#rustic wheel mirror

[chinesekleptocracy]

Kitchen Dining Dining Room Inspiration for a large coastal kitchen and dining room remodel with dark wood floors

[glassbxttless]

Hi there! 👋🏽😊 As promised I have made it here to your little sandwich shop!

I would like salami and provolone on rustic sourdough, with mustard and why not make it a combo with hush puppies!

Excited to see what you whip up 😍

Much love,

- T🌙

Dinner for Two

older!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from 28bohemianmoons | when your car breaks down and the very handsome mechanic that promises to fix it invites you over for dinner, he gets a little more than he bargained for.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, bit of an age gap, eddie’s 46, reader’s in her 20’s (i picture her as late 20’s but it’s never explicitly stated. so it’s up to you), oral f receiving, pinv

notes: Order up for T! Thanks for coming by and checking out the sandwich shop 🫶🏻 There’s some parts of this I feel like I could’ve elaborated more on, but it’s already almost 5k and these fics were supposed to stay under 2k lmao (I’m also just a bit tired of fussing with it). So I hope you enjoy! Big thanks to @prettycalla & @keeryhours for reading this over and as always, the biggest thanks to @peachyproserpina for editing! I’m a mess without her.

Your engine coughs once. Then it sputters. Then it fucking dies completely.

You coast to the shoulder of the road with a sinking feeling in your stomach. Your hazard lights blinking uselessly in the evening dusk. You’re not far from town, but far enough to know this is going to be a pain in the ass. You sit behind the wheel in silence for a few seconds, trying to will the car back to life as you turn the key again. No turn over. Of course, just your luck. You should’ve taken your friend’s offer to borrow their car while yours was “being weird”. But no. You had to prove that your own car wasn’t possessed by Satan.

The irony is strong when you hear the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching behind you. You glance in the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of it— black, sleek, and loud. It’s pulling in behind your stalled car like some kind of metal savior. The guy gets off it in one smooth motion, worn in denim and soft leather with wild curls, and to top it all off, rings glinting as he pushes his hair out of his face.

 “Hey,” he calls as he jogs up beside your window, ducking down slightly with one hand pressed to the top of your car. “You okay in there?”

You roll the window down halfway and blink up at him. He looks like he walked out of a hot biker calendar. Except, you know, a bit more real. His jeans are grease stained, you could see a homemade faded Corroded Coffin T-shirt that looked like it had seen better days since the 90’s, hair greying slightly, and a pair of wide brown eyes that seem way too gentle for someone built like a God.

“Car died,” you say softly, suddenly a little sheepish under his gaze. “Pretty sure it hates me.”

He grins, standing up a bit straighter, “Let me take a look, yeah? I speak fluent piece-of-shit car.”

You stare at him through your half opened window, unsure of what to make of him, “You a mechanic or just… good with insults?”

“Both.” He winks at you, then adds with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen a man wear, “Name’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Of course it is. A perfect name for a dreamy man. 

You pop the hood, and open the car door to slide out of it. He slides off his jacket, placing it out of the way and then he leans over, poking around while you stand back. You watch him mutter to himself as he checks connections, pokes at belts, and scowls at your battery. That faded grey t-shirt had a few holes in the hemline and it was riding up his back to show just a sliver of skin above the waist of his jeans. If you look close enough you could even see a bit of his soft belly. You flick your eyes up, taking in the set of his jaw. He was focused, wound tight as he tries to locate the problem, there’s a few wrinkles by his eyes, laugh lines settling close to his mouth. You smile. He’s one of the most handsome men you’ve had walk into your life. After a few more minutes of your silent gawking, he slams the hood down again— it’s not hard, just enough to snap your attention back to the present. He wipes his hands on his jeans as he turns to you.

“She’s gonna need some love. Maybe a sacrifice or two,” he says with a chuckle. “Starter’s shot, and your alternator isn’t looking too friendly either.”

“Awesome,” you mutter. “You have tow trucks too? or do you just deliver bad news on the side of the road?”

He laughs and shakes his head, already pulling out his phone. “No, but I’ve got a buddy at the shop who can come grab it. We’ll get it to my garage, fix it up cheap. No dealership shit. I swear on my Iron Maiden collection.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look him over again. “And you’re not just saying that to lure me into your mechanic lair?”

Eddie grins wider, those laugh lines and dimples on full display, like he appreciates the sass you’re shooting at him. “Hey, you’re welcome to keep your guard up.” He chuckles, sending a text out, as he shakes his head. He might as well give it a shot, “I do have a lair. It just also happens to have a killer lasagna and a very patient dog.”

“…You cook?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says softly, cocking an eyebrow up as he tests the waters. “Could come by sometime. I promise not to kill you. Unless you’re allergic to good conversation and metal records. Then maybe I’ll have to make a sacrifice… you know, for the car.”

You roll your eyes and let out a laugh, pulling up the contacts in your phone just to humor him. “I’ll think about it.” He flashed you a grin at that. He leaves you with his number and a promise that your car will be better than it was brand new— or at least newer than it looks now. 

You don’t mean to text him. Really, you don’t. But a few nights later, after a really long day at work, a too-long shower, and a look in your fridge at the leftovers from the night before— you find yourself in your bed. Aimlessly scrolling through social media, that man and his greying curls heavy on your mind. You bite your lip as you think of his arms, splattered with dark ink. You think of that little bit of skin you saw as he leaned over your car. And you let out a breath, opening up your contacts app. You think about it a moment, really weighing your options. It’s just dinner, yeah? If it turned into more you’d be okay with that. He was funny, not too bad on the eyes, certainly one night of a lapsed judgement wouldn’t kill you. But he’s double your age. And you shake your head, scrolling past his number in your phone. But then you pause and scroll back.

Hey. That dinner still on the table?

You half expect him to ignore the message, it’d been days and the last time you spoke was about your car. But he responds shortly after..

Hell yes. Tonight? Come hungry.

When you pull up to his house— a small place outside of town with a beat-up mailbox with MUNSON scrawled across the side, you can see an old blue Chevy in the garage through the open door, right next to that pretty metal savior from the week before. His neighbors are close enough to almost share walls. But the porch light is on and you knock gently. Hearing shuffling around on the other side of the door for a moment, you wait, holding your bag to your chest. The door creaks open and there he is. He’s got an apron on, a shirt with the sleeves cut off showing each of the intricate tattoos adorning his skin. His hair is pulled back in a bun messily underneath a bandana to keep back the flyaways. His face a little flushed and red from the heat of the kitchen.

“You came,” he says softly, clearly shocked to see you standing at the door.

“Of course I did,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You said to come hungry… and I wanted to meet the dog.”

The dog is a sleepy little border collie named Ozzy, who’s spread out on the couch not paying any mind to the new visitor in his home. “He’s a real killer, can’t you tell?” Eddie jokes softly as he steps back to let you step in. He shuts the door behind you and makes his way back over to the kitchen with you close on his heels. He hands you a glass of red wine and says it’s “the cheap kind, on sale.”

The lasagna he whipped up is genuinely amazing. So is the music— a vinyl spinning in the background, something heavy that makes him close his eyes and nod along like he’s feeling it in his bones. You think you’ve hit the jackpot of men; handsome, a great cook, and has a great taste in music? You ask him about his band when he mentions it in an offhand comment— he still plays sometimes, mostly local gigs. You ask about the shop— he owns half of it now. You ask about the rings— he shrugs and says he’s always had em, “Sweetheart, these fingers were born for flair.”

By the time you finish with dinner, you’re laughing way more than you had planned to. You rest your elbows against the table top, watching as he leans back in his chair. He’s looking at you with a smile that’s almost shy.

“What?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish yourself.

“Nothing,” he chuckles a bit. “I just…didn’t think you’d actually show. Let alone stick around… I really can’t believe it.” He shakes his head a bit, the bandana holding back midnight colored curls from his face. 

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Why not?”

He shrugs, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Bashful. “People don’t usually stick around this long.” He says it like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop with you. But there’s something in his voice— something that makes you want to lean closer, so you do.

“You’re not as scary as you look, Munson.”

He smirks, that playful confidence you’d caught more glimpses of than the coyness he’s been exhibiting tonight.

 “Careful. I’ve got a reputation to protect.” He pushes back from the table to stand, so you follow suit. And then there’s that moment— the pause that stretches quietly. A question that hangs in the air between two people who are both wondering the same thing; Are you going to kiss me? He steps closer just as the thought crosses your mind and you don’t move back.

“You want to see the garage?” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. His voice is low, a little rough, nothing like before. The apron he’d been wearing before dinner was long discarded, showing the front of the cutoff Dio shirt he’d been in. He reaches up, tugging the bandana from his head, the bun still keeping most of his hair contained. 

You grin, biting the inside of your cheek. “That code for something?”

His laugh is quiet now. He’s nervous, that blush that had graced his cheeks earlier is back, plastered across his nose— mixing with the freckles that peppered his skin. As embarrassed as he may be, he holds your gaze. He bites the inside of his cheek and lets out a breath, whispering, “Only if you want it to be.”

You nod. You do. You so desperately want it to be.

And he moves closer in a blink of an eye. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he saw your broken-down car on the highway. His hands are tentative at first, one sliding up your back so gently you barely notice it’s there. And when you melt into him, your front pressing up against his body, he moves more confidently. The hand that wasn’t occupied by holding you close to him slides up and tangles in your hair. The pressure makes you gasp into his mouth. And he presses you up against the kitchen wall right between his dining table and countertop. The warmth of his chest is seeping through your shirt, his rings cold where they skim your waist.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, lips brushing against his as you do, “So, is this part of the tune-up package?”

He laughs again, cheeks redder than before and a bit more breathless now. “Oh, sweetheart. This is way more than the tune-up package… this is the extended warranty.”

You laugh, still pinned to the wall when he kisses you again. He’s slower this time, taking his time. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s memorizing the way you taste for when you’re inevitably gone again. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt and press in against your skin just enough to make you lean into him, instinctive. You’re needy and you both know it.

“God, you feel good,” he mutters against your lips before he’s dragging his mouth across your jaw, down your neck. He doesn’t stop until his teeth graze the spot just under your ear. “Can I—? Shit. I didn’t think you’d actually come, and now I’m two seconds from ruining my chances at a second date completely.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Ed,” you breathe out softly. Your hands brushing over his shoulders. “You’re doing great, actually.”

He huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. Hair working its way out of his bun. You feel the rumble of his chest more than you hear it— his breath hot against your skin, his chest is rising against yours. And then he gets quieter, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You reach down between your bodies and grab the hem of your own shirt, whispering, “Help me get this off before I change my mind.”

For him? That’s all it takes.

He tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it somewhere behind him. He scans your newly revealed skin so slowly it almost hurts him. His eyes are glinting in the dimmed light of his kitchen, words stuck on his tongue like he’s in the presence of something so holy that he can’t believe he gets to touch it— that look makes heat coil deep in your stomach. He kisses your chest so gently, you barely even feel the press of his lips. Then he’s trailing his fingers over your hip, up your side. He settles on your ribs, thumb brushing over your skin— he’s not in a rush, he can savor his time with you. He dips his head down again, stubbled chin scratching against your chest as he presses another kiss against your shoulder. His nose brushing against your neck as he slides up to press another kiss below your ear, against your jaw, and then finally your lips. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His hands are warm and a little rough as they slide up your sides. One reaches back to settle on the clasp of your bra, greedy. You gasp into his mouth when he presses his hips into yours, he’s already hard, straining against his jeans. 

It’s good. So good. So good you almost don’t notice when he adjusts his grip on you, trying to work the clasp loose (he’s been out of practice for longer than he’d like to admit), his free hand knocks something off the counter. You both flinch, breaking from the kiss, as a metal mixing bowl hits the kitchen tile with a clang that rings through the room like a damn alarm bell.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, lifting his head to look you in the eyes. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed and lips kiss bitten. “That was… expensive-sounding.”

You lean forward resting your forehead against his jaw as you laugh softly. “That’s what you get for trying to fuck me next to your Gran’s stand mixer.”

You’re still catching your breath when you catch his eyes flick toward the back of the house. “You know,” he says slowly, voice dropping to a raspy whisper, “there’s a lot less cookware out in the garage.”

You lift a brow, that’s the second time he’s mentioned the damn place. “That supposed to be your version of romance?”

“It’s where I’m my truest self,” he says solemnly, nuzzling his nose against your hair, lips pressing a kiss against your temple. “Surrounded by tools, loud music, and we have absolutely zero chance of knocking over my Nana’s cornbread tin and denting it beyond repair.”

You narrow your eyes as he speaks. “If you’re just trying to get me out there so I’ll see your stupid truck, you left the door open and on my way in, I already—”

“No arguing, sweetheart,” he says with a tut, already tugging you toward the door. He reaches up and presses a button, until you can hear the tell tale sign of the garage door closing. “You’ve questioned the sanctity of my second favorite place in this entire house. Now you have to come see it, and that isn’t code for anything.”

You let him lead you with all his golden retriever enthusiasm— one hand in his, the other folded across your chest to keep your bra in place. You’re still half-laughing, that spark between you hasn’t dimmed in the slightest— it’s just waiting, simmering, threatening to boil over the second you get your lips back on his. He opens the door, helping you carefully down the two steps until you hit the cool concrete floor. The garage is warm and faintly smells like gasoline, it’s lit by a few overhead bulbs and the sliver of moonlight pouring through the window. You hadn’t realized it was this late. His tools are organized along the back wall in a way that only he would know where anything was. The blue chevy truck’s parked square in the middle, just as you had seen it earlier. His bike parked next to it. Windows rolled down and the hood closed. 

“Wow,” you say, mock impressed as you look around the room. You take in the posters along the wall, worn in and incredibly obvious he’d saved them from his teenage years. “A whole garage dedicated to metal bands. You trying to marry me or something?” You joke softly, feeling hot as soon as Eddie turns his gaze back to you. 

He tuts softly with a roll of his eyes, backing you up until your body is pressed between him and the front of his truck. “Careful, sweetheart. This truck’s seen a lot of action.”

“Uh-huh. Bet it’s jealous.”

“Oh, it will be in a minute.” He dips his head down letting his lips hover above yours. His breath is hot, his eyes are flicking from yours, down to where he’d like to be. He presses his hands against the hood of the truck on each side of your hips, leaning in until he can close the distance between the two of you in a kiss. It’s deeper this time, all of the teasing now burned away by the low throb of tension that’s been building since you stepped through his front door. He shifts his hips closer, until he’s flush against you— one hand leaving the hood to settle on your hip, like he’s finally letting himself have you. He slides it beneath your waistband, toying at the hem of your panties as he lets out the lowest groan you’ve ever heard a man make. 

Your own hands snake upwards, resting on his shoulders. Your fingers brushing along taught muscle before you’re tugging the bun he was wearing loose, a shy little smile on your face. He shakes his hair free, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. His breath against your skin ragged as you grind your hips towards him— the bulge in his jeans growing by the second. He swears so much blood is running downwards, his knees may buckle. And before you can even catch your breath, he turns you around— your back to his front— and bends you forward over the cold metal hood of his truck. He leans his body over your own, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, his mouth at your ear as he finally unsnaps the clasp of your bra. “You okay with this?” he asks softly, his voice a little hoarse, from want, from need. 

You nod, letting your own forehead rest against the metal. Your breath hitches in your throat, “More than okay, Eds.”

He laughs. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about doing this since the second you popped your damn hood up on the side of the road.”

His hands slide the straps of your bra down off your shoulders, and he carefully tugs it out from under your body, tossing it over the mirror of the truck. He lets one hand trail forward, cupping your tit before giving it a squeeze. He presses another kiss against your shoulder, moving his hands back down to your hips. He thrusts against your ass, fully clothed. You gasp, a little dazed by the sudden shift in energy. He’s not teasing you anymore. He’s hungry, he’s greedy. And he wants you so badly. 

You barely have time to register that his hands have left your body and he’s no longer pressed up behind you. You glance over your shoulder, gasping softly at the sight. He’s on his knees behind you, letting himself look up at you through those pretty eyelashes before his hands are back on you, parting your thighs with an ease you hadn’t seen him display before. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. He lets his hands drift to your front, unbuttoning your pants and dragging the zipper down so slowly. When he’s finally got it, he makes a big deal of slowly tugging your pants down. He’s deliberate, letting himself get worked up by every inch of cotton that’s revealed to him. “I fuckin’ am.”

He runs a palm over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum. Then he dips his head lower, pushing your thighs a bit further apart. He presses his mouth to the inside of your thigh, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses up, up, up— until he’s right where you want him. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his breath hot over your clothed core, his eyes flick up to watch you, pressed over the hood. “You cold or just impatient?”

“Eddie, pl—”

He doesn’t make you say it. He really doesn’t need to. Not with the way your panties are sopping wet for him already. One hand settles on your hip as the other drags the soiled cotton down to join where your jeans are bunched around your feet. Dipping his head down once again, he slides his tongue over you, so slowly. You nearly collapse forward at the sensation. His grip is firm on you, keeping you steady, holding you there— his mouth is relentless, tongue plunging into your cunt before alternating to lick a fat stripe through your folds. He’s focused, intentional in a way that makes your toes curl with each prod of that muscle against you, with each nudge of his nose. He groans into your pussy when you moan his name, like he’s getting off on the sound of it. Like he could live here between your thighs forever. And it sends a shockwave of vibrations through your spine. That white hot coil in your belly starts to build oh-so-slowly. 

You press your forehead to the truck, your eyes fluttering shut. You rock your hips back into his face, desperate for more. Desperate for him to let you cum. 

“Fuck, you taste good,” he pulls away to press another kiss against your thigh, muttering softly. “How the hell am I supposed to let you leave after this?” And if those words didn’t make you keen, the flat of his tongue surely did when it runs up your thigh, almost to where you’d like him to be. 

Your laugh stutters out halfway into a gasp, fingers curling into fists where they had been pressed against the truck. “Who said I wanted to leave?”

That earns you a sharp nip of his teeth, followed by a kiss right over the bite— so gentle it almost makes your head spin. And then just like how he’d gotten down there, with no warning at all, he pulls away.

“Eddie—” you breathe out, standing on the edge of what may be the best orgasm of your life.

He’s already standing, his own chest heaving— sweat clinging to his bangs and plastering his curls to his forehead. His eyes, blown wide as he unbuckles his belt— tugging his own jeans down just enough to free himself. “You still good?” he asks again, waiting for you to pack it up. Tell him you don’t fuck the town freaks. Even in his forties, Eddie’s scared of letting anyone in. 

You nod, turning your head slightly to rest your cheek against the metal. “Fuck. Yeah. Please.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs. He wraps a hand around his cock, thumbing the base to line himself up with your pretty cunt. He’s so hard he can barely stand it, so he sinks into you with one smooth, steady, hard thrust that knocks the air completely out of your lungs. You gasp, bracing yourself on the hood. Your knees are already trembling. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes behind you, both hands tight on your hips. His thumb rubbing circles into your skin. “You feel— fuck. You feel like a dream.” It’d been too long since he’d been here, balls deep inside a pretty girl. Let alone one probably half his age. 

You try to respond to him, but the words in your head die in your throat before you even have a chance to speak them. He pulls back out until there’s nothing but an inch or so of his cock left inside of you, and then thrusts in again, harder this time. That stupid blue chevy rocks beneath you. You moan loud, unable to hold it in— and that’s when his hand snakes up from your hip, covering your mouth from behind as he leans over your body once again. 

“Shh,” His lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. “You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. I’ve got neighbors.”

You whimper against his palm, letting your eyes close as he grinds his hips deeper inside of you. The hair growing back in at the base of his dick scratching against your skin burns in a way you’ll know you’ll feel it tomorrow. And he groans, letting himself get an eyeful of you. Fuck, you’re so pretty like this— bent over his truck, desperate and begging with just the rock of your hips. Taking everything he lets you have. He rocks his hips hard, steady, pushing deeper each time like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else. His pace is unrelenting as you clench around his cock. One of his hands slips down the front of your body and between your legs, deft fingers finding your clit. He starts working against that little bundle of nerves in tight little circles, and it’s enough to make you start seeing stars. The pressure in your stomach growing more taut by the second “That’s it, baby.” he grits out between his teeth. “Let me feel you cum. You’re squeezin me. I know you’re close.”

And that band finally snaps with a particular hard thrust of his hips, dragging against that spongy front wall of yours. You cum with a choked out cry against his hand, in which he just presses harder against your lips. Your body is clenching around him so hard he nearly follows you into euphoria right then and there. He drops his head to your shoulder, the hand on your hip sliding around your waist to hold you as close as he can. His thrusts are slowing, getting a little sloppier. There’s another slip of your name, and two more thrusts, before he buries himself deep inside of you one final time. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his nose against the nape of your neck as he spills inside of you. Cumming hard. 

You stay pressed against one another there for a second— both of you panting, trembling, bodies still resting over the hood of his stupid truck. After another minute passes, he pulls his head up and presses a kiss to your shoulder. He’s a little shaky and a little pussy-drunk. “Well,” he chuckles a bit. “This service is definitely going in an ad for the shop. Imagine the business boom.”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head just enough to catch a flash of his smile. “You put this in an ad and I’m keying your truck and the bike.”

He grins, curls falling every which way as he gives a gentle shake of his head. “Fair.” 

He tugs you upright as he pulls out. And then he’s tugging your clothes— at least your panties and jeans— gently back into place, pressing soft kisses to your neck like he’s trying to soothe the bruises he left behind. And then he’s stepping back, grabbing your bra from the side mirror to help slide it back up your arms. “Next time,” he says softly, turning you to work the clasp closed. He smiles as he reaches down, tugging his own jeans up and zipping them with a little hiss, “I’ll show you the actual bedroom.”

You arch a brow, teasing him. “Next time, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, grinning like he’s already planning it and knowing you aren’t going to object, “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

tags ;; @peachyproserpina @missjadesfics @iheartgrayson @meetmeatyourworst @punkrockmlchael @prettycalla @getaapologist

[grimseverity]

When the Snake Eats Its Tail, an ACOTAR Oneshot

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66001180

Summary:

Feyre awakens from a nightmare, and upon checking her son's room, finds a dark and ancient relic she had one thought forgotten has returned, now keen to bestow its maddening curses upon her. The Ouroboros stands, reflecting the insidiousness that she has kept locked away back at her, and forcing her to realize just what she has become, as well as the terrible things she has done. Warning: Extremely Critical of Feyre, IC, Rhysand and NC.

Notes:

Synopsis: Feyre encounters the Ouroboros and the Bone Carver's spirit within it, who proceeds to break Feyre down and confront her about the terrible things she has done to the people of Prythian. WARNING: This is a Feyre, Night Court, Rhysand, and Inner Circle CRITICAL fanfic. DO NOT read if you are not interested in critique of these characters.

--

Chains heavy on her ankles. 

Hands pressing on her painted body, and nails tight at her throat. 

Her neck snapping like a dry twig. 

Blood and refuse coating her skin as the worm slithered about blindly.

Her life had been nothing but a dream, a soft refuge her mind had conjured up in the twisted mixture of starvation and faerie wine. She was back Under the Mountain, trapped in the dark cell with shadows swirling and whispering around her. Even her bone was still sticking out of the flesh of her arm, unhealed and unspent in the bargain that scourged her, then freed her.

Feyre screamed as loud as she could, until her lungs wilted and her throat bled. But not a single sound could be heard in the darkness, save for Amarantha’s maniacal, endless laughing.

--

Feyre shot up from her bed, night gown pasted to her back as the feminine laughter echoed in her ears. Her hands roved over her shoulders and neck, feeling for the paints or the sheer dress, and finding nothing but the moist folds of her shift.

She sighed. It had been months since she had a nightmare, but it seemed all the time she had put between then and now hadn’t banished them completely. Horrors like she had endured cut deep, it seemed.

“Feyre?”

Her ear twitched up at the sound, a hollow, raspy whisper that came from the room neighboring hers.

Nyx’s Room.

She didn’t bother with the door, winnowing inside with her hands lengthening to talons, ready to shred whatever was inside her baby’s room to pieces.

There was nothing—nobody, save for the boy quietly sleeping in his crib, his mobile of ivory stars gently spinning above him. Feyre cast her stare across the room, flickering back and forth between it and the reflection in the large mirror of the armoire at the room’s side. Nothing seemed out of place, and there were no tracks, scents, or other tells of somebody infesting into his room, but Feyre Archeron knew better than to go by initial sight alone.

She quietly searched through the room, checking every nook and cranny she could conceive as a hiding spot: behind the door, in the closet, under the crib itself. She even pulled the larger drawers open, just in case a small, clever fae decided to nestle in there thinking she wouldn’t look.

But they were all empty, not a single thing out of place save for what she moved during her hunt. Nyx stirred in his sleep, and she glanced over to watch him over the crib, the demi-Illyrian grasping at his blanket to nestle in.

Feyre sighed, reaching down and brushing the boy’s hair out of his face before laying a small kiss on his forehead.

“Feyre?”

The High Lady of Night wheeled back to face the source of the voice, her back having been to the armoire. Only, it was no longer made of the sleek umber-wood that it had originally been. Its surface was now gilded, made of an rustic, ancient metal that mimicked the ripple of scales, its tree-stump-like legs now replaced with coiling messes of serpent tails. And at its head, the mirror had become bold and circular, ordained in the shape of a serpent eating its own tail.

The Ouroboros.

Feyre’s breathing grew harried, pausing only as her eyes slowly hovered to the space at her side, at the reflection of Nyx standing up right in his crib, pale-blue eyes wide open.

He was smiling.

“Hello, Feyre.” The false Nyx said, his voice too old for his body, and vaguely familiar. She kept her eyes on the creature, but let her peripherals turn slightly to the real Nyx; he was still sleeping, breaths slow and measured. Utterly undisturbed.

“Who are you?” She demanded, turning back to the vision before her. The false Nyx took a deep breath, vestigial wings stretching wide as he did so. “Is this another dream?”

“Not exactly, Feyre Cursebreaker.”

“Bone Carver?”

“I’m glad you remember the sound of my voice.” Feyre shook her head at his words, wiping the sweat beginning to dot her head.

“Is this a trick? Tamlin or Beron or Hybern casting some spell on me?”

The false Nyx laughed, his voice changing to that of the Bone Carver’s adult form, “The High Lord of Spring lacks the time, skill, or motivation. And I’m sure the High Lord of Autumn would just see you burned to a crisp. He lacks imagination after all.”

“So Hybern then? Out for revenge?” She stepped back towards her son, but kept her eyes locked on the vision in the mirror. “I swear to the Mother, if you did anything to Nyx, I’ll—”

“No need for threats, High Lady of the Night. The powers of the dreaming world are largely harmless…to the physical body at least. As for the mind, well…” The Bone Carver sucked on his teeth. “Your son is safe, for now. No. I’m here for you.”

“For me?” Feyre repeated, eyes narrowing at the growing, unnatural smile on her son’s reflection. “But…you’re dead.”

The Carver shrugged. “In a way. Dying as a death god can have some interesting consequences.” He gestured up and around to the Ouroboros’ rim, “Especially when this vessel is the last thing to grace my presence before the Cauldron swallowed me whole.”

Feyre swallowed. “Why are you here then?”

“Oh, I’ll always be here Feyre, forever tasked with reminding you of what you saw in my reflection.” The image shimmered, as if the great, eldritch mirror were laughing at her. “An eternity of adding context and introspection, even if you are incapable or unwilling to do it yourself.” Feyre snorted at that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The Madness, Feyre, darling.” Rhys’ voice slithered into the last two words, and she watched as the false Nyx molded into a mass of black, writhing shadow, an echo of her husband emerging from the formlessness. “The picking apart of what you are, who you are, and the many terrible things you’ve done, all without any of your self-serving justifications or foolish excuses to hide behind.”

Feyre’s hands balled into fists, marching until she was less than a foot away from the mirror. “This is ridiculous. I saved Prythian, twice! I’m the High Lady of the Night Court, I finally have my happiness, and I will not let you ruin this.” The false Rhys chuckled at her imperiousness, his violet eyes caught in a sea of black sclera. “Rhys will find you in here, and even if you’re in my mind or some curse or whatever else, he will shred you right out if I can’t do it myself.” The Carver laughed so loudly, she worried it might awaken Nyx.

“If only your dear High Lord had a modicum of his original power.” 

Feyre felt an icy knife slip into her heart at that. “What?”

“Did you really believe that his life was the only price he paid for sealing the Cauldron’s break?” The false Rhys marched towards her in the reflection, and leaned right against her ear to whisper. Even with no one really there, she felt the heat of his breath tickle her neck, “There are so many things dear Rhys haven’t told you, Feyre Darling. But Rhys’ problems are far from my purview.”

Feyre felt a clawed hand grab her chin and spin her around, the whole room vanishing to reveal an expanse of forest. She knew it instantly, not just from the fresh air of spring or the veils of greenery, but from the vision of two familiar fey before her.

Lucien chained down to a pair of trees—Ianthe skating her hands over his exposed chest and navel, inches from cupping him before Feyre had interrupted her attempt to assault him.

“Oof, remember this?” The Carver drawled, “A freshly mated male? A priestess hungry for power and purpose? Don’t they make a cute couple.” Feyre’s lip curled at the sight, eyes plastered to the hand that Ianthe was reaching for Lucien’s length with, and how she had made her smash it to bits just seconds after.

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked, “I stopped it. I saved him.”

“Indeed you did, but only because of how it reminded you of…hmm, what was it?” The vision washed away like water on paint, revealing a dark bed chamber and yet another pair of fey engaged in a salacious, horrid entanglement. “Ah yes, that, but stretched along fifty years of torment.”

Feyre glanced back to see Amarantha, mounting and riding Rhysand—her Rhysand, with a feral vigor. Her nails were clawing into his chest, and while his face bore the mask of pleasure, his smile didn’t reach his eyes, and she knew the truth.

“I wonder,” she heard the Carver muse in her mind, “If Rhys hadn’t told you of his own suffering, would you have even given it a second thought? Would you have left the first friend you made in these lands to be ravaged and used by her?”

“But I didn’t,” she argued, “It doesn’t matter what I thought. What matters is what I did.”

“I couldn’t agree more! Let’s see what else it is that you have done?” The bedchamber peeled back, revealing high castles, a blue sky, and the warm, steady breve of summer over her skin.

“Ah, Summer—lovely at all times of the year, especially with a fresh-faced forward-thinking High Lord to push it further into prosperity.” Feyre watched herself walking and speaking with Tarquin, heart cringing at the joy on the High Lord’s face, beaming at her false genuineness. “Your seduction worked so well, almost to the point that you believed it yourself. A budding friendship—maybe even a possible lifeline that wasn’t tied to your precious mate—squandered because you and your court refuse to trust anyone with the responsibility of…’safeguarding’ Prythian.”

“I did what I had too,” Feyre countered. “If Tarquin said no, we would have risked losing the Book to Hybern.”

“You did what the Night Court told you to do.” The Carver replied, now back in Rhys’s shadowy form and pacing a circle around her, “Acted as the perfect little spy, when you could have built a true trust, maybe some allies. And it seems you completely ignored the fact that Hybern never would have sniffed out the book had it not left Summer’s lands. Also didn’t your puppy dog general destroy an entire building? How charming. How lovable.”

Feyre’s glance darted from Rhys to Tarquin then back to Rhys, only to find that Cassian now stood in his place.

“He’s in love with you, you know,” The false Cassian offered, pointing to himself, “And Rhysand as well. I wonder how long that’s going to go unaddressed, and how long your poor sister is going to have to deal with the fallout?” “I imagine that when he squints, he can imagine it's you that he’s with. Should have taken his offer for the steam room when you had the chance. Maybe you could have had all three bats at once.” Feyre hated that she blushed at his words, as if doing so was admitting truth to them. She hadn’t been blind to how the narrative of ‘three sisters and three brothers’ was unfolding before her, and she knew that while Cassian and Nesta were mates, she wasn’t Mor, and she wasn’t Feyre.

“It’s complicated.” It was all she could say, the Carver nodding in agreement.

“Oh I bet. Between that blonde using him as a meat shield against dear Azriel, and Rhys refusing to let your sister be courted by him, I imagine it can get very…sticky.” Feyre blinked, cocking her head to the side as the Carver smirked. “Remember what I said, about there being things Rhys hasn’t told you? I suppose he wants to avoid that same political fallout that ended with a nail and sign driven through Morrigan’s navel? In this case, I foresee it ending with either Lucien or Azriel losing their heads, when Lucien calls for the Blood Duel, of course.”

“Blood Duel?” Feyre asked, the Carver practically snorting as he shifted from Cassian’s shape to Azriel’s, the jovialness of his face twisted and unnatural.

“It baffles me how much the High Lady of the Night Court doesn’t know about what the Night Court is actually doing. The Autumn Court has a tradition known as the Blood Duel, where if their mate is being courted by another, they can call for ritual combat to press their claim. The two fight, and one walks away.” Feyre shook her head.

“Elain would never forgive Lucien for that, and even if they fought, Azriel—”

“Would what? Chain him up and gut him like he does with all of Rhys’ prisoners?” The false Azriel tsked at that. “Azriel is a spy—a shadow—more used to taking knives to bound, defenseless prisoners than he is in the field. Lucien survived the trek to the Night Court from Spring right alongside you, and he went out to rescue the queen and bring your father’s armada.” The Carver shook his head, “Your nepotism is showing, High Lady. As for your sister’s forgiveness, I suppose then maybe she should choose to accept or reject the bond, sooner rather than later.”

“I’ve had enough.” Feyre demanded, standing inches from the false Azriel, “End this and send me back, now.”

“Oh, but we’re just getting to the good part—” Feyre’s hand shifted to talons and slashed across the false Azriel’s face, eyes focused on the blood dripping onto the floor as the world around her changed once again. The Carver rose back up, dropping Azriel’s visage in favor of an older one, one with auburn skin formed of bark and bushels of green hair, a black dress covered in muck and dirt.

“How very apt,” the vision of Alis said, Feyre’s claws cutting three lines across the face of her wooden skin. Just then, screams ripped into Feyre’s ears, and she turned to see a forest in flames, soldiers marching through with spears, fey scattering off with the forces in pursuit to capture, oppress, or kill them.

“What is this?” Feyre asked, her other hand shifting to complete the pair of claws she bore.

“Don’t you recognize it, Feyre?” The false Alis said, “It’s the Spring Court, just as you left it.” Feyre shot a finger at the Carver.

“No. No! You do not pin this on me. This is...”

“The fallout of your petty revenge. Thousands of lives, all to hurt one male who loved you oh so dearly. And you hurt him very much, I will say that. Broken beyond repair I should say.” Feyre ground her teeth, straining under every second of this spectral, posthumous, discernment

“I…I didn’t know Tamlin was aligning with Hybern to be a spy. He never told me. He never told me anything.” 

“Ah yes, thousands of dead fae all because of a little miscommunication, which by the way, could have easily been solved by some of those dear Daemati powers your mate gifted you.” The Carver snickered. “Have you ever been there to see your handiwork?” Feyre remained silent. “Of course not, you’ve seem to have adopted Rhysand’s penchant for ignoring the fallout of his incompetence. But in your case, it was malignance rather than incompetence.”

“I wrote Tamlin to not come after me. I warned him.” The Carver’s smile died instantly, genuine annoyance slithering onto his brow.

“Yes, you did write a stupid little letter, and loyal sentries and little spring children burned because of it. You were so swept up in your little affair, that you forgot to tell Tamlin you learned to read and write.” The Carver practically spat out his words. “Perhaps if he knew, your letter would have been taken more seriously. Or perhaps he couldn’t get over the fact that your mate has a tendency to play with minds like clay. You really didn’t think of that, did you? Just thought the fae who loved you and watched you die would let you freely fall into her jaws of the night.”

“It was my choice! Tamlin should have respected it!” Alis’ form was ripped in two by a pair of ivory claws, the visage of Tamlin bursting through her fading halves and marching towards Feyre.

“Ah yes, a choice to run to where it was safe! To where little Feyre Cursebreaker could do no wrong, and let me spiral further into madness!” Feyre felt a tree pound against her back, the false Tamlin an inch away from her. Fear sent her heart aflutter, but she ground her talons into the bark’s surface.

“His trauma was not my responsibility,” she hissed.

“By that logic, yours wasn’t his burden to bear either, yet you hung it on him like a noose and burned his home down for failing you.” Feyre felt her nerve waver at the sight of those green eyes on her, rueful and full of disdain. “And yet even after all that, the High Lord of Spring was decent enough to give you your mate back, to allow you to even have the hopes of bearing your previous son in the first place. Even then, your dear husband torments him endlessly.” The false Tamlin turned away from her. “All the happiness in the world, and dear Rhysand just can’t let his past with Tamlin go.”

Feyre hissed out breath, claws shrinking back. “What is the point of all this? To make me feel bad for what happened? I gave my life to save Prythian, as did Rhys.” Tamlin’s form melted, and the Carver’s adult form shifted into place.

“No, no. You gave your life to save Tamlin and the Spring Court. Amarantha was the one who threw in the rest out of arrogance, and everything beyond that just fell onto your lap. What about your sisters’ sacrifice—having their humanity flayed off of them like skin? Or my sister’s sacrifice? Or my sacrifice!?”

Silence hung in the air as the two stared at each other, Feyre only breaking away when she noticed herself seated across from her sister, Rhys at her side along with the rest of the Inner Circle. Nesta bore dark circles and was unhealthily thin, and Feyre knew she was staring at the day of the intervention.

“I guess we should bring up your own sisters while we’re at it, like dear Nesta. You all harped on her for a little drinking, a little gambling, a little sex.” That dark humor returned to the Carver’s voice, his form shifting back to Cassian, “Aren’t those your Court’s normal recreational activities?”

“She was spending—”

“Oh spare me the expense talk, Feyre,” the Carver cut off, “We both know you’re better than that flimsy excuse Rhys crammed into your head. Besides I seem to recall him promising a little compensation for her efforts in the war. It was the least he could do, given the lost fortune dear old daddy left behind after he got his neck broken.”

“You shut your mouth,” Feyre growled, “Don’t you talk about my father.”

“Let’s stay on topic then.” The false Cassian pointed a finger at her, “You locked her up in a tower with a fae she wanted nothing to do with, and remind me, who destroyed an entire court because someone tried to do the same thing to them?”

“That was not the same! Tamlin wanted to lock me up and keep me a prisoner! She could leave any time she wanted.” The Carver laughed, his hand raking over his face.

“Yes, after climbing 10,000 steps. As easy as walking right out the door. Between that, the grueling training, the hike, and everything else, you all battered her down until she bent and broke to your Court’s demands. The training, the scrying—”

“She volunteered for that!” The false Cassian faded, shrinking into the small, doe-eyed form of Elain.

“Because you threw me in her face, and you all know she would do anything to avoid putting me at risk.” A muscle ticked in Feyre’s jaw at that, especially with her sister’s voice being the one to speak it. “I bet that burned you up even more, how hard Nesta fights for her while letting you twist in the wind.” Feyre went to speak, but the false Elain shot a hand up to stop her, “And before you go on about how the Training aided her in finding the Trove and surviving the Blood Rite, do not insult the Trove by implying that a few Illyrian drills was what gave her the strength to wield them. Her dip in the cauldron is what made her capable of commanding the Trove, that and her…illustrious willpower.” Elain’s hand gestured to a still image of Nesta and Cassian arguing—a frequent occurrence in the Night Court in recent months. “But, I suppose there’s nothing like thrusting a sword in her hands to make her relate to that oaf.”

“They’re mates,” Feyre countered, the Carver scoffing as if what she had said meant anything.

“So are Elain and dear old Lucien, and yet there she stands, unbothered by you to tug on that chain. So many choices for Elain, and so little for Nesta.” Feyre’s false sister shook her head. “Why not just admit it, that this was punishment? For all those unchopped logs of wood, all the barbs and spats, the constant draining of what little money you bought in from your hunts.” The Carver rolled its eyes, “I thought you had embraced your dark, feral side. Your spite burned the Spring Court to the ground, I suppose Nesta is lucky you didn’t do worse to her, as High Lady of the Night Court.”

Rhys’ voice slithered back into the Carver’s tone, as did his shape, hands behind his back as he gazed down at the baby in its crib. They were back in Nyx’s room, and Feyre felt her hands shaking at the storm of thoughts he had rained down upon her.

“There’s so much more I can get into, but the great thing about the curse of the Ouroboros, is that it lasts an eternity, and it never likes giving everything away in the first round.” The false Rhys covered the stirring Nyx with a blanket, clawed hand drumming over the edge of the crib. “You should expect more nights like this, Feyre, and maybe in time you’ll come to be thankful.” He turned to face her, “Your experience with the Ouroboros might be the only reason why you still have the capability of having an original thought, instead of all those guided by your mate’s hand.”

“Shut. Up.” She felt a monster skulking underneath her skin, the same one she had seen when she first looked into the Ouroboros—a feral, unearthly beast of scales, teeth, and claws. It took everything within her not to change, not to become monstrous in front of her son and awaken him. But the false Rhysand just kept right on.

“A band of emotionally incestuous sycophants for friends? Spitting on all clipped Illyrian females every time you don their wings you didn’t earn? Burdened never to travel and see the world now that you’ve saddled yourself with the responsibility of a son?” Feyre glanced down to herself, and saw her shift had been snatched away and replaced with that old, gauzy dress from her days Under the Mountain. She even felt a twinge of pain in her arm where it had been broken, and where her pact had inked itself upon her skin. “Truthfully,” the Carver continued, “Is this the life you wanted? Or is it that of your High Lord? A little play thing to show off to his friends, dance for him when he wants to play villain. I can’t wait to crack all those little pieces of you wide open so you can remember that they’re there.”

Feyre didn’t know when the tears stung their way out, but they were cooling the skin of her cheeks as she replied, “Please. Stop.”

“I can’t stop, Feyre. This is what the Ouroboros does. I tell you truths you don’t want to hear, show you the ugliness beneath the pathetic veneer of mating bonds and false brotherhoods and broken little families. You chose to look into the mirror, but your looking doesn’t end when you turn away. It’ll remain every time you close your eyes, everytime you fear for your son’s life, imagine him in the dangers you had thrust upon others.” The Carver’s finger lifted her chin, forcing her glistening eyes to meet his. “The magic of Prythian did not choose you, High Lady. The title is a consolation prize at best. You’re nothing more than a crowned, docile little broodmare,” he turned into Tamlin, “Something you once said you would never be. I guess Amarantha was right about your inconstant heart.”

Feyre scrambled away, but a harsh grip and a thundering pain drew her back. She glanced at her arm, and saw Rhys’ hand clamped around the bone that stuck out of it, feeling the oily smears of paint caking the length of her body. His eyes were slitted, a poisonous, dark violet that crept into her soul.

“Bonded to a daemati male who is unable to distinguish between what’s real and what’s a mask, all while being unwilling to deal with the consequences of both.” He scoffed. “I really am pathetic aren’t I? You know, I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse for this until I found out you were my mate. Content to just keep on tormenting you for as long as he could, just to hurt dear old Tamlin.” The Carver dragged her close, his other hand pressing into Feyre’s now swollen, pregnant belly. “He didn’t even tell you of the danger to your life, of how your own son would kill you. Didn’t even give you a chance to take the risk of shifting. And you forgave him so quickly. Are you that afraid of defying him, or having any semblance of discomfort in your marriage?”

“No…” she whispered, her will to fight and push past his words wilting more and more by the second.

“I suppose it’s understandable. He can hear your every thought, control your every whim, bend you in any way he wants, and you would never know.”

“He taught me how to shield…”

“And thus he knows exactly how to get past them. Don’t be fucking naive, Feyre. You didn’t carry your family on your back by being such.” The Carver shook his head, melancholy filled into his eyes, “Your affection for him runs so deep. You forgave him for making a spectacle of you Under the Mountain, for nearly feeding you to my sister to prove yourself worthy of being his mate. You even forgave him for keeping the secret of Nyx’s strenuous birth quite quickly, and even then, it was your sister who righted that wrong, and saved your life when he couldn’t.” The Carver took her hand and traced the lines of her tattoo, “The Night Court is the only destiny he will let you have. Otherwise, you have no friends, you have no allies, and you have no future.”

A sob broke from her, and the Carver let the false images fade in full, returning to Nyx’s bedroom as Feyre’s silent crying echoed within it.

“I know my tone may suggest otherwise, but you aren’t weak, Feyre Cursebreaker. What you are, is blind and shackled—fallen so deep in the quicksand of the Night Court, even I don’t know if you can find a way out. Your struggle caused you to clamp down on the first semblance of comfort and protection you could find, and you’ve been bouncing from one to the next ever since.” The Carver guided her slowly to Nyx’s crib, a clawed hand pressing softly against her back. “If you want a chance at any form of autonomy, then you fight for it, before your sisters are drawn into the same pit. Nesta’s already drowning. How soon before Elain follows behind?”

“They can be happy here,” she managed to get out, “I know they can. They just…they have to find it like I did.”

“They’ll never find it. Not if you don’t let them search for it like you did for yourself.” Feyre turned, looking down at her son with an agony gripping her heart. The Carver joined her, eyes over her shoulder as he resumed dawning his adult form. “Until you face these things, Feyre—your wrongs, your hatred, your resentment, the Ouroboros will keep on tormenting you with it. Its curse is to be shown your truest, ugliest self, and it is only by laying yourself bare—by choosing to acknowledge and better the ugliness, that you’ll have any hope of surviving its curse long enough to see him grow up.”

Feyre learned down and picked Nyx up, the boy stirring in her arms as she held him close. Silent tears continued to fall as she nuzzled into him, his soft breathing the only comfort she could hope to find under the scrutiny of the Bone Carver’s specter.

“Even then, for his sake, I hope he’s nothing like this father, nor is he as gullible or desperate for peace as you.”

Feyre felt the presence leave the room, glancing back to see the visage of the Ouroboros gone, rocking her son back and forth as the Carver’s many words settled like a sheet of ice over her heart.

--

NOTES:

Thank you so much for reading! I made this because I hated how overstated and underwhelming the curse and encounter with the Ouroboros was in ACOWAR, and wanted to show how it had a lasting, encroaching effect on Feyre via a slow introduction of insanity and madness. Instead of just showing her some monstrous form one time, it'll show it to her the rest of her life. I also wanted to use it as a vehicle to force Feyre to have some form of reflection on her actions and how it cost the lives and livelihoods of other people, in a way that ACOTAR's narrative refuses too.

Please give it a like on AO3 as well :)

[starberryfarms]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟!𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐨𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞]

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭-𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.3𝐤

!! 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 !!

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 1!

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ! 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 ૮ . . ྀིა⁩

It's been a few days since the cooking class with Laios, and you’ve both been talking a lot more. Many days and nights since the cooking class were spent talking and getting to know each other. When he finally suggested cooking for you, you were jumping for joy. 

The morning of the date your alarm blares and it jolts you out of your slumber. You roll over to turn it off and check to see if Laios texted. A bright smile spreads on your face when you notice a message from him.  He tells you to come by his place around 12 p.m., which you quickly agree to without much thought. What is there to think about when a hot guy wants to cook for you?

You roll around in your bed in excitement. This would be your very first date since, well forever. Just the thought of being alone with him and in his home sends a flurry of butterflies to the pit of your stomach. The prospect of things possibly going further once the date is over sends your mind into a spin. Although the thoughts turn from excitement to a storm of anxiety that sits over your mind.

Laios was so sweet and you really liked him, this date needed to be perfect. 

The whole ride to Laios’s house was spent going through the five stages of grief, but by the time you reached his apartment you still hadn't reached acceptance. The fear of somehow messing it up making you brainstorm ways to reschedule this whole ordeal now that it was actually happening. 

“My dog died?” You think. “Too extreme, and I don’t even own a dog.”

“Or maybe my car broke down?” You shake your head. “He’s too nice and would offer to come and get me.”

You sigh and rest your head on the steering wheel, the sound of your heart thudding so hard you can feel it in your ears as you try desperately to calm down. When you looked down at your hands that rested on your lap, they were trembling. You pull down the mirror and check yourself one more time before taking a deep breath and opening the door. It was now or never. 

Walking up to Laios’s door felt like one of those bad dreams where the hallway just keeps getting longer and longer. All you could do was hope he was as nervous for this as you were. Before knocking on the door you check yourself one more time, then you lift a shaky hand to knock. It's not long before he opens the door, that same dorky smile donning his face and he’s huffing as if he‘d been running. 

And of course your eyes can’t help but ogle him , it’s like his body has its own gravitational pull. They followed the quick rise and fall of his chest, as he tried to catch his breath.

“Hi.” You mumble nervously. Your hands reach up to fiddle with your hair in hopes of calming the thundering storm that raged in your chest.

“Hey! I’m glad you could make it.” He steps aside to let you in and shuts the door before leading you to the kitchen. 

“I’ve got everything out and set up in the kitchen.” You follow his finger that points in the direction of the kitchen. As he leads the way you take in your surroundings whilst following closely behind him.

His apartment was small, but had a sort of rustic homey feel to it. The scent of sandalwood and amber drifted through the air. A warm glow from the candles that were neatly placed throughout the apartment gave it a romantic glow. Your eyes widened in admiration as you took in the beautifully decorated surroundings.

“You have a really nice place.” you mumble softly.

 “Thanks I share it with my sister actually, but she’s out with her girlfriend today so it’ll be just us.” His hand comes back to softly take a hold of your own, his large hands practically swallowing yours. 

“Oh.”you think.

You silently follow him into the kitchen, your brain short circuiting at how unbothered he was about holding your hand.  He pulls out one of the chairs at the table and motions for you to sit. “Milady” He says in a faux posh accent and bows with his head down. He peeks up at you while you sit as he fights to keep his smile down. “Why thank you.” you giggle and curtsy.

Once he’s pushed your chair back in he walks around the counter to grab some drinks from the fridge, he turns and smiles brightly at you. You lean up on the table to admire the meal that he has laid out before you, some of the foods you recognized, others you swore you’ve never seen before. Though the main course was hidden under a silver lid that sat pretty in the middle. A thousand guesses of what it might be running through your mind. Now that you are here and are starting to feel more at ease. your nerves have settled and the excitement starts to bubble up in your belly again. 

“How long did this take?” you question curiously as you sit up in your seat a little to watch him. 

“All morning.” he shrugs as if it were nothing. Laios continues to make some final touches on the food while you stare at him in awe.

His admission causes a heat that flushes over your whole body before settling in the pit of your stomach. For a second you swore you’d heard him wrong, there was no way he spent the whole morning cooking just for you. He looks at you as if what he’d said was the most casual thing to ever. Without even realizing he’d unintentionally made your heart swell as he looks at you with a soft smile. 

 “T-thank you, you didn’t have to do that.” you sputter out, that familiar rhythmic thud beating harshly in your chest.

“It was nothing.” You were at a loss for words, completely unsure of how to even respond to his small declaration. He brings over the drinks and pours it into the glass before taking a seat next to you. Once settled in his seat you take notice of his leg that brushes softly against your own, neither of you moving away.

“So what did you make?” You ask.

You were still eying the mysterious silver platter that laid in the middle. “More importantly what’s under that?” your finger circles the platter and you look up at him and he meets you with a grin . He seems proud of whatever it is that’s for sure, now your interest was piqued.

“I’m glad you asked.” He grabs the cover and lifts it to reveal the meal he’d so wonderfully prepared for you. Laios goes into detail about the meal he made and all the ingredients it took to make it. Eager to share the whole process of something he loved with you. The whole thing was so endearing that you were practically dying on the inside from how passionate he was. When he lifts the platter your face stills.

It was your absolute least favorite food ever.

Now it wasn’t his fault because how could he have possibly known that, and you didn’t have the heart to say it. Especially since he spent the whole morning preparing everything for the both of you. He rambles on about the cooking process, the history, and origins of the meal he’d made. He’s none the wiser to the look you give the food. Your stare is so intense as if the meal had somehow offended you just by existing, but you plaster on a half smile anyway.

You hum absentmindedly as he plates the food for you, and then his own.When he looks up at you he’s confused by your expression and lack of response. He worries that his constant talking about the food had somehow upset you or put you off. That familiar sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

“Sorry, I was talking too much.” He mumbles as he sits back in his seat.

His somber tone brings you back into focus and your hands rush out to grab his own. “No! No you didn’t do anything wrong.” Your concerned eyes meet his own, a guilty feeling settling deep in your chest. The last thing you ever wanted to do was hurt his feelings, especially since he put so much time and effort into the dinner . 

“I like hearing you talk, Laios.” You smile and squeeze his hand and interlock your fingers with his own.

Laios instantly perks up, his other hand enveloping your own as he pulls you closer. A fit of giggles erupts from your chest at the instant flip in his mood. There was a calm moment as your laughter died down, and all that’s left is a thick tension simmering between the both of you. His hand slides up your arm, and comes up to rest softly on your cheek. Warm eyes staring intensely into your own. 

Your heart rate skyrockets at the feel of his calloused hand resting against your skin. If asked to recall, you’d be unsure when the distance closed between the both of you, or who leaned in first. Though none of it mattered when his lips met your own. His warm and slightly chapped lips felt like heaven against yours, his hand that once rested on your own sliding up to the side of your neck. His other hand reached down to pull you closer by your chair, a yelp leaving your mouth at the sudden movement. 

That same woodsy scent floods your senses as he deepens the kiss, your hands nervously reach out to weakly grip onto his shirt with all the might you had left. He chuckles into the kiss at the feel of your shaky hands, he brings his own up to rest kindly over yours and he pulls away to greet you with a calming smile.

“Are you okay?” he tilts his head down to meet your gaze.

“Never better…” you dazedly whisper.

Quick hands move to your waist to lift you up and pull you into his lap, “Is this okay?” He questions softly.

You nod your head furiously and your hands rest softly on his lap. Laios tenderly grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulls your lips closer to his own once more. His tongue darts out to lick slightly on your lower lip silently asking for entrance, and your eyes flutter shut as your lips part. He grunts as he deepens the kiss and his hands start to move your body against his own, a small whimper escaping you at the friction. The sounds of his grunts send a shiver down your spine as the deep guttural noise shakes you to your core. 

It felt as if your whole body was burning up as you started to move yourself faster against him. When he notices that you’ve become comfortable enough to move on your own, Laios starts to move his lips down to your neck, biting softly as he goes. One of his hands slides under your shirt inching across the expanse of your back, while the other slides down to rest against your ass. 

Your own eyes blow wide with lust as you lean back to meet his own . The warm intoxicating kisses and heated touches were slowly becoming more addicting the more it went on. You thank the gods that you opted for a skirt, as you feel him grow beneath you. The delicious pressure against your core causes a mewl to release from your lips.

“You okay, pretty ?” he leans back and glances at you through lidded eyes. The hand that rested on your ass tightens as one particular thrust pushes perfectly against the bulge in his pants. 

“Yes…’m close” you gasp out as your hips stutter against his own, a familiar warm throb hits. 

“Laios.” you moan out hoarsely. “I know.” He says as he picks up the pace. His hips once more finding that comfortable rhythm that had you seeing stars.

It had all become too much as sparks of pleasure shoot through your body. Your head falls to rest in the crook of his neck, soft breaths dancing across his skin. Laios lets out a deep groan of your name as he reaches his climax.

Both of you sit in silence, your pants being the only sound that fills the space. A million thoughts running through your mind as you try to think of something to say, but nothing ever comes out. Laios brings his head up to look you over, his cheeks a fiery red as they catch sight of the marks that littered your skin. 

He silently picks you up and seats you in the chair and then gets up to grab something to clean himself off before coming back. Kneeling before you as he looks you over, he chuckles when he notices the blissful smile that sits pretty on your face.

“Sorry about the dinner.” you mumble as you glance over to the meal that was sitting cold and untouched.

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I had something a lot better.”

You slap his shoulder as he lets off a deep laugh and pretends to cower away from your light smacks. Swift hands wrangle your hands together and he brings them down and wraps his own arms around you. He leans down to softly kiss over the mark he’d left on your neck, his rough hand sliding up your thigh.

“I’m still a little hungry if you're open to dessert?”

© starberryfarms 2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 <3 !

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 8

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers

---

Tensions are high as Price backs out of the garage. Ghost keeps his body loose and his eyes moving as the outside world comes into view. The windows are tinted and the vehicle bullet-proof, but that won't stop heavy artillery.

They'll need to be vigilant.

Price drives carefully, weaving between buildings in the small Eastern European city that Ghost doesn't even know the name of. Hell, he's not even sure what bloody country they're in anymore. Ghost keeps his eyes on the buildings silhouetted by the dawn light, sweeping for broken-out windows or long barrels sticking over the edges of rooftops. 

Soon enough, though, they leave the town behind, replacing sidewalks and buildings with open fields and clumps of occasional forests. Ghost lets the tension seep away slowly. He stays vigilant, but as they continue on with no sign of pursuit, he lets his mind wander back to the way Johnny had looked when he shoved his gun into Ghost's hand — too wild-eyed, too frightened, and just... wrong. Wrong in the same ways these past three years have been wrong.

It will take time for Johnny to recover, but the reality is that the brash, cocky side of his sergeant is likely gone forever. Not that it makes much of a difference to Ghost. Johnny is alive and back in his arms. He doesn't really give a fuck about anything else.

They drive for several hours before stopping to fill up at a small station. He, Soap, and Gaz duck down in the back to make sure they aren't seen through the open doors. Laswell pays well in the local currency, which the station attendant seems to appreciate, and they move on down the road. They're only on the road for a few minutes, though, before Laswell lets out a vicious curse and murmurs something to Price. As they make a hard turn down a dusty road, Ghost sees the reason for Laswell's displeasure through the side window.

A border checkpoint in the distance.

"That's not supposed to be there, I take it," Gaz says in a tense tone.

"Nope," Laswell replies. "We'll find another way through."

They pass three more checkpoints before Laswell calls a halt. She pulls up her laptop and begins scanning a satellite map. After a few minutes of tense silence, she disconnects and directs them to a dirt track a few miles down the road.

"We're off-roading it, boys. Better buckle up if you aren't already."

Trees rise up around them, branches scraping along the sides of the car as they bounce over the eroded trail. With another turn, they begin a slow descent. Price dodges a young tree growing in the middle of the track, losing his side mirror in the process. Ghost holds on to Soap as the car bounces around, throwing them into each other despite the tight hold of their locked seatbelts. His stitches protest the violent movement, but there's nothing to be done about it.

The border is protected by nothing but a fence with a gate cut in it, which they assume the locals sometimes use to avoid the check points as well. They pass through and get tossed around a bit more as they drive over more barely-there dirt tracks. Finally, the brush falls back to the sides, and at the intersection of another trail, it evens out into a more well-used dirt road.

"We're through," Laswell murmurs. "Just keep driving west for now."

The roads gradually widen and become more well-maintained, though they stay on the back roads for another few hours. The next gas station sits at a barren crossroads and doesn't have an attendant, though the rustic pumps hum to life when Price picks up the nozzle and lifts the lever. A sign written in Polish in the nearby shack says to leave the money inside, so they fill up, leave the correct change, and continue on their way, this time with Gaz behind the wheel again. By the time they merge back onto a proper highway, the sun is setting.

Still, Laswell keeps them moving. Johnny falls asleep on his shoulder.

The sun sets fully, but it isn't until Ghost notices the signs have switched to German that he begins to relax. Signs count down the kilometers to Berlin until they finally pull into another garage in a small neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.

"I've got a contact here," Laswell tells them as they file into the surprisingly roomy safehouse. "He's trustworthy, and he can get us to Mexico. It'll be a while, though, so we're going to hole up again."

Ghost just nods. Mexico means Alejandro and Rudy, people they can trust and who have the resources to protect and counter attack. He fucking hates Mexico for so many reasons, but if that's where Johnny will be safe, he'll take it. It'll be nice to see the Vaqueros again, too. They've been on a few missions together since Johnny was... taken, but nothing long term.

As they gather in the kitchen off the garage, Soap sways on his feet. He's been napping on and off all day, but his eyes are bloodshot, and he looks one strong wind away from falling over. Ghost wraps an arm around his waist, and Soap leans into him.

"One room downstairs, three rooms up," Laswell says as she quirks an eye at Ghost.

As much as he wants to take the downstairs room for Johnny's sake, tactically, it makes more sense for one of the uninjured, such as Price or Gaz, to be their first line of defense. When he says as much, Price nods.

"I'll take the downstairs. I assume you two are good to share?"

"Yes," Johnny says a little too quickly.

Ghost hides his smile behind his mask as usual. He nods to the others and leads Johnny upstairs. He finds the room with the biggest bed, curls around Soap's shivering body under the heavy blankets, and lets himself drift away.

---

The next few days are much like their days in the first safe house, though this time they have more space. Ghost exercises as much as his wound allows while keeping an eye on Johnny, helping him through the withdrawal. The hallucinations scare him, but Johnny hasn't once lashed out or otherwise seen Ghost as anyone but Ghost. He takes it as a good sign.

It's becoming more difficult to keep his hands to himself, though. Every night, as they press together, Johnny's head on his chest or Ghost's buried in the crook of his neck, he thinks of kissing Johnny, of sliding a hand lower, of hearing those soft moans of pleasure he's been missing for years. Despite the mistreatment, Johnny's body is still beautiful, and Ghost wants. 

And yet Johnny deserves time to heal before Ghost pushes his own feelings on him. What kind of a partner would he be if he pushed for something while Johnny was still in the throws of withdrawal?

So he aims for comforting when they share a bed — and wanks in the shower every chance he gets.

Four days after their arrival, Laswell's contact picks them up and drives them to a small airport two hours south of Berlin. They are ushered into a small plane and presented with new clothes, including hats, glasses, and fake passports. They change clothes in the plane on the way Paris, where another jet is waiting to take them to Mexico.

It's not until Ghost sees Alejandro's severe expression as he approaches them at the airport that Ghost thinks to be cautious. Ale steps up to Soap and scans his face as if searching for something.

"Alejandro," Soap says by way of greeting as he holds out his hand. "Good to see you again, mi hermano."

"Dios mio," Ale whispers, eyes wide.

Ghost is about to step between them when Ale suddenly slaps Soap's hand aside and grabs him up into a fierce hug. There's a lot of pounding of backs and coughing to cover the crying, but Ghost lets his muscles untense as Ale murmurs how good it is to see Soap alive and well. Over Soap's shoulder, he gives Ghost a nod.

Ghost nods back.

"Come, my friends!" Ale says as he pulls back from Soap, though he keeps an arm around his shoulders. "Let's get back to base and figure out our next steps, eh?"

---

The base is even more highly secured than the last time they were there. It takes two major checkpoints and dozens of guarded doors before Ale leads them into a building in the middle of the base. Rudy is waiting for them inside the conference room, and he goes through much the same process as Alejandro, taking a moment to really look at Soap... and then grabbing him up in a tight hug.

"It's a miracle," Ale murmurs. "Do you know how it was done?"

"Some kinda serum," Ghost says. "Laswell knows more, I think."

Sure enough, as they quiet down and Laswell begins speaking, it's clear she's been busy the last couple of weeks. She's narrowed the traitors down to three of the seven generals on the multinational council that replaced Shepherd.

"I can't be sure, but intel points to all three of them being involved to some degree." She clicks forward a slide and three pictures come on screen. "Generals Havisham, Dinly, and Patel have had dealings with the supposed 'supersoldier' serum, though it's possible Dinly isn't aware of who they're truly working with to develop the serum. I've received confirmation that all seven generals will be detained on our mark, just in case."

"So... what's the plan, then?" Alejandro asks. "Are we moving against Makarov directly?"

Laswell looks at Ghost.

No. She looks at Soap, who is standing directly in front of Ghost, back pressed to his front.

A chill runs down Ghost's spine.

Laswell's gaze does flick to Ghost's for a brief moment before she looks at Ale. "We'll be setting a trap. Soap is the bait."

"No."

The word is out of Ghost's mouth before he can stop it, an arm circling around Johnny's shoulders to crush him against his chest.

"We're just spreading the rumor that he's there," Laswell says. "When Makarov shows up to collect his wayward experiment, we'll be there instead."

Ghost relaxes a bit, though a sick, curdling feeling in his gut tells him to keep his guard up. The meeting continues, planning the location, the angles, the coverage. Ghost listens with half an ear, but his focus is on Johnny.

On the soft breaths that waft over his arm where it rests on his collarbone.

On the desperate grip curling around the meat of his forearm.

On that strange, sick feeling that only grows more pronounced with every word from Laswell's mouth. 

He trusts her. He does. But he also trusts that she'll do what's necessary for the greater good. And that Johnny will go along with it if he thinks it's the right thing to do.

So he listens. He watches. And he makes a few plans of his own.

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 >>

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

I can't say how much I adore, adore your Black Mask entries from last year Valentine's event, and the event overall :3c So I will toss in some more for you this year, as well 🖤

For a Date Night prompt, how about Roman taking F!S/O out for a joyride around Gotham? Perhaps off to someplace away from the city, and even quieter to enjoy their evening at?

Maybe on the way there could be a little chase sequence, and him reassuring S/O by squeezing onto her thigh ;) Or it could get a little more heated with some touches on the way there, too.

For a refresher, S/O is someone who had been with him for some time now. She can be a bit of an enabler of him, but also knows how to tease him right — not push his buttons too much. Both such a tease, but a delight to have. Although, up to mischief themselves too and loves to be pampered /spoiled by him if the chance arises. Otherwise, she can be somewhat calculating or scheming as he can be ...

"Night-time Joyride" Black Mask X Reader Date Night Valentine's Day Event

Hello, Ivy! I was looking forward to more scenarios with your s/o and Black Mask this year. They were certainly fun last year and you know how to keep me on my toes. This ask is for the 2025 Valentine's Day Event.

TW: NSFW-ish, groping

Sleek, black leather interior. Heated steering wheel and seats. Lambswool rugs. Emergency escape system with bulletproof windows. Champagne chiller in the back. Truly, it was a chariot suited for one Roman Sionis and his permanent paramour. He'd asked you to wear something short, "accessible" for while he was driving.

He hadn't told you the plan, not outright. No, it was more fun seeing you dressed up pretty for him, swaddled in a thick coat and stockings to keep your legs warm in the February cold. As he drove through the streets, he liked to glance at you, seeing streetlight pass over your eyes and then the gloss of your lips. His hands on the wheel and his foot on the pedal, he begins to speed until you've almost reached the city limits of Gotham.

"And just where are we going?" You finally asked.

You could hear a smile in Roman's voice, "Out of this god damn city for a while. Got a cabin- You, me, and no one to fuckin' bother us for two whole days." He holds up two fingers to emphasize his words. Knowing him, it was already fully stocked and fully connected to the outside world in case of emergency. Hardly a rustic experience.

A hum rumbled through you, "Perfect- Ah." Before you got to settle into the idea of a night of privacy with your loved one, the familiar chirp of a police car dragged your attention behind you. Red and blue lights flooded the cabin of the car and annoyance wracked into your shoulders.

"Seatbelt on?" Before you could truly answer, he once again shifted gears before speeding up, "Good, it might get a little bumpy." He winked at you.

"Aren't we a little old for car chases?" A nervous tone leaked into your teasing question. The roar of the engine beneath your feet was exciting, adrenaline making your heart race. That same heart race betrayed a small anxiety to Roman.

"Hey." He was paying attention completely to the road. Then, carefully, one hand crept over your lap, first grazing your knee with his finger tips and then finding your thigh. He squeezed, prompting you to put your hand over his.

His eyes flicked over first to the rear-view mirror and then to you, "I got you." You nodded, letting him take back his hand for him to make a sharp turn, then another. While you hadn't known Roman as a stunt driver, he was making a fair shot at it.

His hand was back to your thigh once it was safe. His speed still quick, but not breakneck, his fingers massaging your inner thigh. A pleased groan as his hands went up higher under the hem of your dress. Endorphins rushed through you as the police lights began to fade away and Roman stroked at the sweet spot between your legs. Your laugh was a mixture of bubbly and a moan.

The man in the mask only stopped touching you to switch to the back roads outside the city, "How was that?"

You took his hand and put it back to work as his driving steadied, "I've had better." You leaned over, kissing the side of his mask.

"Oh, that's real fuckin' hilarious." His growled, his touch becoming rougher as he circled his thumb over your clit, "You're gonna kill us both doing this- Hold on-"

"You could talk-" You laughed, letting him pay attention to the road.

He stopped for what felt like an eternity. Really, it was more like twenty minutes, but who was counting? With a satisfied grunt, Roman put the car into park and gently tossed a set of house keys at you. The distraction of you catching allowed him to grab you along your waist. His hands roved, the mask rubbing against the shoulder of your coat.

"I think we ought to take this inside, don't you?" He murmured, "Who knows, you might find a couple surprises in there." He motions to the building looming close by. It was a more than sizeable cabin, with a full view over the woods around them.

Your head tilted to the side, "And just what could those be?" You bat your eyes in a playfully oblivious gesture. A smirk played on your face after trying to hold that expression for too long.

Black Mask leaned in close as he could over the center console of the car, "Why don't you go find out? Give you a head start before I rip that coat off?"

You kissed the mask, "I love you, too." Your hand on the car door, you began to make your way to the cabin.

[wheeboo]

meet cute: the pottery class | wen junhui

SYNOPSIS. in which you choose to attend a pottery class for a solo date, not expecting to be so shy sitting next to an equally shy classmate. PAIRING. wen junhui x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, meet cute, first meetings, implied college au WARNINGS. none WORD COUNT. 2.2k

notes: welcome to your meet cute with jun!

← MEET CUTE MASTERLIST for the 1k celebration !

...a pottery class!

There have been many times where you had thoughts of one day joining a pottery class out of curiosity, but time never played in your favour and the idea had been pushed to the back of your mind. However, of course, today was different and gifted you an entire day with no deadlines and no responsibilities. It was a rare and precious blank canvas of time, and you couldn't help but wonder: why not now?

Out the window, the early afternoon sun bathes the world in a soft, golden light, and a gentle breeze swaying through the trees carries the promise of a new type of experience. So you peer at yourself one last time in the mirror and over the outfit you've chosen. Your reflection seems different𑁋a little more eager, a little more hopeful.

You quickly research the closest, good-reviewed studio, and within minutes, you find a place nearby that offers beginner pottery classes. Then you race to put on your shoes, grab your keys, and head out the door. As you step into the golden embrace of the sun, you take a deep breath, feeling the crispness of the air and the warmth of the day caress your skin. On your way to the pottery studio, you pass by the nearby park you always go to and even the old coffee shop you should visit again sometime.

When you arrive at the pottery studio, you're greeted by a charming and rustic façade, with the studio's sign hanging proudly above the door. As you make your way inside, you notice the intricate details that adorn the wooded walls𑁋pottery tools neatly organised, hand-painted ceramic tiles showcasing different glazing designs, and photographs capturing the smiles of satisfied students.

As you approach the receptionist desk, a young woman greets you with a friendly smile. "Hi, welcome to Pledis Pottery. Are you here for a class or just browsing?"

You clear your throat, hesitating for a moment. "Uh, I heard you guys offer beginner classes? If it's possible, can I sign up one for one?"

"Sure, we have a class starting in fifteen minutes. Would you like to enroll?"

"Yes, please. Thank you so much."

"Okay. And can I get a name?"

"Sure. Y/N."

The receptionist then passes you a form and you eagerly fill it out before handing it back to her. Then you sit down in a small waiting area where a few other people sat, like an older woman sitting a few chairs away from you, a couple browsing through magazines, and a cute boy in the corner who appeared to be around your age scrolling mindlessly through his phone with a small smile, which makes your gaze linger on him a bit.

You do the same to preoccupy your time waiting, shooting the occasional curious glance in the boy's direction, and before you know it, a voice gains the attention of all the eyes in the waiting area.

"If you're here for our beginners' class, you may all follow me," a woman instructs, and you already find yourself gathering your belongings before following the couple in front of you. And from behind, you can sense the boy from earlier walking suit, and the feeling brings a very subtle jump to your heart.

When you walk into the spacious classroom, your eyes widen to the shelves along the walls displaying an array of beautifully glazed pottery from intricate detailed vases to whimsical figurines. The air is filled with the earthy scent of clay, and you can see rows of pottery wheel worktables sitting in the middle of the room.

"Welcome, everyone, to the world of pottery!" the instructor exclaims enthusiastically. "Today, we'll start by getting comfortable with the basics. Pottery is a patient art form, so remember that it's okay to take your time and just enjoy the process. For now, if you all could put on an apron and take a seat, then we can get started today."

You grab an apron from a nearby rack and drape it over yourself. However, as you attempt to tie your apron securely, your lips purse together annoyingly while fumbling the fabric, feeling a bit self-conscious, but your fingers just can't seem to get a secure grip.

Just when you're starting to feel a hint of frustration, you notice that the boy from earlier at the corner of your eye calmly tying his own apron with ease. You hesitate for a moment, taking in a deep breath, before making your way in his direction.

You clear your throat awkwardly. "Um, excuse me?"

It catches his attention quite easily, and your momentarily stunned by his wide deep-set eyes peering curiously into yours, his dark brown irises meeting yours.

You feel an embarrassed flush spread through your face. "Uh, can you help me tie this apron? I can't seem to get a good knot on it."

The boy seems pensive for a moment, and you swear you can almost notice a faint rosy hue to his own cheeks, before stepping up to you with a small nod. You turn around so your back faces him, and you feel a warmth spread through you as he gently takes hold of the apron strings, his fingers brushing against yours.

After a few moments that feel like an eternity, he finally ties the apron securely. His fingers linger for just a second longer than necessary, and your heart does a little somersault, and you mentally scold yourself for being so affected by a simple gesture.

"There," he says simply, softly, voice tinged with a hint of nervousness that seems to mirror your own. "All set."

You turn to face him𑁋wow, he's tall𑁋offering a shy but appreciative smile. "Thanks."

He returns your smile sheepishly; if anything, it makes him more cute. "Yeah, of course."

There's a few moments of awkward silence as you both make your way to your own worktables, selecting ones where you are sitting next to each other. The room is filled with the sound of gentle chatter as the instructor explains the basics of pottery and the simple project of creating the shape of a bowl for today's class.

When your fingers brush against the cool, damp clay, you're struck by its cool and smooth texture. Your eyes instinctively glance to the boy beside you whose name you still don't know, and you watch his unwavering concentration as he deftly collects the clay in his hands. It almost looks like he knows what he's doing, but from the thin line at his lips, you could only assume he's a bit in the same boat as you.

You somehow muster up the courage to talk again, partly to distract yourself from the awkwardness of starting. "Is it your first time here too?"

He turns to you, and his previously concentrated expression softens, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.

"Yeah, um..." He almost brings a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, but drops it back down since it's covered in clay. "It's a bit harder than I thought."

"For sure, but... I'm sure we'll figure it out," You respond with a small grin, hoping to shed some hopeful light to both of your projects, before bringing your focus back to the clay. It feels oddly therapeutic under your hands. Your fingers press into the clay, and you slowly start to shape it into a bowl, albeit with a few bumps and uneven edges.

With the help of the instructor coming to your side a few times, you both quietly continue to shape your clay, and you can't help but sneak glances at him when he's not looking. There's something about his focused yet slightly nervous expression that you find endearing and cute. It's clear he's genuinely trying his best, just like you.

As time passes, you start to find the process of shaping the clay more easier, even fixing any bumps you might have created before and straightening the edges almost perfectly.

However, as you look over at the cute boy, you notice that he's still struggling. His bowl looks a bit misshapen, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow, and you can tell that he's feeling a bit disheartened by his progress𑁋or lack thereof. Glancing down at your bowl and back to his, you stop your wheel and scoot your chair over to his, the tip of your knee momentarily brushing against his, gaining his attention.

"Here, let me help." You reach out, your fingers gently touching the clay he's working on, and you both briefly tense up at the contact of your hands touching again. "You have to be patient with it. It can be a bit stubborn at times."

He takes his hand away and watches closely like a cat focused on a dangling string as you demonstrate how to handle the clay, your fingers expertly moving with precision. Then when he hesitantly brings his hands back to meet yours, you help guide them back into proper place, your hands following his movements with gentleness. It's oddly intimate, and you don't realise it until you both catch each other's eyes for a second, before bringing your gazes back down bashfully.

"Your name is Y/N, right?" he asks after what feels like an extremely long, entire minute.

You nod, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of your name from his lips. "Yeah, uh... how did you know that?"

A faint blush creeps onto his cheeks as he sheepishly pushes away some loose strands of dark hair in front of his face, smudging a bit of clay on his face in the process. You pinpoint a small mole above his upper lip.

"I, um, heard you talking to reception lady at the front." A pause, then a visible swallow of his Adam's apple. "Sorry, that sounded creepy."

"Ah, right. That's me." Your cheeks redden at his response, and you can't help but chuckle softly. "And you are...?"

"Junhui, but Jun is fine. Actually, um, either or is fine too. Whatever you want," he tells you quietly and quickly, and his name settles comfortably in your mind as if it's always been there.

"Junhui," You repeat with a warm smile. "It's cool meeting you, Jun."

Jun returns your smile shyly, and there's a subtle hint of relief in his expression. There's something about the way he smiles that tugs at your heartstrings. As you help him shape his clay, you notice how his fingers become more confident under yours and the way the tension in his shoulders eases. It doesn't take long for him to get the hang of it, and for you to return back to your own station.

Whatever awkwardness was lingering before had practically disappeared at this point. It's only small talk, but it's progress, you think. He tells you about his plans to become an actor, and the thought of him appearing in a drama of some sorts makes you even more intrigued if you weren't already. Then you tell him about your interests in literature, and you catch the way his eyes light up when you mention your favourite books and authors.

At some point, while focusing on your own bowl, you notice something on Jun's. You see him shaping some small, rounded protrusions at the top, almost looks like he's forming two small teeth. Or ears. Or something.

"Are you molding teeth on your bowl?" You ask, a twinge of tease to your voice.

You notice a small smirk at the corners of his mouth as he works to shape the protrusions to a more sharper look. Then he takes his foot off the pedal and sits back.

"It's supposed to to be cat ears," he claims, narrowing his eyes down at it. "Does it look like it?"

You lean in to take a closer look, and there it is𑁋a charming, abstract, clay cat with only its two pointy, slightly uneven ears to give its character. You let out a small chuckle at the sight, giving Jun a nod of approval.

"It does look like one, for sure," You tell him. "Maybe next class you could give it a face and a tail?"

He thinks about your words for a moment, moreso on when you said maybe next class.

"I can definitely try," he says, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes.

As the class comes to an end, you and Jun both place your unfinished pieces into designated shelves where you both can come back to them next class. The two of you then take off your aprons and clean up, letting the silence pass as you make your way outside and back into the main waiting area together. You both greet the receptionist a small have a good day before exiting out together.

The cool, late afternoon air feels refreshing the moment you step into it, letting out a breath of relief that seemed to have been dying to come out. Jun notices this, hiding the way his lips curve up by looking down at the ground.

"Today was fun," You say, eyes briefly roaming to the growing traffic on the streets.

Jun meets where your eyes are, before turning back to you. "Yeah," he adds on. "It was."

You mention something about how this day off meant to you, but Jun finds himself a bit distracted in the way you're literally glowing with the fading light of the day. As you both stand there, the thought of parting ways for now doesn't sit well with him, or either of you, for that matter.

You both linger in the moment, unsure of how to proceed, before Jun clears his throat. His voice, with a hint of hesitation, breaks the silence. "Um..."

The sound of his voice immediately catches your attention, and Jun swears his words catch in his throat. He glances away for a brief moment, then looks back at you with a hint of nervousness in his eyes, and the words finally spill out.

"...would you like to... um, do something again? Together? Maybe we could grab a coffee or dinner or something? It's pretty unoriginal, I know, but..."

Your heart flutters at his hesitant words. He looks adorable in his shyness, and you feel your own nervousness take a step back as you muster up a warm smile.

"I'd love to, Jun."

Jun visibly relaxes as your words wash over him, relief flooding his features. A bright smile breaks across his face, and the sight of it is just so infectious that it makes you smile even wider.

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[jeanbury74]

A CC filled lot this time. English-ish House is up on the gallery. 3 bed, 2.5 bath, with a pantry and laundry room. ID jeanbury. All the CC used is written below. Beware, it's a long 'un!

876 simmer-Oslo wardrobe, lowboy dresser, nightstand and standing mirror.

9 sims-DIY stars wall hanging.

Adrestea Moon-Storybook Lover and PJR Paintings.

Ars Botanica-Peonies Pitcher and Peony Jule Cup.

Ameyasims-You're So Vain: Vanity Brush and Hand Held Mirror.

ATS4-Breakfast: Milk Pack, Coffee Jars, Coffe Jar, Milk Bottle, Instant Drink, Tea Tin, Tea Box, Cocoa Powder Box. Fruit Juice Packs, Fruit Juice Glass Bottle, Coffee Bag. Baking: Wooden Spoon,Mechanical Scale, Timer, Canister, Baking Decoration Jar, Dried Fruits, Mixing Bowl, Baking Aids, Flour, Nutella, Baking Aids Stock, Dried Fruits Stock, Electronic Scale, Measuring Cup, Sugar, Jar, Measuring Cups, Rubber Spatula, Pastry Wheel, Candied Fruits. SnowyDay: Gloves, Wall Scarf #2, Wall Beanie #1, Fur Boots, Boots Snowcalf, Wall Coat #1 and #2 Bag Clutter: Tic Tacs.

Awingedllama-Apartment Therapy Potted Vine Round Mirror, Hanging Ivy.

Charley Pancakes-Insomnia: Organic Cotton Bedding. Miscellanea: Book Collection, Standing Books, Book Series.

Desimmy-Tiny Nifty Pictures.

Dew At Home-Hallway Hanging Scarf.

Duckey-Springtime Melody ,mug, Forever Spring Canvas Art, Lil Lilies, Friends and More Friends(these are table mounted frames that are called friends. That's all the information that was given)

Faaeish-BB Wall Decor Pegs and Toy Camera.

Felixandre-Chateau: Alarm Clock, Bedding, End Table, End Table 2, Drawer, Table Lamp, Rug Square, Telephone, Dresser. Grove: Salad Bowl, Lady Sam's Peony Vase, Bedframe V1. Grove-Timbershelf Inside Corner, Flagstone Floor, Cups, Stacked Plates, Stacked Plates 2, Stacked Plates Small, Wall Basket Small, Casserole, Bowls.

Felix and Harrie-Livin Rum: Box Files, Rug, Book Row, Book Series. Orjanic: Table Lamp, Bench, Cushion 2, Book End. Baysic: Toothpaste Container. Florence Fresco Mural. Tiny Twavellers:Hedge Wall.

GhostlyCC-Pre Raphaelite Paintings.

Harrie-Coastal Kitchen: Cereal Boxes, Cabinet Stack, Accent Counter 1 Marble Type, Coastal: Farmhouse Kitchen Sink with Tea Towel, Tins, Sofa, Tv Unit, Display Cupboard, Small Plates, Bowl, Bowl Stack, Cans, , Large Plates. Heritage: Traditional Towel Ring, Bowl Traditional Toilet, Traditional Runner, Landscape Artwork, Traditional Console Table, Floor Lamp, Traditional Round End Table, Traditional Elegant Mirror Small, Traditional Desk, Traditional Bust. Country: CoffeeTable.

Haruinosato-2x1 Curtain 01 Short.

Javabeandreams-Whimsical Animal Portraits.

Kardofe-Vienna Dining Room Curtains, Bella Babies Bedroom Small Pics.

Kliekie-Yove Plants 06, Awipow Plants 11, DecorationsPlants 10 Dragon's Herb. Whisper Laurel Plants 05

Kriss-Scania Build Set:Windows Classic Colonial 2 Tile, Classic Estate 2 Tile,Jugend Cottage 2 Tile.

Leafmotif-Botanical Bathtub, Twee Tableware: 6 Egg bowl, 9 Pot with Lid, Twin Mug Stacks, Whimsy Cake Plate, Short Pitcher. Basil's Favourite Chair 3 Maud Lewis Paintings

Linacherie-Ts2 Olde Tyme Skillets, Billyjean Curio Kitchen: Trays, Clip, Jar. Simlish Art 11, RPC Prints, Sizzling Cuisine Mitts, Delicious Bakery: Cookbooks, Flour Bag.

Madame Ria-Back To Basics: Spice Bottle,Dish Rack, Cereal Box, Pot Holder Wall, Modular Shelves, Coffee Tin, Pot Holder, Stock Pot, Dressing Container, Spice Rack, Counter Grey Scale, Open Book.

Marefc-Half Tiled Walls 2.

MC- Modern Crafter The Short Contemporary Radishly Plant

Menaceman 44-Granny's Brolly Vase.

Midsummersim-Simterest Poster.

Moonlightsim-Photo Frame Memories.

Nocturne-Rustic Cottage: Pokers, Master Curtain, Pedestal Old Miller Tea Set, Deco Retro Vacuum, Not So Shabby Rug, End Table. Grandma Cupboard.

Nynaeve Design-Lyne Half Curtains Blinds V1. Lyne Three Quarters Blinds V2, 1069, 1069 Lyne Radiator 1 Tile.

Okruee- ACNH Bathroom Towel Rack. (Animal Crossing)-

Omorfi Mera- Glass Jars.

PlasticBox- Modular Plant Hanging Pot.

Peacemaker-Hinterlands:Living Throw Pillow, Farmhouse Dining Table, Single Bedframe, Cottage Dining Chair, Bedside Table, Luxurious Single Bedding V1, Arched Mirror, Wardrobe, Bedframe with Footend, Nightstand. Hinterlands Living: Stately Fireplace, Coffee Tray Table, Mantle Mirror, Fringed Pouffe. Hinterlands Dining: Framed Dining Chair, Hanging Clock, Short Petal Pendant Porcelain Lamp.

Piersim- The Office Mini Pack: Higher Plant, Landline, Stackable Book, Printer.

Pocci-S Cargeaux Cabinet RecoloursCyclamen Outdoor, Iris Outdoor, Lilac In A Glass Bottle, Woodcabinet Open (Book cabinet Mini Set), Vintage Tea Set: Teacup With Tea, Milk Pitcher, Cupcake Plate. Magnolia Ceramic Vase, Basket Decor With Slots, Anthropologie Ottoman, Laundry Day Basket on Stool, Steaming Coffee Cup, Marguerite Teacup Empty, Iris In Glass Jar. Single Rose Glass Bottle. Potted Lily Of The Valley.

PTS-Cottage Garden Tea Tin Herbs, Granny's Basket Deco, Deco Mason Jar Short.

Quaylinsims- Paintings Zodiac.

Rhiannon AR-Medium Rug Floral Modern, Long Rug WithModern Floral Patterns

Ricca Bee-Mom's Lamp.

RSVN-Clothes Minded: Fedora, Floppy Hat, Baseball Hat, Sweater. Peg To Differ: Dish Towel, Knife Set, Mug, Utensils. Simmerdown: Cookie Jar, Mason Jar, Mug, Hanging Pots And Pans, Paper Towel, Ceramic Jar, Macaroon Jar. Smeglish Kettle Large.Procraftination:Hoop Large,

RoyIMVU-Seagrass Baskets.

Silverhammer-Executron Executive Desk Throne.

SimMan123-Sheer Right Curtain Short.

Sixam-Spring Six Kitchen: Buttery Toast, T Meg Mid Century Toaster With Toast, TMeg The Terrance, Deco Stove Hood, Olly's Oil Bottles, Kitchen Appliances Stove, Don't Be A Square Plate.

SJB (Yika)-Charlie Set Two CurtainsV1.

Soloriya-Zoe Blinds Part 2.

SYB-Colette: Towel, Toilet Paper Rolls, Soap Dispenser,Wallshelf, Bath, Blanket, Sink, Floor Vertical Mirror, Book, Cupboard, Rug, Bath Tray, Toilet.Millenial: Fridge, Fruit Basket,Utensils Rack, Utensils Pot, Totebag, Spices, Dish Soap. Microwave, Olive Oil, Breadbox, Island, Trashbin, Shower Curtains Short. Highschool Corridor: Hanged Backpack, Sandrine Slippers.

Tianella SE- Honey Herbs Paintings.

Veranka-Yesteryear Loveseat.

Wistful Castle-Wistful Room Pictures, Wistful Lamp #1.

Wondymoon-Cycnus Curtains.

Zeenasims- English Cottage: Paintings, Wainscotting Wallpaper.

ZX-Tagada-Lighting Table Candlestick.

[volcanicobservervigil]

Cheap Yet Luxurious Looking Chandeliers

One of the most iconic names in luxurious decor is "Chandeliers." These highly enchanting fixtures are known for their intricacies and beauty but also their price. What if I told you that you could purchase a countertop for your shelf and not break the bank? You heard me right! There are numerous extravagant looking Inexpensive chandeliers that have captured the eye and pocket of many. With smart shopping, judicious attention to materials and a few design tricks, you can get lights that are more expensive, but with less cost.

Here’s how to spot Inexpensive chandeliers that seem expensive but aren’t.

1. Choose Modern Glam

Opting for a clean, modern glam fused chandelier can boost the beauty of your room. These pieces showcase sleek lines, minimalistic designs and subtle metallic finishes. These stunning pieces cost less because they utilize fewer materials, but their straightforward nature adds an air of elegance.

Style Tip To achieve instant sophistication, pick a matte black or brushed brass finish. Fixtures with globe shades or exposed bulbs double as eddy glamour for solar systems without adding bulk or cost.

2. Faux crystal, real sparkle

Crystal chandeliers scream opulence and luxury however, real crystal tends to be expensive. Luckily, many budget-friendly chandeliers use acrylic or glass substitutes which are not only low cost, but are also much more affordable than the authentic thing.

Style Tip: Search for chandeliers with a great number of light reflecting components. Even imitation crystals sparkle marvelously when they are placed near a window or a mirror.

3. Industrial Chic on a Budget

Industrial-style chandeliers tend to be made with low-cost materials such as steel, PVC pipes or even iron, meaning their price is lower than most. From the use of exposed Edison bows to the geometric framing, these fixtures offer sharper aesthetics at a better price compared to traditional pieces.

Style Tip: Use black or bronze matte finishes. Add vintage style to the bulbs to create a chic look that is sophisticated and modern all at once.")

4. Farmhouse favorites

The farmhouse aesthetic is still as popular, and so is its signature lighting such as wood and metal mix wagon wheel chandeliers which are sold at very affordable prices. These designs provide rustic appeal and warmth while ensuring everything is affordable.

Style Tip: Incorporate weathered wood with oil rubbed bronze. Install them over a dining table or kitchen island to achieve maximum impact.

5. Modern Glam on a Dime

Achieving glam vibes does not require a crystal-studded piece. Instead, focus on searching for gold ornate chandeliers that feature unique shapes and layered designs. Construction of modern glam style lighting pieces is becoming widespread, and they tend to fashion basic materials in complex ways.

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Style Tip: Sculptural shapes, globe cluster, or tiered designs are effective as well. Even small ornaments can add visual interest when strategically placed and finished properly.

6. DIY and Customization

Customizing to suit the wearer’s needs is sometimes the most effective way to achieve a finesse look. You can customize with ease by modifying the affordable chandelier by spray-painting its metal finishes, adding tailored shades, or attaching acrylic crystals to glam up a plain design. Such imagination can effortlessly elevate an ordinary fixture into a showpiece.

Style Tip: Take advantage of step by step guides found on the internet to transform light fittings using gold spray paint, frosted bulb covers, and new shades.

7. Shop Smart: Where to Look

There are several places to find high-end looking but cheap chandeliers:

Online retailers usually put many items on sale, and Amazon, Overstock and Wayfair are good examples that consider user reviews.

Designers take into account other stores like Lowe’s and Home Depot which offer stylish light fittings at competitive prices too, hence labeling them home improvement stores.

Local secondhand and flea markets often have pre-loved chandeliers that only need a bit of TLC (and a couple of bulbs).

Flash sale websites like Joss & Main, or Houzz, offer deep discounts on designer styles.

Conclusion

Sprucing up your home lighting does not have to empty out your pockets, and you do not need a lavish budget. With the right design approach, materials, and finish, chandeliers even at budget prices can achieve the lavish look that transforms any room. Whether your design style is industrial, rustic, modern, or glam, there is an astonishing chandelier that suits your budget without draining your wallet.

So, indulge in a bit of grandeur for your home and ceiling, because, trust me, they won’t mind.

Would you like me to share other retailer models and their affordable options for chandeliers?

[handcraftednauticaldecor]

Handcrafted Nautical Decor Essentials - Porthole Windows That Add Authentic Maritime Charm

When it comes to bringing the ocean indoors, few design elements offer the same timeless appeal as porthole windows. Inspired by vintage ship architecture, these round nautical accents have become a favorite in coastal and maritime-themed décor. Whether you're designing a beach house, enhancing a nautical office space, or simply adding sea-inspired charm to a living room, porthole decoration adds authenticity and character that no other accessory can match.

At Handcrafted Nautical Decor, we specialize in unique and artisan-crafted maritime pieces that blend tradition with coastal elegance. Our collection of porthole windows is one of our most admired product lines—and for good reason.

The Timeless Appeal of Porthole Windows

Originally designed for ships to allow light and air into tight quarters, porthole windows have transitioned from function to fashion. In modern design, they bring nautical heritage into contemporary homes. Their round shape, often framed in antique brass or polished finishes, immediately draws the eye and sets a sea-worthy tone. Whether installed as working windows or used purely for porthole decoration, these fixtures capture the spirit of life at sea.

Why Choose Handcrafted Nautical Decor?

At Handcrafted Nautical Decor, our decorative nautical accessories are crafted with care, detail, and quality materials. Each product reflects our commitment to honoring maritime tradition while offering pieces that fit beautifully into today’s home styles.

Our featured product—the Deluxe Class Porthole Window 12" – Antique Brass—is a perfect example. This stunning piece is ideal for both functional and decorative use. Made from solid brass with an aged finish, it provides a rustic, authentic look that complements wood, stone, or neutral-toned interiors. Use it as a wall accent, bathroom mirror, or even an actual window—it’s that versatile.

Creative Ways to Use Porthole Decoration

Bathroom Mirrors: Replace traditional mirrors with porthole windows to turn your bathroom into a captain’s quarters. It’s a subtle touch that speaks volumes.

Wall Accents: Place multiple porthole decoration pieces on one wall to simulate the inside of a ship cabin or galley.

Doors and Cabinets: Add smaller decorative nautical accessories like mini porthole windows to cabinets or interior doors for a nautical twist.

Outdoor Walls: Frame your patio, porch, or boathouse with porthole décor to complete your coastal escape.

Retail and Hospitality Spaces: If you own a beachfront café, seafood restaurant, or boutique, porthole windows bring in that thematic charm your guests will love.

Other Notable Products from Our Collection

While the Deluxe Class Porthole Window 12" – Antique Brass is a bestseller, we also offer a variety of sizes and finishes to match your style:

Deluxe Class Porthole Window 8" – Antique Brass: A smaller yet equally stunning option for compact spaces.

Deluxe Class Porthole Window 15" – Polished Brass: Shiny and elegant, great for brighter spaces with modern coastal décor.

Deluxe Class Porthole Mirror 12" – Chrome: A sleek, reflective option that doubles as both mirror and porthole decoration.

Each item is part of our carefully curated selection of decorative nautical accessories, designed to help you build an interior that tells a story of sea voyages, lighthouses, and breezy coastlines.

Why Decorative Nautical Accessories Matter

It’s the small details that bring a room to life, and our decorative nautical accessories are designed to do just that. Pair your porthole windows with ship wheels, compasses, lanterns, or nautical clocks from our collection to create a fully immersive oceanic experience. These accents not only add aesthetic value but also speak to the maritime legacy that inspired them.

Bring the Sea Home with Handcrafted Nautical Decor

Whether you're updating a space or starting from scratch, let Handcrafted Nautical Decor help you set the course. With our wide range of porthole windows, porthole decoration, and decorative nautical accessories, you’ll find everything you need to make your space as memorable as the sea itself.

Ready to give your space a nautical upgrade? Browse our full collection of porthole-inspired pieces today!

Let the Ocean Inspire Your Space

With Handcrafted Nautical Decor, you're not just decorating—you're telling a story. Our porthole windows, porthole decoration, and decorative nautical accessories are more than just accents; they’re conversation pieces that reflect your love for the sea. Whether you're going for a bold nautical statement or a subtle coastal vibe, our handcrafted pieces offer the perfect blend of beauty and authenticity.

Connect with us on social media to explore our latest arrivals, get decorating inspiration, and see how customers like you are using our products to transform their spaces. Don’t forget to share your own nautical setups—we’d love to be part of your decorating journey!

[thepureconcepthome]

Types of Home Furniture to Enhance Your Home Decor

Home isn’t just where the heart is — it’s also where your style lives. The right furniture doesn’t just fill a room, it defines it. Whether you're revamping a single space or furnishing an entire house, knowing which types of home furniture to buy is key to making your decor dreams come true.

Let’s walk through the top types of furniture that will elevate your home's aesthetic and create a cozy, stylish haven you'll love to live in.

Living Room Essentials

Statement Sofas and Sectionals

Your sofa is the centerpiece of the living room. Go bold with a velvet tufted couch or stay sleek with a leather sectional. Either way, it sets the tone for the rest of your decor.

Coffee Tables with Personality

A stylish coffee table pulls your seating area together. Whether it's rustic wood, sleek glass, or a funky modern shape — it brings function and flair.

Accent Chairs and Ottomans

Accent chairs are perfect for adding a splash of color or texture. Ottomans? They’re not just footrests — use them as extra seating or even hidden storage.

TV Units and Entertainment Consoles

Choose a unit that complements your decor while offering smart storage for electronics, cables, and more.

Bedroom Furniture Must-Haves

Beds That Make a Statement

Your bed is more than a place to sleep. A statement headboard or canopy frame can completely transform the room’s vibe.

Nightstands and Side Tables

These small but mighty pieces balance out your bed and give you a convenient spot for lamps, books, or your morning coffee.

Dressers and Storage Cabinets

Keep clutter at bay with sleek, functional dressers. Opt for pieces that double as decor with textured fronts or bold hardware.

Cozy Benches and Accent Seating

A plush bench at the foot of your bed? Chef’s kiss. It adds elegance and utility.

Dining Room Enhancers

Dining Tables as Centerpieces

From rustic farmhouse to marble-topped modern, your dining table should make a statement — it’s the heart of mealtime and gatherings.

Designer Dining Chairs

Don’t settle for boring. Upholstered chairs or ones with interesting backs add a design edge.

Buffets and Sideboards

These provide style and storage. Perfect for dishes, linens, or even your wine collection.

Bar Carts and Cabinets

Stylish and functional, they’re a must-have for entertainers. Bonus points if it’s on wheels.

Home Office Furniture

Functional Desks

Whether you need a full executive setup or a compact writing desk, make sure it fits your workflow and your space.

Ergonomic Office Chairs

Don’t sacrifice comfort for style. Fortunately, you can have both — think sleek design with lumbar support.

Stylish Storage Solutions

Floating shelves, file cabinets, and built-ins keep the mess out of sight while blending with your decor.

Multi-Purpose and Space-Saving Furniture

Modular Sofas

They adapt to your lifestyle. Rearrange them to fit parties, movie nights, or just a quiet night in.

Foldable Tables

Ideal for small spaces. Extend when needed, tuck away when not.

Storage Ottomans

Hide your stuff in plain sight. These are genius for decluttering while keeping your space looking chic.

Entryway and Hallway Additions

Console Tables

Slim and stylish, these tables make your entryway pop while offering a place for keys, plants, or a decorative mirror.

Coat Racks and Stands

Functional and decorative. Go for one that matches your vibe — industrial metal or vintage wood.

Storage Benches

Sit down to put on your shoes and stash bags or blankets underneath. Win-win.

Outdoor Furniture to Extend Your Decor

Patio Dining Sets

Bring indoor elegance outside with weatherproof dining tables and chairs.

Lounge Chairs and Daybeds

Think resort-style relaxation. Add pillows and throws for extra comfort.

Weatherproof Accessories

Don’t forget outdoor rugs, lighting, and side tables to complete the look.

Materials and Finishes That Elevate Decor

Wood for Warmth

Oak, walnut, teak — wood never goes out of style and adds a grounded, cozy feel to any room.

Metal for Industrial Chic

Matte black, brass, or chrome finishes offer a sleek contrast and a touch of modernity.

Glass for Modern Vibes

Glass tables or cabinets help small spaces feel open and airy.

Upholstery for Texture

Velvet, linen, leather — textured fabrics add depth and a luxe touch.

Tips for Choosing Furniture That Fits Your Style

Know Your Theme: Modern, Rustic, Minimalist?

Stick to a consistent design language. If you love modern, avoid mixing too much vintage unless you’re confident in blending styles.

Mix and Match Textures

Layering textures — wood, metal, fabric — makes a room feel complete and dynamic.

Use Color to Your Advantage

Furniture is a great way to introduce color. Go bold with a royal blue chair or soft with neutral tones that complement your walls.

Prioritize Functionality and Flow

Pretty is good. Pretty and useful? Even better. Make sure each piece serves a purpose and fits your lifestyle.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

Overcrowding a Room

Less is more. Too much furniture makes your space feel cramped instead of cozy.

Choosing Style Over Comfort

That avant-garde chair might look great, but will anyone want to sit in it?

Ignoring Measurements and Proportions

Measure twice, buy once. Always check dimensions to make sure furniture fits both the space and the scale of your room.

Conclusion

Furniture is more than just stuff that fills a room — it’s the secret ingredient that brings your entire home decor to life. The right mix of form, function, and flair can turn your space into a personal sanctuary. Whether you’re going for cozy comfort or modern elegance, choosing the right types of home furniture is a game-changer.

So don’t just buy furniture — curate a collection that tells your story, enhances your daily life, and turns every room into a statement of who you are.

FAQs

1. What furniture should I start with when decorating my home? Start with essentials like a bed, sofa, and dining table — the big pieces that define your space. Then layer in accents and storage.

2. How do I mix furniture styles without clashing? Stick to a cohesive color palette and use complementary shapes or textures to bridge different styles.

3. What are some space-saving furniture options for small homes? Think foldable tables, storage ottomans, wall-mounted shelves, and modular furniture.

4. Should I invest in custom-made furniture? If you want unique pieces or have a tricky space, custom furniture is worth it. It adds personality and perfect fit.5. How do I know which materials are best for my lifestyle? Got kids or pets? Choose durable, easy-to-clean materials like leather or treated wood. Love luxury? Opt for velvet or marble with proper care.

[dixiepottery1]

Exploring Southern Charm Through Pottery in Atlanta’s Creative Landscape

Atlanta is a city where tradition and innovation intertwine, where southern heritage lives side-by-side with contemporary art and design. From music and fashion to architecture and home decor, the city continues to be a melting pot of ideas and culture. In recent years, one medium that has seen a resurgence in both popularity and artistic value is pottery. With its blend of form, function, and storytelling, ceramics have become central to how many Atlantans express personal style and celebrate their homes—and it’s no surprise that pottery in Atlanta has carved out a unique space of its own.

Atlanta's creative energy fosters a strong community of makers and artisans. Pottery, both handmade and studio-crafted, offers an opportunity for people to slow down, connect with tactile materials, and embrace objects made with intention. In the hustle of urban life, these handmade vessels, bowls, vases, and trays are more than just decorative accents—they are grounding objects that bring warmth and authenticity to daily rituals.

Throughout Atlanta, you'll find pottery studios tucked into historic neighborhoods, boutique galleries, and markets brimming with beautifully crafted ceramics. Art festivals, such as the Dogwood Festival and Inman Park Festival, showcase the diverse styles of local ceramicists. From earthy, rustic pieces to sleek, minimalist forms, the pottery scene in Atlanta mirrors the city's diversity and openness to creative exploration.

For homeowners and designers alike, pottery offers a subtle way to bring character into a room. A well-placed vase on a mantel or a handmade mug on a kitchen shelf tells a story of craftsmanship and intention. It’s in these small details that a home becomes a lived-in space—layered with personality and meaning.

At the heart of this movement is the desire for authenticity. Mass-produced home decor might offer convenience, but it rarely brings the soul and uniqueness that handmade ceramics provide. Pottery allows people to surround themselves with items that have history, texture, and the mark of the maker. It transforms everyday moments into experiences—whether it’s sipping coffee from a wheel-thrown cup or placing fresh stems into a sculptural vase.

One standout example that beautifully embodies this blend of artistry and function is the Sak Vase in Antique White with Yellow Center from Dixie Pottery. The soft, vintage glaze, gentle curves, and cheerful floral center strike a perfect balance between modern charm and classic Southern appeal. Pieces like this feel timeless, yet fresh—something you could pass down through generations or gift to a friend who appreciates artistry and detail.

Dixie Pottery, while rooted in tradition, feels very much aligned with Atlanta’s creative heartbeat. Their pieces reflect Southern sensibilities—graceful, enduring, and unpretentious—while still feeling current. The vases, utensil holders, and other handmade wares are more than functional—they’re thoughtfully crafted works of art that invite everyday use. You don’t have to be a collector or designer to appreciate these pieces. Their beauty lies in their accessibility and the way they elevate simple moments.

Atlanta’s love for pottery also reflects a deeper trend in sustainable and intentional living. Consumers today are increasingly drawn to items that are made with care and meant to last. Investing in artisan ceramics means valuing quality over quantity and choosing decor that tells a story rather than simply filling space. It’s a move away from disposable culture toward mindful consumption.

Moreover, pottery naturally invites connection. Visit any local workshop or market in Atlanta, and you’ll likely strike up a conversation—not just about the pieces themselves, but about the clay, the glaze, the process, the imperfections that make each one distinct. This sense of community is part of what makes the local pottery scene so vibrant. It's not just about the end product, but the hands that made it and the relationships that form around it.

Incorporating pottery into your living space doesn’t require a major redesign. It’s often the small, curated details that make the biggest impact. A single ceramic vase with wildflowers on a bedside table. A ring dish by the sink with a glaze that catches the light. A handmade tray on the coffee table that anchors your favorite candles and books. Each piece tells a quiet story, creating harmony between utility and art.

Interior designers across Atlanta frequently turn to handmade ceramics when styling homes. These pieces add depth and texture to both modern and traditional spaces. Their ability to blend with wood, stone, metal, and other natural materials makes them incredibly versatile. Even in the sleekest spaces, a handcrafted pot or sculptural vase adds warmth and softness—reminding us that imperfection is often what makes something beautiful.

Another compelling aspect of pottery’s appeal is how it bridges seasons. A ceramic piece with a soft glaze might feel summery when paired with fresh peonies, and completely different in autumn filled with eucalyptus or golden leaves. Pottery doesn’t feel locked into a particular look or time of year—it’s endlessly adaptable, which is part of its charm.

Atlanta’s creative energy makes it the perfect place for pottery to thrive. Between its appreciation for tradition and its hunger for new ideas, the city nurtures artists and consumers who are unafraid to explore new forms of expression. Pottery, with its blend of utility and art, perfectly encapsulates that spirit. And for those looking to bring a piece of that magic into their own homes, places like Dixie Pottery offer just the right blend of Southern tradition and artisanal quality. Click here

Whether you’re a long-time collector or simply someone looking to add a bit of soul to your space, exploring the world of pottery in Atlanta opens the door to something meaningful. It’s about slowing down, choosing with intention, and surrounding yourself with beauty that doesn’t just sit on a shelf—it lives with you.

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Nautical Home Decor Ideas for a Space

Nautical home decor brings the tranquility of the sea into your living space, creating a relaxing and inviting atmosphere. Nautical home decor whether you live by the coast or want to incorporate seaside charm into your home, this decorating style offers a perfect blend of elegance and comfort.

Key Elements of Nautical Decor

Coastal Color Palette – Shades of blue, white, beige, and soft grays mimic the ocean and sandy shores. Natural Materials – Incorporate driftwood, rattan, linen, and rope accents for an organic touch. Nautical Symbols – Anchor motifs, ship wheels, and seashell decorations instantly enhance the seaside aesthetic. Stripes and Patterns – Classic navy-and-white stripes are a timeless feature in nautical decor. Weathered Finishes – Distressed wood furniture and rustic elements evoke a charming, beach-worn look.

How to Style Your Home with Nautical Decor

Living Room: Add striped throw pillows, wooden coffee tables, and coastal artwork. Bedroom: Use white linens with navy accents and incorporate rope light fixtures. Bathroom: Decorate with seashell soap dishes, maritime mirrors, and soft blue hues. When using the blue color palette, combining it with neutral colors such as white, sand beige, or light gray is an effective way to emphasize the sea theme. In addition, wooden textures or seashell color details can add warmth and naturalness to the sea theme.

As a result, sea-themed home decoration with a blue color palette can make your home a calm, spacious, and peaceful place. You can bring the sea atmosphere to your home by using different shades of blue in each room. You can create a living space full of marine motifs in your living room and a peaceful sleeping environment in your bedroom. You can also live the sea theme with details in areas such as the bathroom and kitchen.

In addition, you can emphasize the sea theme even more by combining the blue color palette with neutral colors such as white, sand beige, or light gray. Wooden textures or seashell color details can add warmth and naturalness to your home while making you feel the sea breeze.

Remember that home decoration is personal and should reflect your own style. You can transform your home into an original and peaceful living space by using the sea theme with a blue color palette. Read the full article

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Transform Your Space with Nautical Decorative Accessories

Bring the serene charm of the ocean to your home with nautical decorative accessories that seamlessly blend style, elegance, and functionality. Whether you're looking to revamp your living room, add a touch of coastal serenity to your bedroom, or create a nautical-themed dining experience, these accessories are the perfect solution to elevate your décor.

Why Choose Nautical Decorative Accessories?

Nautical décor reflects the tranquility of the sea, making it ideal for homes, offices, or even themed events. Here’s why it’s a must-have:

Timeless Aesthetic: With classic hues like navy blue, white, and beige, coupled with maritime elements like anchors, ropes, and seashells, nautical decorations never go out of style.

Versatile Appeal: These pieces work seamlessly with various interior design styles, from rustic beach cottages to modern minimalist homes.

Unique Craftsmanship: Many nautical accessories are handcrafted, offering an artisanal quality that adds character and charm.

Explore Our Top Nautical Décor Picks

At Amalfi Outfitters, we curate a stunning collection of nautical decorative accessories to suit every taste:

Nautical Wall Art: Adorn your walls with vintage-inspired maritime maps, framed ship paintings, or wooden plaques featuring coastal motifs.

Table Décor: Add elegance with ship wheel coasters, rope-wrapped candle holders, and glass vases filled with sand and seashells.

Nautical Textiles: Bring the ocean indoors with cushion covers, throws, or curtains featuring anchor prints, stripes, or ocean waves.

Accent Pieces: Explore decorative items like model ships, lighthouses, and compasses to create a focal point in any room.

Tips to Style Nautical Accessories Like a Pro

Balance is Key: Avoid overloading your space. Choose a few key pieces to create a cohesive yet subtle coastal vibe.

Mix Textures: Combine smooth glass, rough jute, and weathered wood for a rich sensory experience.

Stick to a Palette: Work with a color scheme of whites, blues, and sandy neutrals to maintain a harmonious aesthetic.

Incorporate Nature: Pair your nautical accessories with fresh flowers, greenery, or driftwood for a natural touch.

Where to Use Nautical Accessories

Living Room: Add a statement piece like a model ship or a large canvas of ocean waves.

Dining Area: Opt for nautical-themed table runners, coasters, and centerpiece decorations for a chic dining experience.

Bathroom: Include anchor-shaped hooks, rope mirrors, and shell soap dishes for a spa-like feel.

Outdoor Spaces: Decorate patios or balconies with lanterns, outdoor rugs, and navy cushions for a beachy retreat.

Benefits of Shopping at Amalfi Outfitters

Quality Assurance: Every piece is carefully selected to ensure durability and premium craftsmanship.

Unique Designs: Stand out with accessories that you won’t find in generic stores.

Affordable Prices: Enjoy high-end décor at prices that fit your budget.

Eco-Friendly Options: Many of our products use sustainable materials like reclaimed wood and recycled glass.

Perfect for Every Occasion

Nautical decorative accessories also make thoughtful gifts. Whether for housewarmings, weddings, or birthdays, these timeless items bring joy to anyone who loves the sea. Plus, their versatility ensures they’ll fit beautifully in any setting.

Transform Your Space Today

Elevate your interiors and create a tranquil sanctuary reminiscent of the ocean. Visit Amalfi Outfitters today to explore our exclusive collection of nautical decorative accessories. Embrace the beauty of the coast and make your home a reflection of timeless elegance. Discover the endless possibilities with nautical décor and turn your space into a coastal masterpiece.

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Personalize Your Space with Automotive and Wall Décor

In a world where personalization reigns supreme, decorating one’s space—whether a car or a room—has become a form of self-expression. With countless options for automotive decoration and wall decoration, individuals can transform ordinary environments into reflections of their unique styles and interests. From adding visual appeal to enhancing comfort and functionality, decorative elements serve both aesthetic and practical purposes. This article explores the creative possibilities available in automotive and wall decoration, offering ideas to help bring personality into personal spaces.

Adding Character with Automotive Decoration

Cars are more than just vehicles; they are personal spaces where many people spend a significant part of their day. Automotive decoration provides a way to enhance this experience, making the interior and exterior of the vehicle more enjoyable and reflective of personal taste. Decorative items like custom seat covers, steering wheel covers, floor mats, and dashboard accessories allow car owners to create an inviting and comfortable environment. For example, choosing seat covers that match your favorite colors or patterns adds personality to the interior, while steering wheel covers provide a comfortable grip and a pop of color. Beyond interior decoration, exterior accessories such as decals, license plate frames, and car magnets offer ways to personalize the vehicle’s appearance on the road. Many car enthusiasts also incorporate LED lighting or unique bumper stickers to make their cars stand out. Automotive decoration not only improves the visual appeal of the vehicle but can also add practical benefits. For instance, sunshades protect against harsh sunlight and help keep the car’s interior cooler, while custom organizers reduce clutter and maximize storage space. These thoughtful touches turn a simple ride into a reflection of style and comfort.

Creating a Unique Ambiance with Wall Decoration

When it comes to home interiors, wall decoration plays a significant role in setting the tone of a room. Wall decor can make a blank space feel welcoming, stylish, and full of life. Options range from artwork and mirrors to wall-mounted sculptures and shelves, all of which contribute to a room’s overall ambiance. Artwork, whether in the form of paintings, prints, or photographs, serves as a focal point, while mirrors add depth and can make a room appear more spacious. Wall-mounted sculptures, such as metal or wooden designs, add texture and dimension, transforming flat walls into vibrant parts of the decor. The versatility of wall decoration means there are countless styles and themes to choose from, allowing individuals to customize their space according to taste. For a more rustic look, wooden wall decor or nature-inspired art can create a cozy, organic feel. In modern interiors, sleek metal wall sculptures or abstract art add a sophisticated, contemporary touch. Arranging multiple items, such as a gallery wall of framed photos or a series of small shelves, creates an engaging display that adds character to the space. Whether subtle or bold, wall decoration has the power to bring personal flair into every room of a home.

Combining Automotive and Wall Decor for a Cohesive Style

For those who appreciate cohesive design across all personal spaces, coordinating automotive decoration with wall decoration can create a seamless aesthetic. For instance, an individual with a preference for minimalist decor might choose simple, neutral-toned seat covers and car accessories, mirroring this style at home with understated wall art and monochrome pieces. Similarly, someone who loves vibrant colors and bold patterns might opt for bright car accessories and incorporate vivid, eye-catching art into their wall decor. By aligning both automotive and wall decorations with personal tastes, individuals can extend their unique style from their vehicles to their homes, creating a continuous theme of self-expression. Decorative elements in both cars and houses not only personalize these spaces but also enhance the experience of being in them. A well-decorated car becomes more comfortable and enjoyable for daily commutes, while thoughtfully adorned walls turn living spaces into inviting sanctuaries.

Conclusion 

Both automotive decoration and wall decoration provide creative avenues for bringing individuality into everyday spaces. By carefully selecting decor that aligns with personal style and function, cars and homes can become accurate reflections of one’s identity. With a wide selection of unique decor items, kapaga.pl offers everything needed to make personal spaces feel both stylish and comfortable. Thoughtful choices in decor can transform any environment into a unique, welcoming space, making each drive or time spent at home more enjoyable and meaningful.

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