#antique brass details

[mindyharington]

Mediterranean Bathroom - 3/4 Bath

An illustration of a small bathroom design with a 3/4-inch cement tile floor and shaker cabinets, light wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, an undermount sink, white countertops, marble countertops, and so on.

[uhhleeese]

Mediterranean Powder Room in Los Angeles

Bathroom idea for a small powder room with a two-piece toilet, gray walls, an undermount sink, marble countertops, white countertops, recessed-panel cabinets, and a floor with a variety of colors.

[mchaib]

Mediterranean Bathroom - 3/4 Bath An illustration of a small bathroom design with a 3/4-inch cement tile floor and shaker cabinets, light wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, an undermount sink, white countertops, marble countertops, and so on.

[merakisphere]

Other 3D mandala makers hate me despise me for sharing this, but I see my craft as more than just the finished product. The process, and attention to detail are just as important in order to appreciate the beauty of this piece and all of its parts.

You’ll notice that although this seems like a very intricate bracelet, I do not use any fancy tools or techniques to assemble it all together. The simplicity of its assembly contrasts the complexity of its design, which is...actually quite poetic. 

Please consider browsing my Etsy Shop as I recently put in a lot of work to enhance my shop so that it is more organized, and easier to browse or customize your own personalized Fidget Bloom:

Quick Q&A: Do you ship worldwide? Yes What happens if my bracelet doesn’t fit? I will exchange it at no extra cost. What is the material? Tarnish resistant brass. I also use electroplated brass. Do you have any promotions? Yes, weekly sales, and discounts based on order size. How long does it take to make? Approximately 45 minutes. (from scratch) Got more questions? Ask me in the comments. :)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square. 

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods. 

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment. 

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough. 

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things. 

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions. 

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid. 

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.  

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder. 

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours. 

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience. 

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?” 

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.” 

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?” 

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.” 

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.” 

“Sure, I could do that.” 

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside. 

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead. 

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire. 

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers. 

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.  

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you. 

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things. 

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright. 

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch. 

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small. 

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there. 

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet... 

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order. 

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home. 

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush. 

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired. 

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset. 

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her. 

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard. 

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities. 

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam. 

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before? 

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles. 

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again. 

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford. 

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry. 

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home. 

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause. 

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving. 

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air. 

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another. 

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu. 

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep. 

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?” 

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?” 

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose. 

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?” 

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back. 

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row. 

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.” 

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together. 

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb. 

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says. 

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.” 

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?” 

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.” 

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow. 

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.” 

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate. 

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you. 

[zebreacadabra]

"Have One On Me" comparison :

-Right period, Focus on the 20s -

As Joanna said in an interview, a model in a some parisian art studio around 1920 in Paris (France) is one of the inspirations for the HOOM cover photo. For that post, I was planed to speak about 1920's flapper and kind of "the great gatsby" style. In pointing the headpice that Joanna wear on the picture. It's not visible in great details. And knowing the time period, and based on what I can see, I asumed it was some kind of "clasical" well knowned 20's headband. It was verry dificult to find an historical image that match well enought with the shape of that headpice. Lucky me! After houres of reserch, I think I found what Joanna was wearing during the photosoot day. Here it is :

A 1920's Rare Art-Deco Brass Egyptian Revival Flapper.

With those key words, you will can find more informations on the web. Here is what I learned on a Etsy page:

"This is for ONE of these authentic 1920's adjustable brass flapper head piece.

If you search "Egyptian Revival Brass Headpiece" on Pintrest you will find great pictures of these on models and alot of information…These are highly collectible and pretty rare to find for sale.

"These beautifully hammered metal art-deco headpieces were the “must haves” of the roaring 1920’s Egyptian revival period.They were fashioned with green-enamel drops and faux pearls dripping from a circular motif decorated tool bar. The pearl loop is attached to a metal rod that moves freely in a circle so as you move your head they will stay draped properly. Bilateral design and head brass bars are adjustable either way. The headpiece can be slightly bent by hand to match your head and then hammered down to keep that shape.

Only sign of age is some natural patina that is fairly even all over. This patina makes these pieces beautiful and truly antique. Headpiece does adjust to fit up to a 24 inch head comfortably."

https://www.etsy.com/listing/464363798/1920s-rare-art-deco-brass-egyptian?show_sold_out_detail=1&ref=nla_listing_details

[toxintouch]

Kinktober speedrun time! Used the Mirror prompt on this list. Thank you for the inspo! Further details below the cut so that the above the cut stays safe for anyone who is just scrolling through!

18+ Content MDNI || Dom!Reader x Leander

PROMPT/KINK(S): Dom!Reader, Mirror Use. Edging/Orgasm Denial + Light Degradation & Name calling (Leander being referred to as a dog but he’s really into it, promise) + Power Exchange & Sub/Dom Dynamics

OTHER INFO: Leander has a dick, anatomy of Reader/POV Character remains unspecified; "they" pronouns used.

Leander has the straight backed posture of a man who was given etiquette lessons.  His mannerisms speak of wealth and class, yet they can’t help but observe that he looks completely comfortable while down on his knees.

His back muscles flex as he works himself, sweat slipping down his spine, pooling in the dimples just above his ass.  He’s strung tight, the veins in his arms straining as he strokes a quick, even rhythm.  His dick is flushed a painful red, copious amounts of pre-cum dripping down his wrist and splattering onto his thick thighs, some of it even dirtying the floor below when his strokes become too enthusiastic.

(They wonder how best to make him clean it later–he does so love to be ordered to lick up his own mess–but this floor is probably just as filthy as anywhere else in the Wick, despite appearances–and they don’t think they can find it in themself to make use of his mouth again after watching that.)

The full length mirror hanging in front of Leander is a new addition to the room. Something they’d wheedled out of him with nothing but an easy promise, whispered into his ear down at the bar.  It was theirs not a full day later: a polished brass antique with a priceless clear finish.

His back is to them, but they can see everything they need to by gazing at his reflection.

His strokes stutter, faltering, and they watch as his abdominals jump rapidly. His hand makes a few more shaky attempts before he stops himself with a shudder, breathing hard and squeezing his cock at the base to cut off his own orgasm. They give a little hum of approval, waiting.

“Count.”  They prompt, when he fails to remember on his own.  

They watch his throat bob with effort as he swallows, his jaw trembling around his answer.  “Five.”

“Good boy,” they say, their voice flat and unrewarding.  Dismissive. "Guess that Hightown education really paid off for you, huh?" He whines at that, his palms slicking along his thighs, awaiting their instruction.  He glances at them in the mirror, eyes hopeful. “Again,” they prompt, “and keep your eyes on yourself until I tell you.  During, too. You were closing them a lot. It's just you and the mirror until you've earned otherwise.”

Bites his lip, beginning to stroke himself again.

The next edge comes more quickly.

His eyebrows draw up, mouth falling open, back arching.  His cock jumps and this time he falls back onto his hands to keep from giving into temptation.  His eyes travel the length of the mirror, his neck taught with tension as he pants.  They notice his gaze darting along their form for a moment, greedily stealing along their silhouette in the looking glass. A quick glance of the place where their legs are splayed open as they lounge on the bed behind him, toying with themself idly.

He’s back to form so seamlessly, he probably thinks they didn’t even notice. The next number falls out of his mouth without prompting, as if to cover for his earlier sleight.

"..."

“Baby,” he whines, fidgeting without further instruction. His fingers return to his dick when they don't reply, ghosting over his wet, swollen cockhead.  He knows they hate the way that epithet sounds in his voice, the condescending lilt he manages to wrap around the syllables. “Sweetheart. Please, may I–”

“Bad dog,” they admonish.  They don't elaborate–let him figure out for himself which breach of protocol they're scolding him for.

“Again. And if you can’t behave, I’ll have to put you outside.”

18+ Master List | SFW Master List ✦Kinktober Speedrun on Ao3

Consider: this type of power play with yandere!Leander...you watching him when he's usually the one watching you...

[lysenfeu]

Devil in the Details •Part 1•

Captain John Price is pushed to extreme lengths to make up for his massive failure in the field.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x F!Reader

1.1k Words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Angst, Grief, Dark themes, Mentions of death, Supernatural

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mission was a catastrophic failure. Everything went wrong and John made it home by the skin of teeth, barely alive and the only one left. The boys, his boys, were gone. He knows it should have been him, not them. He should have been dead and buried in that desert and his boys gotten home safe. They didn't deserve this ending, they had so much more to live for. But not anymore, their promising careers and futures were cut short because of him.

The brass put him on leave, didn't even ask him about it. Just ordered him off base for a few weeks, doubled it when he wouldn't put the whiskey bottle down long enough to make it into his office. He fucked it up and now he's stuck here without them. Broken and alone, haunted by ghosts of the men he let down and lost.

He won't accept it.

Can't accept it. There needs to be a way he can fix this. To turn back time, bring them back, whatever it takes. His duty wasn't really to the military, it was to his team. And as long as he still lives, that duty will remain.

There must be a way.

So he spends his time reading and researching. Trying to find a way to solve this problem. That's what he does best, solve problems. And what's three bodies in the ground if not a fucking problem? He latches on to anything he can, no matter how farfetched, that promises him salvation. He chases thin threads of information, whispers of rituals and summonings, things that grant wishes at a cost.

Finally, he gets restless and goes out hunting. Trawling occult shops, new age bookstores, antique dealers, anywhere that might have more information or the tools he needs. He ends up in places he shouldn't, asking questions he really shouldn't. He's mostly met with concerned glances and cautious half-answers. But the shopkeepers politely dodging his requests for more and more obscure and dark texts doesn't deter him in the least. Eventually, some indulge him. Tell him fanciful tales of beings with immense power, ones that have control over life and death. Creatures that can grant him his deepest desires, for a price.

He knows what he needs to do.

One day, he gets lucky in a little pawn shop a town or two over, with a flair for the spooky and macabre. The owner found the book in a box of junk they sourced from an auctioned-off storage locker. It was stuffed between fake crystals and low-quality bone jewellery, the lot worth almost nothing. The owner thinks it's just a prop, a total fake like the rest, but they knew Price was willing to pay for this type of thing so they gave him a call. John's there in less than an hour. He opens it, thumbs through a few pages and cracks a smile for the first time in weeks. He thinks this might have the answers he needs.

With a plain, unassuming cover of simple brown leather and various stains (he's very much hoping are tea) on a number of the pages, the whole book is scrawled top to bottom and front to back with messy handwriting in a variety of inks. Drawings break up the text, sketches of different plants and flowers mixed with carefully labelled diagrams showing various shapes and runes in different configurations. There has to be something of value here.

The pawn shop owner is getting antsy about his purchase, so with a strong poker face and some pointed mentions of military discounts, he deftly haggles his way through the transaction and rushes home with his new acquisition.

He flies into his study the moment he arrives and dives into the book. It's well-preserved and filled with notes, John quickly learns the author has a fondness for herbs. After a hundred pages of interesting but not quite useful information, and about a dozen too many sketches of different stalks of mugwort, he's falling back into that despondent mood that seems to increase by the day, the smile long since dropped from his weary face. He's nearly done flipping through the entire thing when something catches his eye. Right at the end of the book, there's a nearly empty page. It contains only a single detailed sketch and a handful of words in blood-red ink.

His heart starts to race as he stares down at the images. A picture of a circle sits in the middle of the page, containing a twelve-pointed star with several tiny smaller symbols on each point. Some are easy to decipher, there's a sun, moon and skull drawn quite clearly. A dagger and a scroll, perhaps that one might be fire or a very odd-shaped leaf, sitting next to a set of horns. The rest are just scribbles to him and he frowns at the unfamiliar pictures.

There's one image larger than the others sitting in the dead centre of the star that he easily recognizes as a set of scales. There's something about them that makes him stay and linger, unable to pull his gaze away. He brushes a hand over the ink and a tingle runs down his spine. The scales glitter faintly under his touch, trying to draw him in, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

A small smile finally returns to his face.

This is it.

This is how he'll get them back.

Adrenaline is pumping through his veins as he pushes himself up from his chair and races to gather supplies. He pays no mind to the text at the very bottom of the page, too eager and overwhelmed by his discovery of the ritual circle to take heed of the single sentence in large block letters.

“DANGEROUS - DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SUMMON”

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(Part 2)

[instructionsnotincluded]

Wild Winds

Chapter X

Excerpt:

Logan couldn’t help but bite down on her lower lip, feeling even more nervous now as she stood on the front porch of Tannyhill, Ellie leading the charge as she knocked on the front door, fingers wrapped around the brass, antique door knocker. JJ hung back behind Logan, leaning against the railing as he took in the house and the area surrounding it, squinting up at the details that she knew he didn’t understand the point of. 

Eventually, the door swung open and Rafe Cameron stood there, a slight frown on his face as he stared at them all, his gaze lingering on Logan before his attention flickered back to Ellie, the girl already mid sentence, “—and we just wanted to make sure that she’s ok and not too hard on herself.”

Rafe blinked down at her and Logan heard JJ shift behind her, the oldest Maybank having to purse her lips to keep from laughing at the confused look on Rafe’s face. “Wait…what…?”

“We’re here to check on Wheezie,” Ellie repeated, albeit a little slower, and this time JJ didn’t keep from snorting in amusement, “if she’s home. She used to help me in the kitchen before her lessons when mom was with another student, and I know that she loves comfort food, so I thought we could make her some of her favorites. Cheer her up a bit. I haven’t seen her at the club or around town, and I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Yeah, sure.” Logan was pretty sure Ellie could have said anything at that moment and he still would have let them in, his eyes straying to her every few seconds, “Wheezie’s in the living room.”

[udoai]

Realistic and detailed epic close-up photo of a plague doctor from 1916, wearing a long dark leather coat with a hood instead of a hat and a menacing bird mask with a long beak, large 18th century gothic style writing in blood "I HATE YOU" The character is depicted from the waist up, slightly turned to the side with a mysterious and menacing expression. Medieval room with chemistry flasks, The mask has antique brass details and dark glass eye lenses. The background is pitch black, with subtle shadows to highlight the figure. The style is dark, gothic and gritty, with a high level of detail, showing the textures on the coat, hood and mask. Dramatic lighting to create a dark and disturbing atmosphere, emphasizing the enigmatic and intimidating aura of the character, hdr, uhd, detailed dress, 4k, 8k --ar 9:16 --style raw --v 6.1

[writingwithfolklore]

Your Story is About 5(ish) Objects

A famous piece of writing advice you may have heard before is that your story isn’t about feelings or opinions or ideas, but events and objects. Tangible nouns. We did a similar writing prompt a long time ago where I challenged you to pick a person, object, and situation, and write something from that (find it here if you’re interested).

                This time, I want you to take a project you’re already working on (or are planning to work on) and pick out 5 tangible nouns that your story is about. The more specific and detailed you can get the better—in fact, if you can find a photo or if you already own your object, that’s even better.

                This can look like:

A brightly coloured children’s storybook about the dangers of crossing the road without looking

An antique tiffany lamp with large pink roses and a brass base, it no longer works

A real fireplace with logs burnt all the way down to the grate

A journal with yellowed pages, crooked from years of being held and bent

A pack of gum, mint flavoured

What do these objects mean? What do they say about their owner? How do they come together and tell a story? What memories, additional senses, emotions do they hold?

                Tag your five objects with zero context, and we can all try to guess what your story is about!

                (Here is one I did for a dream I had a while ago, I’m sure you can tell what happened in it)

Baby that shrinks in size a little more every day

White crib with little pink flowers

Vacuum cleaner

My mother

Shag carpet

[sparkledlotus]

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[godesssiri]

Thrifting antiques and valuable vintage.

I have an 8 foot high shelf in my living room. It’s huge and it’s packed full of gorgeous goodies. I would estimate that there’s easily $10,000 on those shelves – a grand a shelf + a bit extra because I have a pair of stupidly valuable vases that I could sell for $3000. Have I actually spent that much to acquire those items? Hahahahahahahahahahaha! No. I’m not rich, what I am is a dedicated thrifter who has learned to pick the treasures from the trash. Here are my best tips:

1.Pick things up, turn them over, look for maker’s marks, snap a pic and do a google image search, with a lot of them you can narrow down when something was made to a 10-20 year time-frame. Is the item heavier than you were expecting? Antiques are often heavier than new productions because they’re using better quality materiel or just more of the materiel because it was cheaper back then. Look for signs of wear, has the paint or plating rubbed off over time? Unless you like that look steer clear of really worn items, the fact they’re so worn detracts from the value and indicates they weren’t that high quality to begin with. You can learn and awful lot just by picking something up off the shelf.

2. Hand painted items. The stupidly valuable vases? Are exquisitely hand-painted. I got them for 30 bucks and almost had a heart attack when I did a google image search. I’ve got several hand painted things that I’ve picked up for cheap and could easily sell for 10 x what I paid for them. Look for fine painting, things that are intricate and detailed, not blobby. There is a HUGE collector’s market for hand-painted Chinese export porcelain that's over about 50 years old at least.

3. Antique books. A lot of people don’t place value on old books and tragically A LOT get thrown in the trash or cut up by crafters (if you are an artist who uses old books in your work, I’m BEGGING you to look at the publication date before you cut the pages out unless it’s already so damaged there’s no saving it). Anything pre-1950 there’s a collector’s market. Anything over 100 years old is officially antique and is a treasure. I have 3 books that were published in the 1700s and the most I’ve paid was $50, one of them I got for $10 – because the sellers didn’t bother to google the title and author and figure out exactly how old the book was. Since at least the early 1800s most books have had the publication date printed right there in the front so it’s super easy to figure out if the book in your hand with a 50-cent price tag is a genuine antique.

4. Pairs. Things are always more valuable as a pair. So, if you have the chance to buy a pair grab them. The stupidly valuable vases are more valuable as a pair – a single sells for $1000. Or if something was once part of a pair and there’s a chance of you coming across another one then it’s well worth it to make a new pair. I will always grab a single foo-dog/temple-lion because I have made up pairs from 2 singles and it instantly increases the value. The same goes for sets of things. I’m slowly putting together a set of 6 Libby cactus margarita glasses and when I have a full set I’ll probably sell them because I need the space and I have other glasses I like better – but I won’t sell until I find number 6 (I’ve got 5 and it’s driving me insane waiting to find the last one) because an even numbered set is worth so much more than an odd number.

5. Solid brass. See above re. picking things up and feeling for the weight. Solid brass is a lot heavier than hollow and is worth a whole lot more. Next time you’re in a thrift store and there’s a bunch of brass pick up different things and feel the difference in weight, you’ll find a huge variance between similarly sized items. The heavier ones also tend to have finer details which is another indicator and quality and value – not always but most of the time.

6. Details. Speaking of fine detail, up until fairly recently the more finely detailed something was the harder it was to manufacture, therefore the higher quality it was, so always keep an eye on the details. Look at how anything that came from a mold is shaped – are the details sharp and clear or are they a bit blurred and blobby, does it have a visible seem? If something is carved is the carving detailed and smooth or chunky and rough? If something is jointed together, are the joins tight and straight or is there a gap or a crooked join? Look closely and see how things have been made. Good quality is easy to spot when you look closely.

7. Be prepared to pay up. Sometimes you’ll come across things that are pricey by thrift store standards but they’re still a fraction of what the item is actually worth. I have a malachite trinket box. I paid $45 for it and was hesitant to spend that much. But I looked it up and similarly sized boxes brand new are about $150. I’d always wanted a malachite box but there’s no way I’m ever gonna spend $150 on one. But $45? That fits into my discretionary budget for something I’d always wanted. I love Majolica pottery, but it is very very expensive so when I’m able to thrift it I’m willing to pay up – thrift store prices are still just a fraction of antique store prices even when they know they’ve got something special and have priced it on the higher side. And I have picked up some incredible bargains, like a plate for $10, when most of the plates in the store were in the $1-$5 range, but if they’d slapped a $20 price-tag on it then it still would have been a bargain because the same plate from and antique dealer would have cost me $50.

8. Know what you’re looking for. If you love a certain type of antique or vintage collectable, then research research research. Create a pintrest board and pin 10 zillion examples of that that thing until you can identify one in the wild just by a 2 second glance. Read up about when and where it was manufactured. If you see it in antique stores for way more than you’re willing/able to pay still go looking because seeing it in person helps you to learn what to look for when you’re thrifting. Look at listings online and read the descriptions, follow online auctions to see what it goes for, so you know when you find it and it’s way under-value, or maybe there won't be many bidders and you can score a bargain. You can search for things on Ebay then sort by sold listings and that’ll tell you what collectors are actually willing to pay so you can make a realistic offer to a dealer who has it way overpriced. I research a lot, and I know to swoop on a Victorian Bristol glass vase for $7 because it’s actually worth $50, or a Famille Rose vase for $5 when it’s worth $80 (I have a vase addiction OK? I’m aware of it, I have no interest in seeking treatment for it).

9. Search specifically and also search broadly. When you’re looking online it’s great to enter very specific search terms because even if you don’t find things you can afford, you’ll learn a lot. And sometimes you do find exactly what you’re looking for at a reasonable price. If you’re willing to put in the time, it’s also well worth it to keep your search terms very broad. One of the antiques I love is Chinese export Famille Rose porcelain. Yesterday I literally just typed ‘Chinese’ into FB Marketplace and scrolled through hundreds of listings because I figured if there was someone out there who didn’t know exactly what it was, they would at least be able to tell it was Chinese and they might have it listed as ‘Chinese porcelain’ or ‘Chinese figure’ or one I found was ‘Weird little Chinese dude’. I currently have 4 figurines on their way to me that are worth about $200 all up and I spent less than $40 including shipping – yes, I bought the weird little dude. I’ll often just type in ‘Antique’ and set a range of how far I’m willing to drive and just see what cool old stuff is available in that range – often people don’t know what they’ve got but they know it’s old so they list it as antique and you can pick up ridiculous bargains cause they don’t see the value in the item and just want it gone but want a few bucks for it.

10. Pick what you love. In the end it doesn’t matter if something is incredibly valuable if you think it’s ugly. I keep the stupidly valuable vases because I love them and enjoy looking at them on my shelf. I could flip them for a profit and if the day ever came that I really needed to then I would. But it didn’t cost me much to have that beauty in my life and I’m gonna keep it until I’m good and ready to let it go. The more you indulge your own tastes the more discerning you become and the more you’re able to spot treasure in the trash. My favorite aisle in my favorite thrift store is the one where the staff shove items that they think are rubbish. I’ve picked easily a thousand dollars worth of antiques from that aisle in the last year alone because they were things that I liked – things that made me go: Ooh that’s something special.

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Werewolf/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 5,506 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

While antiquing, you find a locket with a beautiful portrait inside. Thinking they must have sold it by mistake, you track the owner down - only to discover he's much more than you thought.

You walked into the antique shop, greeted by the familiar bell's ring. The air smelled like old books and polished wood, a comforting scent you'd come to associate with the store. It was your Aunt Lucinda's shop, filled to the brim with trinkets from the past. Each item, from the brass candlesticks to the porcelain dolls, held a story.

Aunt Lucinda was right in the thick of it, on her knees in front of boxes filled with new items. Seeing you, she stood up, brushing dust off her knees. "Morning," she said, smiling. "Would you help me with these?"

You laughed and nodded, removing your jacket. "Of course, Aunt Lucinda."

You and Aunt Lucinda were close; she'd raised you after your parents passed away. Together, you shared this love for antiques, each piece a whisper from the past. She was more than just family; she was your friend.

You started with the first box, digging through the assorted items. This was the best part – every object had a story, and discovering it was exciting. You pulled out a clock, a fan, and a tea set, carefully setting them aside.

Then, your hand closed around a small locket. It was beautiful, with intricate designs etched onto its surface. You held the locket up to the light, examining it closer. It was gold, with a delicate chain and a small clasp. The outside was etched with intricate, swirling patterns, the work of a skilled jeweller.

The real beauty was inside. A black and white photo of a woman was tucked safely in it. She was strikingly beautiful with high cheekbones, expressive eyes, and a confident smile. There was something about her that held your gaze, something timeless and captivating, but also strange.

Turning to Aunt Lucinda, you held out the locket. "Look at this, Aunt Lucinda. This feels personal. I think it was sold by mistake."

Lucinda accepted the locket, peering at it with her reading glasses. Her brows furrowed, a soft "Hmm" escaping her lips. "This came in last week," she said, handing it back to you. "It was a man who sold it. A bit awkward, he was. Country accent."

Your curiosity piqued. "Do you remember anything else about him?"

She pondered for a moment, tapping her fingers on a box. "Dark hair, blue eyes. Quite tall. Oh, and he had a bit of a strange look about him."

You rose a brow. “Strange how?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing I could put my finger on, exactly.”

Odd, but there wasn’t a shortage of odd in Pinecoast. "Do you have his contact information?" you asked, hope lacing your voice. "We should ask him about this."

Lucinda nodded, rising from her chair. She had a habit of keeping the contact details of the people who sold to her, at least for a little while. She rummaged through a drawer, finally pulling out a notebook filled with names and numbers. Her finger trailed down the list until it paused. "Here he is," she said, pointing at the name Levi and a phone number next to it.

"Thanks, Aunt Lucinda," you said, holding the locket. "I'll give him a call at lunch.”

With Levi's number saved in your phone, you went back to sorting through the new items. Yet, even as you carefully examined each piece and decided on the markup, your thoughts kept drifting back to the locket.

The antique shop was filled with the usual afternoon bustle. Customers trickled in, attracted by the charm of vintage and history. Aunt Lucinda was at her element, making conversations, sharing stories about the items, and handling transactions with her usual flair.

You, on the other hand, preferred the quieter sanctuary of the backroom, filled with shelves of unsorted items. The room smelled strongly of age and mystery, and every piece in the room was a story yet to be told. It was your favourite part of the shop, a private realm where you could dig into the past without interruptions.

Even amidst the silent company of antiquities, the locket was a constant presence. An insistent whisper in your mind that lured you away from your work. Finally, giving in to your curiosity, you picked up the locket once more.

The woman inside was indeed beautiful. Her features were finely drawn, her expression serene. Her eyes, however, were odd. At first glance, they seemed to be a normal part of the black and white photograph. As you studied the portrait further, you noticed something unusual about her pupils. They were slanted, almost like... an animal's.

A shiver of excitement passed through you. The locket was becoming even more fascinating. The woman in the portrait, so elegant and yet with such peculiar eyes, was a riddle you yearned to solve.

You closed the locket gently, lost in thought. The antique shop carried on its usual pace around you, but for now, you were drawn into the world of the locket. Who was this woman, and what was her story? And, most importantly, what would Levi have to say about it? You decided then and there - you would call him as soon as lunch hour hit.

Time passed at a crawl, but eventually you decided to call Levi. The first attempt went unanswered, his voice message greeting was curt and slightly awkward. You left a brief message and decided to try again later.

The second call was picked up after a few rings. "Hello?" A gruff voice, tinged with a thick country English accent, filled the line.

"Hello, is this Levi?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yeah, this is Levi. Who's this?" His tone was a bit wary, but you caught a note of curiosity there as well.

You gave him your name, smiling even though he couldn’t see it. “I work at the antique shop where you sold some things last week," you explained, keeping your voice steady.

There was a pause, then he said, "Oh, right. How can I help you, then?"

His use of your name sent an unexpected flutter through your stomach. You found his awkwardness charming and somewhat endearing. You took a deep breath and plunged into the reason for your call.

"We found a locket among the items you sold. It has a picture inside," you explained. "It felt... personal. We thought it might have been included by mistake."

Another pause. Then, a sharp intake of breath. "A locket?" he sounded horrified. "Bloody hell, I've been looking everywhere for that. It wasn't meant to go to the shop."

You felt a rush of relief. Your hunch had been right. "I thought so," you said, your tone gentle. "I’m glad I checked."

"Yeah, thanks," he said, sounding genuinely relieved. "I'll swing by tomorrow to collect it."

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. "Actually, I could drop it off after work," you offered. "If you're not too far, that is."

His surprise was evident. "If you’re sure. I live just outside town, by the woods. Are you sure it wouldn't be a bother?"

"No, not at all," you assured him. "I'll text you for the address later."

"Alright, then. Thank you, Grace," Levi said, sounding deeply grateful.

After hanging up, you found your heart beating faster. The call had gone well. Not only had you connected with the locket's owner, but you also had an opportunity to meet him. The mystery of the locket was one step closer to being solved, and you couldn't help the thrill of anticipation that rushed through you.

***

As the day came to a close, Aunt Lucinda locked the door to the shop, her face aglow with the satisfaction of another day well spent among her beloved antiques. Turning to you, her expression turned serious.

"Promise me you'll be safe, Grace," she said, her voice laced with worry. "It's getting dark and you're heading towards the woods."

You nodded, understanding her concern. "Don't worry, Aunt Lucinda. I'm just dropping off the locket. I'll call you when I get back, alright?"

Lucinda seemed somewhat relieved by your reassurances. "Alright, then. Remember, safety first."

You both walked to your respective cars parked by the shop. As Lucinda drove away, you pulled out your phone to check the address Levi had texted you. It wasn't too far - a house located on the outskirts of town, close to the woods.

As you started your car and began driving, a sense of excitement fluttered in your stomach. This wasn't just about returning a locket anymore. It was about the mystery behind it, the intriguing woman in the portrait, and, now, meeting the man who had unintentionally set you off on this journey - Levi.

The sun was setting as you drove towards the address, casting long shadows across the quiet town. The anticipation of the meeting ahead tingled at the back of your mind. Who was Levi, really? How did the locket come into his possession? What was the story behind the peculiar eyes of the woman in the portrait?

Lost in thought, you didn't realise how quickly time passed until you saw the woods approaching in the distance.

As you followed the winding road towards Levi's address, you noticed how the hustle of the town gradually faded into a serene quiet, replaced by the lush green canopy of the woods. After a few more turns, you arrived at the edge of the road where a quaint cabin-like cottage was nestled.

It was a picturesque sight. The house was an inviting mix of warm wood and weathered stone, framed by tall trees and a carpet of greenery. Wildflowers in a myriad of colours dotted the front yard, blending with climbing vines that adorned the walls and window sills of the cottage. The setting sun cast a soft golden glow over the scene, making the cottage look like a picture straight out of a fairytale.

Feeling an undeniable charm emanating from the place, you got out of your car, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of the woods. The locket, carefully wrapped and tucked into your bag, seemed to thrum with an unspoken story.

Climbing from the car and approaching the door, you pressed the doorbell. The sound echoed slightly inside, followed by a bit of scuffle. A bark followed, high-pitched and excited. Then, the door swung open just as a small corgi rushed past, tail wagging furiously as it sniffed at your feet in enthusiastic greeting.

Standing in the doorway was Levi. He looked just as Aunt Lucinda had described - tall, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a lanky yet muscular build. There was a rugged handsomeness about him that you hadn't quite expected.

"Hey," he said, his country accent stronger in person. He flashed an awkward, slightly nervous smile. His eyes, shadows by that dark, messy hair, seemed to hold a hint of surprise, probably at the sight of the corgi greeting a stranger with such affection.

"Sorry about Annalise," Levi said, scratching the back of his head. "She's not usually this excitable around strangers. She must like you."

Annalise, the corgi, wagged her tail in agreement, her tongue lolling out happily. You couldn't help but grin at her, reaching down to pet her fluffy head.

Levi's presence was indeed intimidating, his tall frame looming over you. Yet, you noticed how he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, almost as if he was aware of the effect he had. This made you feel slightly better, easing the unusual shyness that had taken hold of you.

"I have your locket," you said, regretfully tearing your hand away from Annalise to pull out the small package from your bag.

His eyes lit up with relief as he took the locket, cradling it gently in his hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. "Thanks. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

You smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "It's no problem, Levi. I'm glad I could help."

Just as you were about to turn and leave, Annalise decided she wasn't ready to say goodbye. She started barking at your feet, running circles around you.

Levi chuckled, his laugh a low, rich sound. "Looks like Annalise won't let you leave just yet. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"

The invitation was unexpected. Yet, the warmth of the cottage and the prospect of spending more time with Levi (and Annalise) felt inviting.

"That sounds lovely," you agreed, a small thrill of excitement coursing through you.

Stepping into Levi's cottage, you were instantly struck by the warm, inviting atmosphere. The place was filled with charming antiques, each holding their own piece of history. Levi, despite his obvious awkwardness, exuded a genuine kindness that made you feel at ease.

He led you to a small kitchen at the front of the house, his strides long yet unhurried. The kitchen was a pleasant mix of modern appliances and vintage decor. Antique spice racks lined the walls, holding an assortment of colourful jars. A vintage kettle whistled gently on the stove, next to a set of ceramic mugs that looked like they were from the Victorian era. A charmingly old wooden clock ticked away peacefully on the wall.

Unable to resist, you admired the antique items openly. "These are lovely," you murmured, reaching out to gently touch the ceramic mugs. "They're definitely Victorian, perhaps even from the aesthetic movement."

Levi looked surprised at your knowledge. "You know your stuff," he said, sounding impressed.

You shrugged modestly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "I guess working at an antique shop has its perks."

Throughout the exchange, Annalise followed closely at your heels, her tail wagging non-stop. It wasn't until you sat down at the small kitchen table that she seemed to calm down. Bending down, you ran your fingers through her fur, her eyes closing in contentment at the attention.

While Levi attended to the coffee, your eyes wandered around the kitchen, coming to rest on a collection of family photographs hung on the wall above the table. The black and white images depicted moments from a time gone by, telling a story that spanned generations.

The first photograph that caught your eye was one of a man and a woman. The woman was immediately recognisable – the same striking features from the locket, but she was years younger.Oddly, her eyes were normal in this photo. She was standing close to a man, presumably her husband, both happy and in love.

The second photograph was a group picture featuring a much younger Levi, flanked by his parents and grandparents. Even as a child, his striking blue eyes stood out. The older woman, his grandmother, shared the same unique eyes.

A third photograph showed a larger group - Levi along with multiple brothers and sisters. You studied each face, noting how most of them had normal eyes, except for Levi, his grandmother, and one of his sisters. You felt a strange chill run up your spine as you realised their eyes resembled those of the woman in the locket.

Your gaze lingered on the photographs, a whirlwind of thoughts running through your head. What was the significance of those distinctive eyes? And why did only a few family members have them?

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when Levi placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of you. "Hope you like it," he said, his voice pulling you back to the present.

"I'm sure I will," you replied, turning your attention back to him. Yet, you knew that the mystery behind those unique eyes and the intriguing family photographs was far from being solved.

As you both settled at the kitchen table with your mugs of coffee, the conversation began to flow more naturally. Levi asked about your work at the antique shop, his questions revealing a genuine interest.

"I can't apologise enough for the hassle," he said, running a hand through his dark hair. "The locket wasn't meant to be in that box I sold to the shop."

"It's no hassle at all, Levi," you assured him, your gaze wandering back to the photographs above the table. "I was happy to come out here. Plus, I got to meet Annalise," you added with a smile, looking down at the corgi snoozing contently at your feet.

His lips quirked up into a shy smile, his blue eyes softening. "I'm glad you like her. She certainly likes you."

Changing the subject, you started to talk about his home. "Your house is beautiful. I love all the antiques you've collected; but isn't it difficult living this far out of town?" you asked, recalling the lack of a car outside.

"I manage," he replied with a shrug. "I get most things delivered, and I enjoy the quiet of the woods. And I..." He paused, seeming to consider his words. "I don't drive."

That surprised you. "Really? That's unusual."

Levi nodded, a bit of discomfort crossing his face. "I guess you could say I'm a bit of a shut-in. I prefer it this way." He quickly added, "it's not something I like to discuss."

Your curiosity was piqued, but you respected his privacy. Instead, you took another sip of your coffee, savouring the rich flavour. Meanwhile, a myriad of questions swirled around in your head – about the locket, Levi's family, his reclusive lifestyle, and those unique, piercing blue eyes.

After you finished your coffee, you checked the time and realised how late it had gotten. "I should probably head back, it's getting late," you said, standing up from the table.

As you declared your intention to leave, a soft lull fell over the room. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, rather a peaceful one, filled with the quiet ticking of the antique clock and the soft whistling of the wind outside.

"Of course," Levi nodded, his voice understanding, as he moved to lead you to the door.

Annalise, roused herself from her nap, tail wagging as she followed the pair of you.

Reaching the door, you could feel Levi's eyes on you, as if he was grappling with something. The slight furrow of his brows and the way his lips pressed together in thought hinted at an internal debate. Not wanting to rush him, you simply waited, your fingers brushing against the worn texture of the door.

"Grace?" he finally said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "I... um, I was wondering... would you like to come by again? Maybe for another cup of coffee?" His words hung in the air, filled with hope and a little bit of uncertainty.

You felt a warm smile spread across your face at his words. Teasingly, you said, "That’s unexpected, especially from a self-proclaimed shut in." Your heart fluttered at the sight of a faint blush creeping up his neck, his blue eyes dropping to the floor in slight embarrassment.

"Well," he started, lifting his gaze back to meet yours, the blush still evident on his cheeks, "I am usually a shut-in; but, I think... I'd like to get to know you better, Grace."

The honesty in his words brought a sense of warmth to your heart. His confession, the awkwardness of it all, felt so genuine, so raw that it was endearing. His company had been a source of comfort to you tonight, in ways you hadn't anticipated.

"I'd like that too, Levi," you found yourself saying, the words coming out much easier than you thought they would. His face brightened up at your acceptance, a beautiful smile that reached his eyes, making them twinkle in the dimly lit room.

With a contented sigh, you stepped out into the cool night air, a sense of tranquillity washing over you. As you turned to wave him a final goodbye, you realised how fondly you were already thinking of Levi, this enigmatic man with a locket and a secret.

The drive back home was filled with thoughts of him and his charming little cottage, the locket, and those fascinating blue eyes. You found yourself already anticipating your next visit, wondering what other secrets and stories were waiting to unfold.

***

Over the next month, life took on a rhythm. The antique shop kept you busy, and the free time you had was mostly spent with Levi. Aunt Lucinda, ever the matchmaker, teased you constantly about your budding relationship, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Your time with Levi was usually spent at his cottage by the woods. He would show you his antique collection, each piece with a story to tell. Evenings were reserved for 'bad horror movie nights' - just the two of you curled up on his old, comfortable couch with a pile of snacks, laughing at the ridiculous plot lines and cheesy effects.

But amidst all the comfort and laughter, something was gnawing at the back of your mind - the picture in the locket and Levi's eyes. Every now and then, you'd find yourself looking at him, studying his face, trying to catch a glimpse of those odd, slanted pupils that you'd seen in the photograph.

One evening, you found yourself back on Levi's couch, beer in hand and a rather terrible werewolf movie playing on the screen.

As the moonlight filtered through the window, it hit Levi's face at an angle. For a brief second, you saw his pupils shift, resembling the ones in the picture. It was brief, but it was there.

Surprised, you turned to him. "Levi," you started, your voice cautious, "your eyes... they just..."

He seemed to understand what you were about to say, because he turned his face away from you, hiding his eyes in the shadow. The action felt heavy, like there was more to it than just a simple reflex.

The room went silent except for the terrible movie continuing to play in the background. You felt a flurry of emotions - surprise, concern, but above all, a growing curiosity. This man, who you had grown so fond of, had a secret. And you found yourself wanting to know what it was.

You watched Levi, the way his broad shoulders stiffened and his posture closed off. His face was turned away from you, shadowed and unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable.

You could have let it drop. It would have been easy to return your attention to the movie, to ignore the sudden shift in the room. But looking at him now, the vulnerability he was showing, the shame he was trying so hard to hide, you found you couldn't ignore it.

"Levi," you began gently, turning on the couch to face him. You laid a reassuring hand on his arm, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. "Your great-grandmother had the same eyes in the locket," you continued softly, “and some of your family in the pictures too."

You felt him stiffen slightly at your words. The movie played on, but your focus was on Levi, on coaxing him out of his shell. This wasn't about idle curiosity anymore; you could see that he was genuinely worried, that this secret was something that he held close, something he feared sharing.

"It's okay, Levi," you murmured, your hand moving to gently squeeze his arm. "You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready. I just want you to know that... whatever it is, it doesn't change how I feel about you."

At your words, you felt him relax a bit, his posture losing some of its rigidity. He still didn't meet your eyes, but he turned towards you a bit, a silent acknowledgement of your words.

You waited, giving him the space to process your words, to decide what he wanted to do. There was no pressure here, no judgement, only acceptance and understanding. You hoped Levi could see that, and that, whatever his secret was, he knew he didn't have to bear it alone.

After a pause that felt both too short and too long, Levi turned back to face you. As he did, you found yourself looking into his eyes again. They were different now. His blue eyes, always so captivating, were even brighter now, almost glowing in the dim light of the room. The pupils, the ones that you had only caught glimpses of before, were clear and distinct now - oddly shaped, almost like that of an animal.

Despite the initial surprise, you found yourself drawn to them. There was something wild and beautiful about them, something incredibly captivating. "They're beautiful, Levi," you found yourself saying, your voice almost a whisper.

At your words, he gave a soft, incredulous laugh, his gaze dropping to his hands. "You don't have to say that, you know," he mumbled, clearly not believing you.

“I mean it,” you replied, reaching out to brush a gentle hand across his cheek. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to tell me anything, too.”

“You deserve to know.” Taking a deep breath, as if steeling himself, Levi began to explain. "I'm not... entirely human," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Neither is any of my family. It all started with my great-grandmother. She was bitten by a werewolf."

His words hung in the air between you two. The idea, the reality of it, felt both strange and incredible at the same time. You had seen werewolves on the big screen, read about them in books, but the concept of them being real, of Levi being one, was something you had never imagined. Yet somehow… you believed him.

"It’s not like the movies," he continued, his gaze back on you, eyes glowing intensely. "It wasn't a curse. It became a part of her, a part of us. It runs in the family, you see. Some of us, like me, we have...traits we struggle to hide even in human form."

The confession hung in the air, his words wrapping around you like a cocoon, leaving the two of you in this intimate bubble of shared secrets and raw honesty. Despite the strange revelations, you found yourself comforted by his words, by his trust in sharing such a secret with you.

Your hand found its way back to his arm, squeezing gently in reassurance. "Levi," you said softly, "It's okay. I understand. And it really doesn't change how I feel about you."

Levi seemed to crumble at your words, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm. The glow in his eyes seemed to flicker like a dying flame, disbelief clear on his face.

Levi looked down at your hand resting on his arm. "Grace, it's more than just the eyes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, a look of determination crossing his face. "Every month, I transform. It's painful, terrifying. My body shifts, bones snap, I’m not me anymore."

His words hung in the air, the room growing quiet except for the soft hum of the movie playing in the background.

"And it's not just the transformations. It's every day. Trying to keep my eyes normal in public. Trying to hide who I am."

He looked away, his hands clenching into fists. "It's why I moved out here. Away from everyone. It's easier to hide. Easier than seeing the stares, the questions."

Levi's words trailed off, his eyes distant. "I've lost so many friends...relationships...all because I couldn't hide who I am. I didn't want to put anyone else through that."

It was a self-sabotage, an attempt to push you away. But you didn't budge.

Before he could continue, you leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. It was a simple, comforting kiss. A way to tell him without words that you weren't scared. That you were here, that you understood. And that his secret, his true self, didn't change how you felt about him.

You pulled back, a soft smile playing on your lips. Levi sat there, still as a statue, his eyes wide with surprise. His bright blue irises, now faintly glowing with their animalistic slant, stared back at you. It was as if he was struggling to comprehend what just happened, unable to believe that you hadn't fled.

The silence in the room was palpable, the only sound being the muted movie playing in the background, creating an intimate bubble around you both. And then, after what felt like an eternity, Levi's eyes softened. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in and met your lips again.

This kiss was different. It started off gentle, mirroring the softness of your initial touch. His lips moved against yours, timid at first but growing bolder with every second. It was sweet and chaste, a mere taste of the affection you'd come to share.

His kiss grew desperate, his hands reaching up to gently cradle your face. He kissed you with an intensity that left you breathless, a raw hunger laced with a hint of vulnerability. His fingers tangled into your hair, holding you closer, as if afraid you'd slip away if he let you go.

It hit you then. The desperation, the raw need, it was a reflection of his isolation, his loneliness. He had been deprived of this – of closeness, of acceptance, of love – for so long. This realisation made your heart ache for him, made your resolve to stick by him even stronger.

As you returned his kiss with equal fervour, you hoped that he could feel it too, feel your promise. That you were here, and you were here to stay.

Pulling back, Levi looked at you, his eyes wide and questioning. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a hope mixed with fear. He was waiting for something, seeking some form of assurance.

You realised he needed to hear it, to know that you weren't just going along with this, that you genuinely wanted this. So you took his face in your hands, locking eyes with him, and poured out your heart.

"I want you to know something, Levi," you began, your voice steady and clear. "I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm not here because I think you need saving. I'm here because...because I care for you."

There it was, plain and simple. You watched as Levi's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and relief flooding his features.

"I like you for you," you continued, your hands moving to gently cup his jaw. "You're kind, you're intelligent, and you're incredibly sweet. Yes, you're a werewolf, and it's a big part of who you are - but it's not all you are."

You paused, letting your words sink in, watching as Levi's eyes flickered with an array of emotions.

"I'm curious, yes," you admitted, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. "That's because I want to know you, all of you. I want you to feel comfortable sharing your life with me, whenever you're ready."

His eyes searched yours for a long moment, perhaps seeking any sign of deceit. But all he would find was honesty, warmth, and an affection that had been blossoming since that first meeting at his front door.

"I want this, Levi," you said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I want you. We can take this at your pace, alright?"

His eyes held yours for a moment longer before something seemed to shift within him. His shoulders relaxed, and a soft sigh of relief escaped his lips. "You know," he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing against your cheek. "I've wanted this since that first cup of coffee we had together."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a surge of warmth rush through you. This wasn't one-sided, he felt this too. His confession added another layer of intimacy to this moment, a shared understanding, a shared want.

"I've spent so long hiding..." he trailed off, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "It feels good not to. With you."

His words were like a balm, soothing any lingering doubts you may have had. You saw a spark in his eyes then, a glimpse of the man he was beneath the secret he had been forced to carry alone. There was a newfound confidence in his gaze, a certainty that hadn't been there before.

Before you could respond, he was leaning in, capturing your lips with his once again. This kiss was different, though. It was a promise, a claim. It was Levi, without the fears, without the reservations. It was pure, unadulterated emotion, and you found yourself lost in the sweetness of the moment.

The world outside ceased to exist as you melted into each other, the taste of his kiss the only thing that mattered. The whispers of doubts and the uncertainty of the future faded away. For now, it was just you and Levi, wrapped up in each other, lost in the beauty of this shared intimacy.

[treasurecovejewels]

Fish earrings in antiqued brass.

Since I started this project, one of my main goals was to achieve a distressed look for my metal pieces. That's why I decided to hammer them and also apply patina to simulate that aged, darker color.

I think that these pictures portray those details very well!

[ladytemeraire]

Found a place that still makes and sells those lovely decorative Victorian triangular dust corners that make the rounds every so often! They are not entirely inexpensive, but they look sturdy and I definitely don't have to do every corner in the house at once; just adding them to the stairs would be a nice detail.

Then I made the mistake of looking through their other wares and now I'm adding a budget/savings line item for filigree air return covers for the upstairs hallway and fancy light switch plates.

I'm the opposite of those people on socials who buy exquisite Victorian houses and gut them into soulless HGTV clones. I bought a 1917 Craftsman and by God I will add as much soul and spark and whimsy to her as I can.

Now the question is: do I do oil-rubbed bronze to match the dark doorknobs and curtain rods, or do I go for brass with the antiquing for a slightly brighter look?