit to drill out the center hole. You can also do this step prior to putting the fabric on (as shown below).

2. Cut out a dustcover from scrap fabric and attach it to the bottom of the ottoman by folding the edge under ½”.

3. Locate the drilled holes, line the leg plates up, screw the leg plates on using a Phillips head screwdriver or the drill.  Attach the legs to the plates.

VOILA!