#door lintel

[bdgrepair]

Sectional door without a lintel or with a low lintel – what installation mechanism?

The method of installing the door is not always obvious. In practice, it is quite often hindered by various architectural obstacles – such as too low lintel. In this case, there is not enough space for the standard sectional door lifting mechanism. How can such a problem be solved? Can a sectional door without a lintel be installed?

Which sectional door for a low garage – why is a low lintel a problem?

A lintel is – to put it simply – a fragment of a wall located above the entrance opening (as well as the entrance or window opening). In the case of standard garage doors that open upwards, such as the most popular sectional doors today, the recommended lintel height is approx. 25-30 cm or a minimum of 20 cm. This is the space needed to place the lifting mechanism and door tracks under the ceiling.

However, it is quite common for the entrance opening to reach up to the ceiling of the garage. This is most often the case in older buildings, whose designs were not adapted to modern doors. There are several ways out of this situation. Importantly, a low lintel or its absence does not mean that you have to say goodbye to your dreams of a comfortable and safe garage door!

Garage door without lintel/with low lintel – hinged or double-leaf

If the problem is a low lintel or its absence, you can simply choose a door that does not require any mechanism to be installed under the ceiling. A classic choice is a double-leaf door, e.g. an aluminum one, although its use can also be problematic, especially if the garage entrance is on a slope. Then it will be impossible to open the gate wide. In addition, with this solution, it is necessary to secure enough space in the driveway in front of the garage, so that the car and the open door leaf can safely fit on it.

In the case of garage doors without a lintel or with a low lintel, the up-and-over door model can also be used. Although, as in the case of swing gates, it must be remembered that this solution requires more space in front of the entrance, because, unlike sectional models, it does not open vertically. Visually, however, it can resemble a modern sectional garage door and look very aesthetically pleasing.

Rolling garage door – low lintel or no lintel is no problem

Yet another solution is a rolling garage door. A low lintel does not have to be a problem then – just use a trick. It is basically a variation of the segmented model. However, the individual panels are much narrower, and the door shell instead of rising along the guides suspended horizontally from the ceiling, rolls up. Usually, the winding mechanism is placed inside the building – then a lintel is needed. However, there are also models whose cassette with the mechanism is placed outside. In such a case, however, you should take into account the adverse effects of weather conditions, so it is worth making sure that the cassette is as tight and solidly made as possible.

Sectional doors and low lintel – special mechanism

Do the above solutions not suit you? Or maybe for some reason they cannot be used either? This is not the end of the possibilities. A sectional garage door can still be installed in your garage. The low lintel only requires the use of some tricks. In such a situation, you have a choice of two proven solutions!

Sectional doors and low lintel – special mechanism

Manufacturers are well aware of the interest in sectional doors. They are also aware of the installation problems that their buyers sometimes face. That is why they are constantly working on innovative solutions. One of them is a sectional door for a low lintel. In some cases, just 8 – 10 cm of wall above the entrance opening is enough to install such a system. In this case, the torsion springs are mounted at the rear end of the horizontal guides, so that the opening mechanism does not reduce the entry light. In comparison, when the torsion springs are placed at the front, the minimum height is 20 cm for both manual and automatic gates.

Remark! However, if the springs are installed at the end of the guides, it must be taken into account that there must be enough space under the ceiling at the back of the room to accommodate the entire mechanism. In addition, if we are thinking about a gate working with a chain transmission, we must take into account that there will be a chain hanging at the back of the garage, on the left or right.

Sectional door without lintel – it's possible

A sectional door without a lintel can also be installed. However, this requires a reduction in the entry light. It is an alternative to artificially lowered lintel, which may simply be non-functional and not durable enough. In this case, the mechanism hides behind a grille, which provides its protection and aesthetic appearance of the entrance. Installing a garage door in this way is a bit more expensive, but it allows you to achieve a very good effect.

[inspiredlivingspaces]

thisisglamorous.com

[istherewifiinhell]

[blank blog new follower] hmmmm

[public likes and follows] [its all turtles] ah. very well. continue.

[chadlesbianjasontodd]

horror movies should capitalize more on the fact that the most unsettling thing possible to see in your house is 'water dripping from a place where there is no obvious source of water'

[periodoakantiques]

NEW STOCK - THESE BEAUTIFUL AND DEEPLY CARVED ENGLISH PANELS WOULD HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN ABOVE AN INNER ENTRANCE DOOR TO A MEDIEVAL HOUSE.

[sunflowers-and-sims]

Porch in New Orleans Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless brick front porch remodel

[marchacampinas]

Mudroom - Front Door Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary slate floor entryway remodel with white walls and a medium wood front door

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Interiors

As a followup to the very popular post on architecture, I decided to add onto it by exploring the interior of each movement and the different design techniques and tastes of each era. This post at be helpful for historical fiction, fantasy or just a long read when you're bored.

Interior Design Terms

Reeding and fluting: Fluting is a technique that consists a continuous pattern of concave grooves in a flat surface across a surface. Reeding is it's opposite.

Embossing: stamping, carving or moulding a symbol to make it stand out on a surface.

Paneling: Panels of carved wood or fabric a fixed to a wall in a continuous pattern.

Gilding: the use of gold to highlight features.

Glazed Tile: Ceramic or porcelain tiles coated with liquid coloured glass or enamel.

Column: A column is a pillar of stone or wood built to support a ceiling. We will see more of columns later on.

Bay Window: The Bay Window is a window projecting outward from a building.

Frescos: A design element of painting images upon wet plaster.

Mosaic: Mosaics are a design element that involves using pieces of coloured glass and fitted them together upon the floor or wall to form images.

Mouldings: ornate strips of carved wood along the top of a wall.

Wainscoting: paneling along the lower portion of a wall.

Chinoiserie: A European take on East Asian art. Usually seen in wallpaper.

Clerestory: A series of eye-level windows.

Sconces: A light fixture supported on a wall.

Niche: A sunken area within a wall.

Monochromatic: Focusing on a single colour within a scheme.

Ceiling rose: A moulding fashioned on the ceiling in the shape of a rose usually supporting a light fixture.

Baluster: the vertical bars of a railing.

Façade: front portion of a building

Lintel: Top of a door or window.

Portico: a covered structure over a door supported by columns

Eaves: the part of the roof overhanging from the building

Skirting: border around lower length of a wall

Ancient Greece

Houses were made of either sun-dried clay bricks or stone which were painted when they dried. Ground floors were decorated with coloured stones and tiles called Mosaics. Upper level floors were made from wood. Homes were furnished with tapestries and furniture, and in grand homes statues and grand altars would be found. Furniture was very skillfully crafted in Ancient Greece, much attention was paid to the carving and decoration of such things. Of course, Ancient Greece is ancient so I won't be going through all the movements but I will talk a little about columns.

Doric: Doric is the oldest of the orders and some argue it is the simplest. The columns of this style are set close together, without bases and carved with concave curves called flutes. The capitals (the top of the column) are plain often built with a curve at the base called an echinus and are topped by a square at the apex called an abacus. The entablature is marked by frieze of vertical channels/triglyphs. In between the channels would be detail of carved marble. The Parthenon in Athens is your best example of Doric architecture.

Ionic: The Ionic style was used for smaller buildings and the interiors. The columns had twin volutes, scroll-like designs on its capital. Between these scrolls, there was a carved curve known as an egg and in this style the entablature is much narrower and the frieze is thick with carvings. The example of Ionic Architecture is the Temple to Athena Nike at the Athens Acropolis.

Corinthian: The Corinthian style has some similarities with the Ionic order, the bases, entablature and columns almost the same but the capital is more ornate its base, column, and entablature, but its capital is far more ornate, commonly carved with depictions of acanthus leaves. The style was more slender than the others on this list, used less for bearing weight but more for decoration. Corinthian style can be found along the top levels of the Colosseum in Rome.

Tuscan: The Tuscan order shares much with the Doric order, but the columns are un-fluted and smooth. The entablature is far simpler, formed without triglyphs or guttae. The columns are capped with round capitals.

Composite: This style is mixed. It features the volutes of the Ionic order and the capitals of the Corinthian order. The volutes are larger in these columns and often more ornate. The column's capital is rather plain. for the capital, with no consistent differences to that above or below the capital.

Ancient Rome

Rome is well known for its outward architectural styles. However the Romans did know how to add that rizz to the interior. Ceilings were either vaulted or made from exploded beams that could be painted. The Romans were big into design. Moasics were a common interior sight, the use of little pieces of coloured glass or stone to create a larger image. Frescoes were used to add colour to the home, depicting mythical figures and beasts and also different textures such as stonework or brick. The Romans loved their furniture. Dining tables were low and the Romans ate on couches. Weaving was a popular pastime so there would be tapestries and wall hangings in the house. Rich households could even afford to import fine rugs from across the Empire. Glass was also a feature in Roman interior but windows were usually not paned as large panes were hard to make. Doors were usually treated with panels that were carved or in lain with bronze.

Ancient Egypt

Egypt was one of the first great civilisations, known for its immense and grand structures. Wealthy Egyptians had grand homes. The walls were painted or plastered usually with bright colours and hues. The Egyptians are cool because they mapped out their buildings in such a way to adhere to astrological movements meaning on special days if the calendar the temple or monuments were in the right place always. The columns of Egyptian where thicker, more bulbous and often had capitals shaped like bundles of papyrus reeds. Woven mats and tapestries were popular decor. Motifs from the river such as palms, papyrus and reeds were popular symbols used.

Ancient Africa

African Architecture is a very mixed bag and more structurally different and impressive than Hollywood would have you believe. Far beyond the common depictions of primitive buildings, the African nations were among the giants of their time in architecture, no style quite the same as the last but just as breathtaking.

Rwandan Architecture: The Rwandans commonly built of hardened clay with thatched roofs of dried grass or reeds. Mats of woven reeds carpeted the floors of royal abodes. These residences folded about a large public area known as a karubanda and were often so large that they became almost like a maze, connecting different chambers/huts of all kinds of uses be they residential or for other purposes.

Ashanti Architecture: The Ashanti style can be found in present day Ghana. The style incorporates walls of plaster formed of mud and designed with bright paint and buildings with a courtyard at the heart, not unlike another examples on this post. The Ashanti also formed their buildings of the favourite method of wattle and daub.

Nubian Architecture: Nubia, in modern day Ethiopia, was home to the Nubians who were one of the world's most impressive architects at the beginning of the architecture world and probably would be more talked about if it weren't for the Egyptians building monuments only up the road. The Nubians were famous for building the speos, tall tower-like spires carved of stone. The Nubians used a variety of materials and skills to build, for example wattle and daub and mudbrick. The Kingdom of Kush, the people who took over the Nubian Empire was a fan of Egyptian works even if they didn't like them very much. The Kushites began building pyramid-like structures such at the sight of Gebel Barkal

Japanese Interiors

Japenese interior design rests upon 7 principles. Kanso (簡素)- Simplicity, Fukinsei (不均整)- Asymmetry, Shizen (自然)- Natural, Shibumi (渋味) – Simple beauty, Yugen (幽玄)- subtle grace, Datsuzoku (脱俗) – freedom from habitual behaviour, Seijaku (静寂)- tranquillity.

Common features of Japanese Interior Design:

Shoji walls: these are the screens you think of when you think of the traditional Japanese homes. They are made of wooden frames, rice paper and used to partition

Tatami: Tatami mats are used within Japanese households to blanket the floors. They were made of rice straw and rush straw, laid down to cushion the floor.

Genkan: The Genkan was a sunken space between the front door and the rest of the house. This area is meant to separate the home from the outside and is where shoes are discarded before entering.

Japanese furniture: often lowest, close to the ground. These include tables and chairs but often tanked are replaced by zabuton, large cushions. Furniture is usually carved of wood in a minimalist design.

Nature: As both the Shinto and Buddhist beliefs are great influences upon architecture, there is a strong presence of nature with the architecture. Wood is used for this reason and natural light is prevalent with in the home. The orientation is meant to reflect the best view of the world.

Islamic World Interior

The Islamic world has one of the most beautiful and impressive interior design styles across the world. Colour and detail are absolute staples in the movement. Windows are usually not paned with glass but covered in ornate lattices known as jali. The jali give ventilation, light and privacy to the home. Islamic Interiors are ornate and colourful, using coloured ceramic tiles. The upper parts of walls and ceilings are usually flat decorated with arabesques (foliate ornamentation), while the lower wall areas were usually tiled. Features such as honeycombed ceilings, horseshoe arches, stalactite-fringed arches and stalactite vaults (Muqarnas) are prevalent among many famous Islamic buildings such as the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque.

Byzantine (330/395–1453 A. D)

The Byzantine Empire or Eastern Roman Empire was where eat met west, leading to a melting pot of different interior designs based on early Christian styles and Persian influences. Mosaics are probably what you think of when you think of the Byzantine Empire. Ivory was also a popular feature in the Interiors, with carved ivory or the use of it in inlay. The use of gold as a decorative feature usually by way of repoussé (decorating metals by hammering in the design from the backside of the metal). Fabrics from Persia, heavily embroidered and intricately woven along with silks from afar a field as China, would also be used to upholster furniture or be used as wall hangings. The Byzantines favoured natural light, usually from the use of copolas.

Indian Interiors

India is of course, the font of all intricate designs. India's history is sectioned into many eras but we will focus on a few to give you an idea of prevalent techniques and tastes.

The Gupta Empire (320 – 650 CE): The Gupta era was a time of stone carving. As impressive as the outside of these buildings are, the Interiors are just as amazing. Gupta era buildings featured many details such as ogee (circular or horseshoe arch), gavaksha/chandrashala (the motif centred these arches), ashlar masonry (built of squared stone blocks) with ceilings of plain, flat slabs of stone.

Delhi Sultanate (1206–1526): Another period of beautifully carved stone. The Delhi sultanate had influence from the Islamic world, with heavy uses of mosaics, brackets, intricate mouldings, columns and and hypostyle halls.

Mughal Empire (1526–1857): Stonework was also important on the Mughal Empire. Intricately carved stonework was seen in the pillars, low relief panels depicting nature images and jalis (marble screens). Stonework was also decorated in a stye known as pietra dura/parchin kari with inscriptions and geometric designs using colored stones to create images. Tilework was also popular during this period. Moasic tiles were cut and fitted together to create larger patters while cuerda seca tiles were coloured tiles outlined with black.

Chinese Interiors

Common features of Chinese Interiors

Use of Colours: Colour in Chinese Interior is usually vibrant and bold. Red and Black are are traditional colours, meant to bring luck, happiness, power, knowledge and stability to the household.

Latticework: Lattices are a staple in Chinese interiors most often seen on shutters, screens, doors of cabinets snf even traditional beds.

Lacquer: Multiple coats of lacquer are applied to furniture or cabinets (now walls) and then carved. The skill is called Diaoqi (雕漆).

Decorative Screens: Screens are used to partition off part of a room. They are usually of carved wood, pained with very intricate murals.

Shrines: Spaces were reserved on the home to honour ancestors, usually consisting of an altar where offerings could be made.

Of course, Chinese Interiors are not all the same through the different eras. While some details and techniques were interchangeable through different dynasties, usually a dynasty had a notable style or deviation. These aren't all the dynasties of course but a few interesting examples.

Song Dynasty (960–1279): The Song Dynasty is known for its stonework. Sculpture was an important part of Song Dynasty interior. It was in this period than brick and stone work became the most used material. The Song Dynasty was also known for its very intricate attention to detail, paintings, and used tiles.

Ming Dynasty(1368–1644): Ceilings were adorned with cloisons usually featuring yellow reed work. The floors would be of flagstones usually of deep tones, mostly black. The Ming Dynasty favoured richly coloured silk hangings, tapestries and furnishings. Furniture was usually carved of darker woods, arrayed in a certain way to bring peace to the dwelling.

Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD): Interior walls were plastered and painted to show important figures and scenes. Lacquer, though it was discovered earlier, came into greater prominence with better skill in this era.

Tang Dynasty (618–907) : The colour palette is restrained, reserved. But the Tang dynasty is not without it's beauty. Earthenware reached it's peak in this era, many homes would display fine examples as well. The Tang dynasty is famous for its upturned eaves, the ceilings supported by timber columns mounted with metal or stone bases. Glazed tiles were popular in this era, either a fixed to the roof or decorating a screen wall.

Romanesque (6th -11th century/12th)

Romanesque Architecture is a span between the end of Roman Empire to the Gothic style. Taking inspiration from the Roman and Byzantine Empires, the Romanesque period incorporates many of the styles. The most common details are carved floral and foliage symbols with the stonework of the Romanesque buildings. Cable mouldings or twisted rope-like carvings would have framed doorways. As per the name, Romansque Interiors relied heavily on its love and admiration for Rome. The Romanesque style uses geometric shapes as statements using curves, circles snf arches. The colours would be clean and warm, focusing on minimal ornamentation.

Gothic Architecture (12th Century - 16th Century)

The Gothic style is what you think of when you think of old European cathedrals and probably one of the beautiful of the styles on this list and one of most recognisable. The Gothic style is a dramatic, opposing sight and one of the easiest to describe. Decoration in this era became more ornate, stonework began to sport carving and modelling in a way it did not before. The ceilings moved away from barreled vaults to quadripartite and sexpartite vaulting. Columns slimmed as other supportive structures were invented. Intricate stained glass windows began their popularity here. In Gothic structures, everything is very symmetrical and even.

Mediaeval (500 AD to 1500)

Interiors of mediaeval homes are not quite as drab as Hollywood likes to make out. Building materials may be hidden by plaster in rich homes, sometimes even painted. Floors were either dirt strewn with rushes or flagstones in larger homes. Stonework was popular, especially around fireplaces. Grand homes would be decorated with intricate woodwork, carved heraldic beasts and wall hangings of fine fabrics.

Renaissance (late 1300s-1600s)

The Renaissance was a period of great artistry and splendor. The revival of old styles injected symmetry and colour into the homes. Frescoes were back. Painted mouldings adorned the ceilings and walls. Furniture became more ornate, fixed with luxurious upholstery and fine carvings. Caryatids (pillars in the shape of women), grotesques, Roman and Greek images were used to spruce up the place. Floors began to become more intricate, with coloured stone and marble. Modelled stucco, sgraffiti arabesques (made by cutting lines through a layer of plaster or stucco to reveal an underlayer), and fine wall painting were used in brilliant combinations in the early part of the 16th century.

Tudor Interior (1485-1603)

The Tudor period is a starkly unique style within England and very recognisable. Windows were fixed with lattice work, usually casement. Stained glass was also in in this period, usually depicting figures and heraldic beasts. Rooms would be panelled with wood or plastered. Walls would be adorned with tapestries or embroidered hangings. Windows and furniture would be furnished with fine fabrics such as brocade. Floors would typically be of wood, sometimes strewn with rush matting mixed with fresh herbs and flowers to freshen the room.

Baroque (1600 to 1750)

The Baroque period was a time for splendor and for splashing the cash. The interior of a baroque room was usually intricate, usually of a light palette, featuring a very high ceiling heavy with detail. Furniture would choke the room, ornately carved and stitched with very high quality fabrics. The rooms would be full of art not limited to just paintings but also sculptures of marble or bronze, large intricate mirrors, moldings along the walls which may be heavily gilded, chandeliers and detailed paneling.

Victorian (1837-1901)

We think of the interiors of Victorian homes as dowdy and dark but that isn't true. The Victorians favoured tapestries, intricate rugs, decorated wallpaper, exquisitely furniture, and surprisingly, bright colour. Dyes were more widely available to people of all stations and the Victorians did not want for colour. Patterns and details were usually nature inspired, usually floral or vines. Walls could also be painted to mimic a building material such as wood or marble and most likely painted in rich tones. The Victorians were suckers for furniture, preferring them grandly carved with fine fabric usually embroidered or buttoned. And they did not believe in minimalism. If you could fit another piece of furniture in a room, it was going in there. Floors were almost eclusively wood laid with the previously mentioned rugs. But the Victorians did enjoy tiled floors but restricted them to entrances. The Victorians were quite in touch with their green thumbs so expect a lot of flowers and greenery inside. with various elaborately decorated patterned rugs. And remember, the Victorians loved to display as much wealth as they could. Every shelf, cabinet, case and ledge would be chocked full of ornaments and antiques.

Edwardian/The Gilded Age/Belle Epoque (1880s-1914)

This period (I've lumped them together for simplicity) began to move away from the deep tones and ornate patterns of the Victorian period. Colour became more neutral. Nature still had a place in design. Stained glass began to become popular, especially on lampshades and light fixtures. Embossing started to gain popularity and tile work began to expand from the entrance halls to other parts of the house. Furniture began to move away from dark wood, some families favouring breathable woods like wicker. The rooms would be less cluttered.

Art Deco (1920s-1930s)

The 1920s was a time of buzz and change. Gone were the refined tastes of the pre-war era and now the wow factor was in. Walls were smoother, buildings were sharper and more jagged, doorways and windows were decorated with reeding and fluting. Pastels were in, as was the heavy use of black and white, along with gold. Mirrors and glass were in, injecting light into rooms. Gold, silver, steel and chrome were used in furnishings and decor. Geometric shapes were a favourite design choice. Again, high quality and bold fabrics were used such as animal skins or colourful velvet. It was all a rejection of the Art Noveau movement, away from nature focusing on the man made.

Modernism (1930 - 1965)

Modernism came after the Art Deco movement. Fuss and feathers were out the door and now, practicality was in. Materials used are shown as they are, wood is not painted, metal is not coated. Bright colours were acceptable but neutral palettes were favoured. Interiors were open and favoured large windows. Furniture was practical, for use rather than the ornamentation, featuring plain details of any and geometric shapes. Away from Art Deco, everything is straight, linear and streamlined.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

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The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself. 

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity. 

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come. 

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building. 

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do. 

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.” 

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you. 

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light. 

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again. 

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse. 

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks. 

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer. 

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west. 

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose. 

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.” 

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk. 

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone. 

“Family.” 

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.” 

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.” 

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out. 

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle. 

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty. 

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office. 

“No.” 

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm. 

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door. 

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm. 

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing. 

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now. 

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake. 

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion. 

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention. 

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship. 

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair. 

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife. 

His wife. 

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband. 

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank. 

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves. 

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his. 

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors. 

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond. 

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment. 

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with. 

No chance of that now. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes. 

“Let’s go home.”

[shotmrmiller]

let my brain cells work properly and i'm writing a forced proximity fic. i think that's what it is, anyway.

it's simon who was on a solo mission but it's gone tits up and he needs to hide but there isn't any safe houses nearby.

that he knows of.

price is quick to tell him of a 'friend' he has that's got a quiet, remote place nearby. he gets there and simon swears he's at the wrong place because it's a cute little home, with a hanging plant and a doormat that says hippity hoppity get off of my property, or something.

but then you open the door. "LT. Riley?"

he puts the gun back in its holster.

"yeah. price told ya about me?" he bites down on his tongue to keep back a snarl. no reason to be telling you his name, of all things.

"yes. come in, please. make yourself at home."

he has to lower his head to avoid hitting it on the lintel as he steps inside.

[niteshade925]

April 13, Xi'an, China, Shaanxi Archaeology Museum/陕西考古博物馆 (Part 3 - Qin dynasty to Sui dynasty):

First up is one of many bronze edict tablets of the 2nd emperor of Qin dynasty, made in 209 BC. Inscribed upon it in Seal script is one of two edicts, specifically the one from the 2nd emperor of Qin dynasty (秦二世), which basically is a continuation of Qin Shi Huang's edict on standardizing all weights and measurements. Here Qin Shi Huang/秦始皇 is referred to as Shi Huangdi/始皇帝, where shi/始 means "origin", and huangdi/皇帝 means "emperor".

^The edict inscribed is as follows (this is my VERY rough translation, please take this with a grain of salt, I'm not great at reading Old Chinese; original text is on bottom right of picture):

“First year (209 BC; first year of 2nd Emperor of Qin's reign), [We] issued an edict to chancellors Li Si and Feng Quji: Shi Huangdi pioneered this effort to standardize all weights and measurements, since then all such edicts have been inscribed on bronze. Now that [We have] inherited this Huangdi title, [We] shall not refer to Ourselves as Shi Huangdi here. Likewise, should Our descendants continue to produce tablets of Shi Huangdi's edict, they shall not take credit for Shi Huangdi's achievements. [We] hereby inscribe this edict on the left, so that all may be clear."

Ever since Qin Shi Huang tried to standardize systems of measurements for the entire country, every dynasty since Qin dynasty has also done the same. These are the standardized weights and volume measurements (all made with bronze) from Western Han dynasty (202 - 8 BC). Those volume measurement tools are very much like oversized measurement spoons, since they are mostly used to measure liquids and grains (in ancient China grains can be measured by volume).

Looks like I forgot about this one in part 2, this is a bronze sword from Warring States period (475 - 221 BC), I believe. It's decorated with carved pieces of jade (some are on the scabbard, but the scabbard has presumably decomposed over time):

The painted and carved stone doorway to a Eastern Han dynasty (25 - 220 AD) tomb. The actual (double) doors are in the middle, and the pieces around them are the side jambs and the lintel. Note the animals, mythical creatures, and humans depicted. On the double doors, in order from top to bottom, there's a pair of Zhuque/朱雀/Vermilion Bird, a pair of symbolic door knockers shaped like a beast carrying a ring in its mouth, and a pair of oxen. On the top right and top left of the lintel piece, you can also clearly see the sun crow and the moon toad, respectively.

The layout of some Western Han dynasty (202 - 8 BC) mausoleums. Note that the "pyramids" on the model aren't stone pyramids like the Great Pyramid of Giza, they are actually fengtu/封土, or artificial mounds of earth on top of the actual tomb to symbolically seal the tomb (feng/封 means "seal" or "to seal"), and can serve as tomb markers. Fengtu can differ vastly in size according to the social status of the deceased, so the fengtu of imperial tombs are usually huge, some so big that they are like small hills. However, while Western Han dynasty imperial tombs have these square-ish fengtu mounds, in Eastern Han dynasty (25 - 220 AD) the fengtu mounds became circular, and imperial tomb fengtu have been circular pretty much ever since. But fengtu wasn't just reserved for the elites, common folk also built small circular fengtu mounds on top of graves (these graves are called fen/坟; graves without fengtu are called mu/墓), and this is still practiced today, albeit much more common in rural areas since there are less people and more land. When people tend to the graves of their family members and ancestors on Qingming Festival, if the grave is a fen grave, people would pile more earth on the fengtu to make it rounder as part of the upkeep process.

A set of pottery figurines of entertainers from a Western Han era tomb. I love how they set the display up here, you can practically imagine the music and the dancing

More pottery figurines from Western Han era tombs

Western Han era hollow clay bricks depicting the Four Symbols/四象 of the cardinal directions: Qinglong/青龙/Azure Dragon of the East, Zhuque/朱雀/Vermilion Bird of the South, Xuanwu/玄武/Black Tortoise of the North, and Baihu/白虎/White Tiger of the West.

Left: a piece of intricately painted lacquered wood, I forgot where it's from but it was probably a piece of decoration on a larger artifact. Right: a piece of gold decoration inlaid with turquoise from Western Han era

The biggest decorated yubi/玉璧 (jade disc with hole in the middle) found so far, from an early Western Han dynasty tomb. Its diameter is 43.2 cm (~17 inches). If you zoom in, the inner band is decorated with these almost tadpole-like little swirls, and these are called gu pattern/谷纹, since they might represent sprouting rice kernels. The outer band is decorated with 4 sets of kuilong patterns/夔龙纹 and 4 sets of dragon-phoenix patterns/龙凤纹. It's speculated that the patterns here together depict the universe, and the hole in the middle is where the spirit of the deceased will travel through. This particular yubi also has 六百六十一 ("six hundred and sixty-one") carved discreetly on the side, presumably a "serial number" left by the artisan who crafted this piece.

Decorated backs of bronze mirrors. I didn't take a picture of the plaque so I'm unclear on what time period these are from (may or may not be from the time period indicated at the beginning of the post):

Left: a hand-held incense burner. Right: a particular type of incense burner called a boshanlu/博山炉, so named because the lid was made to look like a mini mountain

Various Northern Zhou dynasty (557 - 581 AD) painted pottery figurines. Below middle arranged in a circle is the metal pieces on a belt.

Sixteen Kingoms era pottery entertainer figurines:

[darsynia]

Heyyy. I hope ur requests are open. Anyways. Can I get a shot of tequila w/ Steve Rogers and the reader reunited after like 6 months apart because he went on the run and didn’t want to disrupt her life. Like maybe she was on Tony’s side in Civil War but helped Steve anyway because they were together since CA:WS. She tracks him down in Switzerland and he comes home to the safe house to see her heels by the door like they usually would be back in New York. Then he sees her sitting in the dark, save for the fireplace, and they argue about how he can try to leave but she will find him everytime because she loves him. So they have some “reunion fun” and maybe after, they’re having some pillow talk where she’s worried that he’s been with other women in 6 months apart. because let’s be fair, we can’t blame her. have you seen the nomad-hair ‘n beard?… 😭

Thanks for the request, nonnie! I couldn't work in the very last bit, but hopefully you'll enjoy. Rating is NC-17, minors DNI. 1,800 words. (I forgot to add, 180F is a good temperature for green tea--and yeah, a kettle would be in C probably but bear with me for the metaphor ❤️)

180

The chilly wind is not the reason Steve feels cold on his walk home. He’s living in a fully furnished home for the first time in six months, but nothing about the space feels welcoming. He can’t settle. Somehow the many barracks he’s lived in over the years made him feel more comfortable, and he knows the reason why.

You’re not there.

The thought stings, and he grits his teeth, keeping his eyes on the road. The last thing he wants to do is look familiar, and maybe that’s the problem. If he’s not allowed to be Steve Rogers, no amount of handmade quilts and cozy living room furniture will make him feel at home.

He rounds the corner, pulling out his key with a half of a block to go. The rental is quiet, out of the way, obscure, even. Half the time even he struggles to find it. From three houses away, he sees a pair of deep red heels next to his front door, as incongruous among the quaint townhomes in Willisau as a palm tree. The spasm in his chest isn’t something the serum in his veins can heal, but Steve tells himself nothing’s really there. He’s imagined your shoes waiting outside of almost every place he’s laid his head since he left, and now it’s Switzerland’s turn.

He studiously ignores his lintel as he unlocks the door and goes inside.

 Steve’s sure he’s right when everything is the same as he’d left it. You've never failed to leave your personal touch in his living spaces--a hand knit scarf hung next to his coats, a delicate bunch of flowers on the table in a vase he'd long ago forgotten he owned.

The orange of sunset stretches across the floor from a back window, and he can smell the tang of woodsmoke, a familiar occurrence in this neighborhood. It isn't until he puts his shoes and keys away and pads into the kitchen that he finally realizes he’s not alone.

The smoke smell isn’t from outside. The fireplace is lit, and when Steve steps into the doorway, he sees a familiar, precious silhouette. Even though you have to have heard him, you don’t turn around, so he chooses discretion as the better part of valor. You’ve always said a warm cup of tea is comforting after a long day, and it has been that.

He sets the temperature on the kettle, places two mugs, and then goes looking for tea, concern and frustration growing. You've never not greeted him, but those had always followed a goodbye, something Steve hadn't had the courtesy to give when he'd left. The first two cabinets yield nothing, and you haven’t spoken or come in, yet.

Then, suddenly, you’re there, walking in and showing him exactly where the tea is, right in time for the kettle’s finishing beep. You’ve always been like that, exactly what he needs at exactly the right time, and that hasn’t changed. It’s damning and loving all at once.

Steve grabs at one of the tins, but you set a light hand on his, leaving it there are you say something about temperatures and tea leaves. He’s barely listening, focused on the way your touch has jump-started his heart, his lungs, and… everything else.

“Steve!” you say, snatching your hand back and giving him an affectionate, frustrated look. It’s more the latter than the former, but at this point he’s parched soil grateful for a slight drizzle. “Did you hear any of that? I asked what temperature you set the kettle.”

“Uh, whatever the default is?”

Brand new to this kitchen though you are, you pick it up and start it again, noting that the water bubbles up right away. “212 is my guess. That’s too hot for this. It’s green.”

Steve very much wants to point out that all tea is green, but he knows better. Instead, he says, “We can pour it out and start over?”

You look at him for a long moment, your body a foot and several hard conversations away, and finally nod. Neither of you say anything as the new water heats up, but Steve feels the metaphorical distance between the two of you narrow as you breathe each other’s air for the first time in forever.

When the kettle finally sounds, it’s somehow familiar. In his head Steve feels another timer go off, and he heeds it.

“I’m--” he starts to say, but you interrupt.

“I know.”

To hide his apprehension, Steve grabs the sugar, a spoon, and an amused look. “You don’t know what I was going to say!”

“I know all of them. You’re sorry. You’re not coming home. You’re doing this for my own good. You’re lonely.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

The two of you settle next to each other on the couch with a not inconsiderable amount of painful distance between you. That doesn’t translate to the conversation, though. It’s full of honesty (“I didn’t want to leave. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I’m not done with the things that need to be done, and it’s not safe for you here.”) from both sides  (“You’re physically gone and I hate that, but emotionally, I know you don’t want to let me go. I’m always with you, and I’ll always find you. There’s no one that can keep me safer than you can.”).

Once the tea’s long gone and the fire has died down to embers, neither of you have said the most important words, the healing words. 

Finally you whisper them, tears welling up in your eyes. “Steve, I love you. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

He opens his mouth, certain of his mission, as sacrificial as it is--but you slide up beside him, warm and loving and his.

“It can be like this,” you rasp, sliding your hand along his chest and up into his hair to pull his lips down to yours.

Steve groans in gratitude, angling his head in welcome and grasping at your hips to drag you onto his lap where you belong. He sends up a prayerful apology to any member of his family that still checks the earthly realm to watch him live a sinless life. Today is not that day. 

You’re wearing soft dress pants, just loose enough for him to slide his hand past your waistband, thumbing caresses along the heat of your inner thigh until your hitching ‘yes’ of a sigh gives him more explicit permission. He’d missed your body, missed this, the warm slick of your welcoming folds, the way you gasp and tense when he strokes you. This angle shouldn’t work, but he’s strong, and he knows how much you love that, so he nuzzles the join between your neck and shoulder, breathing you in.

You release your deathgrip on his shirt to snake your hand up into his hair, dragging your fingernails deliciously against his scalp. Your movements are imprecise and shaky, a testament to his own erotic movements, and Steve groans aloud at the realization. The timbre of your voice as you whisper his name hints at how close to orgasm you are, and he takes the opportunity to escalate his onslaught.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, thrusting his fingers inside at unpredictable intervals to prolong your pleasure. You have always both loved and hated that, wanting instead to lose yourself in the rhythm of predictable movements--but your most vocal climaxes come just like this.

Steve backs off again, and you roll your hips, tempting him to return. “I’ll never let go,” you growl, pushing off just far enough to start unbuckling his pants. “You should know that.”

It’s an inflection point, and though Steve’s a soldier, he doesn’t fight you. You’d been so close your whole body had started to tremble, but instead of taking what you could from him and then shifting the mood, you’d taken the route of self-sacrifice. Those thoughts flee the battlefield when you urge him to lift up enough to tug his pants out of the way. Impatience sings through his veins. He wants to take charge and--

“Oh,” he says. The whole world shifts from black and white to color as you slide down between his legs, taking him in your mouth. He’s almost too sensitive for this, grabbing a fistful of the couch instead of your hair, knowing his own strength. You anchor yourself with a hand grasping that same forearm, moaning as you suck as if feeling the flex of his muscles is itself erotic.

Steve knows the whining noise he can hear is coming from his own throat, but doesn’t care about anything but the surging joy of this moment. You know exactly how to work him, adding everything he loves about you, about the ‘us’ he’d wanted to build with you. When he’s almost, almost there, when he knows your next move would be a deep-throated encouragement to spill in your mouth, you pull back.

The lesson is sharp and warranted, but Steve’s trust doesn’t waver. He looks down at you--‘submissive’ at his feet but fully in charge of the moment--and nods. I get it. Your light smile and little squeeze of his arm before you get up feels more like home than anything in months.

“I love you,” he says, and means it more than he ever, ever has.

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to say that in the middle of sex?” you tease, moving fluidly to shed the rest of your clothing. The only thing you keep on is your electric blue bra, and Steve lets out a tiny little noise of want when he sees it. It’s his favorite. Eight months ago you’d tried to get rid of it and he’d snatched it up out of the ‘to toss’ pile and buried it in his drawer, the drawer you’d given him in your bedroom for when he slept over.

He hadn’t wanted to leave it behind, to leave you behind, but it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Now, looking at your sultry, challenging expression, he truly understands the mistake he made.

Steve opens his mouth to tell you how beautiful you look in the firelight, how sorry he is that he ever thought he could walk away to make your life safer, how--

“Prove it, soldier,” you tell him. The words are confident, but there’s a waver in your tone that he put there.

He reaches for you, pulling you onto him, into him, straight through his skin, your sighs writing your name on his heart. It's exactly where you, where he belongs. The result is a rolling boil, a volley of exploding shells, a Brooklyn apartment with a pair of red heels at the door.

It’s been a battle, but he’s home.

[inspiredlivingspaces]

IG elledecor - Massachusetts

[thewordfortheday]

EXODUS 12:7,13 And they shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and on the lintel of the houses. And when I see the blood, I will pass over you; and the plague shall not be on you to destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt.

The Egyptians had no protection from the destroyer, but the people of Israel who put the blood of a lamb on their dwellings were safe.

The blood represented the Blood of the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world -- Jesus Christ (Revelation 13:8)..

The blood applied stopped the destroyer. With blood on the door of the Israelites in Egypt, no evil dared enter their dwelling. Christ is our Passover Lamb. Likewise, we are kept safe through the protection of the divine Blood of Jesus.

1 CORINTHIANS 5:7 For indeed Christ, our Passover, was sacrificed for us.

[desos-records]

Lockwood & Co AU where Lockwood's parents are just Evie and Rick O'Connell from The Mummy

Lockwood inexplicably knows a lot of extremely specific things about Ancient Egypt and he never elaborates and it infuriates George to no end

Lockwood: Well, it can't be a real canopic jar. The jackal protects the stomach, not the liver. George, who has never seen Lockwood read anything other than trashy tabloids and pulp detective novels: How could you possibly know that???

They discover while fighting off relicmen that Lockwood is insanely capable with guns and he flat out refuses to acknowledge any line of questioning about it, but it does explain the crate of old shotguns in the basement

He also apparently knows how to build, operate, and diffuse a range of explosive devices, which they discover during the Siege of Portland Row

Clearly, he has a talent for leaving buildings in partial to complete ruin everywhere he goes

He viciously despises the British Museum, a fact they discover after getting hired to clear out a particularly nasty poltergeist from one of their exhibit halls and Lockwood turns them down flat

On top of ghost relics, Portland Row is also home to various Ancient Egyptian decor--small statues, modern recreations of khopeshes, photographs of temple interiors. Some of the artifacts are the real thing and he does not see the hypocrisy in this

Along with the iron line outside, the lintel of the front door has the Eye of Horus carved into it as an additional protective measure

During rare nights off, the gang sometimes plays board games together and Lockwood is visibly surprised that no one else knows how to play Senet

He speaks Arabic and, if given enough time and motivation, can translate hieroglyphics

Sometimes when they're stumped in a particularly dangerous case, Lockwood will call on a 'family friend' who happens to have the relevant connections or expertise

Ardeth visits on Christmas every year without fail or warning. Everyone is in utter shock the first time except Lockwood, who is royally embarrassed by all the baby stories his godfather keeps telling people. Ardeth is just happy to know that Lockwood has formed his own family

The uncle he stayed with in the country was Jonathan

He has dual citizenship in the United States and, when Kipps learns this, he teases him mercilessly about it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 48

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You calm the baby as your own tears dry up. She doesn’t deserve misery even if you’re cursed with it. Maybe that’s what you should try, to save her from the same. If you can.

You get her to sleep at last and fall back onto the bed, weak with cheeks like crepe paper from crying. You stare at the ceiling as the window darkens as the night approaches. You knew deep down Lloyd wouldn’t be gone forever but that eventuality could never prepare you for his return.

Your eyes drift closed as you lay sideways on the mattress, too lazy to drag yourself up to the pillows. How pathetic are you. Feeling sorry for yourself because the obvious happened. Because that scum ran off like the cowardly dog he is. You knew from the moment you met him who he was so you can't pretend to be surprised.

There’s a tap on the door. You tense but your sense keeps you from panicking. It’s too gentle to be that jackass. You know he doesn’t have much in that thick skull of his but you hope he knows better than to try anything tonight.

“Sweetheart,” Harlan’s voice seeps through the door like molasses, “if you’re asleep, don’t worry, I just wanted to check in.”

You swallow and sit up. You prefer him to his wife or son. There’s a twinge in your chest as you realise you missed him. Of anyone, he’s been your only true companion. Not some erstwhile comfort or momentary escape.

You get up and open the door. The tall man stoops just below the lintel, his thick white facial hair catching your attention. Everything happened so fast, you hadn’t noticed it. His usually clean shaven face is slightly haggard with his exhaustion.

“Hey,” you greet him in a half-whisper, the quiet of the house makes even that seem loud, “wanna come in?”

“Sure,” he accepts and ducks inside as you hold the door. You shut it behind him as he smooths his grown out locks and peers around with a bashful posture. 

You come around him and stop by the bassinet, looking in at the dozing infant. You put your hand on the canopy and lift your chin, “you wanna see her?”

He hesitates, reaching to rub his neck, “I came to see to you first,” he intones, “I can’t imagine it’s been easy.”

“Me?” You scoff, “you don’t have to lie. You can hold her, she’ll just fall back asleep,” you move to reach into the bassinet and he nears, putting his hand out but not touching you.

“No, I mean it, I’m not gonna ask how you are ‘cause I know. But you’re my daughter and I wasn’t out there for just that bastard. I didn’t run halfway across the god– across the world for that moron,” he sniffs, “come on, let her sleep.” He pauses and glances down, lips curling slightly at the sight of his granddaughter, “she’s even more beautiful than I recall.”

He waves you away from her and you sit on the edge of the bed. You sit in silence as you watch his lingering gaze on the baby. Maybe, if he can look at her with that much love…

“You got questions, I’ll answer them,” he moves away from the bassinet as he sits beside you, “and if you don’t wanna talk about him, fair enough.”

You nod and look at the floor. You don’t know what you want. It doesn't really matter where he was. It matters that he left and that he stayed away. He confirmed every doubt you carried for nine months.

“Not about him,” you shake your head, feeling the sting return to the brim of your eyes, “but… did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?”

“You called me your daughter,” you look at him meekly, “is that really what you believe?”

“'Course,” he snorts, “Dottie may’ve never given me a girl but the world did and they did a good job.”

Your cheek pinch and you fight back tears, “I don’t think you’d want me to be your daughter if you knew.”

“If I knew what?” He watches you, no judgment, no expectation. If you don’t tell him, you know he won’t ask again.

You hang your head and cross your arms. You close your eyes as you pick out the words, “I… found someone else. Just… just to waste the time. I wasn’t going to wait any longer for him.”

He hums and takes a long breath, “well, I know now and I don’t feel any different.”

You clamp your lips together and you glance at the bassinet. You hear the baby babble. You shudder and let your hands fall into your lap.

“There’s something else.”

“There is.”

You sniff and cover your face. You don’t know if you can say it out loud. It keeps you awake at night, it eats you alive, and it wakes you every day with a wail.

“The baby…” you slide your hands away from your face, “I’m trying… so hard.”

“She’s healthy, you’re doing good, sweetheart,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t–” you nearly choke as a lump rises to your throat, “I can’t love her. I try and I try and I can’t. I can’t even say her name.”

He nods and chews on your confession. You won’t look at him. You can’t face his disappointment. You can’t bear to see in him the same hatred you feel for yourself.

He startles you as he reaches over and puts his large hand over yours. He pulls it away from your lap and sidles closer on the bed. He holds your hand tight and leans his arm against yours.

“The only thing that upsets me about that is you lying,” he says, “because if you didn’t love that little girl, you wouldn’t be so worried about not.”

Your lip temples as you stare at the wall. No, he doesn’t understand. He can’t.

“I don’t… I can’t feel it–”

“You’ve been surviving and you done that for her as much as yourself,” he lets go of your hand and lifts his arm up onto your shoulders, “you ain’t got the chance to feel. Now you do, sweetheart.” He draws you into an embrace, “you don’t gotta take care of no one but you. I’ll deal with that brat I raised.”

You sniffle as your tears well over. You can’t stymie the flow once it starts. Harlan rests his chin lightly on your head as you curl into his shoulder and sob quietly, clinging to the front of his shirt. As your knuckles press against his ribs, he winces and lets out a wheeze.

You flinch but he doesn’t let you go, keeping you close.

“Harlan,” you croak, “you’re hurt?”

“I’m just fine,” he assures you as he rubs your back, “let me tell you, I dealt Marion a worse blow.”

You laugh through your tears at the thought of it, “did you really?”

“A nice one square in the chops just for you,” he avows, “another across his big dumb nose for baby Luna, too.” 

Your lips tug at the image playing in your head and the snipe about Lloyd’s nose, the most defining feature he shares with his father. You don’t know if Harlan meant to be funny but you it eases the weight in your chest. You gently pull away and look up at your father.

“Will you hold Luna?” You ask as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “she’s missed you so much.”