#Antique lamp with painted screen shade

[rollibuys]

Antique lamp with painted screen shade

Our Bouillotte lamp reproduction is shown in Style LTF-1a in a standard old brass finish with custom hand-painted shade, Benjamin Moore Pale Smoke color. An antique Arts and Crafts table lamp by Pittsburgh Lamp Co offers dome shade having reverse painted landscape scene with lake over double socket base, c1920 Measures - 22''H x 17. Features a three-way switch with a 16 inch diagonal bone shade. As one of the most popular antique reproduction table lamps, the Bouillotte lamp features a brass center pipe that serves as a base for the hand-painted shade. solid brass lighting fixtures with over one hundred styles of glass and hand-painted shades. This hand-painted Chinese lamp is of antique design and very fine quality. The Bouillotte lamp is characterized by one or several candlesticks and became popular as it was used while playing the 18 th century French gambling card game, Bouillotte, a popular game in the 19 th century that influenced modern day Poker. Huge collection of antique & vintage lighting, including chandeliers, exterior, flush & semi-flush, table & floor lamps, pendants, sconces and much more. Adorning a table in the hallway, sitting room, or master bedroom, the tole bouillotte lamp is a masterful reinterpretation of an 18th and 19th century original, hand constructed with traditional techniques. mirrea Vintage Pendant Light Fixture 4 Lights in Rectangle Frame Shade Matte Metal Black Painted Finish: Electronics. An Art Deco period table lamp from the 1920's has a shade with six curved ribbed glass panes that have. Excellent condition approx 66inches in height £175. Four panel folding screen with deer and hunting dog scenes. Antique oil lamp with glass funnel and shade. Featuring a cast brass and tole construction, this bouillotte lamp is complete with three lights for a piece that adds warmth and character to any room. Discover amazing local deals on antiques for sale in Tewkesbury.

[trailedstar]

CHAPTER 01.

﹙ BLADE x MALE READER﹚ MODERN AU, no smut - just hinted, references to a one night stand, drunk sex mention, mentions of vomit, potential ooc for KAFKA

YOUR EYES GROGGILY FORCED THEIR WAY OPEN THROUGH TIRED EYELIDS. Waves of nausea coursed through your veins, a cacophony of ear splitting noises rushing through your ears. The thick air of acrid smoke and stale alcohol aided none.

The lack of air conditioning led unsolicited beads of sweat to trail down your skin in sticky rivulets, pleading to feel even the most pathetic gust of a breeze. The shriveled, linen sheets entangled within your legs, little done to shield your nude figure - tantalizing, perhaps.

The sun had barely made it past the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the lazed room - a key detail now blessed upon your memory - the slumberous beauty beside you.

Their features were like a poem crafted by Edgar Allen Poe, himself — skin diaphanous as moonbeams, eyelashes blessed like swift brush strokes, and long hair representing melancholy - a wispy blue resembling a deep abyss to a cerise red ablaze from raging hellfire. Pale figure sculpted by Michelangelo or Gian Lorenzo Bernini, scars etched deep like a crafter's crack with kismet tales behind in the wake of their divine fingertips.

"Oh fuck..." Profanities slipped out in delirious strings, the implications becoming clearer than spring water.

Scrambling out of the warm haven of sheets, your eyes take in the very room you swore off due to its unfavorable reputation - stained with mascara-coated tears and bodies left cold without comfort. Decorative walls were painted a soft shade of gray, uniquely accented with posters of aggressively tuned bands and old movie posters that your parents would rave about. A mahogany desk lay nestled in the corner, hidden from the gleams of golden light, surface overwhelmed with books and papers. Without the natural glow of light, a dim antique lamp flickered with an old timey fabric shielding its failing bulb.

The very warm haven you desperately climbed out of was rather comfortable, akin to the feeling of your parents cradling you close as you hid giggles from faking sleep. It was decorated in bland colors - similar to the dull room. Yet the pillows were silky smooth, the sheets caressing every crevice of your form as if etching it into the memory of its threads.

Your eyes were eventually drawn to your clothes strewn about, boxers tossed off near the desk as if thrown in haste. The most unpleasant surprise was the vomit staining your jacket, the fluids smelling pungent with alcohol and burnt cigarettes.

“Fucking hell…” Mumbling nonsense to yourself, you made no slow effort to put your clothes back on - even as the fabric maneuvered harshly over deep hickeys and bruises.

“I hope he stays quiet about this.” You silently prayed to whatever God there may be out there, quietly slipping on your shoes before tossing your putrid jacket in the plastic trash can beside the door.

The blistering sound of an alarm clock echoed through the barren room, devoid of light from the shut curtains and cold with the lack of a familiar.

Groaning, a scarred man rolled over to slam a palm against the snooze button. His muscles ached and cramped like a rusty tool, yet his mind was too dazed to comprehend. He glanced around the room with harrowing red eyes that had seen a world torn from mayhem.

The bed was a mess, sheets tangled and twisted, pillows scattered across the floor. There was an incredibly faint and fleeting trace of a perfume that lingered in the air - soft and herbal with a tranquil residue.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, the cold wood floor bit into his bare feet like nails.

“Did it happen again?” He could only ponder to God Himself, brows creasing like a weight bestowed upon them.

The ringing of his phone disrupted his thoughts, and he reached over to pick it up with a heavy frown. His scarred fingers fumbled with the unlock button before bringing the screen to life. The call rang through with the name “Kafka” displayed in large letters.

“Bladie~ Have you checked the forum? The pictures are everywhere.” A honeyed voice echoed on the other side of line, a familiar nickname tainting the air - echoing a past never forgotten.

“Silverwolf is already actively deleting them, but I did happen to promise her you’d go with her to get some new games~” Kafka hummed out a tune that she frequently played on the violin, A Dramatic Irony, as she named it.

“…hm.” Blade could only grumble at the newfound day ahead of him, the weight of the melancholic atmosphere on his shoulders.

It wasn’t quite right to call him cursed, but not fitting of a saintly title either. He was simply Blade. A puppet as a master of all trades, benefiting from the side that appeased him well. Though, he was already caught in the spider’s complex web, the strings guiding him to the finale - the spider itself.

[annwynisland]

Furniture Catalogue

Item names spelled in US English. Ctrl+F (find keyword) recommended. I can customize with Cyrus if specific color variant(s) desired.

ACNH Nintendo Switch

Alto saxophone

Analog kitchen scale

Anthurium plant

Antique bureau

Antique chair

Antique clock

Antique console table

Antique mini table

Antique wardrobe

Arcade seat

Artsy table

Baby panda

Ball

Baobab

Basic teacher's desk

Beach ball

Beach chairs with parasol

Beach towel

Bidet

Board game

Book

Book stands

Bottled beverage

Box corner sofa

Box sofa

Broom and dustpan

Bunk bed

Campfire cookware

Camping cot

Candle

Candle chandelier

Cans

Cardboard box

Carnations

Casablanca lilies

Cassette player

Cat grass

Chainsaw

Chalkboard

Champion's pennant

Changing room

Checkout counter

Chessboard

Clipboard

Clothes closet

Clothesline pole

Coffee beans

Coffee cup

Coffee grinder

Coffee plant

Colorful juice

Cone

Cooking tools

Cool sofa

Corner clothing rack

Counter table

Covered wagon

Crane game

Creepy skeleton

Cruiser bike

Cuckoo clock

Cup with saucer

Cushion

Cute chair

Cute DIY table

Cute sofa

Cute wall-mounted clock

Cute wardrobe

Cypress bathtub

Cypress plant

Decorative bottles

Deep fryer

Desk mirror

Dessert carrier

Diner counter chair

Diner counter table

Diner dining table

Diner neon clock

Dinnerware

Dinosaur toy

Director's chair

Dish-drying rack

Display stand

Document stack

Double-door refrigerator

Double-edged sword

Double Gloucester cheese

Double sofa

Drapery

Dreamy bed

Dreamy rabbit toy

Dreamy wall rack

Dual hanging monitors

Elephant slide

Enamel lamp

Evergreen ash

Exam table

Exercise bike

Exit sign

Fan

Fancy violin

Fax machine

Festival zongzi

Fireplace

Floating-biotope planter

Floor light

Floor seat

Fluorescent light

Folding floor lamp

Fortune-telling set

Freezer

Froggy chair

Garden faucet

Garden gnome

Garden lantern

Gas range

Gears

Glass jar

Globe

Handcart

Hanging cube light

Hearty ramen

High-end stereo

Homework set

Hourglass

Iced coffee

Imperial bed

Imperial chest

Imperial decorative shelves

Imperial dining chair

Imperial dining lantern

Imperial low table

Imperial partition

Ironing board

Ironing set

Judge's bell

Karaoke machine

Kids' tent

Kimono stand

Kitchen counter

Knife block

Lab-experiments set

Lantern

Large covered round table

Large magazine rack

Lily-pad table

Long bathtub

Magazine

Magnetic knife rack

Marimba

Metal can

Metal pot

Meter and pipes

Microwave

Mini circuit

Mining car

Mixer

Mobile

Modern cash register

Modern office chair

Monstera

Mop

Moroccan lights

Moss ball

Mounted blue marlin

Mr. Flamingo

Mrs. Flamingo

Mug

Oil barrel

Oil lamp

Outdoor air conditioner

Outdoor bench

Outdoor folding chair

Owl clock

Painting set

Papa panda

Paper-chain ceiling garland

Paper lantern

Paper tiger

Patchwork bed

Patchwork sofa chair

Pendulum clock

Pennant

Pet food bowl

Pinball machine

Pine tree

Plasma ball

Plastic canister

Pop-up book

Pop-up toaster

Popcorn machine

Porcelain vase

Portable radio

Pot rack

Potted starter plants

Premium nigirizushi

Pro coffee grinder

Puppy plushie

Rattan armchair

Rattan end table

Rattan low table

Rattan stool

Rattan table lamp

Rattan vanity

Rattan wardrobe

Retro fan

Retro stereo

Rice cooker

Rock guitar

Rocket lamp

Rotary phone

Round light fixture

Round pillow

Round space heater

Salad bar

Sandwich plate meal

Schefflera

School chair

School desk

Scooter

Scrapbook

Screen

Serving cart

Set of stockings

Sewing machine

Sewing project

Shaded floor lamp

Shaded pendant lamp

Ship-wheel door decoration

Shopping bag

Short file cabinet

Shoyu ramen

Silver confetti blower

Silver mic

Simple kettle

Simple panel

Simple shaded lamp

Simple table

Simple wall shelf

Siphon

Skateboard

SLR camera

Small mannequin

Small vase

Soft-serve lamp

Spaceship control panel

Spinning wheel

Square bathtub

Standing toilet

Strapped books

Studio spotlight

Study carrel

Study chair

Study desk

Study sewing box

Super-premium nigirizushi

Surfboard

Surichwi tteok

Table lamp

Table with cloth

Tabletop record player

Tangled cords

Tape deck

Tapestry

Tea set

Thank-you Mom mug

Throwback container

Throwback dino screen

Throwback gothic mirror

Throwback hat table

Throwback rocket

Throwback skull radio

Tin bucket

Tin robot

Tissue box

Titan arum

Tool shelf

Toolbox

Torii

Toy box

Traditional tea set

Train set

Transit seat

Tricycle

Typewriter

Upright speaker

Utility sink

Vacuum cleaner

Velvet stool

Vertical banner

Wall-mounted candle

Wall-mounted LED display

Wall-mounted phone

Wall-mounted TV (50 in.)

Water cooler

Weight bench

Winnowing machine

Wood-burning stove

Wooden pendant light

World map

Yucca

Yule log

[frenchelshade]

Illuminating the Past: The Hierarchy of Vintage Lamps in the USA

Collectors, home decorators, and lighting lovers appreciate the special character and classic allure of the vintage lamps. These glowing antiques are a window into the artistry and fashion of another period. The American lamp hierarchy is a fascinating exploration of design, nostalgia, and American history.

Oil Lamps: An Early Technology

Oil lamps are the lowest-ranking vintage lamps. These lamps were used in American homes during the 19th century and date back to the early years of the country's independence. Oil lamps served their purpose, were easy to make, and occasionally displayed excellent craftsmanship. The use of antique oil lamps nowadays is a nostalgic throwback to the days before widespread access to electricity.

Aladdin Lamps: The Next Generation

Significant progress in lamp technology may be traced back to the introduction of Aladdin lights in the early 20th century. The luminous efficiency of these paraffin lights won widespread acclaim. Due to their unique appearance and high-caliber illumination, Aladdin lamps have become sought-after collectibles. In places where power was rare, they enhanced residents' quality of life.

Tiffany Lamp: An Iconic Icon in Stained Glass

As we ascend the social ladder, we reach the exquisite Tiffany lamps. The beautiful stained glass designs made famous by Tiffany, an American artist, ushered in a new era in lamp design in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. These lights are well-known for their elaborate patterns, vibrant colors, and organic inspiration. Because of their association with wealth and prestige, Tiffany lamps are widely prized and fetch great prices on the vintage lamp market.

Art Deco Lighting: the Jazz Age

The Art Deco style, popular in the 1920s and 1930s, introduced a new refinement and modernity to the lighting industry. Art Deco lights are distinguished by their streamlined silhouettes, geometric patterns, and glamorous aesthetic. Collectors with a taste for all things Jazz Age will find great value in these lamp shades as they perfectly capture the spirit of the time.

Mid-Century Lamps: an Enduring Icon

The post-World War II era saw the emergence of Mid-Century Modern architecture and interior design, which prioritized practicality and minimalism. Designers such as George Nelson, Isamu Noguchi, and Arne Jacobsen are responsible for iconic lights that flawlessly combine form and function. Because of their enduring style, Mid-Century Modern lamps are widely sought after in the modern antique market.

Victorian Parlor Lamps: the Elegant Companion

Victorian parlor lamps perfectly exemplify the generosity and extravagance of the Victorian era. These vintage lamps were made to be the focal points of living rooms. Therefore, they typically feature elaborate metalwork, porcelain, and hand-painted glass shades. Collectors value these lamps because they are beautifully crafted and intricately detailed, evoking the spirit of Victorian design.

Lamps with a Hollywood Regency Flair

Popularized in the middle of the twentieth century, the Hollywood Regency aesthetic aims to capture the glamor and sophistication of the silver screen. Ornate, gilded highlights, and striking motifs are typical of lamps in this era. They are highly sought after because of their retro appeal to modern decor.

Lights from the Atomic Age: Looking to the Future

The time following World War II and the beginning of the space age, known as the Atomic Age, influenced lamp design with futuristic and space-inspired patterns. Lamps from this era are often minimalist and incorporate space-age materials and design touches like Sputnik-inspired arm extensions. They evocate the era's boundless hope and enthusiasm for new technologies.

Final Words

In conclusion, the hierarchy of vintage lamps in the United States reflects the long and varied tradition of lamp making and the many different aesthetic considerations that have shaped it. Each era has made its stamp on the world of antique lamps, from the practical simplicity of oil lamps to the ornate grandeur of Victorian parlor lights and the evergreen charm of Mid-Century Modern designs. 

These illuminated artifacts are still highly prized by collectors and enthusiasts, who value them for the light they provide, the history they preserve, and the artistry they represent. Discovering the history of lighting is fascinating, whether you're a collector or just interested in the past.

Visit Us, https://www.fenchelshades.com/

Original Source, https://bityl.co/LgtU

[yonemurishiroku]

Nico’s villa house in Venice, Italy headcanon because i say so.

- It’s in the old style because that’s how most of the houses in Venice are and Nico feels less disoriented that way.

- But it’s still fucking modern tho.

- And enchanted to ward of monsters and such. Hades is not having his children in danger if he has anything to do with it.

- It has two stories with a terrace playground whose roof can be closed or opened according to the weather, since obviously Nico needs to fix his fading issue.

- It’s too large for one person and three hellhounds dogs because Nico has claustrophobia. And also Hades is ridiculously rich and opts to spoil his son.

- Yes he has dogs.

- Yes they are hellhounds.

- The villa is surrounded by green, save for the brown fences. The trees stand tall next to the street lamps, the grass tickles his feet and the flowers bloom beautifully along the gray brick path. Persephone made them eternally fresh and Nico prays the people wouldn’t notice anyday.

- There’s a sand playground in a corner of the garden, with a little sort-of tent with sofas and lounge chairs and cushions and so on, in which Nico likes to enjoy his books while the dos run around. He likes the feeling of staying close to the ground.

- The villa is located at the city’s edge so Nico has a small balcony perking out to the open space, with a lovely staircase leading down so that he can actually sit in the water and enjoys the ocean view whenever he wants.

- There’s also a system of fresh waterways in the backyard, running peacefully under the garden’s shades like natural streams, just because Persephone doesn’t like the idea of her flowers having no water supply. Nico prefers dipping his feet in the water without salt clinging to his skin, anyway, so he doesn’t complain.

- The villa is spacious. Most furnitures are made of wood to give off a cozy feeling. A lot of sofas and soft lounge chairs. The wooden doors are always wide open and different layers of curtains shielding the glass windows. Paintings, decorations and plants lining the walls.

- The whole house is floored with expensive carpets year-round because Nico’s body temperature is always lower than a normal human being should be, and also he likes the feeling it brings.

- The living room had one chandelier which Nico had removed soon after he moved in, claiming it was too gaudy.

- A TV built-in that is actually some sort of black screen just for Hades or Zagreus to call whenever they want to check on Nico. Nico complains all the time, but he still picks up the weird shadow-calls - or whatever Zagreus calls them.

- A fireplace. Of course there’s a fireplace. And another in his bedroom. Nico dislikes leaving the warm spots when the winter comes.

- The kitchen can be seen from the living room, equipped with a full set of ovens and a cabinet of pasta making tools and pantries and whatsoever. Nico loves the cooking lessons with his caretaker - a lovely maid who is a clear-sighted mortal, courtesy of Hades, (who else, really?).

- The reading room is upstairs. Large bookshelves occupying every wall. A large window at the opposite of the door to catch more winds. A passageway hidden behind one of the shelves, connecting to a secret safe room just because Hades is paranoid.

- A music room that houses a piano since Nico wants to try after listening to Zagreus play in the Underworld.

- He definitely has a king-size canopy bed. I don’t care what you think. Nico definitely sleeps in one.

- The dogs have their own beds in the same bedroom of Nico’s, just because he likes to keep them close.

- The guest bedroom isn’t any less antiquely luxury looking. If anything it’s just smaller than the main bedroom and no canopy.

- Yes they have a dog room, filled with toys and whatever a hellhound might want to play with. There’re just so many things people can do with empty space and Nico wouldn’t waste a spare room if it means his hellhounds can find some entertainment the outdoor is unavailable without wrecking havoc.

[slashthedice]

Hello, my loves, I am back! Part 2 of the original request from @someone-who-is-there for Bubba and reader who was j chillin’ at a bar before our favorite chainsaw boy and his coat hanger-wielding brother showed up. Okay, so as much as I love the atmosphere of Texas Battle Land in TCM2, nothing will top the original Sawyer house for me so we’re just pretending that that somehow fits into this timeline wise. Shhh it’s fine. NSFW below!

When you arrived at your apparent destination, the big man, Bubba, quickly unloaded the corpses from the back of the truck. As the crinkling of the aged, faded blue tarp stopped, you chanced a peek through your lashes at your surroundings. Laying on your back as you were, you were greeted to the clear expanse of the star-speckled Texas night sky. The blood pool that had spilled and flooded around you had begun to cool and coagulate. It felt thick and sticky on your skin, and you fought against the urge to shudder, unsure if the other man was still around. The sound of a screen door slamming nearby had your heart in your throat. “Where have you boys been?!” This new voice sounded like it belonged to an older man. “Did anyone see you?” There was a rather antagonistic squabbling sort of conversation between the strange man from the bar and this new older man. Bubba continued dutifully unloading corpses and taking them somewhere unseen. Between his efficiency and the way that the other two spoke to each other, you got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time they had all done something like this. You shied away from acknowledging that they had murdered those people. You did not want to think about the fact that Bubba had let you live while cutting down so many others. When finally you were the last “body” left in the truck bed, Bubba returned and hoisted you up onto his shoulder once more. His dark coat smelled strongly of musky sweat and the coppery tang of blood. The heavy falls of his boots against creaking, aged wood let you know that you had entered what you assumed was a house. You felt him hesitate briefly, and then mount a set of groaning stairs. Rusting hinges shrieked in protest as he pushed open a door and closed it behind him. 

He set you gently on the soft, spongy surface of a quilt-covered bed. You opened your eyes slowly to find him standing over you, observing you with a tilted head while he wrung his thick hands. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to observe your surroundings. The room itself was fairly barren. The multi-colored quilt beneath you supplied the only real color. White paint flaked off of the iron bed frame, and the small distressed nightstand boasted only an antique ceramic table lamp with a bent and crooked shade. The walls were covered in peeling, yellowed paper. In the corners and along the baseboards the top layer had pulled away to reveal older layers of equally yellowed floral paper. A wardrobe loomed in one corner of the room, the flowers carved on its doors appeared to have been painted over by a child-like hand. The lone window in the room looked to have been caulked and painted shut, with old newspaper pasted over the glass. You looked once more to the man-- Bubba, you reminded yourself again. He watched as you took in your surroundings, shuffling his weight and eyeing you anxiously. He seemed at a loss, not sure what to do now that he had you here, in what you assumed was his room. You were just as lost. What was to happen now? He had spared you, taken you home with him, but you had no idea what would come next. He murmured a few more indecipherable, babbled words and nodded his head as if he had settled upon some decision. A few hurried hand motions indicated for you to stay put. He turned and left the room, and when the door closed behind him the sound of a key in the lock was near deafening in its finality. It had been months since that night. Your time in captivity was… different than you expected. At first he treated you like a child would treat a favorite doll. Each night, he would dress you up in different clothes and apply any number of various makeups to your face. You learned slowly to interpret the sounds he made. You came to understand his squeals of delight just as well as his huffs and grunts of displeasure. Every couple nights, once he was certain the rest of his family was asleep, he would smuggle you into the big bathroom. He would draw a bath and then help you to undress, before placing you gently into the hot water. He used a washcloth to scrub at your skin, and ran his thick fingers through your wet hair. On these nights, you could not help but to feel conflicted. You were undeniably a captive, here against your will, but he was so kind to you, so gentle. You looked forward to the times that he would come to the room, felt your heart skip with excitement as he fussed over and showered you with attention. He brought you food, and though you had begun to suspect what exactly he was feeding you, you tried not to think about it, focusing only on the enthusiasm with which he fed it to you. At first when it was time for bed, he would retreat from the room to some unknown place to sleep, leaving you to the bed, his bed. After a few weeks, you had halted his retreat with a gentle hand and a timid “Stay.” You had not slept alone since. He held you to him like he was afraid that you would slip away into the balmy summer night. His arms were strong around your waist, and his stomach was soft against your back. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t shocked the first time you woke to feel his hips grinding into yours in his sleep. His hardness burned against the curve of your ass, causing heat to rush to your face. The more lascivious part of your mind brought to bear those traitorous thoughts that had filtered through your consciousness in that dirty bathroom all those months ago. You wondered if he was dreaming of you. Did he think about taking you in all the ways you wanted him to take you? Did his unconscious mind tempt him with conjured images of you panting and moaning beneath him? A secret part of your heart hoped that was the case. You dragged a hand over your own heated flesh, starting at your neck where your pulse hammered. You ghosted your fingertips across your collarbones, downwards to cup your breasts and thumb the aching peaks of your nipples through the fabric of the gauzy nightgown Bubba had gifted you. He panted against the back of your neck as he continued to rut against you, and you slid your hand over your stomach, hesitating when your wandering fingers found the band of your panties. Your hesitation was short lived. Spurred on by the litany of sinful sounds coming from the large man at your back, you soon found yourself biting down on your lower lip to stifle your own pleasured sounds. This was your nightly ritual for a near absurd amount of time. You burned constantly, and it wasn’t from the heavy heat of the Texas sun. Trapped in that room as you were, you had only your thoughts for company, and they were all too happy to produce less than innocent daydreams about your captor. Your own touch could only do so much for the simmering desire that bubbled in your core day in and day out. You were engaged in a rather intense self-love session when things finally came to a head. You had your head thrown back and the hand that wasn’t dipping between your dripping folds covered your mouth to muffle your harsh breathing. You curled your fingers into yourself and drew in a shuddering breath, causing you to miss the sound of the key turning in the lock. You couldn’t possibly miss the shriek of the hinges as Bubba excitedly threw open the door to bring you your lunch far earlier than you expected. You nearly snapped your own neck with how quickly your head shot upwards as you clamped your trembling thighs together, a gasp of surprise leaving your bitten lips. Your wide eyes met Bubba’s. He was frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights, one hand still on the dented brass doorknob and the other holding a heaping plate of leftover roast from the night prior. Horror and embarrassment flooded through you as you realized the state you were in. Your clothes had been discarded, but you had wrapped yourself in one of Bubba’s shirts that you had pilfered from the wardrobe. Your panties hung from one of your ankles, and you were sure that your skin was flushed with color caused both by your previous activities and your mortification at being caught. The silence stretched on, it seemed that Bubba had turned to stone in the doorway and your tongue was suddenly far too heavy in your mouth to function. Oh god, what the hell were you supposed to do now? You wanted nothing more than for the bed to swallow you whole and then sink into the ground. You clamped your eyes shut and willed the world to end. A whine from the man still standing in the door prompted you to open your eyes. You allowed yourself to peek at him, only for your eyes to widen once more. Bubba’s hand on the knob trembled with the strength of his grip. You followed the taut lines of his tensed body to the rather unmistakeable bulge in his dark pants. You could not stop yourself from licking your lips. Though still embarrassed, you felt a certain sort of pride knowing that you had that effect on him. Taking a deep breath, you relaxed your legs and allowed them to spread as they had before. You watched his eyes follow the slope of your thighs to their now exposed apex. He shifted uncomfortably, no doubt feeling the confinement of his pants and the tightening of his collar. He had seen you naked before, but these circumstances were undeniably different from when he bathed and dressed you. You waited with bated breath for him to accept or reject your silent offer, but he was stock-still, cemented to his place in the doorway. The silence was stifling, your own pulse rushed in your ears and your breathing was suddenly far too loud. “Bubba,” you basically moaned. “Please... come here.” Your words jolted him into action. He nearly slammed the door shut with the force he used to close it. He hurriedly shoved the plate of food onto the nightstand, almost knocking the already damaged lamp to the floor. Once he was standing over you, he seemed unsure what to do. He hesitated at the edge of the bed, looking to you for guidance. Normally, you found his demeanor endearing, but right now it was driving you crazy. You wanted him to touch you, to fuck you, and his hesitation was keeping you on edge. You swung your legs over the edge of the mattress, kicking your panties to some far-flung corner of the room as you stood up in front of him. You were basically chest to chest now, or as close as you could be with Bubba towering over you. You placed your hands on his chest, reveling in the feeling of his heart jackhammering against your palm. You slid your hands upwards to loop your arms around his neck, pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes to do so. You were a little nervous about trying to kiss him through the mask, but you also knew that you weren’t going to get him to take it off. Throwing your concerns to the wind, you closed your eyes and the distance. It was strange kissing him through the barrier of stolen skin covering his features, but his thick lips against your own felt so nice that you were willing to ignore the oddity of it. His hands were quick to find your hips as he responded to the kiss enthusiastically, pulling you harder against him. He felt so warm against you. You were drowning in his shirt, but you could still feel the heat of his form through the thin material. You were suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he was far too overdressed for your taste. You pulled away from his mouth and he whined, trying to follow and recapture your lips, but you were focused on your new mission. Your hurried fingers worked impatiently to free him of his tie and begin undoing the buttons on his shirt as quickly as possible. He brought his own hands up to your shoulders and for one heart-stopping moment you thought that he was going to push you away, but it was soon apparent that he was simply trying to divest you of his shirt hanging loosely on your body. You shrugged out of it, letting the material fall to the floor around your feet so that you could continue undressing him. He cooperated through the rest of the process, watching you with what could only be described as awe and seemingly as eager as you to have clothing out of the way. When finally you had yanked his pants and underwear down his thick legs and he had stepped out of the material, you had a chance to look at him. His chest and stomach were covered in the same dark hair that was on his arms and legs. A trail of that same coarse hair led down to the cock that you had been fantasizing about for weeks. Seeing it was a completely different experience from feeling it rubbing against your ass in the middle of the night. He wasn’t the longest you had ever seen, but he was certainly the thickest. You were a little afraid of the undoubtedly tight fit taking him would be, but you could not deny the way that your mouth watered at the thought. You briefly considered taking him into you mouth and working him like that until your jaw was sore and he was seeing stars, but thought better of that line of action for the time being. You were dripping for him and he was obviously painfully hard already, making you a little too impatient. Another time, you promised yourself. You rose to stand and placed your hands back on his chest in order to maneuver him between you and the bed. You encouraged him to sit on the mattress and he did so without question, apparently excited to see what you would do next. You forced yourself to go slowly, stepping forward to take his face in your hands and leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. His own hands found your thighs and ass, kneading the flesh there and causing you to moan quietly against his lips. Without breaking the kiss, you moved to straddle his thighs, spreading your legs to accommodate him as your knees dug into the mattress. A shaky sigh escaped you as your lower lips brushed against his length, smearing your wetness across his hardened flesh. He groaned at the feeling, gripping you harder and thrusting his hips slightly. You reached between the two of you and took him in your hand, causing him to inhale sharply at the feeling of your soft fingers around him. You lined his cock up with your entrance and began to lower yourself onto him. At the first feeling of your velvet heat around the head of his cock, Bubba tried to buck up into you, halted only by your hands holding his hips down. “Slowly,” you breathed against his lips. He whined, but made no further attempts to force you down onto his throbbing length, so you continued your slow descent unimpeded. He was just as thick as he looked, and the stretch you felt as you took him was near painful. You thought wistfully that perhaps you should not have forgone the foreplay and had him stretch you with his plump fingers as you had fantasized about before. Your own fingers found your clit, rubbing quick circles into the bundle of nerves and easing the pain of the stretch. When finally you sat down against his lap with his length fully inside of your aching heat, you stilled. You looked at Bubba and felt a flush of pride in yourself over the rapturous look you found. You thought nothing could be better than his expression, but when you began to move, he began to moan. The sound was pure music to your ears. You raised yourself nearly all the way off of his cock before dropping back down, now fully able to enjoy the way that he filled you. His grip on your hips was tight enough that you knew there would be bruises later, but in that moment you couldn’t have cared less. As you increased the speed with which you rode him, the frequency and intensity of his noises increased as well. You loved it. You loved knowing that you were the one making him feel so good, and you loved the way he felt inside of you. All of your fantasies combined couldn’t compare to the way it felt to finally have him like this. When he began to get too loud though, you worried that one of the others might hear. You leaned in and sealed his lips with your own, swallowing his noises and enjoying the way his mouth moved against yours. You knew that he was close, but you were close too. You felt that familiar heat building and tightening in your core. You bounced on him faster, rubbing your clit near desperately. You tore your mouth away from his, tilting your head back and panting heavily. You were so close, so so close. He buried his forehead in the juncture between your neck and shoulder and groaned loudly into your skin. You felt him spill inside you, the heat flooding you and coating your walls. That sensation finally, blissfully pushed you over the edge and you had to bite your lip to stifle the pleasured sound that threatened to escape as the knot in your abdomen burst. You all but collapsed against Bubba, breathing heavily and going limp as you looped your arms over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tightly while leaning heavily on your shoulder. He was still inside you, but that didn’t stop your combined fluids from dripping out around him. If this was what captivity was like, you hoped he never let you go.

[slothgiirl]

forever isn’t for everyone (is forever for you?) part 5

London is gray and dull after Australia and the festivals we'd been at. And like it's welcoming us all back, it's raining. 

Foggy, a complete 180. It doesn't help that it's night, and I haven't seen day since two days ago, having spent another day traveling. Cramped up in my seat, squished between other passengers. 

This time I had slept fine on board, exhausted from touring. We're all dead on our feet and unlike the last few days, we don't puke into a cab, we just sort of wave and leave and it's sad. I think after all we've done, all the time spent together, we leave like it's nothing. I know even I need some alone time. 

But it's still sad to me. 

The second leg of the tour isn't for months and I have a week off before having to go into work. A week I spend sleeping and doing laundry and becoming a couch potato. 

Another week of catching up with friends and getting lunch before I have to go back to work. It's the day before I go back to work that Alex texts me, my heart lurching, an unconscious desire that had sunk into my mind. 

In Australia, it had seemed easy to believe that a man like Alex might like an ordinary girl like me. Perhaps I was selling myself short, but my confidence was a fickle thing that still needed propping up after my acne ridden teenage years. 

More eloquent than in person, his preference for written word is obvious.

I was hoping we might have a listen to the record I told you about. A drink or two, a small offering in comparison to the pleasure of your company once more, in the city we both inhabit, where everything will seem solid and less ephemeral than abroad. -Alexander

It was long and flowery for a text and made me dizzy with anticipation, I threw out everything I'd been told to do when a boy texts you and replied instantly, walking home from tescos trying to make food instead of getting takeout for a change, eagerly asking for a time and address. 

It was nice to be able to come home and do nothing. A privilege I couldn't imagine coming back from while my roommates came home from their jobs dead on their feet. 

Grueling weeks on the road seemed a small price to pay.

I take the tube over to his, a beautiful georgian house among many in Chelsea, save for some dying plants outside, a clear victim of his recent travels, thick dark curtains obscuring all the windows.The street is littered with nice cars, millionaires the only people who can afford the nice neighborhood. London's market on the uptick. 

At least I feel at ease in the dying light, the sun spilling in the sky like egg yolk as it sets, turning the clouds blood red, casting long dark shadows. I guess Alex is not a struggling musician, or maybe he's just from a well off family. 

It's then I know that I start to feel anxious, no longer buoyed by our shared work, just me and him and would that be enough? It was stupid when I already knew how easy it was to be with him. 

But this felt more concrete then wondering around a foreign city had. The thought of kissing him no longer a far off wish but a possibility so close it had my fingertips tingling. 

Alex opens the door with a boyish smile on his lips, clad in loose blue jeans, frayed at the hem, and a grey t shirt emblazoned with give a damn, hair hopelessly disheveled as if he'd just woken up. "El, love" he says fondly, after a second, "I'm delighted you're here." 

Waving me inside. I'm expecting the inside to look like a Tatler photo shoot, more burberry than marks and spenser sales rack, with the uninviting feeling carefully decorated homes had. 

Instead, the rugs are rich, intricate designs, the edges frayed with time and use. There's a thin layer of dust in the paintings hanging on the wall, one signed manet, another of a slender woman with doe like eyes and hair the colour of milk tea, in vivid realism, only the clothes betraying the age, paint cracked with time by the frame.  

Following along, I spy the stacks of books piled high on every table, some new others yellowed with age. 

There's a silver tray on the coffee table littered with pens and paper and a beautiful piano in the room he leads me too, room lit by stained glass lamps in the shape of flowers, the shades tightly drawn with a beautiful japanese inspired screen for good measure. 

A guitar rests in one settee. It's closer to an antique shop than any catalogue. "Please," Alex says, "sit, make yourself comfortable," as he goes to place the needle on a record, a small library of records covering a bookshelf nearby. 

As an after though he adds, "don't mind the mess."

"It's fine," I smile, watching him, at ease in his home, wanting to run my fingers through his hair and find out if his hair was as soft as it looked, "it's kind of the vintage shop of my dreams. I don't know where to look because everything is catching my eye." 

As I'd hoped, he laughs. "That's certainly a way of looking at it innit?"

The first notes of the record filling the room. Alex takes a seat next to me on the plush sofa. I kick off my shoes, surprised at how quickly I take a liking to the jazz music, curling up on the couch, dim lighting adding to the cozy atmosphere, before I catch him looking at me with the same fondness from earlier. With an easy smile on his lips.

For a moment, we just gaze at each other with a certain schoolyard shyness that settles when neither of us looks away. 

His expressive eyes on mine. 

A gaze so intense I can't hold it for long before I have too look away. "It's funny," I note, "the music has me picturing the concert clearly. Like I'd been there. Fuck that must have been a night."

"It was." Alex nods, his gaze still heavy on me. "They all lived for their music, bodies a vessel for playing the notes swirling around their souls."It was a beautiful thought, and I wasn't sure how to reply to the sheer earnestness. 

"You said there was wine," I ask all faux innocence, wanting something to take the edge off. 

Hyper aware of every movement I make. I want to sink back into the ease we'd had in Auckland and not this. The thought of him wanting me as much as I wanted him was driving me crazy. 

"Oh so that's why you came," he grins so alight with amusement, eyes twinkling. 

"The musics good too." 

"And the company?"I shrug, teasing, "I've had worse."

"Oi!"

I snort.

He doesn't move to go for wine. "I'm starting to feel superfluous El," Alex say in his thick yorkshire accent, a drawl to his words, each one carefully considered as he takes his time to form a reply, uncaring about the time he takes. "It's not a very nice feeling."

I roll my eyes. "Don't tell me you need as much ego stroking as Miles?"

"Miles does all the ego stroking for himself."

"That doesn't surprise me," I laugh, "I think you need a lot of ego to get up on stage every night. I don't have stage fright but it's all very weird to have that many people looking up at you."

He nods in agreement, "it's a good thing that's not part of my job. All I wanted to do was 'ave people listen to my little songs."

"Well I'd say job well done." 

The album had debuted top of the UK charts. And he'd written the lions share with Miles. Alex ducks his head, red rising to his cheekbones, a stark contrast against his pale skin. 

Even a few weeks down under had done nothing to rid him of the lack of colour that came with living in such a gloomy city. 

"You've got the whole country singing along."

"Well. . .Miles and the boys do. I just helped Miles a little or well we just jammed together. Can't help myself around that man. . .rarely has anyone understood me so well."

"Have you always written songs?" None of my childhood hobbies had stayed with me, consumed with studying. 

"Can't help myself," he admits. "A tune or some words. . .coming to me mind. There till I write them down."

"That's loads more creative than me. I always think it would be fun to draw but I'm imagining some renaissance masterpiece and it always comes out a derpy stick figure or worse. So I just give up and read or go for a walk." Even in the winter, Greenwich park was beautiful, and bundled up it was bareable. 

"What do you like to read," Alex asks, tilting his head towards me, curiousity brimming in his soft eyes. The space between us closing in as we lean towards each other, disarmed by our conversation.  

His hand resting on his knee, pulled out on the sofa, making me feel shameless about having my legs pulled up as well. 

"Articles. Very depressing boring world news. Free essays on the paris review. It's a shame prints dead or else I'd try to justify buying copies. But I think I'd rather have a cuppa tea. With those fruit bits or boba."

"Is print dead?" 

Alex says it with a layer of incredulity, baffled. 

"Yeah. This thing called the internet came along."

"Bloody hell," he jokes, "I'm still waiting for the windows explorer to. . .do it's thing."

"You mean load? Not surprised. The selfies you tried to take in Sydney were awful. Thankfully those people were there to take our picture."

"Be easy with me El," Alex laughs, shaking his head at me, eyes crinkling in amusement. 

"I'll have to think about it," I tease, leaning against the softness of the sofa, resting my head as I take the sight of him in, warmth spreading in my chest, thrilled to know that I can make him laugh, that he'd meant it when he said he wanted me over. 

It's a funny little skip of my heart as hope takes root, the idea that he might like me as much as I like him, making me smile, happy for the first time since I got back. Really happy, not just content to be home, to lazy around and get time to myself.  

He pours us both a cuppa wine in ceramic cups, "no wine snobs here," he grins and the music plays and his knee taps to the beat against my leg. 

Every touch too much and yet not enough, desire welling up in the pit of my stomach. It's easy to drink, pour another glass out."

I don't think anyone has the time or concentration to listen to a fourty minute song anymore," I note, sipping lazyily at the wine, my palette too unrefined to know if it's cheap or expensive. 

"It's a jam session!"

I drink, trying to hide my smile at his expression, affronted on behalf of music everywhere, the seriousness to his mouth, frowning, a directness to his gaze. 

Failing, I giggle, slumping against the sofa, looking up at Alex through my lashes. "I thought it was just a very long song."

"El." His voice, that thick accent, his unique drawl, my face burning, as he leans over, empty bottle of wine forgotten on the coffee table. His hand cups my cheek, the tips of his fingers calloused in a delightful way, toes curling on the sofa cushion, thumb running over my bottom lip. 

Heart beat lodged in my throat, I can't speak, the desire bubbling over, wanting to spill over and kiss him already. Alex pressing lightly over my body, trapping me against the sofa. 

I swallow thickly, my fingers going to neck, threading my hands through his caramel hair, soft and silken, and pull him down to kiss me hard. 

I can feel his satisfied smile against my skin as he kisses me back passionately, without any hesitation, all of his fumbling for words gone. All confidence and want. 

Alex's other hand going down to my hip, rubbing cicrcles over my cotton shirt. My head spins with want and desire and Alex all tangled together, finally, kissing him eagerly as he shifts, shoving a cushion thoughtlessly off the sofa. I lay down, skin burning hot. Too many layers between us. 

His lips against mine. Tasting of wine and bitter chocolate, a tanginess I can't get enough of. 

My mouth opening up to his, tongue exploring my mouth, my hands running through his hair. Alex pressed against me as I lay with my back on the couch, solid and too many layers between us. 

He pulls back, pulling up at the hem of my shirt with a naughty schoolboy grin, endearing all the same. 

"I hate winter," I whisper against his cool skin, colder than the room, barely emanating any heat at all in the frigid english winter, "it makes getting undressed such a pain." 

Alex laughs, pulling his own shirt over his head. "I'll be sure to make it worth your time."

"Cocky bastard," I utter as he hooks his fingers through the loops of my jeans, pulling me closer to him, the feeling of his own cock, already half hard, sends me reeling. 

In leiu of a response, Alex trails kisses down my neck, sucking at the skin, sure to leave marks tomorrow. 

My fingers dig into his hair, breathily moaning his name. Shamelessly, he undoes the button on my jeans. 

It's never sexy to take off jeans, kicking them off rapidly, as I reach for him, kissing him again fiercely. The feel of his cool skin sending sending shivers down my spine. Lithe but toned. 

Alex cups one of my breasts, nipple hardening through the delicate lace. "Fuck El," he groans, hips grinding down against mine.I want him. I want him so much, feeling feverish with desire.  

All my thoughts of him. 

Of Alex. 

He slides his jeans off easily enough, cock hard through the fabric of his boxers. I look up at him, as I unclip my bralete, adding it to the pile of things on the coffee table. 

There's always an initial nervousness, when sleeping with someone new. And yet, I know Alex wouldn't hurt me. I trust him. 

"El-,"

"Come here," I reach for him, a whine to my voice, "come here and fuck me Alex."

He does. 

[jurnaltalking]

Home Furnishing ideas

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Hiring an interior designer or getting creative

You can of course consult closely with an interior designer and achieve the kind of living space you are looking for that way if you can afford to. It saves you time at the least. But most of us do not use them so why not treat it as a positive chance to add your own personality and style to the home? It does not have to be an expensive process. Using Sage and Clare and other attractive and affordable home furnishing sites you can get items large and small that all come together to make your home more comfortable, practical, and also attractive!

Ask yourself some questions. Are you staying in the home long-term so it is worth stamping your personally on it, or will you be re-selling soon so neutral with splashes of colour is best? What is essential to you and what are extras?

Choose a theme or style

A good way to start and know where to go with the furnishings is to have a theme or plan for the room. Maybe you prefer a global style, Asian with paper lanterns, screens, porcelain, silk coverings, or maybe you are a history buff and like the Victorian look. Dark wooden bookcases, nudie rudie bath mats made, earthy tones, antique lamps, a roll top desk and such. Or maybe you want something more modern and elegant with light colours and contemporary window dressings and furnishings. When you have a theme it narrows down the colours you can use and the styles you can use and that can help in the hunt for additions to the room.

Conclusion

When you are looking at options for buying home furnishing items you are not limited to just shops that are close by. Shopping online is a lot more convenient, you can save money, they bring it all straight to your door. Sage & Clare at Woodend General is a great site to start with. As you shop for paintings, light shades, furniture, curtains, rugs, knickknacks and more you can enjoy it as you sip a glass of wine or your cup of tea or coffee!

[gothicmagpie]

Vampire Hunter D: The Northern Castle, part 5

Author’s notes: This piece of fan fiction is written for @vampires-and-dhampirs‘s VHDweek celebration. One section will be posted each day, and the final work will be posted to AO3, if you prefer not to read it serially. Readers should be aware that this work contains violence and cursing, equivalent to a PG-13 film. This work is primarily based on the version of the VHD ‘verse as seen in Kikuchi’s novels. Part 1 can be found here: X

"Well, this one of your crazier ideas," a hoarse voice muttered at D's side as he cantered towards a well-hidden castle beneath technologically-enhanced rock. Anyone who knew his usual appearance as a rough, black-clad drifter would have hardly recognized him when he left the shack beside the waterwheel. Hair braided back revealed the inhumanity of his pale features in full-force, the ragged black coat had been swapped for a velvet one in a shade of blue so deep that it was only a hint brighter than the previous garment, and the rest of his faded garb had been replaced with silk that gleamed and reflected the traces of moonlight despite the numerous, well-constructed patches that demonstrated that these clothes had been worn by plenty of previous owners. Even his scuffed boots had been shined and what had once been a fine scarf had become decorative wraps, hiding the spurs under gauzy trails.

His sword still rested on his back, but his weapon belt was strapped to the saddle rather than his waist. He certainly didn't look like a Hunter at the moment. The sound of his mounts hoofbeats changed, and the traces of an old Noble road peered through centuries of dirt. 

He reined his horse in, slowing the pace to a pace that any normal cyborg horse still would have struggled to maintain for this long ride. He studied the passing trees and the occasional rusted ruin of some old roadside tech. The road slowly improved, until the full path was a visible expanse of the self-maintaining surface. He hadn't ridden on this long before there was a loud beep and D's horse shied. The Hunter was thrown against his mount's neck and seized a handful of mane as the horse pranced sideways, kicking out and shaking his head, hoofs clipping sharply against the hard plastic road. When D urged the horse forward again, it snorted and moved only a few steps.

D looked up and out into the woods, eyes blazing red this time as he searched for whatever had frightened the horse so much. This time he sensed something too, a tingling trace of some kind of electric field. One could only imagine how uncomfortable that must have been for the cyborg horse, as it travelled through all its metal circuitry and augmented organs. D bushed a finger across his blue pendent, re-activating it. It immediately lit up, spreading a soft blue glow over the scene. The horse relaxed and happily trotted forwards, resuming their journey.

D didn't spur it to a faster pace though, and if his eyes no longer blazed, they still held a gleam of unnatural light. Apparently he had decided to proceed more cautiously. 

There seemed to be good reason for that, as half an hour later an ornate gate suddenly loomed out of the darkness, blocking his path. He squinted at it, a hint of irritation creasing his elegant features. How had he not seen it as he approached? It had no apparent latch, yet even when he pressed it with his super-human strength, the door did not open. He spied a control panel on one side, corroded like the metal of the gate, yet the cracked screen still glowed with a faint light it would take a Noble's eyes to detect. Dismounting, D examined it. "Handprint activated, I think," he murmured. "Anything we can do about that?"

"Try your credentials first," suggested the face peering from his left palm. "If that fails, see if we can find an override. That'll attract attention though, and probably put a hole in your plan. You'll meet Vasmer as a know enemy."

D reached his right hand over the screen, and pressed it down firmly. "Reading. Please wait," said a calming female voice from the almost invisible speakers. "Welcome to the Northern Castle of Lord Vasmer. Please leave your transport in the garage to the right. It will be attended to. Upon entering, please proceed directly to the entrance hall. You will be greeted there." 

Whatever garage may have been in place once, it was no longer standing, so D waited until the door unlocked, and lead his horse inside behind him. There was an odd feeling as he crossed the threshold and the cyborg mount balked for a second. "What was that?" D asked in the softest possible whisper.

"A dimensional shift, I suspect. No wonder no human ever found this place; it isn't quite here. It was probably pushed even further into an alternate reality until he awoke. Nice escape planning on his part. I wonder if the tech is OSB?"

"I doubt we'll have a chance to examine it." D had tethered his horse to a stout tree, and now peered towards the castle that half-stood, slumped in the rock that formed its foundation. It had seen much better days, and some of the slag-like rock suggested that even if the humans hadn't been able to identify the exact location, high-powered explosives had done some damage. The other option, that the melting has been the work of the multi-dimensional beings the Nobility had warred with, was significantly less encouraging.

The castle had a high, worn flight of spiral stairs to the door, which was several stories up. As soon as D's boot touched the bottom step, there was a faint whir of machinery, the stairs lit with a faint luminescence, and D could feel that the gravity-reduction system had survived the centuries. With that aid, even a frail human could reach the door without being winded. 

As his feet left the stairs, they dimmed and the doors opened automatically. Here was another sign of the castle's neglect, as they swung unevenly, the left door repeatedly sticking with an unhappy groan. The entrance hall was shabby; rotted traces of rugs over the dusty floor, wall hangings slumped, a broken table lay in a tangle of mutual annihilation with the vast painting that had apparently fallen onto it, and there was shattered glass everywhere from the lamps that had once lit the space. Now it was dim enough that even D squinted.

He stood in silence for only a moment before he heard a faint rattle that no human's ears would have detected. He turned to face one doorway just as the door swung open, emitting a ray of bright light and a handsome figure. Lord Vasmer was the picture of Nobility before their fall. His waist-length hair was caught back by glittering gems that matched the rings around his thin, pale fingers and the jewel-encrusted toes of his velvet shoes. His outfit was a blaze of red that matched the shine of his eyes and a deep black that nearly seemed to absorb that light, a spectacular display for his white-blond hair and paper-white skin. He spotted D and smiled, lips parting to reveal fangs that flashed across his currently-pale lips. "Ah! What an unexpected surprise to see you at my gate! I'd not thought my awaking enough to attract the attention of our most esteemed Ancestor. Please, be welcomed." He swept forward with a grace that only the true-born nobility could hope to match. "Ah, you carry his stamp so clearly. Not the usual bastard, are you?" His fingers trailed through D's dark locks. D stood like stone and did not answer the question. "Come with me, let us find somewhere more comfortable to sit, and you can tell me why you are here." 

"Are there areas less damaged?" D's voice was steely.

"Of course, I couldn't very well live here if it all looked like that. Good for keeping away the pests though. I'm very sad to see their bombs penetrated my shielding. Those turrets took decade to build, and melted rock is all but unusable. Eventually I'll track down those fools who did it. Then we'll see who grieves." A small, wicked flush rose in his cheeks as he spoke. 

"Do you even know when the damage was done? You slept for a long time. They and all their relations may be gone." D's quelling tone apparently ended the conversation. They rode the elevator car to Vasmer's dwelling place in silence.

The room the elevator opened to was lush and well-cared for by a robotic maid, which lurched forward to take Vasmer's cape. D declined to part with his coat, but Vasmer insisted that he give the robot his sword. D did so without argument, and wandered over to a vast panel of computers, half-hidden by a red and silver drape embroidered with flowers, which repeated throughout the decor. The screens appeared to show a vast network of surveillance machines across the Frontier sector, and a great deal of tech that was still active. D had only looked it over for a moment before the screens went suddenly dark. Vasmer had flipped a switch at one end, and was staring sternly at D. "I hope you aren't here merely to spy. If he wants to know what I do, then he will have to come himself. I won't tolerate insubordination from the likes of you, no matter how much alike you look."

"I'm not here to spy, I promise you that. But I do have questions about your actions recently. You have been preying on the travelers in this sector. Why? Surely in this mecca of technology, you have a blood synthesizer."

Lord Vasmer laughed. "That's why you were sent here? A poaching concern? My apologies, I never intended to hunt territory held by your family. I had noticed the mark on one of the men, but it was faint enough I had assumed it was no longer valid. Now that I meet you, it did carry a trace of your power. And I haven't seen any other Nobles on my scanners, although I suppose they are a bit antiquated now." He sat, beckoning D towards the seat across from him. "Let us sit down, have a drink, and we shall settle the new boundaries of this land. I've been out of this world for a while, and clearly if your family has need of this land, we can find a way to share."

"You've been out of the world for much longer than you think, Lord Vasmer. The world has changed in ways you can hardly comprehend." There was something melancholy in D's tone as he stared at the dark screens in front of him. 

"Then it is good I had a young, vital messenger bringing me that news, is it not? Come, tell me about these grim changes. If you continue to resist my hospitality, I am liable to take offense, and I hardly think that was the task your father sent you on."

"No, but his tasks and my responses have not always been in step." D turned away from the computers and made a circuit of the room, finally taking a single anemone bloom from the vase above the crackling fireplace and accepting the glass of red liquid Lord Vasmer held out.

Vasmer laughed again. "A bit of a rebel, eh? Well, I won't tell if you won't. So, tell me about these changes. The reasons you think I have an imperfect understanding of the local politics."

"How long have you slept, Lord Vasmer?" D didn't sit, but leaned against the table, staring down at the amused Noble.

"For a very long time. Centuries, at least. Perhaps a few millennia. The technology I had relied on was faulty. It failed to take into account the differences in time on either side of my dimensional barrier."

"Then you missed a rather important point; the fall of the Nobility happened while you slumbered."

Vasmer again laughed, but then stopped, eying D. "Sure you don't think me as gullible as that. Who are we supposed to have fallen to? The OSB were in retreat when last I heard from the Capital."

"Which was, as you pointed out, a long time ago. But no, the victors were the humans. They rule this earth once again."

"Impossible! They were our slaves, our playthings, far too weak to fight us, and too grateful for our protection to try."

"Can you truly not imagine how they felt? Why their fury might overthrow even so mighty a civilization?"

"They never would have succeeded."

"Perhaps not, if the Nobility were actually as prefect as many claimed. But the Nobility's power came with its own weaknesses too. Who can explain those? A genetic flaw? Or merely the universe's sense of humor."

"I don't believe you. You are one of his sons, that much is obvious, and I can't imagine he would allow that to happen, even with his weakness for certain aspects of humanity. Prove it to me."

D leaned forwards, extending the flower he had plucked from the vase. In one smooth motion, he tucked it into Vasmer's pocket, curled a finger under his cuff to touch a hidden trigger, and a blade sprung from hiding at his wrist, sinking into Vasmer's throat.

With a choking cry, Vasmer shoving himself backward, tipping his chair and thrusting a jeweled fist at D. D blocked the blow, letting Vasmer pull himself free of the knife, then dove for him again. Vasmer twisted, attempting to get to his feet before D could strike, but failed. D's second blow was to his chest, puncturing a lung, but missing the heart. Vasmer's throat had healed enough for him to scream, and his long, claw-like nails raked at D's face, drawing blood as they grappled. D dodged wildly snapping fangs and flailing fists, diverting them just enough to avoid real injury until he thrust his knife into the base of Vasmer's skull. 

His opponent dropped, spinal cord severed. It wouldn't be a fatal blow for a Noble of his strength, but he also couldn't heal it until the blade was removed. Without a need to breathe, Vasmer could survive in this state for quite a while.

D lifted the near-corpse to the chair, righted with a swift kick. He crouched in front of the immobile Noble and stared into his face with eyes that glowed as brightly as the full vampire before him. "You tortured and killed humans, not only for your sustenance, but for sport. The last man you slowly slaughtered was a friend of mine. By rights, I should return the favor."

If it was possible for that bloodless face to grow paler, it did. There was a moment of rasping, choking noises before Vasmer gagged out a intelligible reply, fighting use the few muscles he still had control over. "Please, I already told you. I didn't know he was yours."

"But he wasn't mine. Not in the way you mean. Those ways are obsolete, and those who follow them will join them in the dust of the past." D's eyes darkened, as he let his bloodlust fade. "It is the current rule of the earth."

"You won't dare," Vasmer spat. "Do it, and that precious village will be ended, half-breed. Don't you think I have enough wits to prevent an uprising?"

"How?" D's voice was cold as ice, and his stare was just as cold.

Vasmer only smirked, a horrible expression as severed muscles spasmed, trying to obey his will. D's expression didn't change, but he gripped the vampire's forehead with his left hand. The Noble's eyes dimmed, and his eyelids drooped before he suddenly screamed, trying futilely to struggle. "I won't tell you! Ah!" Another shriek. "You never found the other victims, let that be a hint! Stop!" 

D did, lifting his hand away. He stared at the pathetic man before him for a moment, before approaching the robot, claiming his sword, and removing Vasmer's head in a single, swift stroke. He plucked it up, and threw it into the fireplace, which would soon render it harmless ash.

Then, with a look of uncharacteristic rage, D plunged the knife that been freed by the decapitation into Vasmer's torso, slicing several swift, vicious cuts and seizing the still faintly-twitching heart from his chest. "D, I think that's enough." The hoarse voice from his left hand sounded a bit worried. "You're taking this too far. We need to go and deal with the other victims."

D dropped the organ, stooped, and thrust the knife into its center, pinning it to the floor. "I know," he said, voice soft as if he was speaking to someone else than his usual companion. He  stripped off the dark velvet coat, now ripped by Vasmer's struggles and soaked with both their blood, and dropped it as he made his way back to the elevator.

Part 6 is here: X