#potlights

[hayeskarlie]

Foyer - Mudroom Example of a large minimalist porcelain tile foyer design with gray walls and a white front door

[dogsthatlookliketomhaverford]

Underground Basement in Toronto With gray walls, a standard fireplace, and a brick fireplace, a large minimalist underground laminate floor and basement photo is shown.

[manover40inlove]

Toronto Basement Underground Large minimalist underground laminate floor and gray floor basement photo with gray walls, a standard fireplace and a brick fireplace

[infinitvstones]

Basement in Toronto

Inspiration for a mid-sized modern look-out basement renovation with a concrete floor and white walls but no fireplace

[nicohayes]

Flat Panel Closet in Toronto Inspiration for a sizable modern walk-in closet renovation with flat-panel cabinets and gray cabinets that is gender-neutral and has a brown floor.

[timetravelingslytherinincamelot]

Multiuse - Laundry An illustration of a sizable transitional single-wall utility room with travertine flooring and a side-by-side washer and dryer, shaker cabinets, dark wood cabinets, quartz countertops, and beige walls.

[linneasunivers]

Toronto Lookout

Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary look-out concrete floor basement remodel with white walls and no fireplace

[cheahup]

Porch Toronto Inspiration for a sizable, extended-roof transitional brick front porch

[coolarunromi]

Busy day at Painted Post Drive. #Potlights #october🍁🍂 2022 #fallcolors #paintedpostdrive #Woburn (at Woburn) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cjec84-O7fM/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[rambollrwanda]

Providing Indoor Potlight Installation Services

Welcome to Ramboll Services, where excellence meets diversity in Residential & Commercial Services. As your comprehensive solution provider, we take pride in offering a range of expertise that includes top-notch Electrical Services  Stylish Window Blind Installations, Seamless Home Appliance Setups & Repair and efficient HVAC solutions and Indoor Potlight Installation

[beesolively]

Living Room Loft-Style (Calgary)

[demoness-one]

I ordered a vintage light fixture ($300) off of etsy in july, hoping it would arrive for my birthday in august. Its now halfway through november and its still not fucking here. Somehow he messed the address up so it got shipped to america where it sat for 3 weeks, then back to germany, then the seller made me pay for shipping again ($50) and now hes shipped it via containership. (takes 2-3 weeks extra) So with my luck by now its at the bottom of the fucking ocean. This dude is getting like 2 stars max, this is the most stressful fucking transaction of my life lol. First and last time using etsy istg 😭

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

Just a silly little drabble about Summoned!König bringing you some things back from home. He's nice, I swear. He's just also a bit out of touch.

Tws: Mentions of your mother having a heart condition

Story below the cut.

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

The dark hallways were pockmarked by shafts of light from the potlights in the ceiling, casting godrays that showered down onto the empty floors. Walking through, doors lined the halls, standing bravely at attention like the summoners that slept behind them. At the farthest end of the hallway, your door sat waiting for you. Open.

As soon as you saw the open door you felt your stomach drop. You wanted to run, but at this hour you risked waking up some irate summoners. Instead, you trained your eyes on the grey linoleum floors as you skirted down towards your open hell. With each footstep, you could feel your bpm rising steadily, your heart drumming in your ears like a marching band as you walked.

When you got to your doorway, you took a moment to settle yourself. Just from the doorway, nothing looked off. Taking a breath, you stepped through the door.

Your room was perfectly intact. Nothing seemed off in the slightest. You checked your washroom, and all your belongings were in place and untouched. Your room was similarly pristine, almost to clinical state. It was bizarre. Did you forget to close your door? No, you locked it when you left. So why was it so clean? In fact, now that you got a better look under the moonlight, it looked cleaner than before. Clothing you’d thrown into drawers had been neatly folded and set inside the cabinet with care. Your shoes were neatly lined up by the front door with military precision you’d never been able to drill into your head. It was eerily perfect in a way that seemed almost unnatural.

You looked around the room again and nearly spat out your drink when you saw your bed. It was perfect. What was disturbing though was the fact that the stuffies you left at home were now sitting at the top of the bed.

You picked up one such stuffy and examined it carefully. Who the hell would bring up these old relics? Who even had the ability to go all the way back home and come back to base, simply for the sole purpose of getting your childhood mementos back to you?

The lights flickered.

Ah.

“König,” you called out to the room behind you, “why did you get my stuffies from back home?”

A heavy scaled hand planted itself firmly on your shoulder as the thin cloth of the being’s dark hood drifted over you.

“Are these not to your standards, Summoner?” König’s pitchy yet guttural voice thrummed through his chest into your back.

You held up the stuffy by its arms.

“Did you see my parents?” you asked, ever so slightly hopeful.

“Your mother is well,” König patted your head, “your father screamed when he saw me.”

You snorted as you put the stuffy down, “You actually let them see you?”

“Their summons demanded that I make myself known,” König explained with a hint of bitterness to his tone, “and, seeing as I am a benevolent being, I simply followed their orders. Apparently, they thought I’d wait until your father had finished his shower.”

You knew you’d be getting a phone call soon for that. You could already hear your father ranting about how you needed to keep your summon under control, already knowing full well that controlling an avatar of chaos was a laughable thought. You wondered what he thought of your summon, considering how renowned your father's name was among the old brass he used to run with.

“Your mother passed out when she saw me,” König continued, “but she came to fairly quickly. Then fainted again. The second time she came back I ensured that she was in a comfortable chair and well cared for, I assure you.”

“You know my mother has a heart condition, right?” you sighed as you put your beloved plush bear back onto the bed.

“Of course I know,” König scoffed, “anyways, we were able to settle our difference once she was able to stay conscious,” König prattled on as he examined his iridescent claws, “she seemed uncomfortable knowing that you’re mated to me for eternity, but she did say that it was better than having your bones torn from your body and keeping your flesh alive.”

You turned to look up at your summon with a blank look. At this point, you were about to develop a heart condition too.

“Please don’t tell me you said that to my mother,” you glared up at your summon with as much ferocity as a wet kitten could muster.

König stared into the distance before he slowly met your eyes.

“I apologize, Summoner.”

You looked at him, then back at the stuffies.

“Why?” you sighed.

“Not all is wrong, Summoner. After she finished her insufferable wailing, she thanked me for not harming you. I’m surprised a human understood her place so well,” König took a half step back, “I will add for your peace of mind, she suggested I bring your stuffed animals to you.”

You paused, then nodded slowly.

“So what were you doing at my place if you weren’t getting my stuffies?” you asked.

“You left your entertainment device underneath your bedding when you last visited.”

You scrunched your face for a moment before understanding opened your features.

“You got my gameboy back?” you asked hopefully.

König simply took the ‘entertainment device’ from a pocket in his robe and passed it to you. You tried to turn it on, but it was out of charge. You supposed beggars can’t be choosers.

“So, my mom told you to bring me my stuffies?” you asked as you set the gameboy on your night table.

“She also asked me to bring you some ‘cookies’,” König held out a bag of smooshed crumbs and molten chocolate, “I forgot how delicate human treats are.”

You took the bag into your own hands and took a close look. If nothing else, you could probably mix this up with some icecream or something. They at the very least seemed to still be edible (a far cry better than the pizza you’d asked König to pick up for you last week, only to be presented a cardboard box full of ashes and embers. König had tried to bring another back, but that had gone even worse). If nothing else, König was learning how to transport baked goods a bit better.

“So, was that everything? You brought my gameboy, some of my stuffies and some cookies from my mom?” you looked up at König.

König sniffed indignantly, “Your superiors did not seem to believe a controlled black hole in your dormitory was an appropriate idol to chaos.”

For once in your life, you thanked the heavens above for the dorm standards.

König furrowed his brows, evidently displeased by the look on your face. You looked back at your gameboy and sat on your bed. You noticed the mattress was a fair bit more comfortable, another sign of König’s intervention. You picked up your stuffed bear again with a smile.

“Thanks König.”

The avatar faltered momentarily before regaining his stoic composure.

“Your comfort is paramount, Summoner,” he replied tersely.

You noticed that he seemed to be unable to meet your eyes, instead focussed on the posters plastered on your walls. You would’ve laughed, but you figured his ego wouldn’t be able to handle a weak summoner such as yourself laughing at him. At least, not out loud.

Your figured he knew, anyways.

AU Masterlist

[sentientsky]

@thebookshoparoundthecorner, this one is for u (based on this post)! sorry it’s not a full fic, but i’m sick rn and this was the best i could do with my fever lol

—

The night is slick—holy, hollow gasps of darkness slipping between the streetlights, pooling in oily patches along the road. His hands flex on the steering wheel, all white-knuckles and trembling fingertips. He does not breathe. He hasn’t let a single breath slip past his lips since that moment in the street only a handful of hours before. It was as though, if he could fight back against the desperation of human lungs long enough, he might hold onto what little scrap of Aziraphale remained with him now (if only in shared oxygen and lips bruised with the futility of affection).

Were that he another—were that he not a demon with a restless, wanting, greedy heart (a rose by any other name). Or, rather, if an angel with silver filament curls might love him unabashedly—as he is. Well, then the story might have turned out differently. But for the moment, he is alone, save for the chrome headlights before him and the closing of lift doors so many kilometers behind.

The road rushes beneath him, and the indigo fluorescent night opens its cavernous mouth and swallows him whole.

The tunnel is a long, winding thing, potlights spanning the length of concrete. Tunnels always made Crowley uncomfortable—their narrow, looming grasp too much like the corridors of Hell. But in the here and now, he watches the lights blur past like atoms colliding, rending apart in empty space.

And then he blinks.

He blinks and it’s as though he’s watching the birth of the universe played out in slow motion. Because, although it may be easier to forget, the hands now unsteady on the steering wheel are the same ones that first turned the wheel, that set the universe into motion; the hands of an architect, an engineer.

And for that brief fraction of a second, when all is naught but breath and movement and airy light—when he sees nothing, save for the staccato glow pressed against his closed eyelids—he remembers.

He remembers the pulsing heat of galaxies yet to be pried up from the floorboards of creation. He remembers wings bright as a solar flare, unflinching in the face of the divine. He remembers his heart in his throat—the way his skin felt like pure lightning as he first watched photons catch and splinter against newly forged matter.

He exhales. He opens his eyes.

[inkykeiji]

Pigeon and touya nii

prompt: pigeon warnings: stepcest, blood, bullet wound, impromptu surgery words: 734

Something’s wrong. He should’ve been back by now; there’s no way such a routine job would take over an hour and a half longer than it normally does. 

Not that you know what routine means. Not exactly, anyway. 

But Touya’s used the word around you frequently enough—as a nondescript designation of a specific type of job, a codeword of sorts—for you to have gleaned bits and pieces of what it entails: a routine never takes long, is rarely planned, is always called in at a sudden and random time, and is always urgent. 

It’s a routine. That’s what the deep voice laden with fizzing static always says when it orders it. 

It’s a routine. That’s what niichan always says when he delegates to his colleagues, words hurled through the speaker of his phone with an apathetic type of urgency—calm and steady, speedy but not rushed. 

Niichan usually gets them done in under forty-five minutes, tops. Sometimes even sooner than that. 

Except for tonight.

Your numerous calls and increasingly frantic texts have gone completely unanswered, and you’re on the verge of doing the unthinkable and calling someone you absolutely should not be contacting ever again when the door slams open, the force of the impact sending tremors skittering through the walls, whole apartment quivering beneath them.

“Out of the way,” Natsuo’s hissing, sharp and caustic and all the things he becomes when Touya’s vitality is in question, hauling his big brother through the threshold with one strong arm wrapped around his waist, the other wrapped around the wrist thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders.  

There’s something odd with Touya’s gait—he’s limping, your mind notes dully, trancelike as you slip off the nearest bar stool just before Natsuo heaves his big brother onto it. 

“Oh my God.” 

It slips from your lips in a breathy little whimper, hands outstretched and hovering hesitantly, fingers griping at the air but never touching, desperate to help, unsure how. 

“I’m fine,” Touya’s chuckling, though a syrupy crimson is steadily soaking through his dark jeans, glimmering in the dim yellow glow of the kitchen potlights. 

“What happened!?”

“A pigeon,” Touya huffs, sounding angrier about the pigeon than the oozing wound on his thigh. “A fucking pigeon happened.”

“Wh-What?”

“Sit down before you fall down,” Natsuo instructs, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. 

Panic blurs your vision, edges starting to waver with hazy tears, and you nod dumbly, movements mechanical as you gingerly perch on the stool next to Touya.

“Stupid fuckin’ thing,” Touya’s shaking his head as Natsuo wriggles his jeans down his thighs, making no effort to help. “I should’a killed it when I had the chance.”

“Well, now you know for next time,” Natsuo mutters, fingers gently prodding at the gash. “It’s shallow. You’re lucky it didn’t hit any bone.”

“Wait, I’m—A pigeon caused that?” 

Blinking rapidly, you clear the bleariness from your eyes, spiking your lashes with trapped teardrops and squinting a little as you lean forward, attempting to study the injury.

“More or less,” Touya shrugs. “Little fucker ruined my shot; flew right in front of the barrel just as I was pulling the trigger. Surprised me, made me flinch, shot was off by a few millimeters, but it was enough to garner unwanted attention. Freak accident.” 

His voice is painfully casual—bored, almost, as if it makes no real difference to him, faint notes of anger only seeping into his tone when talking about the unpredictability that ruined another otherwise perfect shot. 

The delicate click of metal tweezers has your gaze instinctively snapping toward the sound, just in time to see Natsuo delving into the wound, careful and cautious as he latches onto the bullet lodged in his big brother’s thigh and begins to pull it, slow and steady, from his flesh. 

“No, no,” Touya’s bloodstained fingers find your jaw, the stench of bitter copper clinging to them, gently redirecting your gaze to his face. “Don’t look, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t need to see this,” Natsuo says, head bent, eyes never straying from his diligent work. “I’d ask you to leave, but I know you’d fight me on it.”

“She wouldn’t listen,” Touya laughs, warm with fondness. The tip of his index finger traces the curve of your cheek, eyes soft and melty as they follow its trajectory. “Not when it comes to her niichan.” 

[skippyv20]

Slippery fast slide-crash landing coming up!

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim here…can you hear that loud whooosh? Here is come! Swoosh…that was the Harkles as they flew past us on the steep slide down into infamy! We knew it would be bad if they opened Pandora’s Box but hoped there was excellent guidance from the publisher and expensive ghost writer…guess not! Were the editors given the go-ahead from the Firm-knowing this food fight, tit-for tat contest, would NOT be a winner for the whiners?

I wonder if 60 minutes is going to like this unexpected, early reveal before their mighty Anderson Cooper’s big tell all interview this Sunday the 8th-the same day as the book was hitting the stands? OOP$$$

What is a total shame is how Harold never understood how close he was by birth, to the top. He was in position to be the trusted confident and brother of a future ruler, being in the global $potlight for the rest of his life. With a modicum of effort on behalf of the realm, he had it made and the world “really really liked him” to boot. As the beloved uncle he even had a second shot at helping the family rule. I would suffice to say, his mother dreamed that would happen for her boys.

Until he met and was taken over by the rotten grifter/con-artist aka his booty call and her mother-another known snake in the grass-he was seemingly fine with his royal family and affiliations. Then…POOF! Prince William was absolutely right to tell this gate-crashing fake she was causing real harm. He was correct stating that “Meg is difficult, she’s rude, she’s abrasive. She’s been rude to the staff.” RMM IS ALL THAT AND MORE! Absolutely correct to call her out to Harold. Where was her great humanitarian persona to immediately apologize and improve her behavior? Nooowhere in sight.

My family was terrified when my sister and I had the rare, big blow up. I was the only one to stand up to her as she was really good a making the family duck & run, caving to her demands. As her older sister of barely 2 years, we didn’t even understand how close we were, so of course I called her on her games and lies. Batta bing–batta boom…but we always could quickly recover and be our old selves again. That is how siblings really are with heated arguments that blow over. After their confrontation in Harold’s kitchen, PW asked to keep it between them, which was smart. But JH referred to it as an attack he would share with his wife, spelling out he was not trustworthy to even his only brother! I suspect PW would have walked through fire to help him out back then…like I did with my sister. Finally, we siblings realize we are being used with every rescue and must cut ties but it is hard missing someone who was once so close.

Over and out for now from a dreary Cape.

Thank you!  Great post…❤️