#Shaker Living Room Furniture

[charile0]

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[mariahcarreyyy]

.ೃ࿐𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑 |

max verstappen x fem!reader

plot. when max visits years after your split, the strong facade you've worn crumbles at his fingertips

wc. 3.4k

warnings. smut 18+, angry n rough sex, p in v, degradation kink, reader cheats on her longterm boyfriend lol, oral sex (f!recieving), rough fingering (f!recieving), dry humping, name-calling, doggy + missionary style, dom!max and reader who thinks shes a dom, hairpulling, slight choking, and very angsty in some parts

Two seconds.

The amount of time it takes Max to grasp your door handle and trudge into the dimly lit apartment instead of patiently allowing you to let him in is two seconds. A fitted black suit adorns his body. His body, who glides assuredly into your humble kitchen. His eyes, who choose to ignore your irritated frame.

Then his lips. His big, red lips, who swallow the copious amount of popcorn that his hands were shovelling down his throat. His massive, veiny hands who used to intertwine perfectly in yours.

Him, Max. The figure leaning over your marble counters with slouched shoulders and forearms resting against the cool surface is Max. Two cups, he notices, stand side by side on the sink. A pink Stanley cup and a cheap protein shaker that isn't his.

Max’s fingers twitch.

From where you’re frozen by the door frame, only his side profile is visible. You curl your fists tight. Suddenly, wearing an oversized Metallica t-shirt and panties didn’t seem so comfortable.

“Max.”

Your eye twitches at the acknowledgement you receive. Or lack thereof. The recently crowned third-time world champion huffs at the bowl of popcorn in his hands before turning to open the fridge. He doesn’t look very satisfied. But then again, he never really was when it came to you, was he? 

The light of the furniture illuminates Max’s face rather annoyedly, contouring his sharp jawline and the curve of his lips like it had a point to prove. This is what you could’ve had, it taunted, if you hadn’t broken up.

Much louder and more irritated than before, you call out for him. And then, your eyes meet. You had spent the last few years meeting his gaze solely through the rectangular box in your living room; now, you pinch yourself in disbelief—anger, as well.

“What,” you stutter, and almost curse yourself when you catch a glimpse of his cocky smirk you remember all too well. “What are you doing here, Max?”

The fridge begins beeping loudly. Rolling his eyes, the Dutch slams it closed, slipping past you and into the living room. You follow him. The room is lit up by what feels like a thousand scented candles and it’s cold despite it.

The blond collapses on top of your couch, and the cushions pull him in like they missed him. It’s been so long, they think, and you feel better than the girl who’d been crying on us when you left.

“Where’s that guy?” Max asks bitterly, eyes stubborn on the television before him. “The one you posted yesterday at that restaurant.”

Max doesn’t follow you on any social media anymore, and an evil part of you feels content with the fact that he’d had to manually search your name to see that photo. Last night, Scotty had made a reservation at a fine, respectable Italian place to commemorate your one-year anniversary. 

You had a good time; Scotty would quip about everything and anything, and you would laugh exaggeratedly. You two were a great pairing, you think— hope, for the sake of your sanity.

You make yourself home in the space next to him, pulling your knees to your chest and tugging at your shirt to cover your bare legs. “You need to leave. Now, Max.”

A quiet ‘hm’ slips past his lips. But he’s still stuck on the couch, toeing out of his dress shoes and crossing his legs together like it was his home—but, it isn’t. Not anymore. Not while you are evidently a meaningless speck in his glorious life.

When Max turns to you, disgustingly pretty blue eyes and all, you succumb to the tight grasp he has on all of your logic. “Business trip. Milan.”

An empty chuckle raises the tiny hairs on your arm and echoes across the room. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth; his eyes refuse to leave yours. He brings a cold hand to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; his fingertips leave burn marks against your cheek.

“You don’t even like Italian food,” he continues, because does he ever really know how to stop? “Does he even know you?”

And that. It shouldn’t have made you as frustrated as it did, not when you had gotten over Max. Totally. Completely. Utterly. “What, like you did? Max, you wouldn’t even give a fuck to remember our anniversary!”

The sarcastic glint in his eyes turns sour. “I had to race—Fuck! y/n, I was leading the championship, you knew that.”

“Yeah, Max, how could I forget? Red bull this, Red bull fucking that,” you seethe through gritted teeth, face inching closer to him and squinting eyes shining predatorily. “It’s been two years, Max, two years since you broke up with me. So, congrats. You got what you wanted—a trophy and a name under your belt. Why don’t you fucking leave me alone?”

Max’s breath hitches, but your uncontrolled panting inhales enough air for the both of you. Then, his hand wraps around the side of your neck, not squeezing, but it’s there. It’s warm, and it feels painfully refreshing against your skin, and your protests die in your throat.

The Dutch whispers an octave lower, and only then, when his minty breath tickles your cheekbones, do you perceive your proximity, “Because I think if you really wanted me gone, I would be by now.”

And, well. He might as well be ripping open your ribcage and twisting your heart until it breaks in half, crimson blood making a mess of the carpeted floor. 

You’re left speechless under his gaze because as much as you try to deny, you know it’s true. Max would leave as fast as he did two years ago if there was even a hint of honesty in your words.

“And you know what else I think?” Max takes your silence as encouragement to continue. “I think he doesn’t fuck you well enough if you’re this desperate for it.”

Somehow, you muster up enough irritation to murmur, “I—m’not desperate.”

“No?” he taunts, extending his thumb to the underside of your chin and tilting it upward. “Why haven’t you properly kicked me out, then?”

You rack your mind for a response, a reaction—fucking anything to prove you aren’t wishing he’d just inch a bit closer to close the gap between you. 

“I . . . I hate you, Jesus Christ,” you curse defeatedly, craning your neck upward and frantically meeting his stupidly large lips.

The kiss isn’t slow or loving; it’s wet and filthy and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s a lingering taste of honey on his tongue when he brushes it between your parted lips, and you can’t help but pull him in deeper for more. 

The hand on your neck tightens significantly, Max’s breath tickling your upper lip as the other seizes around your under thigh and swiftly pulls you onto his lap.

A gasp flows out of your mouth and he greedily swallows it. You want to skin him alive when you feel him grin arrogantly, but then he presses a hand on your ass and lowers you flush against him—Him, and the massive bulge straining his black trousers—and the thoughts spill right out of your head into a gooey puddle beside your feet.

“I hate y— oh,” your murmur morphs into a shaky gasp when he rips his lips away from yours and attacks the canvas of your neck; you say those three words like you could them words into existence. 

And I hate that I still want you so fucking bad; those eleven words are left unsaid like you expect him to read your mind. But Max couldn’t two years ago, and you know he can’t now.

Your hands glide over his muscular frame, relearning the sharp edges and smooth skin of his body and you moan breathily when Max sucks on the sweet spot beneath your ear. “Y’might hate me, baby, but your pussy doesn’t. Fuck, she’s dripping all ov’me.”

A pathetic whimper slips past your lips. He’s not wrong— you could feel your slick coating your panties and rubbing against Max’s pants. You were usually one to stand your ground, but fuck, you need him. Need him the same you did the first time you met, both young and inexperienced. Maybe more.

Probably more.

But he isn’t doing anything to relieve the ache between your thighs, so. Before you take matters into your own hands and grind your pussy against his covered dick, Max’s hands cup the mounds of your ass and lift you sideways to splay your body on the couch.

“Max,” you say like the breaths have been knocked out of your poor lungs, but it might not be so far from the truth.

Max positions himself in between your legs, hips and thick thighs parting them wide, and the itchy fabric against your naked skin spins your head in dizzying circles. You could fucking see the damp patch your slick left on his crotch. Your hips buck into the air; you hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

His dishevelled hair lay atop his head and you want to pull. His flush trails down his neck and you want to bite and kiss and mark it till pretty bruises litter his soft skin. Your hands and lips stay pliant under his body instead.

“Y’d only get this wet f’me, though, hm?” he groans when his fingers push your skimpy underwear to the side, unblinking like the sight of your glistening folds would disappear if he looked away.

I’m always like this for you, you feel the need to reassure, even when you aren’t here—especially when you aren’t here. But your blood still boils at his stupid hair and stupid smirk, so. He’s met with silence.

Growing impatient, Max slaps at your swollen clit, humming satisfactorily at the loud gasp you let out. He grazes his digits past the bundle of nerves, and your incessant need to murder him and fuck him till he realized he’d made a mistake letting you go only intensify.

“Answer me or I swear to fucking God I will leave you like this, shatje,” he ends up growling lowly, thick fingers hovering over your hole. “And then it’s your boyfriend’s problem.”

“Max, fuck off–”

The warm body abruptly stands up, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this cold. But the empty sensation doesn’t last long, anyway. Max barely has any time to walk away before your fingers latch onto his forearm tightly.

You splutter, “M-Max wait, wait.”

When he tilts his head down to meet your eyes with a raised brow, you have no recollection of what you'd even wanted to say. 

“Please…please, just fucking help me.”

And apparently, that's all Max needs because his hands are immediately tugging your shirt off, lips trailing hot kisses in the divot of your tits. Your lips part around a moan when he purses his lips around your hard nipple, stomach stirring uncomfortably with need. His mouth leaves marks like cigarette burns in its wake; it stings against the wounds that have already healed years ago.

The Dutch doesn’t leave you much to dwell on before he lays between your thighs again, trails his hand across your body till his fingers nudge at your lips, and shoves his index and middle finger inside the wetness of your mouth. if you were slightly more desperate, you would've whimpered at the pleasent pressure on your tongue.

If.

“Fuck, lieverd,” Max exhales when you suck your cheeks in, wet muscle darting over and between his digits— wide, innocent eyes and all. “Can he get you like this? Fucking dripping and desperate for dick?”

You shake your head frantically because it’s true. Because he couldn’t, not like Max can. Satisfied, Max only presses against your throat slightly to watch you gag around him. He brings his hand back down to the space between your legs agonizingly slow and alas, pushes them both in like he’s in a rush.

“Max! Oh, oh m’God, fuck,” you gasp, the twinge of pain is quickly overshadowed by the hot pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach.

Your hips involountarily buck upwards into the fullness, but Max flattens his palm on your lower stomach to shove you down. Eyes rolling back and threading your fingers through his hair before tugging his insatiable mouth on your pussy.

“He doesn’t,” Max cuts himself off with a groan when his tongue flicks at your clit, familiar tasting slick pooling on his taste buds. “He doesn’t know you like I do, can’t make you cum as hard as I do, can he?”

He doesn’t expect a response; it isn’t even a question, as well as you’re aware. Max knows he’s the only person who can have you writhing and moaning on his fingers, cock, tongue— all three, one night.

And he’s right. But. Max’s control of the situation makes you feel queasy, so.

“No– ohh, fuckfuckfuck,” you moan, high and needy, when Max curls his fingers upwards, like a reward for agreeing with him. “He–, he fucks me better.”

From under you, Max’s face visibly dims, but you aren’t able to bask in the satisfaction it gives you before he drags his thick digits out of you—your hole clenching in protest, crying out at the emptiness when it fails to keep them inside—hooks his hands into the small of your waist, and your ass meets the hardwood floor.

“What the fuck–”

Your breath hitches when he flips you over on your elbows and knees. Back arched almost uncomfortably, furrowed brows with Max’s bruising hands on your hips to lift your ass further in the air. 

When Scotty slips into bed tomorrow morning, you hope he’ll see the ugly hues of blue and green on your tainted body and leave soundlessly.

Shaking your head at the intrusive thought, you curse internally. Scotty’s nice, and you don’t deserve him. Not when you’re willingly presenting yourself to Max, the folds of your pussy connected by the lewd lines of his spit and your slick.

"Y’wanna act like a whore?" Max whispers hotly from behind you– his breath tickles your ear and his hands rise to your hair, gather your locks into a makeshift ponytail, and tug it forcefully to tilt your head back, making you wince. "I'll fucking treat you like one."

A string of your desperate whines fills Max’s ears like a symphony, and he groans with you when you begin to grind your ass backwards against his dick. His dick. Fuck, Max needs it wrapped around your tight walls, milking him for all he has; needs to watch you writhe on his cock like it was what you were made for.

“I hate you,” you repeat, much more breathless than the other times you said it, and Max has the audacity to laugh.

Though, you guess it has more to do with the fact that all the while you were saying those three words, you were still needily humping your ass against his covered dick.

You still are, and it’s driving him fucking insane. Max curses when he realizes he’s still trapped by the confines of his pants. Whoever thought wearing clothes was a good idea?

Clumsily and with only one hand whilst the other grips your hair, he fumbles out of his suit. And Max throws the articles of clothing mindlessly—on the couch, on the floor. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t fucking care. 

A relieved sigh fills the room as the cool air wraps around his painfully hard cock. Your breath hitches when you feel the thick tip graze your pussy. His hand hastily grips at his base, aligns it to your folds, and coating it in your slick as he strokes it once, twice.

“Ah! Max, holy shit,” you blabber when his cock nudges against your swollen clit, and finally, thrusts his hips forward, the tip fitting snugly against your walls. “Oh, oh, fuck, moremoremore, please.”

And Max. Well, Max is doomed.

“Fuck, liefje, your pussy missed me so fucking bad, I know, I know,” Max coos when your hole clenches around him greedily, and spreads your cheeks with one hand, gazing obscenely at the sight of you sucking more and more of him inside.

The familiar stretch burns and yet your hips push back against his cock— three words ringing in your otherwise empty mind: full, full, fuller. Max’s hips stutter as he meets your movements halfway, fucking his stupidly massive cock into your wetness and tightening his hold on your hair.

You wish you could say you hate the pain as much as you hate him.

“Max, Max, Max,” you urge him as your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you don’t really know what for; your neediness took over your senses the moment Max kissed you.

But Max, he’d already memorized all of it— all your tells, those things that pushed you over the edge—, protected them inside a dust-covered chest buried in his mind. It was no surprise he knew what to do with you now, filling you to the brim and pounding into you ruthlessly.

“Yes! Yes! Mm fuck, please, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you sob happily, and Max wouldn’t fucking dare.

The man behind you tugs you upright with the hand on your hair, his chest flush heatedly against your back and tilting your head to pounce at your neck.

“Tell me,” Max growls slowly, slowing his assaults on your wet pussy, and now, you’re almost sure that your hate is reciprocated. “Tell me he means nothing to you.”

A loud yelp leaves your lips when he slaps your clit again, and a slight gush of slick slides down your walls, dripping lewdly onto his balls. Your hand reaches up to grip his hair and pulls his pillowy lips back onto your neck; tears brim at your waterline. You aren’t sure if it’s because of how badly you want to cum or miss him— you blink.

No, no, no. That wouldn’t be possible because. Because you don’t miss him.

“He’s nothing, Max, nothing compares to you,” you cry out, and Max falters.

Then, he pulls out.

“Huh? Wha…” You inhale sharply, feeling so stupidly empty.

Before you dig a hole for you and your pussy to crawl in and die, Max is swiftly turning you over by your hips and engulfing his dick in your walls again. Your mouth falls open again; Max takes it as an opportunity to press his lips against yours.

Your hands cradle his face and kiss him back gently like he isn’t fucking the life out of you. Like he isn’t projecting his pent up frustration for the last two years onto your wet, tight pussy. A muffled cry escapes your mouth when Max thrusts into you with newfound fervor.

His lips detach from yours, burrying his forehead into the crook of your neck to, hopefully, muffle his groans. “Max– ah! Oh m’God, I’m so close, please just.”

Max nods, wild and frantic and horny, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. He tweaks, pinches, and rubs at your clit until you let out a shriek and your thighs close instinctively around him.

He bottoms out, grinding helplessly inside the heat of your pussy. “Cum f’me, shatje, wanna feel you cum on m’cock. Fucking cum.”

And, well, if you were even the slightest bit good at denying Max, you wouldn’t even be in this position. So. You arch your back off the ground with a high, loud moan and savour the white specs in your vision that only Max seems to bring out of you.

He fucks you through your orgasm—chasing his own with short, wild thrusts. “Ah, fuckkk, if only y’were as good as y’pussy is to me, liefje, y’d be getting m’cock like this every fucking night— Fuck!”

Beads of Max’s thick cum fill you to the brim with a loud groan and a long string of curses, tainting your insides a heavenly white. His hips stutter when you clench around him, milking him for all he has just like he’d wanted. And, when Max pulls out with a shaky gasp, he takes another piece of your heart with him.

Maybe, if you make this same mistake enough, he’d realize he has your heart already, full and pieced together.

But Max was never one to take a hint, never one to read your mind, so you settle for the parts of him you can have once in a blue moon; you settle for him picking you up, carrying you to your bedroom, cleaning the mess between your legs, and pulling the covers above your naked frame; you settle for the scowl on his face when he notices the polaroid of you and Scotty on your bedside table.

“I hate y—”

Max leaves the room before you can finish your sentence. 

He knows.

authors notes dedicating this to @enchantecafe + @scuderiahoney bcs they were hor knee for max on this poll (me too) i hope you guys like it and thank you to @cafekitsune for the dividers once again xx

i feel like this isn't my best work but i'll post it anyway because i spent a lot of time on it and yolo. also i think i fried my brain with it.

also, writing this fic made me realize idfk how to write angry sex it just ends up being angsty so. i think at times theyre angry but as they go on, some of that tension dissipitates and they both realize they want but cant have each other. tried my best tho!! xx

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🐢

taglist in separate posts bcs tumblr chooses to be annoying <33

p.s reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💚💚

[theirishwolfhound]

I do love the idea of an unhinged reader. Not like brutally unhinged but... like the kind that is harmlessly annoying and is just a brat to Task Force 141.

Like the mother fuckers nickname is Menace and they're somehow still alive after everything so they make it everyone's problem.

They're great at what they do, amazing even— but no team wants menaces like Menace, not even the heavens nor the hells want the damn person.

This is the same Menace who wears a devilish half-mask, but only above their mouth so people can see their shit-eating grin (think similar to the ghoul mask above) as they leave small firecrackers under the lids of toilet seats, or so people notice the way their lips curl up in mock disgust when someone is talking.

Menace who only goes through with the SAS training to one up another soldier they despised, enough to have sicked a pack of squirrels on that they personally hand fed a few days after— they even bonded enough with the little fuckers that when they were finally transferred out to be someone else's problem, the squirrels would steal the remaining soldiers foods.

Laswell, whose grand idea of knocking the boys down a peg since she's tired of their shenanigans includes getting this Menace of a person to join 141 with faint threats of blackmail— to which Coporal Menace respects, leading Kate to being the only one who is not subjected to the dumpster fire that is about to happen, but is only encouraged by her wife.

Price, who in his right mind, nearly rejects the idea of this misfit joining because of their turnover rate but gives in when Laswell tells him it would be worth it— that her wife likes them and they're an excellent solider after all.

Immediately upon arrival, Menace lives up to their name— pissing on the side of the building as if to mark their new territory before deciding it would be a good idea to rile up the behemoth of a man by asking Price: "Didn't anyone tell the poor bastard that Halloween was four fuckin' months ago? Look at 'em he looks emo."

It wasn't until then that the poor Captain realized how much of an untamed brat his new corporal was— only to be further set in after the first two weeks on base.

Sure Menace got along with Soap, but they were far too alike for Menace's likings and Gaz, sweet sweet Gaz, gave them a few too man odd glances and playfully snide remarks for their liking— meanwhile Ghost had made them scrub the bathroom from top to bottom with a small sponge, and well they could already see the forming regret in Price's eyes.

So Menace did what they did best.

It started out simple: silently attaching balloons on strings to the back of their clothes without them noticing, flipping all of the furniture upside down during the middle of the night, purposefully mocking every single move of one of the operators for a full day, sugar in the salt shaker or salt in the sugar dish, you name it they did it.

Glitterbomb the captain? Oh yeah, and there's still glitter in his mustache.

Tied the two sergeants' doors together so that neither could open it? Done and done, they were locked in their rooms for a good hour until someone cut the rope.

Move the lieutenant’s furniture two inches to the right so that he would constantly stub his toe? Yeah, you can practically see him fuming after every trip to his office.

And what irked the lads the most? Menace kept getting away without being caught— managing to even out sneak Ghost, which the only reason for it is: Menace knowing they don't know what they look like without that mask. So obviously they take it off and blend in with the many other people on base.

They made a fool of their sergeants, their lieutenant, and their captain and it was time to get back at the cunning prankster— but Menace grew suspicious. Usually they would have been booted out by a normal team by then, but what Menace came to realize a bit too late was that Task Force 141 was not normal.

And reality came to a head when Menace was called to Price's office to collect something— only for that something to be a bucket of ice cold water falling onto their head and for the captain to tell their now soaking wet and cold Coporal: "Game's on, brat."

PT 1 | PT 2

[the-ace-with-spades]

So not a lot of people know this but Jake loves random silly decor and trinkets more than anything and has always had a lot of clutter of random items around himself, just on a smaller scale. It's the after-effect of Jake's mom keeping the house in pristine condition and not allowing for any decor that wasn't themed like the pre-existing decor she set up when she was twenty-something - she wasn't an almond mom but like a Texan version of it with a strict tidiness standard, with porcelain sets and old clocks and creepy dolls and flowery wallpaper and old wooden furniture and lace present throughout the house. The family had a color book for buying presents for her, so it'd match her aesthetic.

When he andf Bradley move in together, their house starts looking like a big mismatched mess of different novelty items very fast because Jake refuses to think of their living spaces through any kind of cohesive aesthetics - none of their sheets match, the walls have different colors, they have different types of furniture in any given room, and there's no themes, just whatever Jake liked.

Everyone thinks, given Bradley's questionable fashion sense and taste for bright colors, that it's Bradley who buys all that funky stuff, and they tease him accordingly - he takes the blame because it makes Jake happy.

Random shit Jake buys for their house:

Photo holders shaped like cowboy boots

Croisant cushion that makes it really awkward in their bedroom sometimes

Cock and hen salt and pepper shakers (They say 'hand me the cock' instead of salt after a while...)

Nachos and guacamole platter shaped like a cowboy hat

A mini candy claw machine they have on their kitchen island that entertains kids for ages

Those two Hawaiian shirt drink holders that Jake bought right after Bradley bought another three Hawaiian shirts as a form of protest

A speaker shaped like a camper van that Jake just thought was cute

Candles shaped (and smelling!) like french toast and a cherry pie that are in their kitchen

They also have a whole fruit bowl of cushions on their living room couch:

On top of that, in their bedroom they have a different cactus lamp each, and the tray that holds their dog tags overnight (and eventually their wedding rings) looks like a rubber duck swimming in a pool because Jake loves rubber ducks for some reason:

Jake also has some funky stationery in their office space - none of it sees the outside world because Jake is a grown man and doesn't need crab-shaped stackable highlighters (Bradley disagrees - he is the one who bought them for Jake). The only thing is he uses a variety of sticky tabs when he reads and does paperwork at home and sometimes their unsuspecting CO is reading a training exercise report and gets hit with a chilli pepper sticky notes

[elliebyrrdwrites]

The Marriage Law Trope part 4

The little guest house is nestled into the far south corner of the property. There’s a pathway that leads from the front gates, winding around the manor, through the gardens, and past the quidditch pitch. It goes along the pond mother had installed before I was born, filling it with koi fish and lining it with cherry blossoms that are charmed with the perfect temperament year round. Every season, the cherry blossoms bloom. Snow and ice cling to the thing branches and the delicate flowers and even I have to appreciate the sheer beauty of it all. Because the pond freezes over and when my mother was younger and I was just a boy, she’d ice skate and pull me around on a sled tied to a string. I don’t remember it, but she swears I loved it.

The path, it snakes its way through the luxurious estate that I was raised on and it leads to a cottage style home that the earth clings to. The moss grows up the side of the white wood slats of planks and the windows are trimmed with aqua green paint and sweet peas that sprout and bloom along the vines that crawl up the sides of the home.

The guest house has three bedrooms. Only the master bedroom has a bed. I can see mother has been inside. Because, while she does her duty as a good little pureblood wife, what she really wants, is the chance of a grandchild. She wants to see me become a father and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why. Because I’m the worst. I was raised by the worst father in history.

But, she has come into this place and gutted the two spare bedrooms. She’s taken away the opportunity for us to both gravitate toward the only room with comfort to sleep in.

You enter the cottage and you find yourself in the middle of a space of clean, white furniture that opens up to a large kitchen with white countertops, white cabinipetry and aqua green accents hidden throughout. Like the thin little lines of x’s that are pressed into the white subway tiles behind the stove. Or the little salt and pepper shakers, or the jar meant to hold flour.

But it’s all white and clean and I look at the inside of this cottage and I want to see splashes of colors that don’t make you feel clean. I see the inside of this house all whit and blank and empty and I have to fight the urge to cut open my hand and smear blood against the walls or the couch.

Down the hall, there’s several doors. First, there’s a bathroom, all white and black tiled with a little picture hanging over the toilet that is an old advertisement for soap in French.

Across from the bathroom, is a guest room that is barren. Just wooden floors that are meant to look old and worn but really, they are brand new. The wood planks continue throughout the entire house and down the hall is a laundry room, beside that is another guest room that is full of boxes.

But at the end of the hallway is the master bedroom. It’s where the large, king sized bed is. The bed sits in the middle of the east well. Night stands on either side. Everything in this room is warm earth tones because on the west wall is a wall made entirely of glass that over looks the woods crowding the edge of the house. There’s a sliding door that opens up to a wooden deck. On the deck, there’s a table and two chairs. There’s a hammock attached to the two moderately young oak trees.

And this is where we will live.

This is where our story will take place.

Because, for now, this is our home.

Granger must hate this. Her entire life has been ripped apart and broken down. It’s been broken down and stuffed into boxes with labels that don’t tell you anything about what she has done or what she had been through.

Her life has been broken down and stuffed into boxes like an after thought.

Books, kitchen. Photos, more books.

There’s boxes of clothes, and boxes of shoes. There’s boxes of Knick knacks and sports equipment. I didn’t even know Granger liked sports.

But her life is here, compartmentalized into boxes and they’re lining the hallway of our new home and it’s fucking frightening. Because it’s me and it’s Granger and she’s my wife and I feel the need to snoop through her boxes because I know nothing about her.

Yes, she’s the Golden Girl.

Yes, she’s a swot.

Yes, she’s bossy and had big hair.

Yes, her tits are superb and her lips could kill me.

But, I know nothing else.

Since we were forced to get engaged, I’ve seen her cry over the idea of marrying me, only to kiss me on our wedding day like it was a long time coming. She kissed me like she’s been doing it for years. I’ve seen her stand up to my father, as if they have some sort of ancient history of rivalry.

And now she’s stomping into the master bedroom where I’ve been checking for traps or bugs meant for spying and she’s pouting like a child.

“What are you doing?”

Currently, I’m checking the floorboards for any trap doors or hiding places. So, I roll onto my back and I blow out a sigh before folding my arms under my head.

She standing over me in her little cut off denims and her big baggy sweater and she’s chewing on her fat little lip and all I can do is recall the way it felt to have it against my mouth.

“What?” I ask and she rolls her eyes and uncrosses her arms. They fall to her side and her eyes roam over me. The way my plain white shirt rides up, revealing the course hairs that lead from my navel, to below the waistband of my pants. They roam over the tattoo that is branded into my arm. They bounce from my eyes to my cheeks. Theirs sallow and sunken. My skin is pale, my eyes are dark and my lips are almost always chapped. I think, once upon a time, I used to be considered attractive, pretty even. But even the most beautiful sculptures made out of the finest stone can wither away if left out in the elements.

But Grangers eyes are hard to read. They’re always bright and sunny, though something tells me they are dulled, worn down from how they used to be. They’re always guarded.

“I can’t transfigure anything into a bed.”

I suck through my front teeth. “McGonagall would be disappointed.”

“I know how to do it, you arse, but nothing will take.”

I sniff and stare up at her. From here, I can almost see up her shorts. There’s enough of a gap between her skin and the denim that there’s an alluring shadowy space that makes me want to reach my hand out and touch her. It’s enough of a gap and enough shadow to let my imagination go wild. I can imagine a freckle on her inner thigh, oddly shaped like a heart.

Fuck.

I’m not supposed to want to fuck my wife. Not when I was going to marry Astoria and definitely not now that I am married to Granger.

But that kiss.

This witch had cursed me and blessed me. Because despite the never ending attack of ants fueled by anxiety, I feel like I’m alive.

Granger is giving me life and purpose and I hate her for it.

I love it.

It feels good, great even.

She’s looking down at me, expectantly. She’s looking at me like I’m supposed to fix this.

“That,” I prop myself up onto my elbows. “Is most likely due to mother’s meddling.”

“What?” She almost laughs at the idea. Because, yes. Narcissa is a dutiful wife and she does her best to back up her husband but, more than anything, she wants a grandchild.

Something tells me that if I were to have a child, it would somehow give her a chance to do things differently.

Like, shower their child with love and protect them from the patriarchal dictator of a father.

“There is only one bed in this house, for a reason, and something tells me that if one of us was to fall asleep on the couch, it would likely kick us off of it.”

Her lips do that thing, again, where it turns into a little rosebud. She’s staring down at me with unreadable emotions flashing quickly, across her face before she sighs and turns to observe the room. she looks at the wall of windows. She looks at the massive bed. The only bed in the entire house.

“I prefer the side closest to the door.”

Grangers head jerks down and her big golden eyes look down at me with that same unreadable expression. That’s when I realize something.

Granger is occluding. And from what I can tell, it’s only something she’s learned how to do recently.

And I know, I know, it’s because she’s married to me.

And that is when I realize that I’ve been letting my walls down and the longer I’m around her, the harder it is to keep them up.

Trust me, I know.

And now I’m living with this witch. It’s like being behind enemy lines, only the war is over and we have been forced together. We’ve been forced into a new kind of war. One that is all our own and we are the only soldiers, the only collateral and I can’t figure out if there’s even a chance of a winner or a loser.

Granger looks at the bed, the only bed, and I see her swallow as she fights to build those walls back up.

I need to stop her. I need to make this a fair fight. If I cannot keep mine up, then neither can she.

I shift onto one elbow and my other hand lifts to her ankle. My hand wraps around it. Her entire ankle fits inside of my hand. It’s a perfect fit.

And she jerks and her eyes return to me. She takes her eyes and she gives them back to me as I tighten my hold on her.

“This is the chain.” I say, glancing back to my hand. “And me,” I look at her and she’s all wide eyed and her lips are parted as she inhales deeply. “I’m the ball.” I slide my hand up, allowing my fingers to open up as it reachers her calf. “You’re stuck with me.”

I tighten my grip on her calf and she jumps out of my grasp. I grin up at her as she takes a step back and glares down at me.

And before she lifts her chin into the air and stomps away, going back to unpacking her life that has been divided and stuffed into boxes, she almost smirks as she says, “This isn’t going to go the way you think it is, Draco.”

Trust me, I know.

Because she slipped again.

To Granger, I am not Malfoy. To Granger, I am not just the boy who teased her in school.

To Granger, I am something else.

[machihunnicutt]

HELLO!!! 14 or 21, if either of those speak to you???

HELLO!!! Loved both of these...tried to incorporate both:

14. being calmed by the familiar feeling of the other's body molding into theirs & 21. cuddles without doing anything else even though they have a bunch of things to do

“Are you hiding out in here?” BJ said. 

Hawkeye was sprawled, arms and legs out like a starfish, on their bed. He was wearing a pair of borrowed (stolen) running shorts, a sweaty t-shirt, and his tennis shoes, which were hanging off of the mattress. 

He poked his head up to look at BJ, standing in the doorway. 

“I don’t know where she gets all that energy from,” Hawkeye said: hushed, as if Erin could hear downstairs. 

She had the radio on, full blast, and just before BJ wandered off in search of Hawk, she’d been reorganizing the piles of toys she was keeping and the toys she was labeling with a rainbow assortment of price stickers, for the garage sale.

“She’s 13,” BJ said. 

“She accused me of being a hoarder,” Hawkeye said. 

“She’s going through a minimalist phase. It’ll pass,” BJ said.

Peg had enlisted Erin’s help in her spring cleaning endeavors, which had culminated in Erin’s first Mill Valley garage sale. Erin was always eager to assist, particularly with projects that allowed her to organize things or order people around. She liked taking money and making change. She liked selling fresh squeezed, super sour, best in town (her words) lemonade and making bargains and trades with her old baby dolls and jump ropes and clothes she’d outgrown. 

When they’d picked her up at the airport, for her summer visit, she’d recounted her escapades as a young entrepreneur and organizational savant with such animation, that BJ had agreed to let her host another sale at their house in Maine. He hadn’t thought about how much stuff they had and how many boxes and trash bags and superfluous pieces of furniture Erin would want to drag out onto the lawn and pepper with price tags.

Hawk wiggled to the right and patted the space beside him.

“You don’t think I’m a hoarder, do you?” Hawkeye said, as BJ stretched out beside him.

Hawkeye rolled on his side and pressed up against him, slinging one arm over BJ’s chest. He was warm, and still a little breathless. They fit together the way they always did: Hawkeye’s stomach flush with BJ’s ribs, his ankle hooked around BJ’s, his chin tucked over BJ’s shoulder, his eyes closed, and his nose pressed to the side of BJ’s neck. 

“I think you—have an exceptional eye for knick knacks,” BJ said.

“Useless knick knacks, that I hoard,” Hawkeye said.

“Don’t blame yourself. Knick knacks aren’t known for their utility,” BJ said.

Hawkeye laughed. This, too, was familiar: the buzzing, exultant, vibration of the sound. BJ laughed too, at his own joke. It was a chain reaction. It always was, when they were lying like this.

“Those salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears are useful, and charming,” Hawkeye said.

They’d found them antiquing. Hawk said they reminded him of Radar. He’d carried them around the shop for half an hour, while they’d browsed. 

“Don’t tell me she wants to get rid of those,” BJ said.

Hawkeye pressed closer and kissed the underside of BJ’s jaw.

“She’s still working on the living room. I steered her away from the kitchen while you were going through all the crap in the garage,” he said.

“Oh, so the kitchen’s got all the treasures and the garage is full of my crap?” BJ said.

“Our crap,” Hawkeye said.

“Our crap,” BJ said, grinning. 

He could hear Erin downstairs, singing along to a Buddy Holly song at the top of her lungs. She’d wear herself out soon, he knew, and ask if they could go out for ice cream.

“I can talk to her, get her to tone it down a little. She gets very passionate about her projects,” BJ said.

“I love that about her. She gets that from you,” Hawkeye muttered: drowsy, muffled against BJ’s collarbone.

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t let her talk you into parting with things you don’t want to part with. She’s a reasonable kid,” BJ said.

A long pause. 

“Hawk? You awake?”

Hawkeye hummed. BJ looked down at the top of his head. He studied the sweat-damp tangle of his dark hair, streaked with silver. 

“A little decluttering is probably a good thing. I don’t have to hang onto everything for dear life anymore,” Hawkeye said. He relaxed his grip around BJ’s middle.

“That’s true. We’re sticking together, you and I. So’s our stuff,” BJ said.

“Our stuff,” Hawkeye said. He tipped his head back and looked up at BJ. “I like that it’s our stuff,” he said, voice soft.

There had been a time when there were very few objects by which BJ could remember Hawkeye. There had been a time when they were across the country from each other, and everything that belonged to the both of them, together, was stuffed in BJ’s old army trunk, under his bed, collecting dust. There had been a time when Hawk had very little of him: a shoebox full of letters, a couple fading photos, mismatched socks that had never been traded back. 

“So do I,” BJ said.

“Maybe we can introduce Erin to the joys of patronizing other people’s garage sales,” Hawkeye said.

“Peg will have my head if we send her home with an extra bag of nonsense,” BJ said.

“She can keep it here,” Hawkeye said.

“What about decluttering?” BJ said.

Hawkeye exhaled, with extra drama. “Everyone’s a critic,” he said.

“We should get up. We’ve got things to do,” BJ said.

Hawkeye kissed him, long and lazy.

“I’m plenty busy,” he said.

The volume of the music downstairs lowered, fractionally.

“Dad?” Erin called.

“Yeah, bug?” BJ said.

“I’m out of orange stickers,” she said.

“She’s out of orange stickers, Beej,” Hawkeye repeated, gravely.

“Maybe it’s time for an ice cream break,” BJ said.

Hawkeye sat up. His hair was mussed and his face was pink. He stretched, languidly, and yawned. BJ missed the sensation of Hawk’s skin against his.

He pressed his palm to BJ’s knee and squeezed. Sometimes BJ thought Hawk could read his mind. Maybe the feeling went both ways.

“Inspired idea,” Hawk said.

[phdmama]

Bamboo and nutmeg

Thank you pal!! xox

bamboo ⇢ do you change into a different outfit when you get home?

Sometimes I do, it depends a bit on that particular day's circumstances! I am not someone who really... unhhhh cares about what I wear? So I kind of a few typical outfits. Work is comfy work pants and big shirts. Home is either homemade silly jammie pants or these super comfy jogger-type pants I found on Amazon (I know. Evil.), and when it's cold, generally a HUGE sweatshirt, and if it's warm, a huge comfy t-shirt. Basically what I'm saying is, I strive to be comfy at all times (I've been ruminating on body stuff all day, thinking about making a post haha).

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

In the same way my clothes are basic, my house style is too. I prefer a very simple style in furniture - so natural wood and very plain (think mission/shaker/mid century modern). I've got this gorgeous armoire that we got for a wedding present that's natural wood made from reclaimed shipping pallets. My bedroom is sage green, most of my house is pretty neutral. Walls are covered in posters from things that are important to us, art, photos - both family portraits and my husband and my art. It definitely does NOT look like it was designed with any sort of theme, and it definitely DOES look like a family lives here haha!

﹟random get-to-know-me ask game  !!

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 22 - Leads

Author's Note: In which we get a recap of what Sullivan's been doing behind the scenes, get a glimpse of some of Road's issues, and witness Sullivan once again confidently make a bunch of incorrect inferences (mixed with a few correct ones) about the people around him. I though this was going to be another short chapter like Sullivan's tend to be, not so much. Too much exposition in the first scene perhaps, but with how long it's been and how scattered some information was, a recap felt useful. Will this is shorter than the utter monster of the previous chapter at least. All that said, there are few segments in this chapter where I really like how they came out. Wordcount: 11,191 Content Warnings: Insomnia. Lightly implied past substance abuse. Lightly implied past self-harm. Disassociation (or something akin to it anyway, please correct me if there's a better word). Invasion of privacy.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

“Have you ever heard of orbital kinetic bombardment?”

Not a phrase a younger Sullivan would have expected to hear from a witch while inside a pocket dimension bound to the soul of an alchemist and fashioned to look like a blend of antique mansion and subterranean grotto.  The words taste too much of wires and screens to be spoken of in the same breath as magic.  And yet this is a witch who uses a (two decades outmoded) phone as a spellbook and catalyst, the contract for the pocket dimension was purchased at a (manifestation of an ideal) shopping mall, and the alchemist is currently busying himself with configuring a new (to him anyway) computer to synchronize timings on three thermal cyclers, seven centrifuges, and thirteen shakers and mixers of various kinds.  

At least the witch’s towering doll dresses the part of gothic faux-antique despite its master’s modern garb of blue jeans and a sweater.

Like it or not, the blending of magic and modern (para)tech is the way things are increasingly moving these days.  And accordingly Sullivan, born on a world where the steam engine had not yet been conceived, has adapted in the decades since arriving on this world with all its rapidly-changing wonders.  Adapted well enough to make up for his friend’s chronic technological incompatibilities.  It helps that he has ever had an appetite for novelty.

So, tasting of charged copper and glass fibers though they might be, the words come naturally to the Sullivan of today when he replies “Of course.  It’s when you put a satellite up in orbit and then have it drop something dense down onto the planet so it explodes on impact sheerly from mass and velocity.  Elegantly simple mass destruction.”  Sullivan’s ever-present smirk grows momentarily genuine at a memory.  “Carnette liked to call it ‘casting Meteor.’  Not that she needed a satellite when she could simply summon a rock into the atmosphere from the Oort Cloud.”

The witch - Morgan - adjusts her glasses.  “Huh, wasn’t expecting confirmation on the existence of the Oort Cloud today, but yes, that’s the gist of the concept.  Based on what I’ve been able to reconstruct over the past few days from the safehouse debris someone pulled a similar drop on us.”  She looks over to her arcane doll.  “Stella, if you would.”

The doll looks down at its master, gives a nod of affirmation, and then pale green light spills forth from its glassy eyes.  The light concentrates into a pair of rapidly scanning beams projecting out onto the sole corner of hardwood floor in the pocket dimension’s living room that isn’t occupied by lab equipment or the luxury furniture hastily shoved aside to make room for said equipment.  The beams of light from Stella’s eyes trace shapes in the air and coalesce into a holographic projection of a house about half Sullivan’s height.  Detailed brickwork emerges on the house’s surface and color creeps into the projection until it becomes an undeniably recognizable recreation of the now-destroyed safehouse.

“Leave it to a doll to make a dollhouse on demand,” Sullivan comments.

The projection of the house flickers and is replaced by a life-sized recording of Sullivan getting shot six times and then sent flying by a punch to the face.  Morgan coughs to cover a snicker and the projection flickers back to displaying the miniaturized house.  Stella rotates her wrist clockwise and the house explodes into a cloud of dust, leaving behind the illusion of a debris-filled crater stretching down into the floor.  Stella rotates her wrist counterclockwise and the explosion falls back in on itself until the house is restored.

“Before you ask,” Morgan says, “this is the recording Stella took of my reconstruction.  I’m not going to invoke extratemporal entities and weave psychometry-fed illusions more than I have to just because I want to review my results.”

“And here I was hoping for a show,” Sullivan purrs.

“Oh, we’ll give you one,” Morgan says.

More hand gestures from Stella and the house explodes again, this time in slow motion.

Morgan glances at Sullivan.  “Tell me when you catch it.”

The explosion rewinds.  The house is restored.  The house explodes, even more slowly this time.  Sullivan blinks through filters, sees nothing different, and concentrates harder on simply watching carefully.

The explosion rewinds in slow motion.  The cloud of dust condenses and draws back into un-disintegrated bricks.  Shattered glass melts back together in window panes.  Blasted shingles fall back into place.  Something flickers near the rooftop and Sullivan arches an eyebrow.

The house explodes once more, slower still.  It starts with a tiny patch of shingles dipping inward around a thin dark line and throwing up splinters.  It continues with the windows blowing outward; first the upper flow, then the ground floor.  It climaxes with the very foundations quaking and sending a ripple upward through the walls that converts the brickwork to compacted red powder stretched-out milliseconds before sending it all into the sky.

“Back it up to that dark streak impacting the rooftop,” Sullivan says.

Morgan grins.  “Good eye.”  

The three-dimensional recording rewinds once more, pauses, and zooms in on a glyph-covered grey metal rod hovering above the rooftop.  

“And there’s our culprit,” Morgan says.  “A single tungsten rod, one meter by one inch, inscribed with a standard perception filter enchantment, and accelerated to several times the speed of sound.  And as best as I can tell…”  The projection rewinds further, following the rod upwards until the house below is no longer rendered.  And then higher still until the rod disappears though a perfectly round, perfectly flat, one-sided opaque circle in the air.  “Not quite dropped from orbit, but launched through a downward-facing portal in the sky’s close enough.”

Sullivan lets out a low whistle.  “I’d call it an incredible reconstruction, but only in the sense that I hesitate to credit it.  This level of detail from a few handfuls of dust and a small stack of rubble?  It has to be at least seventy three-percent extrapolated guesswork filling in the blanks.  It simply isn’t done.”

“Nor are precision teleports across multiple astronomical units when even summons across multiple alternate universes would be more manageable” Stella’s hollow monotone counters, “and yet you do not hear us casting doubt on the supposed deeds of your dead wife.”

How dare this oversized plaything?  Sullivan turns away from it in dismissal and locks eyes with its master.

“You.  Are not.  The sorceress Bridgewood,” he says flatly.  “Do not think to compare yourself to her.”

To the witch’s credit, the terror on Morgan’s face scarcely outlasts her flinch and involuntary step backwards.  She recovers with a tilt of her head and adjustment of her glasses to catch the light and hide her eyes.

“So that’s what it takes to wipe that smirk off your face.” she says.  “Stella, you can stand down.”

Sullivan flicks his gaze back towards the doll and finds both it and the projected hologram gone.  He reflexively produces a knife, sidesteps, and turns to find the construct standing behind where he’d just been, eyes gone dark and full of stars.  Stella’s eyes fade back to glassy imitations of a human’s and it returns to its master’s side.

“But really, no disrespect here,” Morgan continues.  “I’ll admit the reconstruction has some extrapolative infill, but not as much as you seem to be imagining.  I’m sure the sorceress Bridgewood could have done better from less in half the time, but I think you’ll find that compared to anyone else, I am very good at what I do.”

Sullivan allows the spike of anger to ebb.  Really, what else did he expect from a witch calling herself Morgan?  Pretentious pretenders the lot of them.  Nothing he doesn’t know how to handle.  Nothing that should be able to get under his skin.

“Very well, but as impressive as this is, it still doesn't tell us anything we didn’t already know about who tried to kill Lachlan.  We already knew whoever it is has a large budget, access to high-end paratech, and is good with teleports.”

“But it wasn’t a teleport, it was a portal.  Portals can be passed back through.”

“If you’re implying your reconstruction was able to see back through…”

Morgan scoffs.  “Oh, I wish.  But if we could bait whoever it is to take a second shot at us, well, I know what to look for this time to grab and hold open and you’re a teleporting immortal bastard with a knife fetish.  I figure you can do the math on that one.”  

“An utterly unhinged plan.  I love it.  Nonetheless,” Sullivan adds while producing a manilla envelope from a pocket too small to have possibly held it, “it does pay to have some inkling of whose home one is about to invite oneself into.”

“If you already figured out who it was you could have led with that, you know,” Morgan admonishes while taking the envelope.

“Alas, these are only preliminary findings to narrow down the list of suspects.  Occupied though I’ve been these past few days with procuring this hideaway, forging you an alibi, and assisting my friend with unrelated cases, I have managed to put out some feelers to various sources of mine.  Enclosed, you’ll find photos and specifications of combat robot models and power armor suits, both publicly announced and otherwise, from the major paratech off-world importers and local manufacturers.”

Morgan flips through the contents of the envelope, eyebrow occasionally arching at tech specs and eyelids intermittently squinting at image details, but without any telltale glimmer of recognition.

“I’ll need to take a more in-depth look later,” she says, “but at a glance, none of this looks like what I saw in Lachlan’s memories.  Could this have been a government operation?”

“I have enough contacts in that field that I would have heard by now if something relevant were afoot, and even if it were, corporate contracting is the name of the game for weapons development, Backstage or not.”

“And no use running these by Lachlan to verify with that NDA geass on him.”

“Alas no indeed.  At best it would only irritate him and at worse it would signal our quarry that he’s still alive.  Better to maintain his good graces with reparations of new equipment and material for now should we require his cooperation later.”

The silence of consideration falls and catches on the whir and hum of lab equipment.  On the other side of the room, Lachlan busies himself with recreating formulae lost with his previous home while doing his best to ignore the stalled conversation.  Morgan adjusts her glasses and takes another look at a blurred photo of a half-assembled robot that was obviously taken illicitly.  Sullivan ponders how much more he would have had time to find by now if he’d left more of the information support for other jobs to Lacuna like he hired her to do.  Stella abruptly turns and begins walking away toward a sliding glass door.

“I am relocating this conversation to more comfortable environs,” the doll intones.

Sullivan shoots Morgan an inquiring look who meets with a shrug indicating that this is normal behavior before following the curiously headstrong construct outside.  

Or rather, what passes for outside in this diminutive pocket dimension, for beyond the sliding glass door and its surrounding facade of wooden paneling is a stone cavern with no exit.  A smooth-carved patio stretches to the edge of a self-sustaining aquaponics system cleverly disguised to look as if the fish-filled pools surrounded by rings of edible plants were natural formations within the rock.  The illusion is only slightly spoiled by the reflective strips lining the winding paths between the pools that catch the glow of the suspended orb lamps currently dimmed for their night cycle and the bioluminescent crustaceans that crawl the dark ceiling like false stars.

Stella takes a seat at a tall round bar table at the edge of the nearest pool and Sullivan and Morgan join it.  No, join her, Sullivan reminds himself begrudgingly.  Despite the stereotypically flat affect, he’s yet to find evidence contradicting Morgan’s claim of her doll’s personhood.  Curious given the notorious difficulty of constructs - be they digital or arcane - maintaining sapience while on the anchor world where magic is weakened and reality’s rules are stricter.  Could there be a ghost haunting that enchanted porcelain shell?  Or perhaps a familiar bond extending the mage’s soul into another vessel in a novel manner?  

He rubs the blue metal of his wedding band.  Carnette would love to take these two apart and see how they work if she were here.

“Now then,” Stella says, punctuating the resumption of discussion with a rolling clack of segmented fingers on ceramic tabletop.  “Let us review what we already know.  Consort of the sorceress Bridgewood, if you have left anything out, now would be the time to amend that gap.  We shall do the same.”

“Go on then,” Sullivan says.  “If I hear you’ve missed anything relevant, I’ll let you know.”

Stell nods in acknowledgement and begins.

“Roughly one year ago, Lachlan Whelan, alchemist and occupant of the planar lighthouse near the so-called Northwest Passage Crossover Point, was approached by unknown men wearing suits and sunglasses who coerced him into signing a geass-enforced contract allowing them to install an unknown paratech device in his lighthouse and stay silent about it.  In exchange, he received compensation in the form of money, alchemical supplies, and delivery services.  He made a point of not observing the deliveries, either in method or in the identity of any potential courier.  Relevantly, the Northwest Passage Crossover Point is notorious in certain circles as being a smuggling route for off-world contraband.  Approximately three months ago, the individual known as Road returned to this anchor world after an extended absence.  You mentioned they were following the trail of a stolen and smuggled artifact of some sort, yes?”

“That’s right,” Sullivan confirms.  “A device originating from Dorbreith allegedly capable of binding and controlling lesser deiform entities.  Small gods, if you prefer.  My friend lost the trail after getting here when the entire smuggling ring the artifact was getting trafficked through was wiped out overnight by an unknown third party who absconded with most of the contraband, including the artifact.  Whoever it was, they were thorough enough in scrubbing their tracks that Crossherd’s Department of Forensic Necromancy couldn’t even question the victims’ ghosts or divine anything from the smugglers’ ashes.”

“And that’s when Road recruited you and my niece,” Morgan says.

“Starting up their own little anchor world version of an adventurers’ guild is technically a separate project,” Sullivan corrects her.  “‘Tis something my friend was planning on doing eventually anyway.  Aside from a lucky coincidence with the first job, everything else Lacuna and the other two recruits have worked on has been unrelated.  As far as they know, I’m simply investigating where the dead dragon came from.  They haven’t been informed of the larger potential conspiracy, or that I’m currently working with you.”

“And I’d prefer it stay that way.  I should be the one to tell her that I’m in the know.  How long has she been Backstage?”

“Since just before she started transitioning.  Someone broke Masquerade and posted a summoning ritual for a feral demon with a flawed containment circle on mundane forums claiming it could give the ritual caster a new body.  You can thank my friend if you ever meet them for keeping her from getting eaten.  And for introducing her to her doctor in Crossherd.  Autogenesis has been rough on her, but you and I both know how effective Backstage medication and treatments can be.”

Sullivan examines the witch across from him as he talks about her niece.  The suppressed gasp.  The wide eyes.  The anxious neck rub.  Shock, yes, but guilt too.  Guilt that she wasn’t there for the one she cares about.  Guilt that she didn’t see what was wrong in time to help.  It’s an emotion Sullivan knows well, and well knows how to make into an asset.

“And no,” he continues, “she’s not doing any dangerous fieldwork you need to distract yourself with worry over.  We simply hired her to manage our website and communications equipment.  The most danger she’ll ever be in is burning herself on the office coffee machine trying to make hot chocolate.  ”

“And is she -”

“A mage?  Sadly no.  I believe she tried to take up witchcraft shortly after arriving Backstage, but had no potential for it.  She is a half-decent enchanter though and I’ve been providing her with the resources to practice that since hiring her.”

“I see.  Thank you.  For watching out for her,”  Morgan says.  She looks through Sullivan more than at him when she says it and he can practically hear the unspoken “where I failed to” in her voice.  As he intended.

“My pleasure,” he lilts.

“Returning to the matter at hand,” Stella says, “two months ago, the device in Lachlan’s lighthouse emitted a ‘pulse’ of unknown nature that corresponded with the simultaneous entry into the Northwest Passage Crossover Point of a Culescun living ship and a kaiju-class dragon of indeterminate origin, most likely Dorbreith or Mahta.  Neither the ship nor the dragon were equipped for inter-world travel, and thus the matter of the ship and the dragon’s head attempted to occupy the same space at the same time, killing the dragon instantly and wounding the living ship in the fusion.  A parasitic swarm then left the dragon’s corpse and devoured the majority of the living ship’s crew in the process of making it their new host.  Lachlan witnessed this from his lighthouse, had a moment of conscience and called upon Road to make a rescue attempt of any possible survivors.  

“After a day and a half of delays due to a severe storm and attempts to secure a suitable transport vessel, you and your team arrived on the scene with the assistance of one Captain Cabetha, a former smuggler from a non-anchor-world iteration of Earth, and rescued the sole surviving crewmember of the Culescun ship, along with one hundred twenty-eight passengers in stasis cocoons.  You did not make contact with Lachlan during the rescue operation.  

“That night, after all other parties had vacated the area and the dragon corpse had fully sunk beneath the surface of the water, pulling the Culescun ship down with it, you received a signal from a sensor attached to the perception filter ward around Lachlan’s lighthouse indicating twenty-three individuals sapient enough to interact with the ward cross its boundary.  Lachlan’s memory of the event perceived these entities as combat robots.  Three minutes later the lighthouse Lachlan vacated the premises via self-collapsing portal and destroyed the lighthouse behind him.  One minute later the intruding entities left the bounds of the perception filter ward and left via either teleportation or portal in a manner that left too little trace to follow to a point of origin.  One minute after that, you arrived on the scene and read the remnants of Lachlan’s escape portal, setting you on a chase that would last you the next month, due to, as you put it, ‘various distractions.’  These distractions included spending the next several days handing over the shipwrecked Culescuns to governmental organizations within Crossherd for return to their homeworld.  Is all of this accurate?”

“Yes,” Sullivan says, “except we also brought in an exiled flesh-shaper to un-cocoon everyone after the rescue before we handed them over for repatriation.”

“There’s an exiled Culescun flesh-shaper on this world?” Morgan exclaims.

“Oh yes, real standup guy.  Carnette, my friend, and I helped xem out after xe got in trouble for unauthorized shaping to save the lives of some cross-world travellers.  And we’ve stayed on good terms since.”

“Huh, could have used someone like that thirty years ago,” Morgan says.  “Was Lacuna able to talk to xem?”

“Oh the two of them got on marvelously.  Why she still looked the same the next day is beyond me.  Void knows I would have killed for the opportunity back when I was in her position.”

“I… I can think of a few reasons,” Morgan says.  “But I’m getting us off-topic again.  You were saying about the passengers?”

“During the rescue, I also retrieved most of the ship’s cargo, including the passengers’ belongings and one particular set of items of interest that I have not yet informed anyone other than my friend and the flesh-shaper about.  I lightly questioned all of the passengers after we woke them up from stasis and then performed some more enhanced interview techniques on the most suspicious of them in addition to the surviving crewmember and one of the deceased crewmembers, erasing their memories afterwards for, shall we say, humane reasons.  I haven’t told anyone else that part either, but given how readily you did what you had to with forcing yourself into Lachlan’s mind, I trust that you understand doing what needs done.”  Sullivan cocks his head and shows more teeth with his smile.  “Even if your dear niece wouldn’t.”

Morgan stares him down with comment.

“Anywhat,” Sullivan continues, “the passengers were simply wrong place wrong time, and the crew I got to talk too were too low level grunts to be included in anything conspiratorial, but the living one did recognize the items none of the passengers claimed.  They hadn’t been on the cargo manifest either and when he’d asked about them he was simply told to stop asking questions.”

“Another smuggling connection then?” Morgan posits.

“If it was, it wasn’t one that anyone on that ship expected to be leaving Culescu.  I showed our flesh-shaper the items in question afterward and xe identified them as dead and damaged equipment for linking together minds for gestalts or duplication.  Apparently that’s rare and valuable technology that even most people on Culescu know as little more than a rumor.  Needless to say, I left that part out of our report to the authorities in Crossherd and the equipment is sitting in a stasis vault in Bridgewood Manor to keep it from rotting any further.”

“Cutting edge flesh-shaped tech from an isolationist world with a strict policy against exports,” Morgan muses.  “You don’t think that could have been the point of this whole shipwreck mess, do you?  In those days where you dealing with the survivors, I was getting word from a merfolk community I have some connection with that a huge foreign biomass and a large number of invasive lamprey-like creatures had just gotten dumped into the ocean.  I spent weeks cleaning up that mess.  At first I figured that it was just some self-taught mage who had colossally screwed up a summoning, but when officials from Crossherd showed up demanding that I hand over any off-world biological material instead of destroying it like standard ecological contamination procedure it started to sink in just how weird the situation was.”

“And that’s when you started looking into Lachlan?”  Sullivan asks.

“Not Lachlan specifically, and for a good while there environmental and Masquerade protection took priority, weird government interference or no.  And it wasn’t like anyone was answering any of the questions I was asking.  Of course, now that I know it was a decaying Culescun ship that I was trying to keep benthic scavengers from mistaking for a whalefall and getting sick on, that makes sense.  Even if they weren’t directly involved, the powers that be in Crossherd get real nervous about anything related to Culescu.  Which explains why no one ever mentioned you and your team to me.”

“And the big burned out lighthouse nearby wasn’t an obvious clue to ask about?” Sullivan prods.

“As she said,” Stella replies, “the priority was on cleanup.  We didn’t get the chance to look into that until weeks after the fact.”

“And by that point the trail had long gone cold until you leaked his location to see who would show up looking for him,” Morgan adds. “And we all know how that turned out.”

“Yes,” Sullivan agrees.  “You two were watched and followed by means we still haven’t determined, we got Lachlan to partially violate his nondisclosure contract, and then someone opened a portal in the upper atmosphere and shot a magic equivalent of a railgun at us through it.  Or an actual railgun for all we know.  Then I did some research to give you that lovely envelope full of robots, while you played with some dirt to make an informative but not particularly revelatory presentation.  And now we’re recapping.  Did that all give you any new theories?”

“If you’re right that it’s not a government job, and the machines Lachlan saw don’t match anything any of the big paratech companies have, could it be a smaller operation?”  Morgan asks.  “Someone trying to carve themself a slice out of a competitive field by gathering resources that no one can legally report as missing and laying the groundwork for making a big entrance once they have a product ready.  Or even just a lone wolf actor playing mad scientist with experimental paratech.”

“The possibility had crossed my mind,” Sullivan admits, “but I had dismissed it.  Too much of this reeks of tight organization well-supplied with resources.”

“Does it really?” Morgan argues.  “One powerful enough mage and one exceptionally skilled paratech engineer could theoretically do this all on a budget while keeping up a surface level appearance of being something more.  Heck, the two could even be the same person!”

“Let’s say I’m willing to entertain the idea,” Sullivan croons.  “Convince me.”

“What do we really know about whoever is behind this?”  Morgan asks and then answers.  “While I’m not personally familiar with them, I know of at least four different spells that can kill people thoroughly enough that it doesn’t leave a ghost behind and messes up other methods of scrying past events in a locale.  A geass-enforced contract is easy enough to obtain for anyone who knows how to contact the fae or infernal entities and is good at negotiating.  Intimidating men in suits and sunglasses are a dime a dozen, and that’s assuming whoever’s behind all this didn’t just go buy a suit off the rack and deliver the contract and device to Lachlan themselves.”

“And the pulse device?  The robots?  The orbital kinetic bombardment?”

“Paratech’s not my field, but as I understand it, it’s not that hard to get individual parts if you know where to look.  The robots might be made from scratch in a garage or they might be decommissioned models that were refurbished and modified.  The number of them is a bit high, sure, but there are plenty of mages out there with extended lifespans and fortunes built up over a century or two.  Give me another fifty years and I’ll be one of them.  And while our hypothetical lone actor would have to be very good with portals, it’s not an unheard of level of skill, and accelerating an object to make it go fast enough to explode on impact is dead simple, just stupidly dangerous to try unassisted.”

“And everything you just said could also be true of a small arm of a larger organization that wants to maintain plausible deniability if they get caught,” Sullivan points out.

“I believe that is the point,” Stella says.  “If corporate security measures against espionage are proving too much of a barrier for you to find leads, then investigate the flow of component parts through smaller resource channels.  Of course,” she adds, “I am sure so obvious a methodology has already occurred to you.”

The doll’s perpetual monotone does little to hide the sarcasm, and the reaction on her witch’s face does even less.  Such an interestingly bold little familiar.  Or not so little given that she’s the only one here who’s feet reach the ground while seated around this bar table.  A reflection of its master’s will, surely.  What a shame that the techie’s branch of the family tree didn’t inherit any of her aunt’s spine.

“That still leaves us with the question of motive,” Sullivan says, sidestepping the barb while neither denying the soundness of the advice nor admitting that he’d overlooked it.

“We can figure that out later,” Morgan says, “but if we assume that both of the incidents that we know of were specifically targeted rather than coincidental, I can think of some scary combinations you could get up to with a god binder and a mind linker.”

*******

Sullivan’s friend is already waiting for him in the baroque parlour (as opposed to the neoclassical parlour or the nacreous parlour) when he makes his return to Bridgewood Manor that night.  As is Ashan.  The conversation passes by in a blur for Sullivan.  The news that his friend spent most of the past twenty-four hours in a warped domain of one of the eldritch drowns out whatever was said before and distracts from whatever is said after.

The recounting of Eris snapping herself out of a near autogenesis monster transformation so that she can relive childhood memories and fight her ex-girlfriend is far less important than scrutinizing his friend for signs of persona decay.  The tale of Ashan besting a fae liege’s champion in a duel barely registers through concern over what an entity whose very presence erodes rationality and sense of self might do to someone with his friend’s condition.  When the plan of transporting dangerous artifacts through smuggling routes as bait is floated, it is met with the barest acknowledgment of logistic viability, as he is too busy sorting out which of the subtle tells of exhaustion his friend is so good at hiding are due to mere sleep deprivation and which are from something more metaphysical.  The realization that his friend has told Ashan and the others about the wider conspiratorial scope of his investigations is nearly enough to fully snap his attention back to the ongoing conversation, but he is too caught up in the thought that suddenly bringing everyone fully into the fold might be a symptom of decline to even been properly irritated at not being consulted beforehand.  His own recounting of his most recent meeting with Morgan and plans discussed therein is uncharacteristically terse, unembellished, and coated in a veneer of impatience for the interloping young wizard to leave so he and his friend can talk in private, but he at least retains the presence of mind to omit the witch’s name and relation to Lacuna.

Finally, Sullivan resorts to putting on a mask crafted in the image of his genuine concern for his friend.

“Ashan, why don’t you head to bed?” Sullivan suggests.  “Speaking from experience, there aren’t many who can cross the Count of Curses and Dust and live to tell the tale, so I’d say you’ve earned a good night’s sleep.  I’ll send one of the manor staff up with something for that aging effect on your hand.”

“Thank you,” Ashan says, “but I am still wakeful enough to continue the conversation for a time yet.  This is far from the hardest a mission has pushed my capabilities.”

Sullivan constructs an endeared smile that anyone who didn’t know him would mistake for genuine.

“Good to hear.  Pushing yourself to your limit all the time without rest only wears you down.  But I think we’re just about done here anyway.  Any further planning can wait until muscles and the techie are around to give their two cents.”

“You make a fair point.  Very well then.  Road, Bridgewood, I bid the both of you a good night.”  After standing up from a gilded chair and executing a shallow bow punctuating both addresses, Ashan turns and glides down the dark hallways of Bridgewood Manor in the direction of a guest bedroom that is rapidly becoming a permanent dwelling.

Sullivan’s body no longer needs to breathe and hasn’t been physically capable of fatigue in years, but he unclenches his jaw and sighs in relief all the same at the young wizard’s departure.  A warm chuckle from the other end of the white tufted settee he’s been perched on the arm of draws his gaze back to his friend and a facial expression that’s heralded more headaches and fond memories than he can count.

“What?” he asks.

“You like him,” his friend observes.

“I can’t imagine what could have given you that impression.”

“That’s the second time you’ve told him to go to bed -”

“He’s a valuable asset whose health needs maintained.”

“- in a bed, in a room, in your home, which you didn’t kick him out of when the office opened like you said you would -”

“I’ve been too busy to get around to it.”

“- and you said it in a tone I’ve never heard you use with anyone but me and Carnette.”

Void Without.

“I just wanted him out of the way so we could talk in private,” Sullivan insists while sliding from armrest to seat.  “He doesn’t need to hear me asking how you’re holding together after an encounter with one of the eldritch.”

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine.  Really.”

“Even -”

“Even with my… being the way that I am, yes.  Just because we decided it’s best that I don’t consciously acknowledge it too much, that doesn’t mean I don’t take steps to manage it, and it turns out general safeguards against eldritch influence are good for general stability.”  Sullivan’s friend forces a laugh that would sound natural and unexhausted to any other listener.  “Honestly, I think I might try burning the silverkey incense more often.  That was the most… present… I’ve felt in a long while.”

“I’ll be sure to make sure you have a steady supply,” Sullivan says and makes a mental note to look into side effects of regular usage.  “But I must say, you caught me off guard when you informed me that you filled the kids in on everything.  I thought you were going to wait until we had something more concrete and they’d had more time to get used to working together.”

His friend affects a nonchalant shrug.  “I’d call people exploding a house with you in it for investigating pretty concrete, and the others have more than proven themselves by now.  Especially after… today… Or is it yesterday by now?” They drift off for a moment, voice dreamy before snapping back to the here and now.  “You know what I mean.  And besides, I told Eris about it before we dealt with the eldritch.”

“You might be right, but that’s not what you were thinking at the time, was it?”

“I…”

Sullivan slides closer on the sofa and gently puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  It’s gotten so much easier to do that since they acquired that symbiote jacket of theirs.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers, “and I’m not judging.  I could never be either, not towards you.  I’m only trying to figure out if I’m worrying too much right now.”

“You always worry too much about me.”

“Someone has to if you’re going to be the one to worry about everyone else in the world.”

“Right…  Anyway, Eris asked what you’ve been working on for the past two months because somehow she didn’t even know you were looking into what caused the dragon shipwreck.  I could have sworn we’d told everyone that right after opening the office and you bowed out of joining the rest of us on the haunted house mission that evening.”

“She’d stepped out of the room when I announced it,” Sullivan says.  “I figured at least one of you would fill her in.”

“Oh… I guess that must have slipped my mind too.  So, when she asked earlier today… no yesterday… wait, it’d be the day before by now…  What… day… is it?  It’s been a long one…”

“When Eris asked…” Sullivan softly prompts.

“Right!  When Eris couldn’t remember what I thought for sure I told her already, or at least told Ashan and Lacuna...  told someone anyway…  I… had a moment…”

“A moment?” Sullivan asks once it becomes apparent his friend isn’t picking the trailed thought back up on their own.

“I had a moment where I couldn’t remember at all what I’d said to who, so it all… came out at once.”  Their next pause is one of intensifying focus rather than the loss of it.  “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No, it's not bad,” Sullivan lies.  “You’ve just had a long few days, like you said.  That’s normal when people get tired.”

“But at least I remembered not to tell them about Morgan and Stella yet,” his friend says like a child trying to salvage a botched chore.  “When are we going to tell them?  With everyone involved now there’s not much point in keeping it secret, and Lacuna deserves to know she has a relative Backstage.”

“Morgan said she wanted to tell Lacuna herself, so you don’t need to worry about that right now.  I’ll handle the arrangements for their reunion when the time comes.”

“And I’m sure you’ll delay it until you can find the most dramatic possible moment,” his friend jokes.

“Will I now?”

“It’s what you do.  The one thing you like better than secrets and lies is a big reveal.”

“Or maybe I’ll just arrange things so that a dramatic reveal comes faster than you expect now that you’re onto me.”

“But now I’m going to expect that and you know I’ll expect that so you’ll delay but I’ll know that you’ll know that so you’ll accelerate, but you’ll know that I know that you know that I…”

“I know you’re tired.”

“I might be letting myself feel it a little without anyone else around.”

“Well, there’s nothing pressing tonight to keep you from getting some sleep.”

“Nothing but the usual.”

“The dreams?”

“And everything else that always needs done.  The dreams have been manageable.”

“Manageable with or without amnestics?”

“Without.  I’ve only needed them the one time since getting back to this anchor world.  And it was as low a dose as will still do anything, I promise.  Just enough to take the edge off after waking up in the middle of the night.”

“But you have been sleeping, right?”

Sullivan’s friend smiles a little too broadly.

“I’ve been getting a whole eight hours,” they claim.

Sullivan gives his friend a look practiced since their shared childhood.

“Per week,” his friend amends.

“When was the last time?”

“I took a nap after our call a few days ago to get some rest.  I… don’t think I actually fell asleep though.”

Sullivan closes his eyes, rubs his temples, and takes a deep breath as only one without lungs could manage.

“That’s it,” he says, “tonight you are getting a full night’s sleep for once in your life.  Where works best for you these days?”

His friend starts to protest but bites it off in response to another look from Sullivan.

“The aquatic drawing room.  The light and water help.”

“Aquatic drawing room it is,” Sullivan says as he rises to his feet and extends a hand.

His friend takes his hand and three tries to get up from the sofa.  Three wobbly steps later, they are leaning on his shoulder for support.  Now that the inhuman exhaustion has been acknowledged and allowed to be felt, it can now longer be denied or hidden.

“It’s not fair, you know,” his friend rambles while the two of them shamble down Bridgewood Manor’s labyrinthine hallways in a bubble of blue-white light from enchanted torches that light as they approach and extinguish as they pass by.  “Not fair that you don’t have to sleep when I still do.”

“It’s not so bad,” Sullivan says.  “It means that you’re still human enough for it.  And it means you can take a break every now and then.”

“You say that like you miss it.”

“Every now and then.”  All the time.  Human minds aren’t made for years of continuous uninterrupted consciousness.  “At least you don’t need as much as most people.  Just more than you’ve been getting.”

“You sure?  I think it’s like… the other thing.  I don’t feel tired if I don’t think about it, and there’s so much more I could be doing if I don’t.  So many more people I can help.  Do help?  Did help?  Have helped?  Would help?  Should help?  Help?  Help… help…”

Sullivan touches a finger to his friend’s lip to stop any more repetition of the syllable that’s lost its meaning.

“Letting yourself feel it will help with the other thing.  Real people get tired and sleep.”

“But you don’t sleep and you’re real.  You are real, aren’t you?”  Worry creeps into his friend’s tone.

“I’m real,” Sullivan reassures them, “but I’m not people, I’m a monster.”

His friend calms and chuckles.  “Heroes are supposed to slay monsters, you know?”  They joke with a poke to where Sullivan’s ribs should be.

“Not the ones they tame and take into battle with them,” he says.

The silence of two that have had a lifetime to say everything and are taking a breather before another round of saying it all again.

The seashell-and-wave-embossed doors to the aquatic drawing room are open when they arrive.  The only closed rooms in Bridgewood Manor are those currently occupied, those intentionally put out of mind, and those Sullivan is yet to figure out how to open.  Turning from the hallway to cross the threshold, footfalls morph from muffled paps on soft carpet, to sharp clacks on hard tile, to quiet whistles of softer sand.  The furniture here is carved from driftwood, salvaged from shipwrecks, hewn from abyssal vents.  Legs and armrests and backs are adorned with pearls, crusted with barnacles, inlaid with ichthyic fossils.  Upholstery is embroidered with sea beasts, sunken cities, deep-dwelling gods.  The seafloor stretches out in all directions, the floor-to-ceiling mural’s illusion played into rather than broken by the fractured stone archway over the door to the hall.  The stone arch once held a portal between worlds until it caused its builders’ civilization to drown beneath the waves.  Another one of Carnette’s decorative jokes to remind Sullivan of her absence.

All of it is awash in dancing caustic patterns of light from glowing corals reflected and refracted through the water suspended above.  The “surface” is just out of Sullivan’s reach if he stretches (as Carnette so enjoyed teasing him) and reaches a “depth” twice again that length before hitting the ceiling.  A single touch is all it would take to draw one off the floor and into the water above.  With Carnette gone, the water is no longer breathable, the marine simulacra float inanimate in the corners near the ceiling, and the surface occasionally ripples and drops a single salty tear to the sand and furniture below.  At least the crafting of the sand to never cling unwantedly remains effective.

“Couch or floor?” Sullivan asks his friend.

“Floor,” they say after a delayed processing of the question.

Sullivan helps his friend to a spot free from the ceiling’s tears and kneels down to help them from his shoulder to the floor.  He shifts to sitting on the floor leaning against the illusion-painted wall, one leg outstretched while the other makes an arch to rest arm on knee.  He looks down at his friend and asks “Need any help getting to sleep?”

His friend makes a small noise of affirmation.

“Once upon a time…” Sullivan begins.  He gets no further when he notices his friend make an expression he hesitates to place.  “What?”

“My first night back, you mentioned you had… something else that could help?  Could we… try that instead?”

Sullivan reminds himself that he doesn’t have a heart to break.  It mostly works.

“Of course,” he whispers.  Of all the off-hand comments for his friend’s inconstant memory to keep…

Sullivan produces a sewing needle pinched between thumb and forefinger.  It is gold with a core of bone and a tip of cold iron.  It is a gift fit for a princess.  It is the only thing he’s had longer than his friend.  He hasn’t held or looked at it since right after Carnette made him the way he is now.

Sullivan closes his lips around the tip of the needle.  He feels his tongue change inside his mouth.  He licks the needle to coat it with his venom.  That was the last change to what is left of his body that Carnette made, and one of the only such changes that were his idea.  This is the first time he’s been able to use it for its intended purpose.

Sullivan lets the tip of the needle cut his lip on the way out.  He can no longer bleed and the cut closes as fast as it opens.  Just as well.  The needle hasn’t tasted his blood since he met his friend, and for it to do so now would feel too much like an ending.  For the first time he wonders if he should have asked Carnette to let him keep his scars when she took them along with his wrinkles and grey hairs.

“This will let you sleep,” he says as light plays across the needle, “It will be deep and dreamless.  No getting trapped unable to wake up like with other sleep aids.  One prick on the finger and you’ll fall right under.”  

His friend stares at the needle.

“Just like the fairytale,” Sullivan adds with a smile that no one else has seen.  He had no reason for such soft sorrow with Carnette.

His friend nods.

“Would you like to do it, or me?” Sullivan asks.

His friend reaches out and takes the needle.

“Hold me?” they ask after a moment’s hesitation.

Sullivan moves to wrap his arms around his friend from behind and rests his head in the curve between shoulder and neck.

“Always,” he whispers.

His friend moves the tip of the needle held in one hand in the direction of the other.  Stops.  Tries again.  Shakes.  Tries again.  Freezes.  Looks down at their hands.

“What do my hands look like?” his friend whispers.  “Are my hands real?  Where are my hands?  How can I prick my finger if my hands aren’t real?”

Sullivan reminds himself that he doesn’t have a heart to break.  It would surely be pounding from fear otherwise.

“Shhh…shhh… It’s alright….  It’s alright, don’t overthink it,” he whispers back.  “Here, let me take care of it.”

“How can you tell where to hold me?”

“How could I not?  We’ve been together forever.  I know the shape of you without having to think about it.”

“What do I look like?”

“Like my best friend who is very tired but will feel much better after a good night’s sleep.  Now, are you ready?”

His friend nods.  “Stay with me?”

“Always.”

Sullivan reminds himself that he doesn’t have a heart to break.  It almost helps.

*******

The door to the office makes no sound as Sullivan slips inside.  Doors usually don’t make sounds when nobody touches them, so that is normal enough.  That which is beneath his skin ceases its writhing, space ceases its warping, and Sullivan takes a look around the darkened ground floor of the converted bed and breakfast.  

For a moment, he allows himself to see the place as the coffeehouse it was even before that.  The building and its family business were nearly as old as Carnette (relatively speaking) and she’d been a regular for over a century and a half.  Sullivan had been standing right… here, yes, here, behind where the counter used to be, when he first laid eyes on her in person.  He’d been pretending not to watch the door when she strode in, clad in a blue dress, broad red hat over curly red hair, and glasses with thick yellow lenses that hid the true color of her eyes.  He’d started working there a week before, with meticulously applied hair dye and makeup so that he could pass for the young college student he claimed to be.  She complimented him on getting her ludicrously specific order right on the first try and it was the foot in the door he’d hoped it would be for friendly conversation.  

The third time they met he felt confident enough to put his own special twist on the order to surprise her: A tasteless, odorless powder mixed in with the spread on her bagel and a drop of equally difficult to detect liquid in her drink.  Two substances that were harmless on their own but when broken down by stomach acid and mixed together would create a poison capable of negating a mage’s powers.  He’d followed her outside afterward under the pretense of being smitten with her and then attempted to stab her to death with an enchanted dagger out in the open on the sidewalk.

That particular job hadn’t even been about the money, he’d just wanted to see if he could kill the infamous sorceress Bridgewood and when he found out the one place she predictably frequented was a mundane coffeehouse with no Backstage connections where she’d have to risk breaking the Masquerade in order to use her powers, he had been arrogant enough to believe he could pull it off.  The poison had been less effective than anticipated, she’d been more subtle with her magic than her reputation suggested, and five minutes later he was half a continent away, lying in a puddle of his own blood, and holding a handwritten contracted written in that same liquid to kill whomever it was that hired him to assassinate her for triple their original pay offer.  She’d found the sheer audacity of the whole thing wonderfully entertaining and told him that if she’d be anyone else his plan would have worked. 

Thus began a courtship of increasingly elaborate and outlandish assassination attempts inevitably met by ever more novel methods of leaving him just barely alive.  

Sullivan opens his eyes that he hadn’t realized he’d closed.  Losing himself in fond reminiscence is the closest he gets to dreaming these days, but he reminds himself that he doesn’t have time for such indulgences right now.  It is hard though not to wonder if Carnette would have approved of what he’s done with the place.  If its last owner hadn’t changed his family business, would she still be here?  Or did she only refrain from spending a portion of her fortune to keep the coffeehouse as it was because she knew she didn’t have long for this world?  No way to know without asking her, and that day won’t be coming anytime soon.

But enough of that, he has investments to check up on before returning to his slumbering friend.

And speaking of slumbering friends, from where he’s standing he can spy Lacuna and Eris together on the living room couch, sharing a blanket and lit by the soft glow of a DVD logo bouncing around a black television screen.  Sullivan soundlessly walks over to get a better look at the intertwined pair and softly chuckles at the sight of the nearby open DVD case for some romantic comedy schlock.  Not the kind of sleeping together he’d been betting on the two of them getting up to, but perhaps it’s a step in that direction.

Thus amused, Sullivan turns his attention away from his sleeping employees and blinks through his filters.  The third most expensive part of the office’s renovations - behind only the pocket dimension basement and the paratech laboratory - was enchanting the entire property to record a heatmap of movements of anyone that enters that only he can see.  Floating threads and blotches of color appear for him throughout the office, varying in thickness and intensity with recency and repetition.  Each color corresponds to a different individual.  At a glance Sullivan can tell that most of the traffic on this floor goes directly from the front door to the basement and back out again, but Lacuna’s pink-flecked-black trail leads to the bedrooms upstairs more often than it leads outside and the pearl-white representing Ashan and the sea-teal leading away from Eris’s slumbering form have both spent quite some time lingering together in the kitchen.

Eris’s color surprises him.  He would have expected it to be closer to the crimson of  the other monster hunter currently residing upstairs.  The two recent sets of green lines also leading upstairs are curiously similar enough to one another that he almost wishes he’d paid more attention to Ashan’s recounting of his most recent adventure.  

There are no color trails representing Sullivan’s friend, but that’s to be expected.  Even if he had been holding out a vain hope for group interaction to coax out at least a faint proof of existence.

Downstairs, the hallway is a tangle of black, white, and teal that almost drowns out the faint traces of visiting clients.  The autodoc suite looks to have barely been touched, save for what looks to have been an extended stay of teal and black about a month ago.  The gymnasium’s sparring ring is covered in an unexpected swirl of teal and white that leaves Sullivan with questions on how such matches could possibly be going when only one of the participants is a mage.  Could it merely be practice for Ashan to keep physically fit without relying on magic?  More likely they’ve both simply been taking turns going up against Sullivan’s friend.

The laboratory and breakroom are so covered in floating black lines and blotches that Sullivan finds himself forced to clear his visual filters to make out the rooms themselves.  It seems that his earlier jokes about Lacuna playing mad scientist down here were more on target than he’d anticipated at the time, judging by how the heatmap is indicating she’s been effectively living in this laboratory for the past two months.

He struts over to the main computer terminal to take a look at what exactly she’s been up to down here.  He’d planned to make use of a hidden admin account he’d set up before handing everything over to her, but now it seems she hasn’t even bothered to password protect her login.  Sullivan tuts to himself at the shockingly naïve lack of security as he minimizes the open windows regarding simulation progress and test chamber results.  The juicy personal project details can wait until after he’s assessed how well she’s been doing the job he hired her for.

Sullivan goes through Lacuna’s bookmarks, tabs, email, and other messages to get an idea of her process of finding potential “missions” with which to keep his friend occupied.  Her divergence from the list of sites and forums he handed her on the first day to regularly check shows a promising modicum of initiative, although she could stand to be doing more on the supplemental detail gathering front.  If she’s going to be supporting his friend, then it's not enough for her to simply find people for them to help and situations for them to resolve; she needs to be doing research to know everything there is to know about whatever creatures or magical phenomena are involved or even tangentially related to the situation.

The fact that Lacuna apparently never went through the back issues of a certain Backstage newspaper masquerading as a mundane tabloid is particularly disappointing to Sullivan.  It was one of the original information sources he told her to familiarize herself with, and if she’d done so properly she would have seen that her aunt used to write articles for it.  Although in retrospect, perhaps that’s for the best.  Even if the whole team has been brought up to speed on Sullivan’s investigation, for the moment Lacuna’s likely to recognize her place as the weak link in the organization and stay safely here in her lab.  But if she were to realize just the sort of person her aunt is, then she might start pushing to do field work too, and Sullivan’s friend wouldn’t have the heart to tell her no.

Sullivan doesn’t think his friend will be able to take another weak teammate getting into an avoidable situation and dying.

He deletes the browser bookmark for the newspaper.

Just before finishing up invading the privacy of Lacuna’s browser and email history, he notices an unread email from RevaTech, the paratech company that bought out her previous employer.  The company she stole a copy of her project back from on her way out the door.  The email is an unsolicited offer for a job interview to come back and work for them.  Sullivan hovers over the button to delete it but changes his mind.  It’ll be more entertaining to watch for her reaction.

Sullivan moves on to going through Lacuna’s notes on the mission reports she’s been sending him and scrubbing through the records of the comm link cameras.  Some might call his checking to make sure there’s nothing she’s been leaving out paranoid, but paranoid is his default state with anyone working with his friend.  The only surprise is how accurate it all is.  Not even any editorializing.  The only truly noteworthy bit is a comment about his friend not showing up right on camera with a followup comment stating that she’s been informed that’s normal for them.  Judging by her notes, it seems she assumes it’s some kind of stealth charm, maybe a function of the symbiote jacket.  Sullivan knows it’s not.

Sullivan checks his golden pocketwatch and judges that he still has enough time left to at least skim the logs of the simulations, rituals, and enchantments that have been performed down her before he needs to head back to check on his friend.  The more he reads, the more he pieces together how the digitally accelerated and computer generated rituals work, and the more he gathers what she’s been using it for.  Pieces click into place for him.  The more he understands, the more fascinated he becomes.  And the more entertained.

Sullivan blink to a different filter from before and sees a swirling cacophony of white noise that he can practically hear through his eyeballs emanating from the shelves of enchanted laser-engraved charms and 3D printed talismans. He strides down to the stark white testing chamber, switches his vision back to the heatmap filter, and sees a rope of pink-flecked black threads enter from the laboratory and turn into a tangled rainbow mess in the center of the room.  He switches to a third filter, returns to the lab’s entrance, and takes a long hard look at the rows of refrigerated paratech server racks behind their glass wall.

He begins laughing.

“Oh techie,” he crows, “do you have any idea what you’re growing down here?”

Almost certainly not, but it’s going to be delicious to watch.

Sullivan collects himself from the entertainment of watching fools accidentally do what the wise can only dream of and checks the time again.  He heads upstairs.  There’s a slim chance that his friend will recover from his venom faster than most and it’s vitally important that he be there when they wake up.  And if they're still asleep, then he’ll take the time to read through the report of all the tomes Ashan has read in the Manor’s lesser library that he had the maintenance golems record for him.  It’s been said that research makes the wizard, so his choices of reading material should be able to tell Sullivan plenty.  And if he judges Ashan’s path of study wanting, he can see to it that certain choice volumes containing magic more likely to be helpful to his friend find themselves conveniently placed for the young wizard to find.

He has just closed the door separating basement from ground floor behind him when he hears the creaky step on the staircase to the upper level signal someone’s descent.  Hanging back in the shadows, he watches a golden-haired woman kitted out in black leather and kevlar carry a long spear past the reception desk towards the front door.  She pauses for a moment to look at the still-sleeping Eris and Lacuna on the living room couch and Sullivan curses his angle of observation for not permitting him to see her expression.  He moves closer, behind the reception desk, and just at the edge of her peripheral vision.  Now is that jealousy on her face, or longing?  No, too bittersweet for either.  Parting sorrow sprinkled with regret and seasoned with just a dash of guilt.  Delectable.

“A little overdressed for grabbing a midnight snack from the kitchen, aren’t we?” Sullivan purrs.

The woman - Gretchen, Sullivan surmises from the little attention he paid earlier - slips a knife from her combat vest as she turns to face the man who had not been behind her a moment before.  Sullivan lifts a finger to casually push aside the blade hovering in front of his nose.

“Now, now, none of that,” he softly lilts.  “We wouldn’t want to wake your former paramour and your replacement, now would we?”

“Who are you?” Gretchen hisses.

“My, what lovely golden eyes you have.  The better to see me with, yes?  And such sharp teeth.  The better to eat me with, surely.”

Gretchen takes a long step back and lowers her spear between them.

“Oh, but wherever are my manners?  Sullivan Bridgewood, at my service.  I own this place.”  He leans closer over the reception desk.  “Now tell me, Gretchen, are your accommodations not to your liking?  There are no late checkout fees you know, so no need to go sneaking off like a thief in the night.”

“Oh, so you’re the asshole boss Eris mentioned.”

“Yes, I’m afraid muscles over there and I have been something of an oil and water combination.”

Gretchen stiffens at the nickname.  “Don’t call her that.”

“Oh?  Muscles?  I’ve found it perfectly apt.  Both a physical descriptor and summary of her utility and purpose.  What else can one want from a nickname?”

“E’s - Eris is… more than that.”

Sullivan leans closer still, resting his chin on interlaced fingers.  “Do tell.”

Gretchen scoffs and turns back toward the front door.  “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Or you could tell her directly if you prefer,” Sullivan says, no longer whispering.

Over on the couch, Lacua stirs at the sudden noise and Eris grunts at the shifting weight on her lap, but both remain asleep for the moment.  Gretchen freezes with her hand on the doorknob.  Sullivan smirks as she stands still, listening for a change in the sleepers’ breathing.

“Bastard,” she mutters.

“Only figuratively,” Sullivan whispers back.  “But not so much of one as to make you spill all those feelings you know you shouldn’t still have for someone you thought you were over.  Tell me but one worthwhile skill of hers that I’m underutilizing by employing her as meat shield and wrecking ball and I’ll let you walk out quietly.”

Gretchen glares at him.

“Admitting you can’t think of anything is also an option,” Sullivan hums.

“You know the monster hunters’ fifth fate?  Letting your identity, your sense of self, get so consumed by the love of the hunt that it kicks off an autogenesis cascade?  She brought me back from that.  Not pulling me back from the edge just in time, but actually brought me back after I’d willingly embraced it.  I had already changed and now I’m myself again.  That doesn’t happen.  Do you have any idea what it takes to call someone back like that?  What kind of person it takes?”

A face unrecognized in a mirror.  Years gone in an instant.  An empty shell.  Gaps filled in with fairytales.  Cries in the night.  Soft words in ears and gentle hands running through hair.  Reassurances of reality.  Proof offered of existence.  Activities curated to prevent cognitive dissonance.

Void Without, he’s an idiot.

Sullivan’s smirk fades.

“I do, believe it or not.  Thank you for the eye-opening reminder.  Truly.”

“You’re welcome,” Gretchen replies, wary of his sudden shift in disposition.

“Now, judging from personal experience, you’re not fully out of the woods yet, and you know it, but you don’t want to weigh down anyone you care about with it so you’re trying to distance yourself as quietly as possible.  I’ve seen firsthand how hard that can be.”

“You don’t know -”

“Yes.  I do.  And I also know enough to guess that you don’t have a plan beyond stepping out that door, so let me give you one.”  Sullivan places a calling card on the reception desk and taps on it.  “Go to this address in Crossherd before sunrise and ask for Lucinda.  Tell her Sullivan Prince sent you and explain your situation.  She’ll find you work that will be engaging without too much risk of sending you spiralling down again.  I’ve found by experience that finding something to put yourself into and care about is the best way to keep from losing yourself.”

Sullivan steps back and Gretchen cautiously approaches, picks up the calling card, and examines it.

“Why?” she asks.

Sullivan’s ever-bemused smirk returns, even more of an affectation than normal.

“I may be a bastard,” he trills as he walks around her and towards the door, “but I am still capable of a modicum of sympathy for fools in the same situations I’ve been through.  Oh, and one more thing.”  He stops at the door and jerks his head towards Eris.  “Unless you want to hurt her, at least leave a note before you disappear.”

That which is beneath Sullivan’s skin writhes, space warps, and he disappears, leaving Gretchen alone in the darkened room.

*******

To his relief, Sullivan’s friend is still asleep on the sandy floor when he returns to the aquatic drawing room.  The purple and green symbiote they wear has transformed itself from jacket to bedroll.

“Thanks for looking out for them,” Sullivan whispers to it as he settles down next to his friend.  He is still unsure whether the strange entity can even understand speech, but some sentiments are worth voicing anyway.

He closes his eyes and listens to his friend’s steady, peaceful, breathing and doesn’t think about what he would or wouldn’t see if he watched their sleeping face.  He knows he should send for the report on Ashan’s library usage rather than spend his time idle, but he procrastinates.  How many more nights like this will he get to have at his friend’s side?

The conversation with Gretchen and its implications turns over in his mind.  He’s never been able to find a worthy replacement for himself, and he’s just about given up on ever finding any one person fit for the job, but what if it were three people working together to take on his responsibilities?  One to do the information gathering and stay up to date on technology that rejects them, and two to share the joint burdens of following them into danger and recognizing when they need emotional support.  That was the whole reason he agreed to this ill-conceived enterprise, wasn’t it?  He hadn’t really believed in it working until now, but could it?  They haven’t gotten there yet, but could they?

Void Without, he hopes so.

His friend deserves someone better than him.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

[nkyangiehomes]

Drink In Style: Home Bar Cabinet Designs For Your Home

A home bar cabinet is more than just a piece of furniture—it’s a statement of style and sophistication. Whether you’re a mixology enthusiast or enjoy casual get-togethers with friends, having a dedicated space for your drinks and barware can elevate your home entertaining experience.

Benefits of Having a Home Bar Cabinet Convenience of Entertaining A home bar cabinet keeps all your essentials in one place, making hosting guests effortless and enjoyable.

Organizing Your Bar Essentials No more hunting for glasses or cocktail shakers—a bar cabinet provides designated spots for everything.

Elevating Your Home Aesthetic With the right design, a home bar cabinet can act as a stylish focal point, enhancing your home decor.

Types of Home Bar Cabinets Freestanding Bar Cabinets Freestanding units are versatile and easy to move, making them ideal for renters or those who love flexibility.

Built-in Bar Cabinets Perfect for homeowners, built-in cabinets integrate seamlessly with your interiors and add a touch of permanence.

Corner Bar Cabinets Great for small spaces, corner units maximize utility while minimizing their footprint.

Wall-Mounted Bar Cabinets These sleek cabinets save floor space and can double as decorative wall elements.

Materials and Finishes for Bar Cabinets Wood for Classic Elegance Timeless and versatile, wooden bar cabinets blend well with almost any interior style.

Metal and Glass for Modern Chic For a contemporary look, choose bar cabinets with metallic frames and glass shelves.

Marble Accents for Luxury Marble countertops or accents bring a sense of opulence and sophistication to your bar setup.

Design Ideas for Home Bar Cabinets Minimalist Designs for Small Spaces Compact designs with clean lines and neutral tones are perfect for small apartments.

Rustic and Farmhouse-Inspired Bar Cabinets Distressed wood finishes and wrought iron details give a cozy, vintage charm.

Vintage-Style Bar Cabinets Choose retro designs with intricate carvings or mid-century modern aesthetics for a nostalgic vibe.

Glamorous Bar Cabinets with LED Lighting Built-in lighting can highlight your glassware and spirits, adding a dramatic effect.

Customizing Your Home Bar Cabinet Adding Wine Racks and Glass Holders Incorporate racks and holders to keep wine bottles and glasses secure and easily accessible.

Choosing Colors to Match Your Interior Opt for colors and finishes that complement your home’s theme, from neutral tones to bold hues.

Personalized Storage for Spirits and Mixers Design your cabinet with custom compartments to fit your favorite bottles and mixers.

Functional Features to Consider Compact Folding Cabinets Folding designs are ideal for space-saving and can be tucked away when not in use.

Lockable Storage for Safety If you have kids or pets, a lockable cabinet ensures safety and keeps your spirits secure.

Multi-Level Shelving for Versatility Adjustable shelving lets you store items of varying sizes, from tall bottles to small accessories.

Styling Your Home Bar Cabinet Displaying Your Best Glassware Showcase your crystal glasses or designer barware to add a touch of sophistication.

Adding Decorative Elements Incorporate decorative trays, coasters, or even a small plant to enhance your cabinet’s aesthetic.

Organizing Accessories for Quick Access Keep cocktail shakers, stirrers, and napkins neatly arranged for easy reach.

Home Bar Cabinet Ideas for Different Spaces Bar Cabinets for Apartments Opt for compact designs that combine functionality with a small footprint.

Designs for Open-Plan Living Areas Choose a bar cabinet that doubles as a room divider or integrates seamlessly into your living space.

Outdoor Bar Cabinet Ideas Weather-resistant materials like teak or stainless steel make outdoor bar cabinets a practical choice for patios.

Tips for Maintaining Your Home Bar Cabinet Regular Cleaning for Longevity Dust and clean surfaces regularly to keep your cabinet looking pristine.

Organizing for Accessibility Rearrange items periodically to ensure the most-used items are easy to access.

Ensuring Proper Lighting If your cabinet includes lighting, replace bulbs promptly to maintain ambiance and functionality.

Conclusion A home bar cabinet isn’t just functional—it’s a reflection of your personal style and hospitality. From compact designs for small spaces to luxurious options for larger homes, there’s a bar cabinet to suit every need and aesthetic. With the right setup, you’ll be ready to serve your favorite drinks in style and impress your guests every time.

To Known More . . . https://angiehomes.co/blogs/press/home-bar-cabinet-designs

[nurtured-nest1]

Designing an Elegant Home Bar Area Introduction: Creating a Stylish Home Bar That’s Both Functional and Elegant A home bar can be the perfect addition to your living space, offering a stylish and functional place to entertain guests or unwind after a long day. From chic countertops to sleek storage, here’s how to design an elegant home bar area that reflects your personal style and enhances your interior decor.

Choosing the Right Location for Your Home Bar The first step in designing a home bar is selecting the right location. Ideally, your bar area should be close to the kitchen or living room, making it easy for you to entertain guests. A small alcove or corner in your dining room or living room can easily be transformed into an elegant bar. If you have a larger space, consider adding a freestanding bar cart for versatility.

Elegant Materials and Finishes To achieve an elegant look, focus on high-quality materials and finishes. Marble, granite, or polished wood countertops can give the bar area a luxurious feel. For the cabinetry, opt for wood finishes like walnut or dark oak for a sophisticated vibe, or go for sleek glass or metal shelving for a modern touch.

Investing in Stylish Bar Furniture Bar stools are a key element in creating an elegant home bar. Choose upholstered stools with luxurious fabrics like velvet or leather for a chic and comfortable seating option. Gold or brass finishes on the legs or bases of your bar stools can add a touch of glamour. For a truly refined look, consider adding a statement bar chair in a rich color or material.

Lighting to Set the Mood Proper lighting is essential for setting the mood of your home bar. Install pendant lights or a statement chandelier above the bar area to create a focal point and highlight the space. Soft, warm lighting can add intimacy, while task lighting ensures you can prepare drinks efficiently. LED strips under shelves or cabinets can add a modern touch and make the area feel even more inviting.

Storage Solutions for Bottles and Glassware Elegance is not only about appearance but also functionality. Ensure your home bar has ample storage for bottles, glassware, and bar tools. Floating shelves, mirrored cabinets, and wine racks are perfect for keeping your bar essentials organized while maintaining a clean, stylish look.

Personal Touches and Accessories Accessories such as vintage glassware, a stylish ice bucket, or a unique cocktail shaker can elevate your bar’s elegance. Consider displaying your favorite liquors in beautiful decanters, or adding a decorative tray to hold glassware and bar tools. For an extra touch of luxury, display art or a mirror above the bar to reflect light and add dimension.

[beautifulhandle]

How to Coordinate Brushed Chrome Door Knobs with Your Interior Design

Greetings from a world where little things have a tremendous influence! Have you ever thought about how a seemingly insignificant item like door knobs may change the look of your room? You're in the proper place if you're hesitant or even just nodding. Although brushed chrome door knobs are elegant, multipurpose, and classic, their beauty really comes in how you combine them with your interior design.

Let's get started with this tutorial, which will help you think about your own style in addition to providing you with ideas. Are you ready? Come on!

1. What makes brushed chrome door knobs the best option? Let's Discuss Appeal!

Let's begin with a brief inquiry:

How do you initially feel about door knobs made of brushed chrome?

• A) Stylish and modern; B) Stylish but subtle; C) Low maintenance and useful

You're exactly right if you selected any of the options above! The best qualities of both worlds are combined in brushed chrome, which is neutral, resists fingerprints, and complements most interior design trends.

Consider This:

Do you see a lot of earthy tones, bright hues, or monochromes in your existing decor? Depending on the mood you choose, brushed chrome door knobs can either blend in or stick out like a blank canvas.

2. Coordinate the Knobs with the Style of Your House

This is a brief test: What kind of décor do you have in your home?

• A) Modern or minimalist; B) Traditional or rustic; C) Bold or eclectic

If A: Modern or Minimalist was your response

Your best friend is a brushed chrome door knob! Its understated finish and simple lines go well with: • Smooth black or white doors.

• Metal or glass furniture.

• Color schemes that are neutral.

Try This: For a bold, modern contrast, combine matte black accessories with brushed chrome door handles.

If you choose B, would you say traditional or rustic?

Unexpected! The brushed chrome door knob is also functional here. It can subtly update the look without dominating the vintage feel.

• For wooden doors with warm stains, choose door knobs made of brushed chrome.

• Coordinate with furniture that has pewter or brushed nickel finishes.

Fun Idea: To counterbalance the modernism of chrome with classic appeal, add soft, vintage-inspired curtains or carpets.

If You Selected C: Bold or Eclectic

Have fun! Brushed chrome door knobs can serve as a source of calm amidst a flurry of hues and designs.

• Use them in conjunction with vivid, striking door colors (think pink, mustard, or even teal).

• To bring various finishes together, use chrome.

The task is to locate one unique, vibrant piece of furniture that goes well with the muted gleam of brushed chrome door knobs!

3. Select Hardware Finishes That Go Well Together

Take a moment to look around you. Which metal finishes are most prevalent in your room?

• Brass?

• Black matte?

• Copper?

Combining Metals:

You can mix metals, yes! The trick is this:

• Limit yourself to two finishes: brushed chrome and another.

• Make sure one metal serves as the main focus and the other as a supporting element.

For instance, in the kitchen, match a matte black faucet with brushed chrome door knobs.

• For a stylish look and feel, use gold light fixtures and brushed chrome door knobs in the living area.

Your Turn: Take a moment to examine the space you are now in. Which metals are visible, and what role does brushed chrome play?

4. Coordinate Door Knobs with Door Designs

Consider this scenario: Your door is antiquated, yet you have a stylish brushed chrome door knob. Oh no. Let's make that right.

Tips for Pairing Door Style with Knobs:

1. Flat Panel Doors: Select streamlined knobs made of brushed chrome that are cylindrical.

2. Shaker-Style Doors: Use chrome levers or traditional round knobs.

3. French or glass doors: Take a look at contemporary lever handles in brushed chrome door knobs.

Quick tip: Imagine your door with a new knob in a photo. Observe what? Are you in need of motivation? Continue reading!

5. Experiment with hues and textures

It's time to use your imagination now. What color is your door? (Really, if you have to, go look!)

Combinations of Brushed Chrome with Door Color:

• White Doors: Featuring brushed chrome door knobs london, these doors are classic and clean.

• Black or dark doors: stunning and ultra-modern.

• Wooden Doors: A door knob in brushed chrome creates a modest yet stylish contrast.

Try repainting your doors in a striking tone like navy blue or emerald green for a striking appearance. Stick to muted colors and let the chrome show up subtly if you're more of a subtle person.

6. Align with the elements of the decor

A brief challenge: Examine your décor, lighting, and furniture. Do they match the hardware on your door?

Advice to Bring Everything Together:

• Furnishings: Give tables and chairs brushed chrome legs or accents.

• Lighting: Select light fittings made of mixed metal or brushed chrome.

• Accessories: Seek out switch plates, vases, or picture frames made of chrome.

Quick Task: Identify one thing in each room of your house that would go well with brushed chrome door knobs.

7. Pay Attention to Usability

This is a query: Do you have distinct uses for different doors? For instance, busy versus ornamental areas?

Useful Advice for Choosing Knobs:

• High-traffic areas: Install brushed chrome door knobs with robust, ergonomic shapes.

• Decorative Doors: To improve the appearance, choose distinctive patterns or matching backplates.

Pro Tip: For maximum impact, replace the knobs on only the most noticeable doors if you're on a tight budget!

8. Include a Personal Touch

Have you considered unusual combos or custom finishes? Think about including: • Door knobs with etched designs.

• Door knobs made of brushed chrome with colored glass inlays.

• To create a unique look, mix & match knob designs.

DIY Challenge: Use decorative backplates made of contrasting materials to personalize your brushed chrome door knobs.

9. Pay Attention to Trends

Did you know that Scandinavian and modern farmhouse interiors frequently feature brushed chrome? These designs frequently combine chrome with natural wood tones.

• Decor that is minimalistic.

• Neutral fabrics, such as wool or linen.

Your Trendy Tip: To learn how designers are utilizing brushed chrome door knobs, follow Pinterest boards or home décor magazines.

10. Remember the Specifics

A little-known fact is that matching involves more than simply color and polish; it also involves scale.

• Big Doors: Make use of brushed chrome door knobs that are a little too big.

• Thin or Small Doors: Continue using subtle, smaller designs.

A quick tip: Measure your doors and compare options in-store the next time you're shopping for knobs.

Case Studies

1. Shoreditch Creative Workspace

Challenge: To bring its vibrant, bright interiors together, a Shoreditch co-working space needs a unifying design feature.

Solution: To bring coherence to a variety of workplace environments, brightly painted doors were paired with brushed chrome door handles.

Results: Chrome's durability endured daily wear and tear from continuous use; it provided a modern yet neutral anchor for the eclectic design; and it received positive feedback from clients who valued the workspace's meticulous design.

2. Richmond Eco-Friendly House

Challenge: Eco-friendly materials and a classic design were needed for a sustainable refurbishment in Richmond.

Solution: In keeping with the homeowner's eco-friendly objectives, repurposed hardwood doors were fitted with brushed chrome door knobs london composed of recycled components.

Results: • Reduced long-term maintenance requirements because of the long-lasting, low-maintenance finish; • The adaptability of brushed chrome allowed it to merge effortlessly with both reclaimed wood and contemporary fixtures; • Achieved the ideal balance between modern style and environmental sustainability.

Brushed Chrome Door Knob Quick Stats

1. Market Growth: The $9.1 billion global door hardware market is expanding at a rate of 4.8% per year.

2. Renovation Trend: When renovating, 38% of homeowners replace their door hardware.

3. Neutral Interiors: Brushed chrome looks good with the neutral color schemes used in 60% of homes.

4. Metal Mixing: For a more contemporary appearance, 45% of homeowners combine metal finishes like brass and chrome.

5. Modern Style: Sleek, contemporary interior choices are preferred by more than half of households.

6. Low Maintenance: Low-maintenance materials, such as brushed chrome, are valued by 70% of homeowners.

7. Durability: With the right maintenance, brushed chrome finishes can endure for ten or more years.

8. Smart Locks: The CAGR for smart door locks with brushed chrome finishes is 21.4%.

These figures demonstrate the usefulness and style of brushed chrome door knobs!

FAQs: How to Coordinate Your Decor with Brushed Chrome Door Knobs

1. Are brushed chrome door knobs compatible with conventional interior design?

Of course! Traditional homes can be subtly updated with brushed chrome door knobs. For a unified style, pair them with warm-toned furniture, wooden doors, and other brushed metal finishes like pewter or nickel.

2. Can brushed chrome be combined with other metal finishes?

Indeed! Mixing metals is a common practice. To prevent a cluttered appearance, simply limit yourself to two or three finishes. For example, matte black or antique brass looks great with brushed chrome.

3. Which door hues complement brushed chrome door knobs the most?

Brushed chrome goes well with a wide range of hues and is quite adaptable. It complements white, gray, or natural wood tones well and looks great on doors that are dark, navy, or black.

4. How should brushed chrome door knobs be maintained?

Brushed chrome door knobs require little upkeep. Use a gentle cloth and a mild soap solution to clean. Because they can harm the finish, stay away from abrasive cleansers.

5. Can door knobs made of brushed chrome be used outside?

Yes, but make sure the brushed chrome door knobs  are made especially to resist outside use. To avoid corrosion or tarnishing, choose premium brushed chrome with a long-lasting finish.

6. Do brushed chrome door knobs come in a variety of styles?

Of course! There are several different types of brushed chrome door knobs, such as circular, cylindrical, and lever handles. Select a look that complements your home's overall design.

7. Is it simple to swap out old door knobs for brushed chrome ones?

Generally speaking, yes. Standard sizes of brushed chrome door knobs that fit existing door hardware are available. Just make sure to verify that the screw spacing and latch are compatible.

8. Does eclectic decor look good with brushed chrome door knobs?

Of course! In striking, unconventional settings, brushed chrome can serve as a neutral component. For a well-balanced appearance, pair them with vibrant doors or distinctive décor elements.

9. Are brushed chrome door knobs available in environmentally friendly options?

Indeed, a lot of firms now create environmentally friendly door hardware using sustainable production techniques or recycled materials. Check for eco-friendly labels or certifications.

Conclusion

In summary, balance is key when matching brushed chrome door knobs to your decor. These adaptable knobs may flawlessly complete your ensemble, whether you're aiming for bold eclectic vibes, traditional charm, or modern simplicity.

[jakedoors]

Choosing the Perfect Cabinetry Handles: A Guide to Styles, Materials, and Finishes

Introduction

Cabinetry handles may seem like small details, but they play a crucial role in enhancing your space's functionality and aesthetics. From sleek modern pulls to classic knobs, the right cabinetry handles can transform the look of your furniture while ensuring everyday convenience. With numerous styles, materials, and finishes to choose from, finding the perfect handles can be overwhelming. This comprehensive guide explores the types of cabinetry handles, their materials, and finishes, offering practical tips to help you make the best choice for your home.

Exploring Types of Cabinetry Handles

1. Pulls

Pull handles are long and versatile, often used on drawers and cabinets. They are particularly popular in modern and contemporary designs due to their streamlined appearance. Available in various lengths, pulls provide a firm grip and can be installed vertically or horizontally for different looks.

2. Knobs

Knobs are a classic option for cabinetry, featuring a single attachment point. They are easy to install, come in countless shapes and sizes, and work well in traditional or eclectic designs. Knobs are a great choice for smaller cabinets or spaces with limited room.

3. Cup Handles

Cup handles, also known as bin pulls, feature a semi-circular design that is easy to grip. They are commonly used in kitchens with a rustic, farmhouse, or vintage aesthetic and pair beautifully with shaker-style cabinetry.

4. Edge Pulls

Edge pulls are minimalistic handles installed along the edges of cabinets and drawers. These are ideal for ultra-modern or minimalist interiors, offering a sleek and understated look while remaining functional.

5. Bar Handles

Bar handles are cylindrical and versatile, making them a popular choice for modern kitchens and bathrooms. They are ergonomic and available in various lengths, complementing both small drawers and tall pantry doors.

Materials for Cabinetry Handles

1. Metal

Metal is a durable and stylish choice, available in finishes like stainless steel, brass, nickel, and bronze. Metal handles suit modern, industrial, and traditional designs, offering a broad range of aesthetics.

2. Wood

Wooden handles add warmth and texture to cabinetry, often used in rustic or Scandinavian-style interiors. They are available in natural wood tones or painted finishes to match your decor.

3. Glass or Crystal

Glass and crystal handles bring a touch of elegance and luxury to cabinetry, making them ideal for vintage or glamorous interiors. While visually stunning, they are less durable than metal and wood.

4. Ceramic

Ceramic handles are often hand-painted and available in intricate designs. They add a decorative element to cabinetry, particularly in traditional or eclectic spaces.

Finishes to Consider

1. Polished

Polished finishes, such as chrome or brass, create a shiny and reflective surface that adds brightness and elegance to any space.

2. Matte

Matte finishes, including black and brushed metals, offer a subtle and modern look, ideal for contemporary or minimalist designs.

3. Antique

Antique finishes, such as aged brass or bronze, evoke a vintage charm and pair well with classic or farmhouse interiors.

4. Satin

Satin finishes strike a balance between polished and matte, offering a smooth and understated appearance suitable for various styles.

Choosing Cabinetry Handles for Different Rooms

1. Kitchen

In the kitchen, functionality is key. Choose handles that are durable, easy to clean, and complement your cabinetry. Bar pulls and edge pulls are popular for modern kitchens, while cup handles and knobs suit traditional designs.

2. Bathroom

For the bathroom, moisture-resistant materials like stainless steel or brass are ideal. Opt for finishes that coordinate with your faucets and fixtures for a cohesive look.

3. Bedroom or Living Room

In these spaces, you can experiment with decorative handles that enhance the overall aesthetic. Consider glass, ceramic, or antique brass handles for a stylish touch.

Tips for Installation

1. Maintain Consistency

Ensure that the handles across your cabinets and drawers are consistent in style and finish to create a cohesive look.

2. Placement Matters

For drawers, handles should be centred for symmetry. For cabinets, install handles vertically near the opening edge for easy access.

3. Test Before Final Installation

Before drilling holes, test the handle placement with adhesive strips to find the most comfortable and visually appealing position.

Conclusion

Cabinetry handles are more than functional accessories; they are design elements that reflect your style and enhance the usability of your cabinets. With various types, materials, and finishes available, you can customise your cabinetry to match your interior decor perfectly. Whether you prefer sleek modern bar pulls, classic knobs, or intricate ceramic designs, the right handles can elevate the aesthetic of your space while ensuring everyday practicality. Take the time to explore your options, consider your needs, and make an informed choice to transform your cabinetry into a stylish and functional feature of your home.

[interiorcollective40]

Transforming Your Space: Farmhouse Barndominium Interior Ideas

A Farmhouse Barndominium Interior is the perfect blend of rustic charm and modern comfort. Inspired by the simplicity of farm life and the rugged elegance of barns, a barndominium offers a spacious and versatile living space. If you're looking to create a home that combines the warmth of farmhouse aesthetics with the practicality of a barn, then the Farmhouse Barndominium Interior design might be exactly what you need. In this blog, we'll explore ideas to help you design the perfect farmhouse-inspired barndominium that will feel like both a sanctuary and a celebration of rural living.

Embrace Open-Concept Layouts

One of the main features of a Farmhouse Barndominium Interior is an open-concept floor plan. This design emphasizes spaciousness and allows for a flow of natural light throughout the home. Large windows are essential to bringing in sunlight and showcasing the outdoor beauty that typically surrounds a barndominium. The open layout makes it easy to create zones for different functions—whether you want a cozy living room area or a grand kitchen island for entertaining guests.

Incorporate reclaimed wood beams to further enhance the rustic charm. Exposed beams give a nod to the barn aspect of your Farmhouse Barndominium Interior and create a welcoming, warm atmosphere. Pair them with vaulted ceilings to emphasize the vertical space and achieve that airy, open feel.

Natural Materials for a Rustic Touch

Natural materials should play a key role in any Farmhouse Barndominium Interior. Wood, stone, and metal all work together to evoke a sense of authenticity and craftsmanship. Wood floors, preferably in a distressed or weathered finish, enhance the rustic appeal and pair beautifully with light, neutral tones on walls.

Consider using reclaimed wood for furniture pieces like coffee tables, dining tables, or shelving. For walls, shiplap is an iconic farmhouse element that adds texture and character. You can also integrate stone accents for a natural yet elegant look—whether it's a stone fireplace in the living room or a stone backsplash in the kitchen. Metals such as iron, steel, and copper can be used for light fixtures, railings, and hardware, adding a sleek contrast to the natural wood and stone elements.

Warm and Neutral Color Palette

When designing a Farmhouse Barndominium Interior, choosing the right color palette is essential to achieving that cozy, welcoming farmhouse feel. Neutral shades like whites, grays, and beige dominate farmhouse interiors, offering a soothing backdrop for other design elements. This allows the natural materials of the home to shine and creates an open, airy space.

To add warmth, incorporate deep, earthy tones like taupe, sage green, or rustic browns. These colors work beautifully in the living areas, bedrooms, and even kitchens. When choosing paint colors, opt for matte or satin finishes to maintain the rustic, relaxed feel of a farmhouse environment. Accent colors like navy blue or mustard yellow can be used sparingly in textiles, like throw pillows, rugs, or curtains, to add pops of personality.

Farmhouse-Inspired Kitchen

The kitchen is the heart of any Farmhouse Barndominium Interior. A spacious, open kitchen with plenty of storage is essential for functionality and flow. Opt for farmhouse-style cabinetry, such as shaker cabinets, and consider adding open shelving for a more casual, lived-in look. An oversized kitchen island is perfect for preparing meals and serving guests, and it can double as a breakfast bar.

Farmhouse sinks, typically deep and wide, offer both practical utility and charm. Stainless steel or apron-front sinks with vintage-inspired faucets create the perfect kitchen focal point. Complement this with modern appliances that maintain a clean and simple look while offering high-end functionality.

Cozy Bedrooms with Farmhouse Charm

In a Farmhouse Barndominium Interior, the bedrooms should feel like peaceful retreats, offering both comfort and style. Begin with a neutral color scheme and layer on textured linens and blankets to create a cozy atmosphere. A wooden bed frame, whether made from reclaimed wood or a more polished finish, adds a touch of rustic elegance.

Incorporate vintage or antique furniture pieces like dressers and nightstands to complete the farmhouse look. Adding elements like woven baskets, patterned throw rugs, and vintage-inspired light fixtures will further enhance the cozy, laid-back style of your bedroom.

Creative Use of Space

The spacious design of a Farmhouse Barndominium Interior allows for creativity when it comes to how space is used. Open floor plans make it easy to blend living, dining, and kitchen areas seamlessly. However, this expansive design can also be used to create special niches within the home, such as reading corners or small sitting areas by windows.

If you have an expansive attic or loft space, it can be transformed into a cozy office or a second living room. The high ceilings in a barndominium also offer the opportunity for lofted spaces or hanging features, adding depth and personality to your home.

Functional and Stylish Bathrooms

The bathroom is another key area in the Farmhouse Barndominium Interior design. Use subway tiles for a classic look, and incorporate freestanding bathtubs or walk-in showers with modern fixtures. Wooden vanities, copper faucets, and industrial-style lighting fixtures can balance the rustic appeal with a touch of modern luxury.

Be sure to integrate plenty of storage, including open shelving, to maintain the farmhouse look without sacrificing functionality. Vintage mirrors or antique-inspired bathroom accessories will tie the whole space together.

Conclusion

A Farmhouse Barndominium Interior offers the ideal balance of rustic farmhouse aesthetics and modern comfort, making it an exceptional choice for anyone seeking a spacious, inviting home with a touch of country charm. By incorporating natural materials, neutral colors, and farmhouse-inspired elements, you can transform your barndominium into a warm, welcoming space that celebrates both practicality and beauty. Whether you are building or renovating, a Farmhouse Barndominium Interior will provide you with a timeless, cozy home that blends the best of farmhouse living with modern design trends.

[webironmongeryofficial1]

Ways to Match Brushed Chrome Door Knobs with Your Decor

Welcome to a world where small details make a big impact! Have you ever considered how something as seemingly minor as door knobs can transform your space? If you’re nodding or even hesitating, you’re in the right place. Brushed chrome door knobs are sleek, versatile, and timeless, but the magic lies in how you style them with your decor.

So, let’s dive into this interactive guide where we will not only give you ideas but also get you thinking about your unique style. Ready? Let’s go!

1. Why choose brushed chrome door knobs? Let’s Talk Appeal!

Let’s start with a quick question:

What’s your first impression of brushed chrome door knobs?

• A) Modern and stylish

• B) Sleek but understated

• C) Practical and low-maintenance

If you picked any of the above, you’re spot on! Brushed chrome combines the best of all worlds—it’s neutral, doesn’t show fingerprints easily, and works well with most interior styles.

Think About This:

When you look at your current decor, does it lean towards bold colors, earthy tones, or monochromes? Brushed chrome door knobs act like a neutral canvas that can either blend in or stand out depending on the vibe you want.

2. Match the Knobs to Your Home’s Style

Here’s a quick quiz: What’s your home’s decor style?

• A) Modern or Minimalist

• B) Rustic or Traditional

• C) Eclectic or Bold

If You Answered A: Modern or Minimalist

Brushed chrome door knob is your best friend! Its clean lines and muted finish are perfect for:

• Sleek white or black doors.

• Glass or metal furnishings.

• Neutral color palettes.

Try This: Pair brushed chrome door knobs with matte black accents for a striking, contemporary contrast.

If You Answered B: Rustic or Traditional

Surprise! Brushed chrome door knob works here too. It can add a subtle modern touch without overpowering the classic vibe.

• Use brushed chrome door knobs on wooden doors with warm stains.

• Match with brushed nickel or pewter finishes on furniture.

Fun Idea: Add soft, vintage-inspired curtains or rugs to balance the modernity of chrome with traditional charm.

If You Answered C: Eclectic or Bold

Go wild! Brushed chrome door knobs can act as the calm in a storm of colors and patterns.

• Pair them with bright, bold door paints (think teal, mustard, or even coral).

• Use chrome as a unifying element across different finishes.

Challenge: Find one quirky, colorful piece of furniture to complement the neutral shine of brushed chrome door knobs!

3. Choose Complementary Hardware Finishes

Pause for a moment and look around. What metal finishes dominate your space?

• Brass?

• Matte black?

• Copper?

Mixing Metals:

Yes, you can mix metals! Here’s the trick:

• Stick to two finishes (brushed chrome + one other).

• Ensure one metal is dominant, while the other acts as an accent.

Example:

• In the kitchen: Pair brushed chrome door knobs with a matte black faucet.

• In the living room: Use brushed chrome door knobs and gold light fixtures for a chic vibe and feel.

Your Turn: Look at the room you’re in right now. Which metals do you see, and how can brushed chrome fit in?

4. Match Door Knobs to Door Styles

Imagine this: You have a sleek brushed chrome door knob, but your door is… dated. Uh-oh. Let’s fix that.

Door Style + Knob Pairing Tips:

1. Flat Panel Doors: Go for sleek, cylindrical brushed chrome knobs.

2. Shaker-Style Doors: Opt for classic round knobs or levers in chrome.

3. Glass or French Doors: Consider modern lever handles in brushed chrome door knobs.

Quick tip: Take a photo of your door and imagine it with a new knob. What do you see? Need inspiration? Keep reading!

5. Play with Colors and Textures

Now it’s time to get creative. What’s your door color? (Seriously, go look if you need to!)

Brushed Chrome + Door Color Combos:

• White Doors: Clean and timeless with brushed chrome door knobs London.

• Black or Dark Doors: Ultra-modern and striking.

• Wooden Doors: Brushed chrome door knob adds a subtle, cool contrast.

Experiment:

• If you want a bold look, consider repainting your doors in a vibrant shade like emerald green or navy blue.

• If you prefer subtlety, stick with neutral tones and let the chrome shine quietly.

6. Coordinate with Decor Elements

Quick challenge: Look at your furniture, lighting, and decor. Do they align with your door hardware?

Tips to Tie it All Together:

• Furniture: Add brushed chrome legs or accents to tables and chairs.

• Lighting: Choose brushed chrome or mixed-metal light fixtures.

• Accessories: Look for chrome picture frames, vases, or even switch plates.

Quick Task: Walk through your home and note one item in each room that could complement brushed chrome door knobs.

7. Focus on Functionality

Here’s a question: Do you use different doors for different purposes? For example, heavy traffic areas vs. decorative ones?

Practical Tips for Knob Selection:

• High-Traffic Areas: Use sturdy, ergonomic designs in brushed chrome door knobs.

• Decorative Doors: Opt for unique designs or paired backplates to elevate the look.

Pro Tip: If you’re working on a budget, replace knobs on only the most visible doors for maximum impact!

8. Add a Personal Touch

Have you thought about custom finishes or unique combinations? Consider adding:

• Etched designs on the door knobs.

• Brushed chrome door knobs with colored glass inserts.

• Mix-and-match knob designs for an eclectic look.

DIY Challenge: Customize your brushed chrome door knobs london by pairing them with decorative backplates in contrasting materials.

9. Keep an Eye on Trends

Did you know brushed chrome is a favorite in modern farmhouse and Scandinavian interiors? These styles often pair chrome with:

• Natural wood tones.

• Minimalist decor.

• Neutral textiles like linen or wool.

Your Trendy Tip: Follow home decor magazines or Pinterest boards to see how designers are using brushed chrome door knobs.

10. Don’t Forget the Details

Here’s a little secret: Matching isn’t just about color and finish; it’s also about scale.

• Large Doors: Use slightly oversized brushed chrome door knobs or handles.

• Small or Thin Doors: Stick with smaller, understated designs.

Quick tip- Next time you’re shopping for knobs, take measurements of your doors and compare options in-store.

Case studies

1. Creative Workspace in Shoreditch

Challenge: A Shoreditch co-working space needed a unifying design element to connect its bold, colorful interiors.

Solution: Brushed chrome door knobs were chosen to pair with brightly painted doors, creating cohesion across diverse office spaces.

Results:

• Provided a modern yet neutral anchor for the eclectic design.

• Chrome’s durability withstood daily wear and tear from frequent use.

• Positive feedback from clients who appreciated the attention to detail in the workspace’s design.

2. Eco-Friendly Home in Richmond

Challenge: A sustainable renovation in Richmond required eco-friendly materials and a timeless aesthetic.

Solution: Brushed chrome door knobs made from recycled materials were installed on reclaimed wooden doors, aligning with the homeowner’s green goals.

Results:

• Achieved a perfect blend of modern style and environmental sustainability.

• Brushed chrome’s versatility allowed it to pair seamlessly with both reclaimed wood and contemporary fixtures.

• Reduced long-term maintenance needs due to the durable, low-maintenance finish.

Quick Stats on Brushed Chrome Door Knobs

1. Market Growth: The global door hardware market is valued at $9.1 billion and growing at 4.8% annually.

2. Renovation Trend: 38% of homeowners upgrade door hardware during renovations.

3. Neutral Interiors: 60% of homes feature neutral palettes that pair well with brushed chrome.

4. Metal Mixing: 45% of homeowners mix finishes like chrome and brass for modern looks.

5. Modern Style: Over 50% of homeowners prefer sleek, modern decor styles.

6. Low Maintenance: 70% of homeowners value low-maintenance materials like brushed chrome.

7. Longevity: Brushed chrome finishes can last 10+ years with proper care.

8. Smart Locks: Smart door locks with brushed chrome finishes are growing at 21.4% CAGR.

These stats show why brushed chrome knobs are practical and stylish!

FAQs: Matching Brushed Chrome Door Knobs with Your Decor

1. Can brushed chrome door knobs work with traditional decor?

Absolutely! Brushed chrome door knobs can add a subtle modern touch to traditional interiors. Pair them with wooden doors, warm-toned furniture, and other brushed metal finishes like nickel or pewter to maintain a cohesive look.

2. Is it okay to mix brushed chrome with other metal finishes?

Yes! Mixing metals is a popular trend. Just stick to two or three finishes to avoid a cluttered look. For instance, brushed chrome pairs beautifully with matte black or antique brass.

3. What door colors work best with brushed chrome door knobs?

Brushed chrome is highly versatile and complements many colors. It looks striking on black, navy, or dark wood doors and blends seamlessly with white, gray, or natural wood tones.

4. How do I maintain brushed chrome door knobs?

Brushed chrome door knobs are low maintenance. Clean with a soft cloth and a mild soap solution. Avoid abrasive cleaners, as they can damage the finish.

5. Can brushed chrome door knobs be used outdoors?

Yes, but ensure the brushed chrome door  knobs are specifically designed for outdoor use to withstand weather conditions. Opt for high-quality brushed chrome with a durable finish to prevent rust or tarnishing.

6. Are there different styles of brushed chrome door knobs?

Definitely! Brushed chrome door knobs come in various shapes, including round, cylindrical, and lever handles. Choose a style that matches the overall aesthetic of your home.

7. Can I replace old door knobs with brushed chrome door knobs easily?

In most cases, yes. Brushed chrome door knobs are available in standard sizes that fit existing door hardware. Just ensure you check the compatibility of the latch and screw spacing.

8. Do brushed chrome door knobs work in eclectic interiors?

Absolutely! Brushed chrome can act as a neutral element in bold, eclectic spaces. Pair them with colorful doors or unique decor pieces for a balanced look.

9. Are there eco-friendly options for brushed chrome door knobs?

Yes, many manufacturers now produce eco-friendly door hardware made from recycled materials or sustainable manufacturing processes. Look for certifications or eco-friendly labels.

Wrapping It Up

Let’s recap: Matching brushed chrome door knobs London with your decor is all about balance. Whether you’re going for modern minimalism, traditional charm, or bold eclectic vibes, these versatile knobs can tie your look together beautifully.

Your Final Task: Take a fresh look at your space today. What small changes can you make with brushed chrome knobs to elevate your home decor?

[chrisbale1199]

Investing in Vintage Chairs

Investing in vintage chairs is an artful way to enhance your home’s decor while owning a piece of history. Collectible pieces like the Bergere armchair or a well-preserved rocking chair can enrich a room with stories of design evolution and cultural heritage. What makes these investments even more compelling? Their values often grow over time, and understanding the antique rocking chair value adds a new layer of appreciation for these remarkable finds.

Why Invest in Vintage Chairs?

Vintage chairs aren't just practical seating solutions; they’re tangible links to the past, showcasing craftsmanship and styles from different eras. These chairs serve as conversation pieces, lending character to any space. Unlike modern furniture, which may lose value over time, well-maintained vintage chairs often hold their worth or even appreciate, depending on the style and rarity. Investing in something like a Bergere armchair isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about owning a piece of artistry that has lasted through generations.

Exploring Styles and Values of Vintage Chairs

The Bergere armchair is a perfect example of how traditional craftsmanship can elevate a chair into an art form. Known for its French origins, the Bergere is a closed-arm chair with a deep seat, making it both visually elegant and incredibly comfortable. These armchairs can add a touch of refined style to your living room or study, especially if they’re antique. The value of a Bergere chair often depends on factors like age, condition, and authenticity, making it an attractive option for collectors.

On the other hand, assessing antique rocking chair value requires considering aspects like wood type, craftsmanship, and historical significance. Rocking chairs have a unique charm, with styles ranging from Shaker simplicity to Victorian grandeur. A well-preserved antique rocking chair not only offers comfort but can also be a valuable asset, particularly if it’s rare or part of a well-known design lineage.

Conclusion

Adding vintage chairs to your collection or decor isn’t just about finding a seat—it’s about connecting with timeless designs that tell stories of artistry and culture. If you’re inspired to begin or expand your vintage chair collection,If you are looking for online auctions near me for vintage chairs then check out Bidsquare’s curated selection of Bergere chairs and rocking chairs. Each piece offers a glimpse into the past and the potential to become a cherished part of your space.

FAQs

How should I care for a vintage chair?

Regular dusting, avoiding direct sunlight, and using a protective wax can help maintain its finish and structure.

What impacts antique rocking chair value?

Age, craftsmanship, wood type, and condition all play crucial roles in determining a rocking chair’s value.

Can vintage chairs be used regularly?

Yes, but using them with care and occasionally reinforcing their structure can prolong their life.

What makes the Bergere armchair special?

Its closed arms, deep seat, and French design make it both stylish and comfortable, embodying a sense of elegance.

Where can I find authentic vintage chairs?

Trusted online auction sites like Bidsquare offer a wide selection, ensuring quality and authenticity.