#stone and metal console table

[zhutra]

Ideas for a mid-sized contemporary entryway remodel with a light wood front door, brown walls, and a dark wood floor

Mongrafismo

[gobuyussomecoffee]

Toronto Contemporary Entry Mid-sized contemporary entryway idea with a brown floor and dark wood floors, beige walls, and a light wood front door.

[danielaprice]

Hall in Toronto Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary dark wood floor and brown floor entryway remodel with beige walls and a light wood front door

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @gullableh @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @nyxthedeity @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hxsxxk-180294 @wordacadabra @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @purplefluffycows @raikan624 @avengemepercy @killerwendigo @winterjaysoldier @magnoliamoogle @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @lcolumbia1988 @paintmekala @knowingnothingnoel @captain-shannon-becker @jainaeatsstars @mm4t @houseofthechaos @chachkid @escapefromrealitylol

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A/N: I am alive ! Sorry for the slow update but here is the next part !

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Tw: cussing, fluff

Part 17

Words of Command - Part 18

The communal floor of Stark Tower was unusually still. A breeze from the automated ventilation stirred the long drapes beside the windows, and light poured in—soft gold across glass, metal, and silence.

The aftermath of what had happened the night before still clung to the walls like an echo.

At the center console, Tony Stark looked every bit the genius-billionaire-insomniac, hair tousled, arc reactor glowing through a rumpled Black Sabbath shirt, coffee in hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Holograms danced in front of him—blueprints, security schematics, and tracking data cascading in midair.

Agent Collins stood just to the side, shifting uncomfortably under Stark’s scrutinizing gaze.

“These,” Tony said, gesturing like a magician unveiling a new trick, “are the new key cards. Retina-matched, palm-synced, neuro-linked to your heart rate. So if you’re panicking, bleeding, or doing a very bad impersonation of me? It locks you out.”

He slid a card across the table toward Collins.

“Don’t lose it, rookie. Or misplace it in a vending machine like the last one.”

A beat. “And if you’re still thinking about shooting someone in this building? Maybe aim for the espresso machine next time—it has less moral ambiguity.”

Collins flushed, stammering, “Yes, sir. Of course. I—I’m sorry again—”

Tony waved a hand dismissively, then turned his eyes on you.

“And you,” he said, pointing, voice light but laced with something tighter, “Thumbelina.”

You blinked. “Hmm"

“Yeah. Honestly, the most terrifying thing about that entire debacle was how calm you were.”

He reached under the console and slid another card toward you. Unlike Collins’ sleek black one, yours was silver, marked with a small Stark Industries insignia and a delicate engraving of a rose.

“Custom-coded,” he added more quietly. “Highest clearance short of mine or Pepper's. And it tracks your location anywhere in the building… or, you know, if someone tries to relocate you.”

You hesitated before picking it up. “Tony, this is…”

He cut you off with a glance—his tone softening only fractionally.

“Don’t read too much into it, Thumbelina. Just… consider it your golden ticket to not getting Winter-Soldiered next time a Hydra Barbie struts through my door.” His jaw twitched faintly before he turned back to his holograms.

"Because between you and me? I don’t know what would’ve happened if Barnes had flipped. And I’d rather not find out.”

Behind you, Bucky stood against the window, arms folded tightly across his chest. His face was carved from stone, eyes unreadable. But at Tony’s last words, you saw the flicker in his posture—a subtle clench of his metal fingers. His jaw worked, once, before he spoke.

“I wouldn’t have hurt her.”

It was quiet. Firm.

Tony didn’t look back. “Good plan, Tin Man. Let’s stick to it.”

You reached out and gently brushed your fingers over Bucky’s hand. His head turned toward you immediately, eyes softer now, focused entirely on you.

“You okay?” you asked quietly.

He glanced at the security card in your hand. “You keep that close. Anyone tries anything again... they won’t get the chance to finish a word.”

He meant it.

And this time, even Tony didn’t argue.

You found Tony later, alone on the terrace of Stark Tower. The city sprawled out beneath him, bathed in afternoon haze, a living thing of sound and motion.

He stood by the railing, sunglasses in place despite the shade, drink in hand—something amber that caught the light.

“Didn’t peg you for a brooder,” you said gently as you stepped out.

He didn’t look at you, just lifted the glass in a half-salute. “Rooftop brooding’s in the billionaire starter pack. That and daddy issues.”

You smiled faintly, letting the door slide shut behind you. The wind teased your hair, light and playful in contrast to the tension that still clung to him like static.

“I wanted to say thank you,” you offered. “For the card. The upgrades. Everything.”

Tony tilted his head, finally looking at you.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice still smooth, but quieter. “You didn’t ask to be dragged into any of this.”

“I’m here because I want to be. Bucky—he…”

“Thinks you’re his handler,” Tony interrupted, eyes narrowing behind his shades. “Still. Despite all the progress. And despite the fact he looks at you like you're the only safe place he's ever known.”

You looked down at your hands. “Yea, I know.”

Tony drained his drink and set the glass aside with a click of crystal on steel. “You know, if you were anyone else, I’d have locked Barnes in a vibranium box and shipped him off by now.”

You blinked up at him.

“He’s dangerous, Thumbelina. He’s got more kill commands in that head than most nukes. And if someone whispers poetry in Russian, he'll take out half my lab. So forgive me if I’m not sleeping well.”

The sarcasm was still there—but now it trembled just enough to show the cracks.

You stepped closer. “But you didn’t lock him up.”

“No,” Tony said, softer now. “Because he didn’t snap. Because you, god knows why, have faith in him.”

He exhaled hard, raking a hand through his hair.

“I saw what happened the other night. He didn’t hurt you. That means something. I just…” His voice dropped. “I don’t want to be the guy who says I told you so after something breaks. And I sure as hell don’t want it to be you who pays the price.”

You placed your hand lightly on his arm. “Tony, I know what he’s capable of. But I also know who he is now. You’ve seen it too.”

He looked down at your hand. “You’re good for him. Maybe too good. Just—promise me you’ll keep that card on you. And if something feels off, you run, okay? Because even the best of us can lose control.”

There was a pause. He added, more gently, “And maybe I care more than I let on. Don't make me say it out loud or I’ll combust.”

You smiled through the tightness in your chest. “Noted.”

Tony nodded and pulled his sunglasses off, eyes tired but sincere. “Now go check Manchurian Candidate. Before he broods a hole through my floor.”

You turned to leave but paused. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you”

The workshop hummed with artificial light and low-toned rock playing from a half-covered speaker somewhere on the cluttered shelves. Screens flickered with diagnostic data, schematic overlays of Bucky’s arm rotating in slow motion beside a real-time scan of his nervous system. The scent of oil, hot metal, and solder hung in the air like cologne.

Bucky sat on the reinforced stool with his left arm clamped into a calibration rig, a faint whirr-click pulsing as Tony adjusted a servo near the elbow joint. He flinched, just slightly, more from reflex than pain.

“Relax, Tin Man,” Tony drawled, leaning in with a fine-point tool between his fingers. “You jump like I’m tightening bolts with a wrench and a prayer.”

Bucky gave him a narrowed look but didn’t rise to the bait. “You talk a lot for someone who’s supposed to be concentrating.”

“And you grunt a lot for someone with enough years to have heard jazz when it was edgy,” Tony shot back. His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent was cautious—calculated. He didn’t trust easily.

A silence passed, broken only by the soft hiss of hydraulics and a string of code scrolling on a nearby display. Then Tony added, more pointedly

“Since you didn't go full Terminator on us, I feel safe enough to bring up a topic of immense personal importance.”

Bucky sighed. “Let me guess. Her.”

“Ding ding ding.” Tony didn’t look up, but there was a smirk in his voice. “My favorite receptionist. Whisperer of stray murder puppies. You know she’s important to me, right?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. His lips parted, slow and thoughtful. “She’s important to a lotta people.”

Tony side-eyed him. “Yeah. Which is why I’m keeping an eye on you, Frostbite. No offense... Okay, some offense.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to the limb Tony was working on. His metal fingers flexed, this time not in defense—but curiosity. Familiarity.

“You think I’d want to hurt her?” he asked, not with hostility, but that quiet kind of self-loathing that made even Tony pause.

“No,” Tony said after a beat, tone shifting slightly. “But you’re still figuring yourself out. And she’s got this... thing where she puts others first. Loyal to the end. And way too forgiving.”

“She’s not forgiving,” Bucky corrected gently. “She believes in people. There’s a difference.”

Tony actually looked up at that, giving Bucky a more measured stare. Something passed between them then—not quite friendship, but an understanding.

Mutual protectiveness.

Mutual guilt.

“You know she calls you ‘sweet when you’re quiet,’ right?” Tony said, smirking now, screwdriver back in hand. “Which is a weird thing to hear while trying to eat pancakes, by the way.”

Bucky gave a rare huff of a laugh. “That’s her. Says the strangest things with a straight face. Makes you believe ‘em anyway.”

Bucky looked away, jaw flexing slightly. “She deserves to feel safe, not… manage me.”

Tony finally looked up, goggles pushed to his forehead. That, more than anything, made Bucky uneasy. Tony’s sarcasm vanished for a moment.

“Still think she’s your handler?” Tony asked, voice flatter now, more serious.

Bucky shifted on the stool. “I don’t know. I thought that at first. But… not anymore.”

He flexed his metal fingers, gaze distant. “When she’s around, I don’t feel like a weapon. I feel like someone who could maybe learn to be human again.”

Tony’s expression didn’t soften—Stark didn’t really do soft—but it did shift. Understanding replaced the usual edge. He leaned against the bench, arms crossed.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

Tony gestured dramatically. “Come on, Barnes. The looks. The way you practically short-circuit when she walks in. You’re over here talking like a noir detective monologuing about love and redemption. It's textbook.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to disagree, but… he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled and said, almost to himself. “She’s… soft. Kind. She's never called me Asset.”

Tony tilted his head, watching. “She also trusts you.”

“I know,” Bucky said quietly. “That’s why I want to protect her.”

Tony stood straight again, brushing his hands off. “Okay, Loverboy, don’t make this weird. Look—if you ever do forget who you are again, or even think about slipping—I’ll vaporize you myself. No hesitation.”

Bucky nodded. “I’d want you to.”

Tony held his gaze a second longer, then, satisfied, picked up the casing panel and returned to tinkering.

“She deserves a guy who knows what she’s worth,” he said offhandedly. “You ever figure that out, maybe you won’t need her to save you all the time.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe I don’t want her to stop.”

He glanced toward the glass wall separating the workshop from the common floor—where you’d left earlier to bake with Pepper, your laugh barely audible through the insulated door.

Tony finished the adjustment and pressed a button on his remote. The brace unclamped, and Bucky’s arm whirred smoothly as it came to life. He flexed the fingers again—no glitch, no catch. The smallest smile curved his lips.

“Not bad,” Bucky admitted.

“High praise, coming from Cap’s ex-roommate,” Tony said, then added quieter, “Just... don’t screw this up, Barnes.”

Bucky stood, glancing down at the arm before meeting Tony’s eyes.

“She sees something good in here. Even after all the bad.” he said slowly

Tony’s smirk faded, replaced by a more solemn nod.

The city outside the window blinked with quiet life—cool blue lights spilling across the sheets, striping your forms like reflections from a slow-moving river. Stark Tower always felt too big at night, the hum of its tech softened to a ghostly lullaby.

You lay on your side, head resting against your pillow, hair slightly mussed from sleep. The oversized t-shirt you wore—hung loosely around your frame, bare feet tangled beneath the throw blanket.

Bucky lay on his back beside you, fully dressed in sweats and a black tee, his metal arm resting across his stomach. The space between you wasn’t large.

His head turned slightly toward you, eyes silvered in the moonlight. “Doll?”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

“I keep thinking about something Stark said,” his voice rasped, like gravel being gently scattered. “About you...”

"Tony says a lot of things, most of it bullshit." You deadpan

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckled under his breath, and it startled even him. “He does.”

There was a moment where the silence thickened again, this time with memory. He turned his head, eyes meeting yours in the dark. “Doll… I used to think you were my handler.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t anymore.”

That made your breath catch. You blinked slowly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“You feel different,” he continued, and his voice had that sounded like hesitant wonder. “When you touch me—it’s not… control. It’s comfort.”

“That's ... good,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “I still wait for orders. I’ll catch myself looking to you like… like I need permission to breathe.”

“You don’t,” you said. “You never did.”

He nodded, but it was heavy.

Tired.

Honest.

“Yeah, but it feels easier when you’re nearby.”

His flesh hand shifted slightly on the sheets between you—like he was thinking about reaching for you but wasn’t sure it was okay.

His gaze dropped to your fingers.

He didn’t move away.

“I like hearing you talk,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “It makes the static go quiet.”

You smiled faintly, then yawned, your body curling slightly toward him. Not touching. Not really.

“I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

He turned his head again, looking at you with something raw in his expression—something real.

“Thanks, Doll.”

A long, steady breath passed between you. Outside, distant thunder rolls lazily over the city, a storm crawling in. The occasional flicker of lightning backlights the clouds, casting dim shadows that briefly stretch across the walls.

You’re both on your backs now, close but not quite touching. Then you feel it—a shift in the mattress. Just slight. Delicate.

Bucky is moving.

You don’t look at first. But his arm—his flesh one—crosses the neutral space between you, and fingertips gently brush your forearm. Not a grab. Not a possessive touch. Just the trembling edge of contact.

“Doll…” he says softly, voice thick. “Can I…?”

You glance at him.

His face is tense, but open. Not fearful, but expectant. The kind of look someone wears when they’re stepping out onto a frozen lake for the first time, testing if it will hold.

You nod.

He trails his hand up, slowly, fingers dragging against your skin until he reaches your wrist. There, he rests his palm lightly—not holding, just being. His thumb ghosts over the skin there, feeling your pulse.

“You always run cold,” he murmurs, half to himself.

You smile, a little shaky. “I guess so.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, in a voice as soft as the dark around you.

“Can I ask you something ? And you can lie if it’s easier.”

That earns a soft laugh from you, nervous and unsure. “Okay.”

His brow furrows slightly. His thumb still gently strokes your wrist, grounding himself in that fragile contact.

“When I’m not… y’know, losing my mind or tryin’ to kill anyone… do you like being around me?”

You shift to your side, facing him. His hand slips naturally to rest between you on the mattress, but his gaze stays locked with yours.

“I do.”

He nods slowly, you can see the next question forming, nerves tightening his jaw.

“Doll…” His voice is low and careful, like stepping into a room he isn’t sure he’s welcome in. “Can I…?”

You turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes. “Can you what, Bucky?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His metal hand, lifts from the bed by mere inches. You see the muscles in his shoulder flex. He hesitates.

“Can I keep touching you?”

He’s not asking for permission to take.

He’s asking to connect.

You nod slowly, a little smile at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Buck. You can.”

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and moves with such delicacy it almost breaks your heart. He uses his flesh hand—bringing it up. His fingers skim the curve of your cheek, knuckles first, cautious and reverent.

He cups your jaw softly, thumb ghosting just beneath your eye like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve into mist if he presses too hard.

“You’re warm now,” he murmurs.

“So are you,” you whisper.

His mouth quirks—an actual smile, crooked and small. “That’s good. I feel like I haven’t been warm in a long time.”

You shift slightly toward his touch.

He watches you a moment longer, the silence between you thick with something tender. Then, gently, his thumb strokes your cheek again, “Doll… Do you—do you feel anything for me?”

You blink slowly, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the city noise.

“Bucky…” you say gently, voice barely above a breath. “I do feel something. I care. I worry. And sometimes when you look at me… I feel it all the way down in my ribs.”

Bucky releases a small, almost incredulous laugh through his nose. “That’s a hell of a place to feel something.”

You smile. “Well, that’s kinda ...where you live now.”

“Do you think…” he starts again, voice shaky, “if things were different—if I’d met you before—”

You lift your hand, placing it lightly over his metal fingers. “I’m glad I met you now, Bucky. Because this version of you—the one that’s healing, that’s choosing—he’s the one I want to know.”

His breath catches. Just a little. His lips part like he wants to speak again, but instead he lets his forehead drop forward, resting it gently against yours.

[feveredvisions]

KINGMAKER 

(Harry Da Souza x Bella Harrigan; 18+)

CW: glass bottle fucking, no body part penetration, object penetration, just pure spite fucking, power dynamics, dubcon, degradation

Contains Spoilers!!

Summary: A kingmaker royally fucked by the dog who guarded the gates. (i cannot get over this line like wow !!)

Author's Note: I’ve been drafting this since episode 2 then got fully blazed after watching episode 4. I'm like oohh what if Harry hate fucks Bella instead of just fucking off like the disciplined dog that he is after he handled Antoine for her? But not in the way you’d expect. Anyway, episode 6 was too damn short dont you think? Felt more of a filler really. Oh and I thought the funeral and Bella drinking straight out of a wine bottle were so fitting as a natural aftermath from this! Oh well, as always, thank you for reading. Lmk if you guys wanna be in the taglist for my other Tom Hardy fics too. I'm happy you're here c: xxx

The door to Bella’s French hotel suite closed with a soft click as Harry came in. “From Antoine. One and…two,” he says as his veined and scarred hand dropped two metal USB’s, clinking on the console like tossed coins for a whore.

Bella Harrigan with her proud eyes glances at them, sighing in relief. “Thank you.” She says, smiling at him.

Harry’s jaw flexes. “You’re welcome. So that’s it now, yeah?”

She pretends not to hear. Wanders off towards the bedroom in her bare feet, cashmere top and designer jeans. Brunette hair in loose waves lightly bouncing with every step. Harry follows.

“Bella, don’t be daft, yeah?” he growls after her. “It is done.” He was only met with a shrug from Bella.

"I asked for the recordings, not for you to torch the fucking deal."

Bella stalked across the suite with a sway she couldn’t have stopped if she tried. Cashmere sweater, no bra underneath. Her hardened nipples pressed high and proud against the luxe fabric. Stone-washed jeans clung over thighs and hips that Harry once bent in ways no number of fine marriages and finer husband’s could erase.

"You torched it the second you filmed your own bloody father and put Antoine in your pocket."

They both enter the master's bedroom, wrapped in expensive intricate and elegant baby blue wallpaper with gold mouldings that perfectly contrasts with each other. The soft green lampshade holding a warm yellow light made the room cosier.

Bella set her glass down with an elegant clink on the vanity table. "Don't tell me how to do my own business, Harry."

"No," he muttered, stopping on the other side of the room by the door they entered. "I'll just have to clean up the mess after, don't I?"

She picks up her phone, ignoring him. No one tells her what to fucking do. A vein in Harry’s temple throbs as he stood closely into her personal space. “Who the fuck are you calling?”

"Hmm?" She answers sweetly, lifts the phone to her ear. “Antoine, hi. It’s Bella here.”

Harry crossed the room in long smooth quick strides, and wrenches the phone away from her grasp, ending the call. Then Bella huffs out a breath with a deep frown as she yanks it back from Harry. “You’re overstepping the line, Harry!” She snaps at him. Cheeks flushed with fury. “You work for the Harrigans, which means you work for me! Or did you forget that?”

Her mistake.

Harry moved like a switchblade opening, with the fluid precision of a man experienced in taking down an enemy with his bare hands— grabbing her jaw with one strong hand, fingers digging into the soft smooth flesh of her cheeks hard enough to bruise. She gasps, tries to claw him off, but he’s already dragging her like a ragdoll and shoved her to the bed. Bouncing lightly as she landed, sprawled across the mattress. She propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him with fiery daring curiosity of a woman who had always known power but never quite tasted pain.

Harry harshly peels off his leather jacket, flinging it to the carpeted ground. Not breaking eye contact. Like a man about to gut his squirming fresh live catch in front of him. Then he climbs up the mattress, mounting her kill. His strong calloused hand wraps around her throat and squeezes. Her blood grows hotter and colder not from fear but from the thrill of being seen and had even if it was like this.

Bella wants king? She’ll have the fucking executioner.

He shoved her legs apart with his hands. Bella inhaled like she’d been drowned. Underneath her clothes were her skin electric and alight. Not bothering to undress her, he just peeled her jeans down her legs. Slow enough to feel degrading.

“You want power, Bella?” He sneered. His hand squeezing tighter, making her pupils bloom bigger. “You want to be queen of a crumbling fucking kingdom?”

“I thnk…” she hissed, voice trembling but sharp. “...your cock’s angry I let Conrad in first.”

Harry barked out a humourless, cold laugh. His hand clenched on the back of her neck, pinning her to the mattress. His other hand reached for the empty tall glass water bottle on the bedside table. Some overpriced imported thing— smooth, cold, and slick in his palm with a long, slender neck.

He ran the cool smooth mouth of it along her thigh. “Feel this?” he muttered. “This is you. Hollow. Expensive. Filled with fuck-all. So go on then. Take it. Take ya fuckin’ crown.”

Harry dipped the mouth of the bottle in her slit. Smearing her wetness up and down, slow and teasing…humiliating. Stopping at the bloomed slick entrance of her cunt, pressing the mouth of the bottle against it.

Bella whimpered. Sharp and broken, but she did not stop him. Slowly, he pressed the mouth and the splendid neck of the glass bottle inside her bloomed slick cunny. Slipping in, sucking in slowly...

“You’re Lord Pennock’s daughter. You married the prince ‘cause you couldn’t have the king. Now you’re here. Under the street dog.” Harry said as he fucked the bottle into her. Cruel and rhythmic, making her sob and clench around the inanimate mockery of a cock.

It was a strange sensation yet it made her even warmer, bloomed and slick as Harry fucked her cunny with a foreign object. Bella’s fingernails scraped across his forearms, not to push him away but to anchor herself. “You think…you think this scares me, Da Souza?” she croaked, mouth splitting into a taunting grin. “You fucking halfbred mutt.”

Her back arched as she surrendered to the unconventionality of it all. She did not want to think much about how this was probably the sexiest yet sickest and most depraved thing done to her. Sadistic. He moved the bottle slowly at first. Hand twisted in her hair to keep her in place as he fucked her with a bottle deeper. Her slickness clung to it, obscene. Beautiful. Fucking her with the bottle harder. Deeper. The glass sliding in and out with lewd, wet sounds. Her body seizing beneath him.

“So sure of yourself, weren’t you?” he snarled. Thumb pressing into the hollow of her neck, cutting off airflow until she coughed and weakly clawed at him.

Bella’s eyes flashed, glassy and dark. She loved it. Of course, she fucking loved it. This was power in its rawest form. Not politics, not fancy names in fucking table napkins, not the kompromat in the form of those two memory sticks that were once knives held against her neck. It was the brutal, cold-knuckled truth of flesh, dominance and humiliation. And in some sick way, she revelled in it.

A choked, ragged scream tore from her throat. A sound full of pain, pleasure, and surrender. Her hips rising to meet the rhythm, mouth slack with filthy bliss. Womb tightening deeply like a deep-seated itch you'd have to slice your flesh open to rid of. Until her climax hit like a seizure. Wet. Messy. Shameless in its honesty. Harry kept going, pushing her to her limit. She could get wetter. Always give him more.

“Tell me what this makes you”

“A vessel,” she gasped. "J-just don't stop." Her face grew hot as she began to sob from the spasmic deep carnal hunger in her belly. She needed more of Harry. Him. His fucking cock. Fuck the bloody itch out of her.

“No,” he sneered. “A hole. A mouthpiece. A bored rich girl playing dress-up in revolution.”

Bella would take anything. Fucking anything just for this shit. Her face crumpled into another helpless surrender on her immediate second orgasm. It was raw, ugly, shaking, and loud. Squirting and wailing. Noises she'd never make for Kevin Harrigan. Water and slick dripped down the bottle and soaked Harry’s hand. Staining the expensive sheets. Spasming around the glass, a violent, helpless orgasm torturously lingering in her as Harry worked her through it without mercy. Thighs quivered. Cunt squelched. Completely undone beneath the fixer with her pride shattered into something she could own for the night.

For a moment, Harry stared down at her then pulled the bottle out with a wet obscene pop. Milky, dripping fluids coated the glass and soaked his hand. Silent. Cold. Unmoved.

“As good as this, you are,” Harry smugly spoke, throwing the debauched bottle limply on the bed by her feet. “But not better.”

Bella did not respond immediately. Her eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. Body trembling and filled with ticklish pent-up depravation and desire to cling for and be filled with more more more. Still spread on the bed, fucked open, leaking onto the Egyptian cotton sheets and absolutely ruined.

Harry stood over her, sneering down at her like a king surveying a battlefield he did not even have to fucking fight for. And then he turned, picked up his jacket and walked away in his calm, predatory swagger like nothing had ever happened. Casually washed his hands clean on the way out. Did not even bother closing the door.

Bella lay on her bed. Breath ragged, eyes staring up at the ceiling. A kingmaker royally fucked by the dog who guarded the gates.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hey!! i really love your posts and trust me when i say this but you're practically doing a work of charity by making all these synonym lists. 😩🫶

i was wondering if you could compile monument vocabulary. vocabulary to describe the intricate and exquisite designs inside historical buildings. tysm!

Some Historical Architecture & Interior Design Vocabulary

Acanthus Leaf - A leaf decoration often used on furniture, particularly on brackets and legs.

Acroterium - Originally an ornament on the roof corners of Greek temples. In classical furniture, similar ornaments applied to the top corners of secretaries, bookcases, highboys and other furniture.

Amorini - Cupid ornaments found on Italian Renaissance furniture.

Anthemion - A honeysuckle design from classical Greek decorative motifs. Term refers to any conventional flower or leaf design.

Antique - Could be anything ranging from a piece of furniture to art. The U.S. government considers any item over 100 years old to be an antique, whereas most collectors use 50 years as a benchmark.

Apothecary Chest - A low chest with small drawers that was originally used to store herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes.

Arabesque - Decorative scroll work or other intricate ornamentation consisting of foliage, vases, leaves and fruits, or fantastic human and animal figures.

Baroque - A highly ornate decorative style that originated in Italy in the 1600's. The style is characterized by irregular curves, twisted columns, elaborate scrolls and oversize moldings. The Italian equivalent of French "rococo".

Bibliotheque-Basse - A low cupboard with shelves for books. Doors are often of glass and sometimes fitted with grilles.

Bullate - Having the surface covered with irregular and slight elevations, giving a blistered appearance.

Cabriole leg - An ornamented furniture leg with a double curve structure.

Chevron - A 'zigzag' pattern characteristic of Romanesque decoration that is often carved around pillars, arches and doorways.

Chinoiserie - A European style of design that is meant to mimic elements of East Asian art.

Console table - A freestanding table, often found in the entryway of homes, that typically serves as a space for decorative elements.

Enfilade - A series of rooms that are connected via doorways that align with one another (commonplace in grand castles, like the Palace of Versailles, or even museums).

Etagere - A freestanding or hanging set of open shelves, designed to display trinkets or other decorative objects.

Gilding - A coating with a thin layer of gold or gold-like substance.

Klismos - Ancient Greek style of chair with saber shaped legs splayed at the front and back. The back legs continue up to support a shoulder-height curved back.

Laurelling - A decorative feature using the laurel leaf motif as its basis.

Lozenge - A diamond shaped decorative panel. Term comes from the Middle English word for stone.

Niche - A recess in a wall for displaying a sculpture or other accessory.

Ormulu - A metal resembling gold. Used as mounts and decorative effects on furniture.

Ovolo - A continuous ornament in the form of an egg which generally decorates the molding called the "quarter-round". Eggs are often separated from each other by pointed darts.

Passementerie - Fancy decorative trimmings such as tassels, tiebacks and ribbon.

Régence Style - This furniture style spanned from about 1715 to 1723, when France was ruled by a regent. This style of furniture design was a transition from massive straight lines to graceful curves.

Sconces - A type of light fixture that is fastened to a wall for support.

Swan-Neck Handle - A curved handle popular in the 1700's.

Trompe l’oeil - A technique used to trick the eye into thinking that something flat, like a wall, is actually three-dimensional. This is often achieved through photorealistic painting.

Victorian - An architectural style defined by highly ornamented design and grand, sweeping facades.

Wainscoting - A type of interior wall paneling that covers the lower portion of a wall.

"Traditional" Interior Design

When talking about traditional interior design, most are referencing a design style that originated in the 18th and 19th century throughout Europe. However, it’s worth noting that other cultures have their own versions of a traditional style that may not look the same as this more Western version.

Traditional Design Elements. Though not exhaustive, a traditional interior will often make use of the following elements: 

Emphasis on symmetry and order

Traditional architectural details such wainscoting and crown molding

Classic decor elements such as chandeliers and bookcases 

Neutral color schemes with pops of bold colors, often in jewel tones 

Upholstery and textiles tend to be subtler (cotton, velvet, or wool, for example)

Furniture pieces with traditional silhouettes, though they’re often updated with modern elements or finishes 

Layered window treatments and draperies; curtain valances aren’t used often

Classic patterns such as plaids, damask, or florals  

Flooring tends to make use of darker wood  

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Word Lists

Previous posts that include some related words you might find useful:

Some Architecture Vocabulary

Some European Renaissance Art Vocabulary

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 1

Some Medieval Art & Architecture Vocabulary: Part 2

Some Roman Art Vocabulary

Thanks so much for your kind words, you're really sweet! I tried to include a wide range of terminology since you didn't specify which time period you were looking for. Do go through the sources if I wasn't able to include here what you need in your writing. Hope this helps <3

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 3]

Chapter 92

Sparks of Creation

The Cradle sat in the middle of the lab like a bomb that hadn’t gone off yet—silent, beautiful, terrifying. They had stolen it back from Ultron, barely. And now it held the nearly-finished body he had built from vibranium and synthetic tissue.

The problem was what to do with it.

Tony stood near the console, hands flying over the holograms as if trying to distract himself from the weight of the choice. “J.A.R.V.I.S is still out there. Fractured, but not gone,” he said quickly. “I can upload him into the body. He was built to protect. To help.”

Bruce hovered beside him, hesitant. “We said no more. After Ultron—we swore. This could make things worse.”

Then footsteps echoed from the hallway—and Steve entered, shield slung over his back, two unexpected figures trailing behind him.

Wanda and Pietro.

The lab stiffened like a held breath.

“Really?” Tony said, arms folding. “We’re inviting the chaos twins to the decision table now?”

“They’re not the enemy,” Steve said. “They want to help.”

Wanda met Y/N’s gaze for a split second. There was wariness in her eyes. And guilt.

“They’ve seen what Ultron is planning,” Steve continued. “They know what’s coming.”

Tony stepped forward, voice rising. “And that’s why we need to do this. J.A.R.V.I.S in that body? He’s not Ultron. He can stop Ultron.”

Steve looked to Bruce. Bruce looked down.

Then slowly, everyone turned toward Y/N.

She blinked. “Why are you looking at me?”

No one answered, but it was obvious.

They trusted her. The only one who had resisted Wanda’s illusions on her own, become almost a part of her and brought her to their side, the one who saved Fury, the one who was wise. The one they feared, respected… and believed in.

Tony gave a lopsided shrug. “You're the closest thing we have to the voice of reason and power. Wisdom and fire. So… what do we do?”

Y/N hesitated. The stone inside the Cradle pulsed. She could feel it—like it was whispering something she couldn't fully hear, only sense.

Her gut twisted.

“Do it,” she said finally, voice quiet but sure. “It’s the only way.”

Bruce sighed, resigned. Tony turned, energized. “Right. Let’s bring our guy back.”

The machine hummed to life.

Then the room exploded into chaos.

Pietro, faster than any of them could track, shot forward and smashed the console. Sparks flew. Wires tore. The Cradle dimmed.

“No!” Tony shouted.

Y/N moved on instinct, slamming herself between Wanda and the others just as Wanda’s hands lit up with red chaos magic.

“Stop it!” Y/N barked, her voice cracking like thunder.

Wanda faltered. Shocked. Just for a moment, she looked like a child caught misbehaving—frightened and unsure.

Then thunder rumbled.

Literally.

Thor landed hard, cape billowing, eyes crackling with stormlight. He looked around at the arguing group, then marched past them all without a word.

And struck the Cradle with lightning.

Energy surged.

Lights flared.

And from the chaos, a new being rose.

Vision.

Everyone froze, staring, breath caught in collective silence. He stepped forward slowly, like a newborn learning gravity—quiet, strange, and utterly calm.

But Y/N didn’t see him.

Not really.

The moment the Mind Stone fully awakened, something cracked open inside her, like the stone reached back, pulling her in—

—and she saw.

A flash of grey metal skin, cold and lifeless—Vision, crumpled on the floor, his golden gem ripped away, a gaping hole in his forehead.

A smiling figure bathed in starlight and ruin. Purple skin. Gold armor. Cold eyes. She didn't know him, but her soul recoiled.

Then—a feeling, deep and sharp.

Loss.

Not hers. Not exactly. But it stabbed through her anyway. A void shaped like Loki. Something was wrong. Something would be.

And then—Bucky.

Reaching.

Desperate.

"Don’t go!" he was shouting, arm outstretched.

She was walking away.

Her eyes were glowing, wet with tears. Power radiated from her, wrong, heavy.

Her own voice, distorted, full of sorrow: “I have to.”

And in the last moment before she tore herself free—

She saw Wanda.

Not now—soon.

Both of them—together.

Surrounded by wreckage. Red and gold light coiling around their bodies like snakes. Hands raised. Eyes lit like stars.

Two women standing at the heart of the storm.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back a step as if burned.

Everyone turned.

“Y/N?” Steve asked.

But she was staring at Vision—heart pounding.

“What did you do?” she whispered, then louder, sharper: “What did you do?”

The others reacted instantly—Steve shifting his shield up, Tony’s gauntlet lighting, Wanda tensing like a spring.

Vision tilted his head, blinking slowly.

“I… did nothing,” he said. His voice was soft, crystalline, not quite human. “Not yet. These were not memories. They were...possibilities. A lattice of futures folded into the stone. Warnings.”

Y/N didn’t lower her stance. She could still feel the raw heat of what she'd seen inside her bones.

“Why me?” she asked, voice quieter now, trembling. “Why did I see it?”

Vision looked at her gently, as if seeing all of her at once.

“Because you are already entangled,” he said. “With the stone. With them.”

The others exchanged confused glances.

“He’s glitching already,” Tony muttered.

Vision stepped forward, and without a word, reached for the hammer on the table.

He lifted it.

Effortlessly.

The silence was instant. Total.

Thor’s eyes widened.

Vision extended Mjölnir back to him, steady, unthreatening.

“We have to go,” he said simply. “There is no time.”

Tony blinked. “Okay, well… I guess that settles that.”

The tension eased—but Y/N wasn’t looking at the hammer.

She was looking at the stone.

Tony plopped down beside Y/N, who was still zoning out. Thor stood next to her, arms crossed, looking way too serious for a guy who just summoned lightning.

Tony grinned. “So, between my genius, your fire, and Thor’s lightning... congratulations! We just made the ultimate three-way baby.”

He smacked their shoulders. “You two proud parents?”

Y/N shot Thor a sideways glance. “Yeah, a real family drama.”

Thor grunted. “Next time, less baby-making, more brainstorming, yes?”

They both blinked, trying not to show they were freaked out—but the stone pulsed between them like a ticking time bomb.

Y/N didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or break under the weight of it all.

Vision turned back to them—calm, alien, impossibly kind—while from the other side of the room, Wanda’s eyes met hers, flickering with a bond, doubt and something darker, something unspoken.

One thing was undeniable:

The work ahead wouldn’t just test them. It would consume them. For years to come.

[zou-rs]

Break up part 9

Flashback

You hadn’t planned to be out that night. But the walls of your tiny apartment felt like they were pressing in — stale air, unopened boxes, the sound of your own thoughts bouncing too loud. So you’d walked. Past the convenience store. Past the diner. Past the point where it felt safe to be alone.

It was raining — that annoying drizzle that soaked your sleeves but never turned into real thunder. You ducked into the old public library’s covered steps, breathing in damp stone and dust. You pulled your phone out — dead. Of course. No cab money anyway. You tucked it away and leaned your head back against the wall.

You didn’t notice him at first. Not until you heard the click of shoes on wet pavement. Precise. Measured. A man stepped into the yellow halo of the streetlamp — tall, broad shoulders, black gloves. An umbrella tilted against his shoulder but not really covering him, like the rain didn’t dare touch him if it tried.

“Lost, are we?” His voice was smooth — not warm, but not quite mocking either. Just interested. Too interested.

You stiffened. “I’m fine.”

He looked you up and down — not in a crude way. Assessing. The faintest smile curved his mouth. “Are you?”

Something about him made your breath catch. He didn’t move closer. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the empty street.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, glancing at the darkness behind you like he could see every shadow it hid. “Not in this part of town.”

“Who says I am?” you shot back. Brave, though your pulse was hammering.

That amused him. “Oh?” He tilted his head, umbrella tapping the ground once, deliberate. “Are you waiting for someone?”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped closer. Not quite into your space, but near enough that you could see how sharp he looked. The perfect cut of his coat, the too-calm eyes behind expensive glasses.

“Albert” he said finally, as if you’d asked. He didn’t offer a handshake — just the name, like a puzzle piece dropped at your feet.

You swallowed. “Why are you telling me your name?”

His smile widened. “Because I already know yours.”

You flinched, and he laughed — low, quiet, infuriatingly calm. He held up a gloved hand as if to soothe you. “Relax. It’s a small city. You stand out. That’s all.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to go to hell — but he was already taking off his coat. He draped it around your shoulders, heavy and warm and smelling faintly of leather and something clean and chemical.

“You’ll catch cold,” he said simply.

“I don’t want your coat.”

“Keep it,” Albert murmured, stepping back into the rain like a phantom fading into the mist. “I’ll see you again.”

Before you could spit out a single curse, he was gone. Just footsteps, umbrella tapping away, swallowed by the rain.

You pulled his coat tighter around your shoulders anyway.

———-

Sterile white light burned your eyes. The metal table beneath your back was cold enough to seep into bone. Wires snaked around your arms, pricking your veins with needles that hummed softly as fluid pushed into you drop by drop.

Machines beeped. Glass canisters hissed. Somewhere to your left, a scientist muttered notes into a recorder, too terrified to meet your eyes for more than a second.

And there he was. Him. Wesker. Leaning against a steel console like a king watching his kingdom breathe. Black gloves folded neatly behind his back. Eyes hidden behind those ever-present shades — as if your discomfort were just a mildly amusing experiment to observe.

“You know,” you rasped, voice hoarse from hours of this, “if you’re going to keep poking me like a lab rat, at least buy me dinner first.”

Wesker’s head tilted slightly, the ghost of a smirk flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Dinner implies you’d have an appetite left after the enhancements, my dear.”

“Oh, I’d force down a steak,” you shot back, glaring at him. “Just to stab you with the fork halfway through dessert.”

He laughed — a soft, disinterested chuckle, like a man humoring a child’s tantrum. “Charming as ever. You should be honored. Do you understand the gift you’re carrying?”

Your fists clenched where they were strapped to the table. “You mean your freak show experiment?”

Wesker stepped closer, the overhead lights catching on his shades as he peered down at you like you were his favorite puzzle. “A perfect evolution. Superior strength. Accelerated healing. Complete immunity to any viral contagion. My legacy—and, conveniently, your redemption.”

You bared your teeth at him, trying to wrench your wrist free. “Redemption? For what? Existing? For daring to live without you—?”

He cut you off with a single raised hand. “You misunderstand me, darling. I’m not punishing you.” His gloved fingers brushed your temple, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with infuriating gentleness. “I’m perfecting you.”

You shivered under that touch. “God, you really love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

He hummed. “Perhaps. But when history rewrites itself, it will remember this—” his palm hovered over your belly, not quite touching but close enough that you felt the chill of it “—as the turning point of human evolution.”

You looked at him, disgust mixing with something colder in your veins. “You think this is about humanity? You’re doing this for you. So you can pat yourself on the back while the world burns.”

Wesker’s smile thinned. “Let it burn if it must. But from those ashes? Perfection. My child—our child—will stand where humanity has failed.”

You spat the words at him. “It’ll never be yours. You can inject whatever nightmare you want into me. I swear to God, Wesker, I’ll tear it out before I let you call it yours.”

For a moment, the air between you froze. The scientists behind him paused. Even the machines seemed to hush.

Then Wesker leaned in, so close you could see the faintest flicker of your reflection in his lenses. “Try, and I will simply start again. And again. And again. You forget, darling—you are replaceable.”

Your jaw clenched. Hatred bubbled up like bile. “So are you.”

He straightened, glancing at the scientist waiting nervously with another loaded syringe. “Inject her. And increase the dose. I want the growth rate accelerated by forty percent.”

The needle slid into your arm again. Your vision blurred at the edges but you forced out a bitter laugh anyway. “Careful, Albert. One day you’ll run out of rats to play with.”

Wesker’s smile returned, clinical and cold. “Then I’ll breed new ones.”

And just before the lights flickered from the sedative burning through your veins, you swore you heard him murmur—almost fondly:

“Sleep well, darling. There’s so much left to do.”

——

The drip from the IV tapped out the seconds. Somewhere behind you, the low hum of machinery echoed against cold steel. Your wrists were raw from where you’d tried—pointlessly—to pull free. You’d given up fighting the restraints for now. But your mind wouldn’t stop.

You stared at the ceiling. White, clinical, spotless. Everything Wesker wanted the world to be.

“Albert,” you said, voice scratchy from hours of forced silence.

No answer. But you felt him — his presence — standing somewhere behind your head, reading over the newest test results. Of course he hadn’t left the room. He never left you alone too long. Like you were a pet project that might vanish if he blinked.

“You know you’re not God, right?” you rasped. “No matter how much you love playing Him.”

A soft sound. A half-laugh. Wesker stepped into view, sunglasses glinting under the harsh lab lights. “Yet here you are. Speaking to me like I am.”

You forced your eyes on him. “Why me?”

He paused. That made him tilt his head. Like a scientist confronted by an interesting specimen that dared ask a question back.

You pressed, your words cracking but relentless. “Why me, Albert? Out of all the people you could have experimented on, infected, used— Why me? Is it just because you knew it’d destroy Leon?”

A ghost of something flickered across his mouth — maybe amusement, maybe boredom. Hard to tell with him. “It’s a fair bonus,” he admitted. “Seeing him crawl back from his so-called heroics to chase you like a dog. But no — not why.”

You glared. “Then what? What made you look at me and think: Yes. She’ll carry my monster child. She’ll be my perfect little blueprint?”

Wesker set his tablet down with a soft click. He stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back. Watching you like you were pinned under glass.

“You misunderstand what you are to me,” he said calmly. “You think I chose you because you’re special to him. Because you’re weak and human and breakable. Convenient leverage.”

He leaned down, face inches from yours. You could see your own hate reflected in his lenses. “But you survived me. Again and again. You survived heartbreak, infection, loss, fear. You survived Leon. You survived this. And your body—” his hand hovered over your abdomen, as if he could feel the life growing there “—responds to the enhancements better than any candidate I’ve ever tested.”

You flinched at his nearness but held his stare. “So I’m your lab rat because I don’t die easily?”

A flicker of something — almost fond — twisted the corner of his mouth. “Precisely. Resilient. Adaptable. Remarkably compliant, when you accept there’s no escape. You are proof that humanity can be molded into something better. That even something so breakable can evolve under pressure.”

Your throat burned. “You’re sick.”

Wesker straightened, unbothered. “Perhaps. But sickness is what nature uses to change the world.”

Your heart hammered. Your skin crawled under the IV line in your arm. “You can’t force evolution,” you hissed. “You can’t force me to be what you want.”

He leaned in one last time, so close you could feel the faint cold radiating off him. “I don’t need to force you. I simply need to break you until you believe it’s your idea.”

You recoiled, but he was already stepping back. Turning to the scientist by the door, barking new instructions about another injection, another test. Like you were already gone — an experiment with a heartbeat.

And you realized then that Wesker didn’t just want a child. He wanted to rewrite you — cell by cell, thought by thought — until there was nothing left Leon would even recognize.

And you swore to yourself — not yet. Not ever. He’d have to kill every piece of you to make that happen.

You’d hold onto yourself. For Leon. For the baby. For the girl you were before all of this.

Even if it killed you first.

——-

They moved like ghosts through the rotting heart of Umbrella’s hidden tomb. Every corridor bled history — rusted steel, cracked glass, the stink of chemicals that clung to your skin even through a gas mask. Leon ripped his off and left it hanging from his belt — no time for caution now. Not when you were close.

Claire followed at his shoulder, rifle up, steps light but certain. Their breath echoed in the silence — silence that wouldn’t last.

They rounded another corridor — a thick steel blast door stood half-open, jammed by a mangled body wearing what looked like a white lab coat. The dead scientist’s ID badge stuck to Leon’s boot as he stepped over the mess.

—CONTROL ROOM— the sign above the door read.

Leon pressed his shoulder against the seam, forcing the gap wider with a grunt. Claire ducked through first, covering the dark corners with her flashlight.

The lab beyond was a nightmare of modern horror — walls lined with flickering monitors, wires snaking across the floor like veins. Cryo tanks full of dark fluid bubbled faintly. A low hum of machinery drowned out the faint drip, drip, drip of something leaking.

At the center of it all — a reinforced glass cell.

Leon’s heart slammed to a stop when he saw you.

You sat on a metal cot, knees tucked to your chest. A faint IV line snaked from your arm to a machine by the wall. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound — wide, dazed, exhausted, but alive.

Alive.

“Y/N.” Leon’s voice cracked — just once. He stepped forward, hand slamming onto the glass. “Hey—hey, it’s me. It’s Leon. I’m here, baby. I’m here—”

You lifted your head slowly. Even through the haze, even through the chemical burn of Umbrella’s tampering, you recognized him. A whisper of a smile flickered and died. Your lips moved — Leon — but no sound came.

Behind him, Claire was already ripping through the terminal beside the cell. Her fingers flew over keys, muttering under her breath. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon… open up for me, you piece of corporate shit—”

A whir of servo motors answered — locks disengaging with a clang that rattled through the lab’s bones.

The glass slid aside. Cold recycled air hit Leon’s face as he stepped inside the containment unit. He was kneeling in front of you before he realized it — gloves cupping your face so gently it almost hurt.

“You’re okay. Look at me—look at me—you’re okay,” he whispered. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

You tried to lift a hand to him — so weak, trembling — but you managed it. Leon caught it in both of his, pressing his lips to your knuckles like a prayer.

“You came,” you rasped.

“Always,” he breathed. His voice cracked again, but he didn’t care. “Always, sweetheart. I told you — you can’t lose me.”

Claire’s voice cut through the moment. “Uh—Leon? We gotta go now. There’s movement on the feeds. A lot of it.”

Leon nodded, but his eyes stayed on you. “Can you stand?”

You swallowed, forcing your limbs to obey. They felt like jelly — like you’d been floating for centuries. But Leon’s arm around your shoulders anchored you back to your own body. He helped you up, pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Stay with me. I got you.”

You clung to his vest with what little strength you had left. You didn’t see the infected bursting through the far doors — didn’t see the shadows flicker under the strobing lab lights. But you felt Leon’s body tense as he handed you off gently to Claire.

“Get her to the exit,” he barked.

“Leon—” you croaked, trying to hold onto him.

But he only squeezed your hand once, fierce, soft, unbreakable. “Go with Claire. I’ll clear the path. I’ll be right behind you.”

Then he turned — and just like that, he was the man you remembered and the man the world feared all in one breath. His eyes were steel. His stance was death.

He raised his gun. “Time to clock out, boys.”

And the lab erupted in gunfire as Claire dragged you out the side door — your vision blurry, but your heart steady for the first time in months.

Leon was here.

And he was going to burn Wesker’s house of horrors to the ground for you.

——

Leon slammed another infected against the wall with a brutal crunch. Blood spattered his cheek as the creature dropped boneless to the floor. His boots slipped on gore and shattered glass, but he didn’t care. Not now.

You and Claire were almost clear. He just had to finish this.

He spun around — gun raised — just as the lights flickered overhead. A low hum of energy rolled through the walls like a heartbeat. Then everything went dead silent.

A slow, deliberate clap broke the silence.

Leon’s eyes snapped up.

At the far end of the corridor, just beyond the flickering emergency lights, he stepped into view. Polished boots on the ruined floor. Black tactical coat immaculate despite the chaos. Blond hair slicked back like a viper’s crown. Sunglasses reflecting the dying lights.

Albert Wesker.

He tilted his head, lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach those hidden eyes. “Agent Kennedy. Or should I say — hero.”

Leon spat blood, squared his shoulders, and aimed dead center. “You look like shit, Wesker.”

Wesker chuckled — soft, almost disappointed. “You look… exhausted. You’ve been busy playing white knight again, I see. Tell me — how does it feel? Saving my investment?”

Leon’s teeth ground together. “She’s not your anything.”

“Oh, but she is.” Wesker stepped closer — calm, casual. The air seemed to bend around him, heat rippling off unnatural muscle. “She’s carrying the future. My future. And you — well, you’re still just the stray dog they threw at my feet.”

Leon’s trigger finger twitched. “Come closer and say that.”

Wesker’s grin sharpened. “Gladly.”

He moved — and Leon barely registered the blur before Wesker’s fist cracked into his guard. The impact rattled Leon’s bones, sent him skidding back into a busted console. Sparks rained down. His vision swam — but his gun was already up again.

He fired — three shots. Wesker weaved between them like mist, reappearing inches from Leon’s face. Another strike — Leon ducked under it, countered with a knee to Wesker’s gut. It landed — but Wesker only smirked.

“Better,” Wesker purred. “But you’ll have to do more than that.”

Leon’s growl was pure animal as he tackled him into the wall — concrete cracked under Wesker’s back. Leon’s forearm slammed into his throat, pinning him.

“You think you own her? You don’t own shit,” Leon hissed.

Wesker’s sunglasses were so close Leon could almost see himself — the blood, the fury, the battered rookie who never died. Then Wesker’s hand snapped up, wrapped around Leon’s throat in return.

“Oh, Agent Kennedy…” Wesker squeezed — iron strong. “I own everything.”

With a surge of inhuman strength, Wesker flipped him — slammed Leon through a metal table. Leon gasped as air left his lungs, pain blooming down his spine.

Wesker stalked forward — calm, surgical — and planted a boot on Leon’s chest. He leaned down, voice like a serpent’s hiss.

“You should’ve stayed out of this. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Always so loyal. Always so predictable.”

Leon’s eyes flicked to the side — a shard of metal, within reach.

Wesker leaned in closer, sunglasses glinting. “You’ll lose her again, Leon. I’ll make sure you watch.”

Leon spat blood at his face — missed, but the defiance hit true. “You talk too much.”

His hand snapped to the shard — driving it up, burying it in Wesker’s side. Wesker hissed, jerking back just enough for Leon to roll and shove him off.

Leon scrambled up, chest heaving. He wiped blood from his mouth, squared up, eyes burning ice.

“Let’s finish this.”

Wesker pulled the shard free — no blood, just a sickening hiss of steam as his unnatural flesh closed over. He dropped the twisted metal with a clang.

“Oh, we will, Agent Kennedy,” he purred. “Seven minutes. That’s all I’ll need.”

Leon flipped him off. “Good. It’ll take me five.”

They lunged — fists colliding in a crack of bone and lightning. Sparks flew. The ruined lab echoed with the sound of monsters — one human, one pretending.

And down the corridor, you clung to Claire, breathing his name like a prayer.

Leon’s vision swam as Wesker’s elbow crashed into his ribs, snapping something deep inside. Pain tore through him — black and blinding — but he forced himself not to buckle. Not now. Not with you so close.

Wesker grabbed him by the collar, lifted him like he weighed nothing. His sunglasses were cracked now — Leon caught a glimpse of inhuman eyes glinting beneath.

“You never learn, Kennedy,” Wesker snarled, his voice like metal scraping glass. “You’re only human. She deserves more than that.”

Leon’s laugh came out wet with blood. “Yeah? So do you. Deserve this.”

His free hand snapped to his hip holster — pulling the last thing he’d kept hidden all fight: a custom syringe — one of the last bio-suppressants he’d scavenged from D.S.O’s black bag. He rammed it into Wesker’s exposed side.

Wesker’s eyes widened — the hiss he let out more animal than man. The drug spread instantly, slowing that unnatural regeneration. His fingers faltered on Leon’s throat.

“You—!” Wesker roared.

Leon twisted out of his grip, every rib screaming. He dropped to a knee, but brought his pistol up one-handed — jammed it under Wesker’s chin.

“Not so fun when the monster’s on a leash, huh?” Leon rasped.

He pulled the trigger.

The round slammed Wesker’s head back with a spray of blood and sparks as bone cracked — but Leon knew it wouldn’t kill him. It bought him seconds. Seconds he needed.

Leon staggered up — vision swimming. He could hear your voice echoing down the corridor. Claire’s shouting. He felt the ground tilt under him but forced himself forward, boots slipping in the mess.

Wesker dropped to a knee — snarling, clawing at the ruined flesh as his healing struggled against the suppressant. Black veins crawled up his throat like roots strangling him.

Leon didn’t waste time. He grabbed the radio on his shoulder, voice rough. “Claire — get her out. Now. I’ll hold him.”

He turned back — saw your silhouette behind the flickering lab glass. Your hand pressed to the window, your eyes wide with terror and something deeper.

Hope.

Wesker’s low laugh made Leon’s blood run colder than the pain in his ribs. “You think this—” He tapped the syringe still jutting from his flesh — “—will stop me? You think you’ve won?”

Leon wiped blood off his lip and flicked it to the floor. “I don’t care about winning.”

He chambered another round.

“I just care about her.”

Wesker lunged — the whole room seemed to bend around him as he surged forward. Leon braced for the hit.

This time, he didn’t flinch.

Wesker’s laughter echoed off the metal walls, distorted by the swirling heat. Sparks rained from above as the core containment cracked under the fight.

Leon stumbled backward, vision tunneling from blood loss and bruised ribs. Wesker towered over him — still half-human, half-monster, his eyes a cold god’s glare in the flickering emergency lights.

“You never learn, Kennedy,” Wesker snarled, voice warped by the Plagas running through his veins. “You can’t kill me. And she—”

His eyes darted past Leon, to you, restrained behind the control panels, a needle still buried in your arm.

“—will be my legacy whether you like it or not.”

Leon bared his teeth, spit blood at the floor. “Over my dead body.”

Wesker lunged, a blur of black leather and claws — but Leon pivoted, ducked under the swipe, and drove a combat knife straight into the cracked control panel beside him.

A blaring siren wailed. The core started to overload — heat shimmered off the walls, alarms shrieked Critical Meltdown Imminent.

Wesker’s eyes widened just a fraction — before Leon pulled his last EMP charge from his belt and slammed it onto Wesker’s chest.

A surge of blue light. Sparks exploded over the monster’s ribs, frying the regulator controlling the Plagas. Wesker reeled back — muscles spasming — and for the first time, Leon saw fear on the man’s face.

“Leon—!” you screamed.

Leon was already moving. He tore the needle from your arm, scooped you up — and as Wesker roared, pinned by the fried Plagas cells ripping his insides apart, Leon spat, “You’ll never touch her again.”

He triggered the final sequence on the meltdown panel. The whole facility started its death rattle.

⸻

Claire was waiting at the extraction bay doors, blasting the last infected out of the way. The building groaned under its own heat as they stumbled out — you half in Leon’s arms, Claire yelling directions through the roar.

“You got her?” Claire shouted over the detonation countdown.

Leon’s arms tightened around you like iron. “I’ve got her.”

The blast behind them turned the night white. A shockwave hit — fire bloomed — Umbrella’s secrets incinerated once and for all.

⸻

You were sobbing into Leon’s shoulder as he pressed your face into his neck, breathing you in like he didn’t believe you were real.

“I’m here— I’m right here—” he rasped, voice shredded raw as Claire gave you both cover.

You pulled back just enough to see his battered face — the chin dimple, the freckles still hidden under grime and ash — and you let out a weak laugh between tears.

“You came for me…” you whispered.

Leon’s forehead pressed to yours, rough and gentle all at once. His eyes burned with tears and fury and relief all tangled up.

“Always,” he choked out. “Always, sweetheart. No more running. Not from you.”

The rescue chopper landed behind Claire, wind whipping your hair as you buried yourself in Leon’s arms again, breathless, finally safe as the ruined Umbrella facility burned to the ground behind you.

He held you like a promise, like six years of regret turned to gold in his arms at last.

And when the door shut on the world behind you, Leon let the first real tears slip down his face — because this time, he was taking you home…

———-

Okay. It’s over. Now I’m excited for the epilogue I’ll post it tomorrow and it will be filled with fluff 😍

[disabled-battlekukku]

If you were given the chance to write for a new Sonic, featuring the return of the kuku empire, what would you write? Where would you add world building and who of the main cast, and others, would you feature in it?

SLAMS TABLE. BIG BREATH.

(Biiiiiig thread comin' ahead!)

First of all, if Sega had ever had the balls to bring the Kukku Empire back, it would probably be a Mania-inspired game. And if it did, I think it would have the same, if not very similar plot points and ideas to it.

Old and new stages, with the old ones being from Game Gear and Master System games (y'know, Tails' home console!). Instead of focusing on speed, it would be much more on the exploration aspect, as that was also a great aspect of those. Maybe focus more on the "high flying" aspect. It would be interesting to see how more grounded characters like Sonic and Mighty would deal in this sort of environment.

If we REALLY pushed our buttons farther, the Witchcarters would be there as well, although probably as mini-bosses. Sega seems to favor them anyway. Limit a little of Eggman's appearance, though. Maybe let him cameo at an ending cutscene.

For story? I don't think the Kukkus would be that interested in pursuing the Chaos Emeralds after that, erm, first attempt, hehe. Maybe the Warp Topaz to keep the "modern-trinket-goes-to-classic-world" gimmick they did with the Phantom Ruby. If not, then either the Chaos Rings or Time Stones! Keep the same old shit of Speedy as the "Metal Sonic" of the game and Great Battle Kukku as the typical final boss.

If I was in COMPLETE charge?

I probably wouldn't take it. I can't code a game, hehe.

In all seriousness, I'd probably try some things that the fans wouldn't like it all that much. After all, I love it when Sega tries to experiment and go a bit off the rails with Sonic gameplay (Tails Adventure and Knuckles' Chaotix are my favorite games, after all!)

Sticking to what I said earlier, exploration is kind of an important aspect of Tails Adventure, and I'd proooobably bring back some classic trinket or thingamajig, like the previously mentioned Chaos Rings.

One thing that CERTAINLY wouldn't make the fans happy, judging that I was a massive Pokemon gen 5 fan, is that I'd probably limit gameplay to only Tails and Speedy. Make it a godamn Sonic Adventure 2/Riders split story thingie! And since Sonic Frontiers happens to have Tails implying to be going on an adventure of his own, maybe the game would happen right after that!

For a setting, I don't really know what I would put it. Probably an entirely new setting, as Flicky's Island was already taken by the Witchcarters in the IDW comics! A new place that the Kukkus decided to conquer, but their luck is just used to attract foxes, huh.

While I said that I'd limit main gameplay to Tails and Speedy, there could be a Sonic 06 thing and find others of Tails' buddies to play as. I'd prefer the child characters like Cream, Charmy, and maaaybe Ray since they all seem to focus on flight anyway. For Speedy? Fuck it we ball, introduce new characters! Give my mans some friends, godamnit!

I'd pull a Rush Adventure, where we would be focused on finding resources and building things to maneauver through the place, kind of replacing the need for a shop like most modern overworld Sonic games have.

Honestly, if I had to say everything I'd think for a Sonic game (or a Tails game, as it seems to be getting like here), we would be here for HOURS!

[liestookmydoubts]

IV. Bedside Conversations.

Hatred could never bear a torch to the wildfire that was adoration. It was never an issue of the body being delicate, rather the heart being hardened to stone. And yet what she could make out from Helen's words was that her heart was not made of stone, nor was it made of metal. Her heart was flesh, alive and beating. She simply seemed to run from the concept of love, out of fear of something that may destroy her. Cassandra could not console her, she could only listen to those quiet words that were spoken- those words that fall too easily off her tongue, like they mean nothing, like these aren't words, just something that sounds like them, just an illusion of letters strung together into a sentence.

Cassandra could not turn this into something beautiful, yet she is the one who knows the pieces Helen is too scared to reveal and too terrified to embrace. She watched her shrink, watched her disappear piece by piece. Watched how she traded away her pride for a love that doesn't belong to her- a placeholder for something Helen did not believe in. Cassandra couldn't turn this pain into poetry, can't make this heartbreak sound like healing, because there is no elegance in being only partially loved, no silver lining, nothing that makes this worth the pain. She sees how Helen waits, how she will keep waiting for a love that's never coming. The door stays open, the candles burn low, and Helen lingers, hoping Paris will see her for more than what comes between her thighs. She never wanted to be forgettable, she thought she was more but her name gets faint every time it carries on the western wind- Helen of Troy. Only in her dreams is she loved the way that she loves and it is far from how the poems would describe it- It is desperate, unadorned, and far from poetic.

Her head rests in Helen's lap, gazing up as she observes her lips move to form words, though Cassandra could not have recalled what had been said up until this point- from this angle, she swore she could see that familiar sadness swirling within Helen’s eyes when she had asked the seer if she ever wanted to have a daughter- Cassandra wondered if it was because of Hermione. Was she wrong to take such a guess? Only one could know for sure, and she cared little for the reply. Quickly jumping between topics and musings regardless of their morbidity.

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the silk curtains of Helen’s chamber, casting dappled patterns on the cool stone floor. “You always look like you’re waiting for something,” Cassandra starts a few moments later. “It’s Paris, isn’t it?” Her tone was neither accusatory nor curious; it was matter-of-fact, as if stating the color of the sky. She only posed it as a question as a formality. “You’re waiting for him to become the man you dreamt of when you followed him here.”

“Paris…” Helen began, then trailed off. “He is what the poets write about, isn’t he?” Her lips parted as though to answer, but instead, she sighed and glanced away toward the shadowed pathways of the palace halls. Cassandra followed her gaze, tracing the invisible path Helen’s thoughts seemed to wander. The silence stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. “But the poets don’t know him.” She let out a breath, her fingers idly twisting in Cassandra’s dark hair. “They don’t know the way he speaks when he’s weary, how quickly his gaze shifts when he’s searching for something better. They don’t know that he calls me his queen in the same breath that he speaks of other women.”

Cassandra’s eyes never left her face. “And yet you stay. That either makes you a fool or something much worse.”

“You think too much,” Helen murmured, shaking her head. She reached for a goblet of wine from the low table beside them, fingers curling around the delicate metal. “Or perhaps you simply feel too little.”

Cassandra huffed a quiet laugh, sitting up and throwing her arms around her companion in a gesture of fondness. “You say that like it’s a failing.”

Helen studied her, searching for something in her expression. “Maybe it is,” she said at last. “Maybe it isn’t.” They sat in silence for a moment, the golden light shifting, deepening as the sun lowered toward the horizon. From somewhere in the palace, the distant sounds of revelry drifted toward them- music, laughter, the clinking of cups. The world moved on, as it always did. Once she was able to see beauty in the light dipping into the waters, but now she has grown acquainted with the burn that came with it

And even she could not understand the depths, the intricacies, the weight of Helen’s name, of her choices, of her existence, how settled heavily on her chest like a boulder that rested there. Helen turned her gaze toward her, eyes darkened with thoughts too heavy to bear alone. Cassandra watched the way Helen’s fingers tensed around the silken folds of her chiton, the way her breath shuddered in her chest, uneven and raw. It was rare to see her like this—stripped of the armor of allure, the goddess-made queen reduced to something achingly human.

“You look tired,” Cassandra murmured. Her voice barely carried in the dim-lit chamber, but Helen heard it nonetheless. She exhaled softly, her hands stilling, her shoulders shifting in something like defeat. She let her fingers brush against Cassandra’s hand, hesitant, uncertain, before lacing them together in a grip that was equal parts fragile and unyielding.

“Should I not be?” Helen whispered, a bitter smile tugging at the edges of her lips. “I think I have been tired since the moment I first saw the Aegean from my balcony in Sparta. But no one ever asks, do they?”

“No,” Cassandra admitted. “They only ask if you were worth it.”

"And was I?" Cassandra did not answer. She could not. Instead, she reached for Helen’s hands, smoothing over the tension in her fingers, the calloused places where desperation had taken root. Helen did not pull away. Quietly, almost as if Helen had not even entertained the idea of the question slipping out, she asks, "Do you think the gods can still hear me?”

Cassandra knew the gods did not listen. Not to her. Not to Helen. Not to any woman left to wither in the wake of men’s desires. “Does it matter?” she asked instead.

Helen’s lips parted, but no words came. Only silence, the kind that felt heavier than sound, heavier than sorrow. And then, before Cassandra could think better of it, before she could stop herself from stepping into the ruin of this moment, Helen leaned in.

“You should hate me,” Helen murmured, though she did not let go.

Cassandra tilted her head slightly, a sad smile curving her lips. “I do.”

Helen’s breath hitched.

“I hate you for what you’ve done, for the ruin you’ve brought upon us all,” Cassandra continued, her voice quiet but unwavering. “But I pity you more.” Helen was many things, but never pitied. Clearly, the idea that it was even possible startled her, as her eyes widened just a fraction before her gaze was drawn downward to where Cassandra’s lips were slightly parted. Cassandra herself remained unperturbed, for she was always steady, even when burdened with truths no one else could bear. Helen had told her she envied her for that, for the strength that came not from war or gods, but from knowing oneself completely, even in ruin. But Cassandra did not know love—not the way Helen did. Not the way that turned women into ghosts, lingering long after they had been forgotten by the ones they bled for.

Helen’s fingers moved before her mind could stop them, tracing the curve of Cassandra’s jaw. Cassandra caught her wrist, but did not push her away. instead her thumb brushed against the inside of Helen’s palm, a fleeting touch that sent a tremor up her spine. There was no poetry in it, no divine orchestration, no grand proclamation of love. Just warmth—Helen’s breath against Cassandra’s lips, Cassandra’s fingers tightening ever so slightly around her wrist, as though she might pull away, as though she might stay.

[writingsofestella]

vespera - ch. 4

Apostate!Din Djarin x Ex!Jedi!OC -(no use of Y/N) Canon Divergent - some plot changed for sake of story, the razor crest lives )

tws // general canon violence, usage of blasters and weapons, mentions of death, minors DNI 18+ only, angst, mature content, more tags to be added later on

a/n: sorry for such the long wait!!! i got my inspiration back for writing, so i hope you all like these next few chapter!! we finally get lore, and the reason Din has tracked her down once again.

wc: 2437

previous chapter: [here]

The walk back to her home was tense, quiet, filled with an uneasy silence that made the hairs on her neck stand straight up. However, the rest of the village was much like this too. The uneasy quietness that fell upon the village after the raid was not something she thought she'd ever feel here.

The Mandalorian's steps were silent in the dirt, despite his size, his armor. He kept in step with her pace, walking next to her, as if he hadn't chased her down half the galaxy. He was silent, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see how his helmet constantly surveyed his surroundings. Waiting for another attack or a trap.

As if he wasn't walking her into what was most likely a trap.

Grogu was making small noises, held in his father's arms. He was trying to reach out her, trying to get her attention. She had to ignore it, trying to focus on her surroundings, keep her guard up.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, her body, the Force keeping her hyperaware. It helped her ignore the lingering pain in her leg.

They approached her little home, on the outskirts of the village. Standing in front of her door, she could feel the Mandalorian standing behind her. She shifted her feet, as if half prepared to slip inside and lock him out. Or run. Or both.

But she would be lying if she said she had the energy to outrun a Mandalorian.

Sighing internally, she shook her head, finally opening the door for the both of them to come in. "Can't believe I'm letting a Mandalorian bounty hunter into my home." She half muttered to herself.

"This isn't how I imagined our reunion going either, if it's any consolation." The Mandalorian quipped back, his voice dry.

She simply gave a deadpan look, watching as the bounty hunter walked past her as she held the door open, shutting it behind him and Grogu both. "Right, because your idea of a reunion would be me in cuffs being handed over to your employer." She said, her eyes watching him, analyzing him as he stood there.

He almost looked out of place in her home, all metal and leather, a trained fighter and killer. While her home was built out of natural stone, with plants and fruits, a healer's home. The only thing that stood out, that made the armored killer look even slightly less intimidating, was the tiny green child. One who seemed to be holding onto him, happy to be in his arms again.

"More or less." He responded, his helmet finally looking back down at her, tilting slightly. "Things changed."

"So you mentioned. What is this common interest of ours, then?" She asked him, crossing her arms, putting her weight on her good leg.

"Why don't we sit down?" He commented. "Can't imagine that blaster shot of yours is feeling too good right now." He added on, with a tilt of his head.

Her eyes narrowed at him. She didn't take orders from anyone, let alone a bounty hunter. But only because her leg was hurting, she decided to sit at the table she had. She watched as he followed suit, sitting across from her. Grogu's head barely made it above the table, she took note of.

There was an uneasy silence that grew between the both of them. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, staring him down. Trying to summon some of that exaggerated courage she had once, when facing down too many bounty hunters to count. None of them had saved her though, and none of them had a Force sensitive child.

"I don't suppose our common interest is your child." She spoke first, taking control of the conversation.

"Partially." He answered with, and his helmet tilted down to look at Grogu, sitting on his lap. After listening to Grogu babble something or another, his head looked back up to her. "I was sent to find you."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "By your employers, I presume."

She would defend herself if need be. He would not drag her back. She would not go with him, would not be taken in as a bounty.

"No." He answered, surprising her. "An… acquaintance, you could say."

She stared at him, both confused and on edge, not quite sure if he was lying or not. The Force inside of her told her that he was telling the truth, mostly. "An acquaintance."

He gave a nod of his helmet, and then was reaching into his satchel. On instinct, she jerked from her position, a hand gripping onto the table, ready to bolt.

"Calm, Jetii." He said, pausing in his movements, helmet staring her down. His voice a low rumble. "I swore I would not harm you."

She bristled at the name he called her. She was smart enough to know the word he spoke, and it took everything in her power to run just from that. She was already on edge. Last time he had pulled something from his satchel, from a prior meeting, it had been cuffs, intending on taking her hostage, to cash in on her bounty.

"You do not have the most trustworthy track record, Mandalorian." She finally responded.

He stared her down, only a table separating them, really. She was already weakened from her work in the clinic, from getting shot. How easy would it be for him to take her down, capture her now?

It was only Grogu's cooing that made her tear her gaze from his father.

The child looked up at her with his big eyes, ears tilted downwards. His little clawed hand reached out to her, as if trying to reach for her.

Help?

"It's only because of your child I even let you in my home." She finally spoke, leaning back in her seat again, but still ready to bolt if need be.

"Then perhaps this will convince you."

He pulled out a small holo-device, barely larger than his gloved palm. It looked like it had seen better days, old and probably from during the war. He set it down on the table, sliding it to the middle and pressing a button on it.

At first, she saw nothing, as the old thing made noises that sounded like it was struggling to turn on. Then, a small, blue, flickering hologram appeared. A young man, she thought, with light colored hair. Wearing all dark. Her eyes narrowed as she saw what looked like a lightsaber at his hip.

"Hello Mandalorian. This is Luke Skywalker. I have a request for you." The hologram started.

Her eyes widened, eyebrows furrowing.

Faintly, she could hear Grogu cooing in interest, but she sat there, mind racing.

Luke Skywalker?

"There is a Jedi that I would like you to find. If my sources are to be believed, she is on the planet of Amia. It is of utmost importance that she comes here. She may be the last Jedi healer ever taught before the Order fell, and we need to preserve whatever teachings we can find. For the next Jedi."

Her grip was so tight on the table, but she didn't even notice, as she stared at the hologram, watching as the image flickered in and out. Her mind and heart racing, trying to understand this all. She had never met Luke Skywalker. She knew of him only from the rumors and reports that spread through the galaxy of his actions to take down the Empire. Of his power.

Yet he seemed to know everything about her.

"She goes by Fyra Thane now."

Fyra, as she was now called, stopped hearing the words he spoke after that. Staring at the hologram, lost in thought. Still as a statue. Eventually the hologram fizzled out, as the recording finishing. And there was an uneasy silence that filled her home afterwords.

Someone here knew what she was. They knew. Who? Who could have known? Who knew Luke Skywalker, a Jedi himself? Who was feeding him this information?

How did a Mandalorian bounty hunter even know a Jedi? Something told her that the small green child, who looked so much like a Jedi Master of her past, was the reason for all of this.

"What is in this for you?" She finally broke the silence, tearing her gaze from the holo-device to stare back up at him. Her voice was a controlled calm, her hand holding onto the table so tightly. "I am sure my bounty would give you more credits than he would."

"As satisfying as it would be to bring you in after you have evaded me time and time again," he started, "I believe it is in both of our best interests to not hand you over."

"And why is that?" She dared to ask.

"Considering the bounty on his head was imperial scientists, I don't think it's too hard of a guess as to who put the bounty on you." He spoke, his voice even and short.

She felt her heart stutter, in both fear and anger. Her eyes glanced from the Mandalorian down to Grogu. He had been hunted, too? Already, at such a young age? It made her angry, that she had failed in her actions that had caused the bounty to be placed on her head in the first place. Disappointed in herself, that she couldn't do what had been needed. Surely, it had caused him to be hunted.

She shook her head, once. "No. It's not." Her voice quiet. She thought for a moment, trying to process all of this. "And if you turned me in-"

"They would come after him, again." He finished with, his voice steely with resolve. The type of voice she had come to expect from a faceless bounty hunter, trained to kill and hunt from childhood. "They know I have him. So if I turned you in, they would-"

"I know what they are capable of, Mandalorian." She shot back, cutting him off before he could continue on that comment. "I know what they would do, and what they have done." She spoke, voice low and even, staring him down.

She let out a tense sigh, closing her eyes for just a moment, trying to let the Force wash over her, to calm her once more. This was a lot to take in.

"What if I don't go with you to see Skywalker?" She dared to ask, opening her eyes once again. She couldn't help the curious nature inside of her, to see what he would say.

He just stared at her, impassive through the helmet, but she could almost sense his annoyance through his beskar. For wearing such impressive armor, it seemed to be too easy to get under his skin.

"You could stay here and have another attempt made at your life." He finally retorted.

She hadn't even had the chance to process that. That Henry had truly, willfully, shot at her. For the first time in months, she felt that danger, lingering around her like a curse, a shadow that would not leave.

She had been foolish to think that she could ever have a home.

"How do I know you won't do the same to me while we're traveling to wherever Skywalker is at?" She countered, but she knew she was in a situation with only one clear answer. "Even if you don't turn me in for that bounty, you haven't exactly been cordial in the past."

Perhaps it wasn't fair to hold his attempts to capture her in front of them. He had been doing a job, and she understood that. But how could she possibly begin to even believe him?

"You saved Grogu." Was the response that finally came. "And he seems to trust you."

Grogu let out a cooing noise, looking from his buir to her once more. His big eyes staring at her. As if trying to convince her to come with them, to go to Luke. She could almost hear him, his tiny little voice, trying to speak to her through the Force.

It was a stupid idea, really. To go with the Mandalorian and his child. His force-sensitive child, who was already so strong and powerful in the Force. All because a rumored hero of the galaxy wanted to learn what she knew for future generations of jedi.

"Would I save you from that sniper if I had just planned on killing you later?" He challenged her, yet she could hear the genuine curiosity in his voice.

"For personal satisfaction? I wouldn't blame you if you did." She retorted dryly.

A noise almost like a huff came from his helmet, as he tilted his head to look at her. It was almost comical, seeing him sitting in the chair. He was not short nor narrow by any means, she took note of. He was broad and tall, and he seemed so out of place in her home. All metal and fight, of battle, in her home of nature and healing. She supposed there were two sides to every battle.

"You saved Grogu." He repeated out. "He is part of my… clan." She could hear the care in his voice, despite how much he might have tried to hide it. Yet the struggle too, as if he could not accept that Grogu was with him again. "You saved him, so you have my word no harm will come to you by my hand."

A life for a life, then.

She rubbed her face, all of this too much for her to truly think through right now. She couldn't stay here. With the sudden appearance of Grogu, and how he instantly latched himself onto her, the other villagers suspected her. Add on his hunter of a father and Henry's attack, she knew it was only a matter of time before she got hurt even worse than today. She suspected people already knew she wasn't normal, especially Jir.

She dropped her hand to stare at the both of them. Taking in who would be her traveling companion for however long it would take, if she agreed. A Mandalorian bounty hunter she had evaded time and time again, who had once been coldhearted and ruthless, willing to hand her over to Imperials. And his child, a creature with eyes so big and wide, full of so much innocence but so much hurt already, who had wormed his way into the stone cold hunter. A child with powers like her own, a creature also hunted.

"When do we leave?"

all writing is my own. please do not redistribute, repost, or share on other platforms. thank you

[ taglist: @znerac @dinwifey - to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask!]

[wood-factory-furniture]

How to Style a Wooden Console Table: 10 Thoughts for Your Entryway

A Wooden Console Table is a flexible household item that can add both usefulness and style to your home. Frequently positioned in the entryway, it fills in as a spot to drop keys, mail, or packs while likewise going about as an embellishing point of convergence. The following are 10 plans to assist you with styling your wooden console table and make an inviting entry:

1. Moderate Stylish

Keep it basic: Choose a perfect, moderate look by putting a couple of painstakingly picked things on the table.

Utilize regular components: Consolidate normal materials like wood, stone, or vegetation to make a quieting environment.

Add a bit of variety: Present a pop of variety with a little jar of blossoms or an enhancing bowl.

2. Natural Appeal

Embrace regular surfaces: Match your wooden console table with other rural components like woven bushels, burlap, or horns.

Add a one of a kind touch: Integrate collectible or rare things, like an outlined photo or a little clock.

Utilize warm lighting: Introduce a pendant light or wall sconces over the table to make a comfortable feeling.

3. Alluring Sparkle

Add a bit of extravagance: Consolidate metallic accents, like gold or silver, with beautiful items or a mirror.

Utilize sensational lighting: Introduce a crystal fixture or an assertion light installation over the table.

Add a hint of extravagance: Spot a velvet sprinter or a rich toss cover on the table.

4. Beach front Stylish

Integrate nautical components: Use shells, starfish, or nautical-themed stylistic layout.

Utilize a light variety range: Decide on delicate blues, whites, and sandy tones.

Add a hint of surface: Consolidate jute floor coverings or woven crates.

5. Modern Edge

Join wood and metal: Match your wooden console table with metal accents, like a metal light or a created iron crate.

Utilize unrefined components: Consolidate incomplete wood or uncovered block for a tough look.

Add a hint of vegetation: Spot a huge pruned plant or a balancing grower on the table.

6. Conventional Class

Utilize exemplary style: Consolidate customary components like porcelain jars, precious stone dishes, or outlined family representations.

Add a bit of variety: Utilize quieted tones like naval force, burgundy, or olive green.

Utilize an assertion piece: Spot a huge improving item, like a model or a jar, as the focal point.

7. Varied Blend

Consolidate various styles: Blend and match different styles and surfaces for an exceptional look.

Utilize various tones: Integrate a brilliant range of things.

Add individual contacts: Show things that mirror your character and interests.

8. Display Wall

Make a point of convergence: Hang a display wall over the console table.

Blend and match outlines: Utilize various edges and sizes to make an outwardly intriguing showcase.

Add individual contacts: Incorporate outlined photos, craftsmanship, or uplifting statements.

9. Capacity Arrangement

Expand space: Use containers, plate, or drawers to coordinate and store things on the table.

Keep it utilitarian: Pick things that are both enhancing and commonsense.

Add a hint of character: Redo stockpiling arrangements with marks or brightening extras.

10. Occasional Stylistic theme

Change with the seasons: Update the table's stylistic layout to mirror the momentum season.

Utilize occasional tones: Integrate varieties and examples that are related with the season.

Add occasional components: Spot occasional adornments, for example, pumpkins in the fall or pine cones in the colder time of year.

Keep in mind, the way to styling a wooden console table is to have a great time and trial with various looks. Don't hesitate for even a moment to attempt new things and customize the space to mirror your exceptional style.

Extra Tips

Think about the size of your entryway: Pick a console table that is the right size for your space.

Focus on the subtleties: Add final details like toss cushions, candles, or books to finish the look.

Make sure to revise: Move things around until you find a design that you love.

Have a great time! Styling your console table ought to be an agreeable encounter.

By following these tips, you can make a wonderful and useful entryway that invites you home consistently.

[cathann]

Transform Your Living Space: Must-Have Showpieces and Vases for Every Style

Decorating your home is all about adding those personal touches that reflect your style and personality. One of the easiest ways to achieve this is by incorporating carefully selected showpieces and vases that not only enhance your interior design but also bring character and charm to any room. Whether you're aiming for a minimalist, contemporary, or traditional aesthetic, the right showpieces and vases can make a significant difference in transforming your living space.

In this blog, we'll explore how you can elevate your home décor with these versatile décor elements, tips on selecting the perfect pieces, and how to style them effectively.

1. The Impact of Showpieces and Vases on Home Décor

When thoughtfully placed, showpieces and vases have the power to turn a simple room into a curated, elegant space. These decorative items are not just functional but also serve as focal points that draw attention and add depth to your décor. They create balance and visual interest while enhancing the overall design theme of your home.

Here are a few reasons why showpieces and vases are essential to every home:

Personal Expression: Your choice of décor speaks volumes about your personal style. Showpieces and vases allow you to display art, nature, or meaningful objects that resonate with your aesthetic preferences.

Layering and Dimension: Adding vases and showpieces creates layers in your décor, offering dimension and intrigue. They help break up empty spaces and add detail to shelves, tables, and mantels.

Versatility: Whether used as standalone elements or part of a larger arrangement, showpieces and vases fit seamlessly into various areas of your home, from the living room to the dining area, bedroom, or hallway.

2. Must-Have Showpieces and Vases for Every Style

Choosing the right showpieces and vases for your home depends on your design style. Here are some popular options to help you select items that will elevate your space, no matter your aesthetic.

a) Minimalist Elegance

For those who embrace a minimalist aesthetic, sleek, understated vases and sculptural showpieces are perfect choices. Opt for simple shapes and neutral colors like white, black, or grey to create a clean, modern look. Glass vases with a single flower stem or a bold geometric showpiece can add an artistic touch without overwhelming the space.

Styling Tip: Stick to a neutral palette and select one or two striking pieces to keep the focus on form and structure, ensuring the space remains uncluttered.

b) Rustic Charm

If your décor leans toward rustic or farmhouse style, showpieces and vases made from natural materials like wood, stone, and clay can add warmth and texture to your home. A distressed ceramic vase or an antique-inspired showpiece can complement wooden furniture and earthy tones beautifully.

Styling Tip: Pair vintage-inspired vases with fresh or dried flowers for a cozy, lived-in feel. Group showpieces of varying sizes on shelves for a curated yet relaxed look.

c) Contemporary Chic

Contemporary spaces often benefit from bold, eye-catching showpieces and vases that act as statement pieces. Choose vases with metallic finishes, bold colors, or abstract designs to add a touch of luxury to your room. Geometric or asymmetrical showpieces can bring an element of modern art into your home, elevating the sophistication of your décor.

Styling Tip: Place oversized vases or a collection of small, metallic showpieces on a side table or console to create a dynamic focal point in your living space.

d) Eclectic Vibes

For eclectic interiors, the more unique and unexpected the showpiece or vase, the better. Mix and match different styles, textures, and colors to create a fun, personalized look. From quirky animal figurines to bright, patterned vases, there’s no limit to how creative you can get with your choices.

Styling Tip: Combine vibrant vases with bold showpieces on a coffee table or bookshelf to add pops of color and eclectic charm to your room.

e) Classic Elegance

For those who prefer a more traditional, timeless style, classic ceramic or crystal vases and ornate showpieces are perfect. These pieces bring a touch of luxury and refinement to your home, complementing traditional furniture and soft color schemes. Think of intricate designs, polished finishes, and elegant silhouettes that will never go out of style.

Styling Tip: Place a large vase filled with fresh flowers in the center of a dining table or mantel, paired with smaller, antique showpieces for a cohesive and elegant look.

3. How to Style Showpieces and Vases for Maximum Impact

Once you've selected your ideal showpieces and vases, the next step is to style them effectively in your home. Here are some tips for making the most of your décor:

Create Groupings: Arrange showpieces and vases in groups of odd numbers for a balanced and visually pleasing display. Vary the heights and sizes of the pieces to create depth.

Mix Materials: Don’t be afraid to mix different materials such as wood, glass, metal, and ceramics. This adds texture and interest to your décor while maintaining cohesion.

Use Them as Focal Points: Place large or statement vases in prominent areas, such as the center of a table or mantel, to serve as a focal point. Accent smaller showpieces around them for balance.

Incorporate Nature: Add fresh or dried flowers, branches, or greenery to your vases to bring an organic element into your home. This not only enhances the vase’s design but also adds life and freshness to the space.

Final Thoughts

Transforming your living space doesn’t require a complete renovation—sometimes, all it takes is the right selection of showpieces and vases. Whether you’re after minimalist elegance, rustic charm, or contemporary chic, the perfect combination of these décor items can elevate any room in your home. Explore the vast array of showpieces and vases available online to find those that resonate with your style and bring your living space to life.

Visit website: https://vaaree.com/collections/showpieces-vases

Keywords: #showpieces_and_vases

[ruiniel]

Prickly thorns, tender roses

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Rating: Mature🔞

Relationship: Alucard/Original Female Character

Characters: Alucard, Original Character(s)

Summary:

Set after the events of Castlevania (Netflix) Season III. After the betrayal of his young apprentices, Alucard feels barely alive in his lonesome castle. Days wear on, chipping away at his mind and sanity. And what is the son of Dracula to do with this unwanted visitor, suddenly come at his doorstep? Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses- Ovid

Chapter tags & warnings: Dark Romanticism, Inspired by Castlevania, personal interpretation of post-season III Alucard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Castlevania Season III, POV Original Character, Imprisonment, tension, Not your usual meet-cute, Paranoia, Not Canon Compliant, 'Alucard being unreasonable' is an understatement

III. My chains to rattle

When she stirred, her body felt sore and immeasurably weak, from the tips of her fingers to the toes of her feet. Her eyelids fluttered open to the shafts of light filtering through a window. Ravenna groaned, confused, her mind a whispering desert storm where recent events whirled at will, with no clarity or sequence. She wanted to rise, but something was not right. She looked up and saw that her arms were suspended above her head. In chains. Lovely.

Dread gripped her mind, and she struggled against her bonds. The woman promptly looked herself over and saw she wore the same traveling garb she had arrived in. Her cloak lay abandoned on a nearby table, but she still had her leggings, boots, and tunic. Her dagger was gone. Ravenna breathed a sigh of strangled relief, for she was yet alive and whole, but the meager consolation faded when she remembered who... what had brought her in this state to begin with. Looking about the place, she saw the makings of a chamber. It was as derelict as the others the woman had seen in the short time spent in this forgotten abode.

This is ridiculous.

There was a metal leash fastened around her neck, strung from another chain in the stone walls. Each movement caused a desolate rattling sound.

Not a dungeon, at least.

But still a prisoner.

There was no sign of her savior become captor, and her thoughts returned to inhuman eyes that severed her consciousness from her body with a single stare. And the teeth... no, not teeth, fangs. She had heard the grim tales of this land, come from far away as she was. She had heard of the one called Dracula, king of vampires. Was this...? Had she unknowingly stumbled into the lair of the greatest horror the world had ever known?

"Is anyone there?" she asked, her voice raspy with disuse. Only silence greeted her back.

She slumped against her chains with a sigh. The strain in her arms and shoulders hurt, and the more she struggled, the more intense the pain became.

Hours passed this way, leaving the woman alone with her worries until Ravenna saw the sun slowly make its descent as dusk fell over the world.

In the fading light, she cursed her luck - or lack thereof - which hurled her straight into the clutches of this sinister place and its apparently ruthless owner.

"Who are you?"

The words startled the woman so much she yelped and sprang forward with a metallic clank of her chains.

Flowing shadows filled the space, welcoming the manic lord of the castle who deigned to make his appearance known.

She was afraid, but she was also bitter, and it overran whatever threat was looming behind those cold eyes. "My arms hurt," the young woman muttered, looking away.

"I trust they do," the menace tilted his head to one side, regarding her as a hunting cat would a stray mouse.

She straightened against her chains with a grimace.

"I thought you might need to stand at some point, hence the length," he continued, turning to the sole window in the room.

"So very thoughtful," Ravenna growled, only to be met with a blazing gaze of red. It lasted only a moment before it faded from his countenance.

"Gall. Why am I not surprised," her captor drawled.

As he turned his head to the window again, the woman could not help but sense a seething sort of grief, hanging to him akin to a pressing monolith of immovable stone.

"For the last time, who are you?"

"I told you who I was... lord," she tried civility. "I am called Ravenna. I am not of this land."

He tapped a long finger against his lips, eyeing her. "What is your purpose here, then? In Wallachia?"

She hesitated. "May I at least know your name?" the woman tried.

He was in her face in an instant, clawed fingers grasping her chin none too gently. "You think this is a game?" he purred, a dangerous edge to his soft voice. His face split into a frightful smile that curdled her blood.

"I still believe... it is only courteous for me to at least know your name, following this... warm welcome," the woman choked, the freezing touch of his fingers causing a furious heartbeat to burst in her ears. Ravenna berated herself for the rebellious streak which, once again, might land her in more trouble than she bargained for.

He frowned, and she heard what may have been an incredulous snort. "I am the owner of this castle, and that is all you need to know."

"Are you... Dracula?" she decided to out with it.

The stranger released her and stepped back. A low grumble made its way up his throat, and with increased pique, Ravenna realized he was laughing.

"It is a fair assumption, you know ... we are in Wallachia, you own an immense castle that seems to swallow the light, and I saw the teeth..."

"Enough!" he cut her off. "Why are you here? Speak."

"After you grant me your name, lord," Ravenna braved, despite feeling the fool.

There it was, the low rumble that was his scornful laughter again, and a show of fangs that had her swallowing in dread.

He approached the woman again with slow, feline grace. "I could end you here and now, human," he murmured. Empty eyes locked on hers before trailing to the scrapes on her face, gained during her flight; his gaze took in her disheveled appearance, and finally settled on her neck.

Ravenna shifted, restless. "And yet, you do not," she retorted. Prodding was unwise. Prodding would always, always cause more trials than she could bear. Sage thoughts, and completely unrelated to what actually left her mouth. "The question is... why?"

Her captor raised an eyebrow, watching her as though she were insane. "What is your occupation?"

"I told you, I am a scholar."

"A scholar of what?" he demanded, his frown deepening.

Ravenna rolled her eyes despite herself. "I follow a school of thought that studies alchemy, philosophy, and medicine."

He turned away, hands clasped behind his back. "Interesting..." After a few moments, his shoulders shook in laughter again. What ever could be so amusing?

"Is this the restitution you require for your aid? Keeping me for a prisoner, held like an animal to rot away in your chains?" she blurted. He was so cold, and with him so was the air in the room. It came in shallow mists from her nose and mouth.

He seemed to ponder. "You said you cannot go back into the forest. And you will surely understand - I do not trust you. Hence you are bound until I know more. And with the way this is going, that may take a long, long time." He smiled, baring his fangs for her to see.

The prospect of being chained to a wall in the confines of a castle, at the mercy of a creature of the night no less, was not the most heartening. And she had a quest to continue. Still, Ravenna kept her peace and refused to beg. "Am I truly that much of a threat to someone like you?" she asked, raising her chin in defiance, but the plea was traceable in her voice.

She found it odd how he appeared to retreat, his expression become weary; he averted his gaze. "You all do more damage than you know," he mouthed after a while as to himself, watching the settling night beyond the window.

Ravenna sighed, her head bobbing downward. The metal leash chafed and gnawed at the sensitive skin of her neck. When she lifted her head, she gasped to find him before her. The heaviness of his scent did strange things to her senses, and her mind felt drenched in fog. His hand reached for her and she recoiled. The hand lingered for a split second before continuing its intent, reaching for her neck. Ravenna pressed her eyes tightly shut, her heart pounding. What would he do?

With the brush of cool fingers against her skin, the leash came unfastened and fell to the floor. She breathed again. Looking up, Ravenna stilled when met with the embers of his eyes. They were mere voids, swallowing all feeling and emotion, but there was no cruelty beneath those long black lashes; she was unable to look away.

He reached for her arms, and her astonishment increased when the cuffs around her wrists came undone as well. With absolute agony, the young woman let her limbs down, hissing with the strong discomfort. She looked back into his eyes. "... thank you," she muttered.

He made no reply but did back away. "That, stays," he pointed to the long chain and manacle around her ankle.

"So I am your prisoner," she concluded.

"I prefer the term guest," the vampire offered almost innocently with a dismissive gesture of his hand.

Ravenna regarded him with a wry expression. "... and this is how you treat your guests."

She shivered despite herself at the sudden sliver of ire flitting across his face.

"Oh pardon me, would you prefer a cozy fireplace and a cooked meal instead?" he taunted. "Perhaps a warm bed and a glass of wine, why not!"

"Cease these quips! What do you intend to do with me? You mentioned repayment for your aid... what is it you want?"

"So many questions..." He turned his back on her again, and the shadows in the chamber shifted anew. "The chain is long enough, I suggest you make use of it."

"Wait! Wait, where are you going?" This could not be it. "You cannot just leave me here!" Ravenna cried after him, but there was no one.

A solitary sconce now burned against one wall of the chamber. Weary and aching, the woman slowly approached the dusty bed, falling against the sheets with little to no grace. She was alive; that was what mattered. But maybe not for long.

Somehow, this was still marginally better than having perished at the hands of mindless zealots.

She had never seen, let alone encountered and shared words with a being such as this before. The entire concept of their existence and manner of living was foreign to Ravenna, and despite her situation, the academic drive leading her forward won in the end.

A vampire.

How fascinating.

NEXT

[angelventures]

The Art of Luxury: Mastering Modern Furniture Design

When it comes to home interiors, luxury furniture is the ultimate expression of taste, elegance, and sophistication. It's not just about utility—each piece is a masterpiece, blending exquisite craftsmanship, premium materials, and bold, contemporary design. Whether you're designing a new living room or refreshing your home office, embracing modern luxury furniture design is the key to creating a space that feels both refined and uniquely yours.

In this blog, we’ll dive into what defines modern luxury, how to select the perfect statement pieces, where to find the best modern furniture online, and highlight the leading luxury furniture brands in India and around the globe that are setting the bar in 2025.

What Is Luxury Furniture?

Luxury furniture is not just about price tags—it’s about impeccable craftsmanship, innovative design, and timeless appeal. Think rich textures, custom finishes, fine materials like solid wood, marble, glass, and metal, and a meticulous attention to detail.

Whether minimal or maximal, modern luxury furniture design emphasizes a harmonious blend of aesthetics and comfort, creating a balanced space that reflects sophistication and individuality.

Key Elements of Modern Luxury Furniture Design

1. Clean Lines and Subtle Detailing

Modern luxury is all about restraint. You’ll often see sleek lines, balanced proportions, and minimal ornamentation. Instead of flashy accents, the focus lies in the silhouette, materiality, and build quality.

2. Premium Materials

From Italian leather to hand-polished walnut, the materials used in luxury furniture are durable, tactile, and indulgent. Think brushed metals, velvets, travertine stone, and hand-blown glass.

3. Function Meets Art

Each piece is thoughtfully designed to not only serve a purpose but also to elevate the aesthetic value of a room. Whether it's a sculptural console or an organically shaped chair, luxury furniture adds an artistic touch to interiors.

4. Sustainability and Innovation

Modern luxury is also about conscious living. Many luxury furniture brands in India and globally are embracing eco-friendly practices, ethical sourcing, and innovative manufacturing techniques.

Top Luxury Furniture Brands to Watch in 2025

1. Muuto

Originating from Denmark, Muuto brings Nordic design to life with simplicity, functionality, and a distinct character. Their modern interpretations of Scandinavian furniture are ideal for minimalist luxury spaces. Expect a blend of warm wood tones, muted color palettes, and sculptural forms.

2. Coedition

This French brand collaborates with leading designers to produce elegant and artistic pieces. Coedition’s furniture is contemporary yet timeless, with emphasis on quality craftsmanship and refined aesthetics. Their tables, sideboards, and chairs bring Parisian finesse to any modern home.

3. Decastelli

For those who love metal as a medium, Decastelli offers luxurious metal furniture and accessories with a refined industrial edge. Based in Italy, their pieces are modern, durable, and distinctively architectural—perfect for avant-garde interiors.

4. Kendo

Spain-based Kendo specializes in high-end modern furniture that exudes elegance and utility. Known for its use of natural materials and custom finishes, Kendo’s designs are ideal for both residential and commercial luxe settings.

5. Miniforms

Quirky yet refined, Miniforms brings an artistic flair to modern luxury furniture design. Based in Italy, the brand focuses on bold colors, playful shapes, and attention to craftsmanship. Their furniture is vibrant, characterful, and designed to make a statement.

Where to Find Modern Furniture Online

Buying modern furniture online has never been easier, thanks to curated luxury platforms and design boutiques offering digital experiences with 3D visualization, AR previews, and design consultations.

Look for:

Verified brand partners or authorized dealers

Customization options (finish, size, upholstery)

Transparent shipping and installation support

Sustainability disclosures and care guides

Popular platforms like Baro Design, Address Home, and The House of Things in India offer access to global and local luxury furniture brands in India, allowing you to shop premium collections from the comfort of your home.

Tips for Styling Luxury Furniture

Mix Textures: Combine wood, metal, leather, and stone to create visual depth.

Keep It Balanced: Let statement pieces shine—don’t overcrowd.

Choose Neutral Foundations: Use bold accents to add interest without overpowering.

Invest in Timeless Pieces: Go for designs that will age gracefully and outlast trends.

Final Thoughts

Designing with luxury furniture is about creating an environment that exudes comfort, character, and sophistication. With the right mix of iconic brands like Muuto, Coedition, Decastelli, Kendo, and Miniforms, you can master the art of modern luxury furniture design and curate a space that feels as beautiful as it looks.

Whether you're buying modern furniture online or visiting a bespoke showroom, focus on quality, craftsmanship, and personal resonance. Because true luxury isn’t about excess—it’s about experience, emotion, and elegance.

[simarjeet12]

Buy Oval Mosaic Mirror Online

A unique option for improving your home's aesthetics while combining practicality and style is an oval mosaic mirror. This sophisticated and creative home accent gives any space depth, flair, and individuality. An oval mosaic mirror may transform a plain wall into a focal point by fusing the classic appeal of an oval shape with elaborate mosaic details. This mirror form complements a wide range of interior design concepts, whether you're decorating a minimalist space, a modern apartment, or a house with a vintage feel.

Why Should Your Home Have an Oval Mosaic Mirror?

An oval mosaic mirror adds a decorative element to your interior design in addition to providing reflection. The smooth, curved contour that the oval form creates makes a stunning contrast to the rigid lines of windows, doors, and furnishings. A work that attracts attention and reflects light with a stunning effect is created by the mosaic frame's addition of artistic intricacy and texture.

Oval mosaic mirrors have aesthetic and practical uses, from boosting natural light to visually expanding a room. These mirrors are perfect for any kind of area because they come in a wide range of colors, designs, and materials.

Common Materials for Mirrors with Oval Mosaics

Your room's entire atmosphere can be significantly impacted by the material you choose for your oval mosaic mirror. Here are a few well-liked choices:

Glass mosaic: Provides a glossy, light-catching surface that reflects light well. Ideal for glam or trendy interiors.

Stone or marble mosaic: Enhances rustic, farmhouse, or Mediterranean styles and adds an earthy charm.

Mother-of-Pearl shell mosaic: opulent and radiant, perfect for sophisticated or beach-themed settings.

Metallic mosaic (copper, silver, and brass): Offers a warm, rich appearance appropriate for traditional, bohemian, or vintage settings.

Ceramic mosaics are vibrant and long-lasting, adding a whimsical or creative touch to modern or eclectic houses.

Oval Mosaic Mirror Placement Ideas for Your House

Placing your oval mosaic mirror correctly will increase its visual effect and make sure it blends nicely with your current decor. Here are a few perfect places:

1. Hallway or Entryway

Installing an oval mosaic mirror in your foyer will make a lasting impression. Because it reflects light, small areas appear bigger and cozier. For a functional and fashionable arrangement, pair it with a console table.

2. The Living Room

Above the sofa, sideboard, or fireplace, hang a huge oval mosaic mirror to add refinement. It turns into an intriguing focal point, particularly when encircled by art or lighting that complements it.

3. The bedroom

To improve your morning routine, place an oval mosaic mirror over your vanity or dresser. Additionally, it softens and adds elegance to the atmosphere of the space, particularly when combined with mosaics that have pastel or flowery hues.

4. The restroom

For a spa-like feel, swap out the typical bathroom mirror for an oval mosaic one. For longevity in humid conditions, pick materials that can withstand water, such as glass or treated ceramic.

5. Dining Room or Gallery

To improve space and add artistic value, hang one large mirror or group numerous smaller oval mosaic mirrors to create a decorative wall collage.

Advice for Oval Mosaic Mirror Style

Use these styling tips to make the most of your oval mosaic mirror:

Complement the Mosaic Colors: Select a mirror frame that either reflects or enhances the color scheme of your space.

Make Strategic Use of Lighting: To reflect more natural light, place the mirror under a light source or across from a window.

Establish Symmetry: To attain balance, hang the mirror in the middle of the furniture or combine it with complementary décor pieces.

Layer with paintings or Décor: For a unified, high-end aesthetic, combined with framed paintings, plants, or sculptures.

Advantages of Oval Mosaic Mirror Use

Beyond aesthetics, there are a number of advantages to including an oval mosaic mirror in your interior design:

Enhances Natural Light: Light is reflected to illuminate small spaces or shadowed areas.

Provides Visual Interest: The creative mosaic frame makes a statement and attracts attention.

Fits All Design Styles: Looks well with boho, coastal, traditional, or modern décor.

Decorative & Functional: Ideal for both everyday use and aesthetic improvement.

Available in a range of colors and sizes: It is simple to adapt to any style and area.

How to Keep Your Oval Mosaic Mirror in Good Condition

It's critical to maintain your mirror to maintain its longevity and beauty:

Clean Frequently: To clean the mirror's surface, use a gentle microfiber cloth and non-abrasive glass cleaner.

Dust the Mosaic Frame: Dust the mosaic pieces' nooks and crannies with a gentle brush or cloth.

Avoid Excessive Moisture: To avoid damaging some mosaic materials, make sure bathrooms have enough ventilation.

Secure Wall Mounting: For heavier designs in particular, make sure the mirror is securely fastened to prevent damage or mishaps.

Oval mosaic mirrors are a feature of trendy décor ideas.

The ability of oval mosaic mirrors to combine use and art has made them popular in interior design. They are ideal for the following contemporary design trends:

Boho Chic Interiors: For a cozy and laid-back vibe, combine textured rugs, plants, and rattan furniture.

Modern Glam: For an opulent appearance, pair metallic mosaic mirrors with crystal lights and soft textiles.

Coastal Vibes: To create a calm, beach-inspired ambiance, combine shell mosaic mirrors with aqua accents and bleached wood.

Eclectic Mix: For a striking, creative effect, combine several mosaic colors and mirror forms on a feature wall.

How to Pick the Best Oval Mosaic Mirror: A Guide to Purchasing

The following advice should be kept in mind when looking for the ideal oval mosaic mirror:

Measure Your Space: Verify that the mirror's dimensions match the wall area that will be used.

Verify the frame's quality by making sure the backing is sturdy and long-lasting and the mosaic tiles are firmly attached.

Complement Your Style: Select hues and designs that complement the décor you already have.

Read Reviews: Customer reviews can provide information on quality and attractiveness in real life, especially when making purchases online.

Think About Handmade Options: Artists frequently produce one-of-a-kind, exquisite oval mosaic mirrors with superb craftsmanship.

Conclusion

More than just a decorative item, an oval mosaic mirror is a classic piece of furniture that adds creative flair, improves light, and goes well with a variety of interior design themes. This type of mirror provides unparalleled adaptability and aesthetic appeal for both the bathroom and the foyer.