#Fitted Bedroom Furniture London

[craftwardrobelondon]

Fitted Bedroom Furniture in London: Transforming Dreams into Reality

In the vibrant city of London, where every inch of space is valuable, mastering the art of space optimization is crucial. Homeowners and interior designers alike have long sought the perfect solution to optimize their bedroom layouts, and the answer lies in the realm of fitted bedroom furniture. This is where a reputable London fitted wardrobe company comes into play, offering customized solutions that blend functionality with style. This comprehensive guide delves into the world of custom-made bedroom furnishings, exploring how they can transform the most intimate spaces into havens of style and functionality.

The Allure of Fitted Bedroom Furniture

Maximizing Space Efficiency

A major advantage of fitted bedroom furniture is its capacity to effortlessly harmonize with the room's existing architectural features. By making use of every available nook and cranny, these custom-designed pieces foster a seamless and organized atmosphere. They optimize the available space and ensure a harmonious flow throughout the bedroom.

Personalized Design

Fitted bedroom furniture in London offers an unparalleled level of customization, allowing homeowners to tailor their space to their unique preferences and needs. From the selection of materials and finishes to the precise dimensions and storage solutions, the design process is a collaborative journey, ensuring that the final result is a true reflection of the homeowner's vision.

Timeless Elegance

The hallmark of fitted bedroom furniture lies in its ability to transcend trends and maintain a timeless elegance. Whether the desired aesthetic is contemporary, traditional, or a blend of both, the skilled craftsmen and designers in London can create pieces that effortlessly complement the overall décor, elevating the bedroom's ambiance and creating a sanctuary of refined sophistication.

The Design Process: Bringing Visions to Life

Consultation and Measurement

The journey begins with a comprehensive consultation, where homeowners work closely with experienced designers to discuss their requirements, preferences, and the unique dimensions of their bedroom. This meticulous process ensures that the final design not only meets the functional needs but also seamlessly integrates with the existing architecture.

Bespoke Cabinetry and Storage Solutions

The true magic of fitted bedroom furniture lies in the bespoke cabinetry and storage solutions that are tailored to the individual's needs. From discreet wardrobe systems to innovative drawer configurations, the design team in London collaborates with homeowners to create a harmonious blend of form and function, maximizing the available space and ensuring a clutter-free sanctuary.

Attention to Detail

No part of the design process is neglected; London-based specialists meticulously account for every detail, from choosing premium materials to ensuring precision in joinery. This unwavering attention to detail ensures that the final product not only looks stunning but also delivers uncompromising quality and durability.

The Transformative Power of Fitted Bedroom Furniture

Increased Storage Capacity

One of the key advantages of fitted bedroom furniture is the significant boost in storage capacity it provides. By incorporating custom-designed wardrobes, drawers, and shelving, homeowners can bid farewell to the frustration of overflowing closets and cluttered surfaces, creating a serene and organized environment.

Enhanced Aesthetic Appeal

The seamless integration of fitted bedroom furniture into the existing architecture elevates the overall aesthetic appeal of the space. The bespoke designs, coupled with the careful selection of materials and finishes, create a harmonious and visually striking focal point, transforming the bedroom into a true sanctuary of style and sophistication.

Improved Functionality

Fitted bedroom furniture in London is not just about aesthetics; it also prioritizes functionality. From integrated lighting solutions to specialized compartments for storing delicate items, these custom-made pieces are designed to enhance the daily experience of the homeowner, making the most of every inch of available space.

In the heart of London, where space is at a premium, the art of fitted bedroom furniture has emerged as a game-changer, transforming dreams into reality. By maximizing efficiency, offering personalized design, and delivering timeless elegance, these custom-made solutions have the power to elevate the most intimate spaces, creating a harmonious blend of form and function. As homeowners and designers continue to embrace the transformative potential of fitted bedroom furniture, the city of London stands as a testament to the power of innovative design in creating truly exceptional living spaces.

[robertseo2019-us]

Are You Searching For Beautiful Bedrooms in London

Beautiful Bedrooms London transforming your bedroom storage is deciding what might suit your room, lifestyle, and budget. Find out about different fitted wardrobe options and styles below. Fitted wardrobes can be a great way to make the most of the space in your bedroom, particularly if it has awkward nooks and crannies, such as an attic room with sloping ceilings.

You’ll find you can maximize your storage in ways that suit the clothes you own. If you wear lots of suits, for example, you can opt for extra hanging space; if you have an enviable shoe collection you can build in shoe storage compartments.

Before you get started, think carefully about what will work for you so you don’t find yourself disappointed by niggles when the work is complete.

Already have a vision of what you want? Head straight to our advice on buying the best-fitted loft wardrobes. Or see the best-fitted bedroom furniture brands, according to customers.

Designs in Beautiful Bedrooms London

Fitted wardrobe doors Hinged doors will give your wardrobes a more traditional look while sliding doors can give a sleek finish and are a neat option if you have limited space.

You can ditch the doors completely with open-fronted wardrobes. These will put your items on display and create a more relaxed feel room. You’ll need to keep your clothes tidy though, to avoid your bedroom feeling cluttered.

Some options even use curtains in place of doors for a softer way to conceal your clothes.

Fitted sliding wardrobes As the name implies, these have sliding doors as opposed to hinged ones that open out.

There are lots of different options for sliding wardrobes, including the number and width of doors.

They come in a number of different styles and finishes, from mirrored glass to more traditional wood.

The benefit of sliding wardrobe doors is that the doors take up less space. Similarly, a good option is, to have a tight fit between wardrobes and beds.

Here more designs for you

Fitted mirrored wardrobes Both hinged and sliding wardrobes come with mirrored options. Doors can be totally or partially mirrored, and you can have all of the doors done in the same way, or just a few.

Full-length mirrors can be great for bringing light into the room, but bear in mind that they are tricky to keep clean — dust and fingerprints will show up more than on a normal door.

One option is to have mirrors incorporated inside your wardrobe doors. So they could be hung on the back of the doors, integrated as pull-out panels, or tucked at the back of a section. If you’ll be using them to check your outfit in the morning, make sure they’ve got plenty of light.

Corner fitted wardrobes and Bedrooms As with any other tricky space in a bedroom, a fitted bedrooms wardrobe can utilize a corner so that it isn’t wasted.

They tend to come with options such as curved rails, particularly long rails or pull-out rails to make the corner easier to reach. Our section below on storage ideas shows more of the choices available.

Walk-in wardrobes If you have the space, a walk-in wardrobe can make it easier to keep your bedroom tidy. In other words, to keep your bedroom clutter-free.

These can include the same storage solutions as any other fitted wardrobes and can have internal doors or open shelving.

A smaller-scale version can make a nice feature of a recess or nook.

Fitted bedroom wardrobes for small bedroom design and sloping ceilings If your bedroom is an awkward shape, Beautiful bedrooms in London can help get the best out of its dimensions.

If alcoves and crevices show up around sloping ceilings and curved walls it can be a really fancy Bespoke wardrobe.

[bragtech]

At Beautiful Bedrooms we provide high quality truly bespoke fitted furniture and services like Fitted Bedrooms London, Fitted Wardrobes, Loft Bedrooms.

[samifeur]

Reach-In Closet London Inspiration for a mid-sized modern gender-neutral reach-in closet remodel with glass-front cabinets

[vaultsnakes]

Reach-In Closet London Inspiration for a mid-sized modern gender-neutral reach-in closet remodel with glass-front cabinets

[thirstywoso]

Take me out to the ball game - Jessie Fleming x Reader (platonic and fluffy)

A/N: the person that inspired this fic doesn't know I've written it but it's short, fluffy and platonic - it's also rushed and messy and please know that I don't know the first thing about baseball and that's why it lacks detail 😭

Warnings: None

W/C: 1.5k

Synopsis: You help Jessie feel welcome in Portland

You'd been at Portland a few years before Jessie had joined, that didn't mean the all too familiar feeling of being a newbie was a distant memory. In fact you remembered how nervous you were making new friends, learning the new drills and fitting into the routine and lifestyle at Portland. Most clubs were similar with the way they spaced out and scheduled gym sessions, pitch training and analytics, it just was different to your old club. Settling into a new city was also hard and even with familiar faces on the team it took you some time to feel fully comfortable.

That's why when Jessie came to Portland you decided to take on the roll of big sister, even though she was a year or two older than you. You had always taken people under your wing and had a caring nature but something about Jessie and the way she spoke and would intently listen to you wasn't something you hadn't experienced before.

You'd been spending a lot of downtime with the girl, her first week you showed her around the city and showed her places and amenities that would be of benefit to her, last week you'd spent your time helping her settle into her apartment as her belongings that she had sent over from London started to arrive along with the new furniture she had ordered.

Each evening after training you'd find yourself on the floor of Jessie's apartment with a few beers and takeout containers from somewhere or another. This was Jessie's treat most nights as a thank you for helping her to put together all her flatpack furniture and organise her apartment into the way she liked.

It was Friday night and you were sat with her on her bedroom floor, she had a mattress that she had been sleeping on but that morning her new bed frame had come.

As per usual you were sharing a crate of beers that you'd bough over, whilst screws, nuts and bolts neatly laid out next to the instructions that you'd set out ready for your "adult legos"

"Okay so part A" you say picking it up "goes into part B" you scan the floor for said part before looking over to Jessie who had it in her hand. "Aha that's it, if you pass me a screw from pile one then I'll secure them" you let her know. She does as you ask and you put them together.

It doesn't take long, swapping between roles of securing the beams and holding things in place/ grabbing the bolts. Within an hour or so Jessie's bed frame was put together and you'd placed the mattress on top and assisted her in making up her bed, you then both retired to her couch that you'd helped put together a few days before, you sat there finishing up your beers and chatted late into the night seeing as Saturday was an off day for you both.

"So, as an apology for having you over here every night to help me put together my apartment, I was thinking you could come over and I'd make you dinner and we can relax for a change?" Jessie offered

"I mean.." you start scratching your neck "I'd love to take you up on that offer, believe me, I'm just thinking about going to Seattle to watch the Mariners play" pausing because you didn't want to reject the offer "I am so down to do another night though" you give.

"Oh, yeah sure sorry! I didn't even think, you've spent every night here all week that I forgot you might want time to yourself and never even thought you'd have plans and that's on me, mariners huh? Is that baseball? I'm not sure I've never really watched it, and if I'm honest I don't understand it, you like baseball? I never knew that!" She rambled out really fast almost tripping over her words, slightly embarrassed by her assumptions.

You grab her arm stroking it gently, "shh Jessie, it's cool don't worry about it" you wait for her to breathe before carrying on "yes, I do like baseball, I also haven't minded a single minute hanging out with you, It's just been awhile since I went to a game, you can come with me if you like?" You ask her.

"I wouldn't want to intrude, I also know nothing about baseball" She tells you.

"You are not intruding, I'm going by myself and it would be nice to have company, I can also teach you? Only if you want?" You say somewhat hopefully.

"Okay that would be nice!" She accepts your invite.

-

The next morning you pick Jessie up from her apartment and stop off at the store for a snack run, grabbing various sugar filled treats and some sodas.

As you drive you become even closer with Jessie, both sharing anecdotes and stories about your lives, finding out your shared love of artisanal coffee, passion for photography and love of a good hike. You fell into a rhythm of telling stories back and forth until you arrived at the stadium.

You'd worn your baseball jersey and gave one to Jessie to wear, once inside you'd told her you wanted to treat her to the entire baseball experience, buying her a hot dog and a beer from one of the vendors before finding your seats.

You gave Jessie a quick run through of the game and told her about how many innings there would be and how the scoring would work.

Throughout the game Jessie began to pick up on various rules and was starting to better understand how baseball worked, at one point excusing herself to the restroom. You'd offered to show her the way but she insisted you stay and watch, when she returned she had the face of a kid in a candy store.

In each hand was a novelty miniature baseball helmet made of plastic filled with ice cream, "I didn't know if you'd want one but look how cool these are! They said we can keep them when we are done too!" She squealed excitedly, you couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

Really appreciating the way she was taking in something you loved and was enjoying it, making the experience of one of your favourite things just that much better.

You thanked her and took the ice cream that probably cost way too much but you appreciated the gesture, you began to eat it and couldn't help but smile at the way Jessie kept giggling at hers.

"Next time remind me to buy you a beer in a baseball bat" you laughed, until she looked at you mouth agape in shock.

"That's a thing!" She exclaimed, to which you just laughed again in reply as you nod your head.

"It is"

"I need one!" She practically squealed

"Next time" you laugh

"Fine" she agrees with a mock pout.

"So how long have you been a mariners fan?" She asks after a few minutes of you sitting in comfortable silence.

"Well actually I'm not a Mariners fan, I just enjoy watching all of the teams. I am however a big cubs fan"

"Oh yeah, Chicago right?"

"Yeah, my dad use to take me when I was growing up and it kinda just stuck" you say with a shrug

"That's really sweet, I used to go with my dad to watch ice hockey growing up, in fact my whole family kind of grew up playing ice hockey. I think they were more than surprised when I took up soccer as my profession instead of becoming a professional hockey player." She tells you about her childhood, which you found somewhat comforting.

The way Jessie spoke and expressed herself filled you with an almost calm feeling, it was nice to have a friend that you felt so relaxed around that didn't drain you of your energy.

You also couldn't help but feel warmth from seeing how excited the small freckled Canadian would get at all the tiny things she noticed during the game.

Afterwards you headed back towards Portland, Jessie yapping away about how much she enjoyed the game and would love to do it again, she also promised that she would make you dinner another night of your choosing.

You agreed that any day would work for you and told her you enjoyed her company tonight and how excited you were to do it again.

Beaming at you from the passenger seat she nodded her head in agreement.

Before you knew it time had sped by and you were dropping her back at her apartment, returning to yours you felt somewhat bitter sweet that the night was over but you were also excited for the next time you could take her to a game.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Silvery Witchcraft

It is of course not a secret. Not per se. I don’t hide my true identity. It has more to do with what people observe. Or believe, I suppose. Coming to terms with the fact that the paranormal is real doesn't sit well with most people. Therefore, I always find it amusing when someone calls me a witch. Little do they know…

I took my time when I got to choose my appearance and colours. An image of an elderly, fragile-looking lady filled my mind. She fit my favourite colours perfectly. Purple and silver. 

My place of residence had already been chosen for me. 221 Baker Street, London. Such a pretty place. Victorian. Reminded me of my childhood. I immediately set about furnishing the place. 221A would serve as my quarters. I decorated it as a woman my supposed age would. Lots of lace curtains, antimacassars, velvet cushions, a Persian carpet, and mahogany furniture. I hid the modern kitchen appliances in old, almost ancient ones. My cooking and baking would not suffer because of an unpredictable oven, thank you very much!

I didn’t bother with 221C at first but moved upstairs. 221B was going to be rented out. I needed to earn a living. Keeping up appearances and all that nonsense. The flat was quite spacious and had two bedrooms. The empty space got my full attention, and I chose carefully. My intention was for it to look as if the previous tenants had left it fully furnished. 

The walls were covered with creamy-coloured wallpaper and a black lily pattern. Two mismatched chairs, one in worn, but exquisite leather, the other a faded red upholstery one, were positioned by the fireplace. Although they looked old, they weren’t. 

I used quite a few moments to get the bathroom and kitchen just to my liking. The space was scarce, but by using my silver sparks, my secret weapon, I got everything to fit without it seeming cramped. Letting the rooms expand unnoticed by the users, was quite a challenge.

***

My first tenant was Mycroft Holmes’ little brother, Sherlock. Witchcraft is surprisingly fully recognised by the British government. Not publicly, of course, and only a handful of ministries are aware of its existence.

Mycroft summoned me to the Diogenes club, and almost begged me to save his brother.

“He won’t listen to reason,” he sighed. “I have tried everything. You are his last chance, or he will end up dead under one of London’s bridges.”

Mycroft Holmes is just as much of a drama queen as his brother, but this time he wasn’t far off. I saw it in the lines around his eyes and mouth.

Arrangements were made, and I literally served my fake mafia husband to Sherlock on a silver plate. We got on like a house on fire after that.

Sherlock immediately fell in love with 221B, and he moved in the day after we returned from Florida and the execution. I hadn’t felt so alive in centuries!

“You will need a flatmate,” I told him after a while. “It’s too lonely for you. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man. I hear you during the wee hours. Playing your violin and pacing. A loyal companion is what you need.”

“Who would want me for a flatmate, Hudders?” he asked.

My heart nearly broke at that. Sherlock had become like a son to me, and I hated to see his loneliness. Few people were able to look behind his haughty façade. Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, and Molly Hooper being the exceptions. And me and Mycroft, obviously.

“Talk to Mike Stamford,” I urged him. “He will keep an eye out, and he certainly won’t pull someone like Sebastian Wilkes out of his sleeve.”

***

Before Sherlock left for Barts on January 29, I sent some silver sparks after him. For a moment, too brief for the human eye to discern, it lit him up, making him appear even more handsome. Not that he needed it. It was more for good luck, which he might have needed. It was difficult to use my magic on him due to his unpredictability and that monster of a brain.

The moment I laid eyes on John Watson, after Sherlock’s unprecedented hug, I knew he was just the one to share 221B with the genius detective. I didn’t even consider using my magic on him. He was already perfect for Sherlock. I just had to make sure that Sherlock didn’t push John away when he made his move to inquire about his romantic life and orientation. 

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[dark-is-d3ad]

OK, I'm moving soon, and I'm currently sitting in the middle of my ravaged flat surrounded by boxes, jars, and all sorts of things you never know you even had before it's time to go pack them up.

So here's a bunch of soapghost headcanons about moving in together.

• They end up helping each other to pack things. The flat they chose is a two-bed in Epping, really close to the forest. Easy to get to when they come back for a break, technically still in London, but in a quieter area on the outskirts of the city. Ghost checked for a multitude of things, including ways to get in and to retreat, hidden cameras, and he's making a custom surveillance system for it. You can never be too safe, right?

• The second bedroom is going to become Johnny's art studio. Ghost has dibs on the living room, he's got a huge TV and a PS5. And his humongous bookshelf will also go in there. They plan it out perfectly, so that they can spend time together, but also can have their alone time without bothering each other.

• Ghost refuses help at first, but then Johny just shows up with his portable speaker, and hangs out with him. It's a little distracting, and he has way too many books, they run out of boxes. Ghost never tells him, but he's grateful, it was getting overwhelming.

• Ghost's place looks neat, if not a little barren, his things are all sorted to perfection. He's got a collection of shotguns, too. And a huge table, perfect size to work on them comfortably. Cleaning and servicing guns never fails to calm him down. His favourite is an older one, a Benelli M2. It's in pristine condition albeit a little worn, its barrel needs to be changed because it can only last through so much shots, but Ghost kinda wants to keep it as it is, even though it's not practical. He's sentimental about it. They spend a lot of time packing them all up carefully.

• Johny actually asks him to come over, because his adhd gets unmanageable when he goes through all his things, and it's easier if a very specific person makes him stay on track, otherwise he'd be still stuck there reading his diaries and going through his pile of sketchbooks, and oh, the drawing supplies, he has the urge to use that beautiful box of designer gouache his sister gifted to him literally right now because he forgot about it, and now it's so tempting. Ghost thinks of it as of a mission, so he comes up with a strategy and keeps it tactical. And he makes Soap take breaks every once in a while.

• Soap's stuff doesn't fit into the van. Even with the furniture dismantled and packed, he's got so much things, a lot of them art supplies, a huge easel, half-finished paintings, canvases he forgot about or he hadn't had time to come back to. And his bed is freaking huge. They finally cram it in, but it's a really tight squeeze. Comparing to this, Ghost's was half-empty. Thank god their new place is on the bigger side.

• Ghost gets distracted, too, when they pack the paintings. He's not an artsy kinda guy, yet they are so good, he's entranced. It's Johnny's turn to make him focus. Soap doesn't think much of his art, and Ghost makes a mental note to compliment it more often. He really wants to see more. Hell, he'd even pose, if Soap ever asks for it. He won't tell him though.

• There's a "do not touch" black sketchbook with a little white scull drawn on the cover, and Soap flushes deep red and packs it away in record times. Ghost is intrigued beyond measure. He has assumptions of what's in there, and he sneakily checks it out when Soap goes to pack his clothes. It's full of sketches of him. Soap actually took his time to study him, he thinks, even the tattoos are all looking exactly right. The ones from the shower make him wonder if Soap actually memorised him that well or he got some sneaky reference pics (how did he manage that, the bastard). It's got notes, too. It takes an effort not to read them, but Ghost feels like he already intruded a bit too much, so he puts the sketchbook back where it was. Just in time, because Soap pops out with an absolutely ridiculous coat in his hands, and goes "hey, look what I used to wear when I was 18!"

• Ghost has a freaking lot of random jars. They're all empty. When asked about it, he confesses that he wanted to make jam, his grandfather used to make a lot of it every summer. It's one of the good memories he has, and there's not so many of them. He tried to make it once, but failed, and had to throw away the whole batch. They keep each and every one, although it seems stupid.

• Johnny's art stuff is a whole lot. He's got tree branches and clay, and a fucking mannequin (it scares Ghost every time he walks in Soap's living room, because his side vision registers it as a person, and he can't get over it). The mannequin has a crooked smiley face drawn on it with a sharpie. There's sheets of metal, fabric, a lot of acrylic, and a ton of instruments. He was trying to get into modern sculpture, Soap says, it didn't really work out. Needs more 3d thinking. Ghosts proposes to try again after they move. He's good at fixing stuff, and he's really good at guerilla warfare, they'll find a way to make even the weirdest thing Soap comes up with hold together.

• Soap's got little led garlands wrapped on every vertical thing at his place. At first Ghost thinks it's stupid, but when the night comes, and Soap lights all of them up, it actually feels almost magical. They sit on the floor with mugs of tea and coffee, and, although it's messy and everything is moved out of place, it's still beatiful, and it feels so safe. Ghost finds himself feeling more like a 5 y o than he probably ever did, sitting there just watching lights slowly light up and fade. He's never been good at making his places cozy. He'll ask Soap to work on their new flat to make it more like that. He really wants the lights there, too.

• Johnny's mugs are all different. He's got the "guns and coffee" with a redrawn Starbucks logo, the mermaid holds two pistols. Ghost gets the "under all your tattoos you're still a mainstream cunt" one when it's Johnny's turn to make tea. He pretends to be offended. There is a pink one with "unt" on it. It makes sense when Soap turns it, and the handle finishes the word. There's one with lots of bees, and it reads "bear daddy". Ghost makes the stupidest jokes about it.

• Ghost hasn't got a lot of kitchenware, and all his plates and mugs are white, the cheapest ones from IKEA. And he's only got one chair. No guests - no need. Johnny finds it a little depressing, but says nothing.

• Johnny's spicerack is probably the second biggest collection he has after his art stuff. He likes cooking, and he likes trying new recipes. His favourite go-tos sit separately on the kitchen counter. Ghost has to admit that he's really good. Ghost's spices are just salt and pepper, which gets him "and you live like that? Lt!" from Soap.

• When they finally move their stuff in, a call from Price comes. There's things to do like right now, get ready in 5, be at base in an hour and a half. Ghost likes his work, yet he can't help but get a little grumpy. He really wanted to get it over with. And to see what comes out of it with all things in place. And to have a chill evening with Johnny, watching these little lights again with some quiet ambient playing on the background. "It's OK," Soap says, "we'll get it sorted when we come back."

OK, that's gonna be it for now, I have a sad option and a silly option to go for, but I'd rather make a part two and separate them.

[finkinthisfrew]

Anything (pt.1)

A Matty Healy Fanfiction

cw: nightmare, boring plot set up (I promise Matty comes in, pls bear w me)

Chapter 1

I woke up shivering. Sweating. Stomach-churning. Sitting up and shaking my head, I grabbed the book from my nightstand and started reading to distract myself before I could register what I had dreamt and let the tears that had welled up in my sleep fall. I knew the pattern well and I wasn't going to let it ruin yet another morning. Thankfully these dreams happened less often than they used to, maybe once or twice a month now, yet somehow they never seemed to upset me any less.

After a few minutes of reading, I picked up my phone- 48 minutes until my alarm was meant to go off. 

Well, I guess it could've been worse. I sighed to myself. 

Trying to ignore my exhaustion, both emotional and physical, I tore off my sheets and hopped out of bed to start my day. 

Shuffling into the bathroom in my oversized sleeping shirt and thick knit socks, I turned the tap on and plugged the sink, letting the water pool. Splashing water on my face I tried to shake off the sleep that still bogged down my mind. 

The dreams definitely didn't help much with my terrible sleep schedule, though they weren't always the cause of it. I'd always struggled with sleep, ever since I was a child. I was always an anxious kid growing up which led to countless restless nights. I'd gotten better as I'd grown older, but my recurring nightmare set me back into my old habit of staying up too late and waking up too early. Unfortunately, it's something I've grown accustomed to.

As I looked up at myself in the mirror, I saw two green eyes with dark circles under them staring back at me. My dark brown curly shag haircut was messy from the tossing and turning in my bed, the ends dripping wet from the water I'd splashed on my face. 

Suddenly I wasn't there anymore, my vision was replaced with a flashback to my dream, black eyes staring back at me. 

Gone as quickly as it appeared, I once again stared back into my own green eyes, now filled with panic. I dove back into the basin to splash more water on my face. 

I took a deep breath and turned back into my bedroom. Determined to not let my recurring nightmare dictate the rest of my day, I decided I would treat myself. Today I would put on my favourite clothes, do up my hair and makeup and take myself to my new favourite coffee shop.

I opened up the door to the beautiful handpainted wardrobe I'd just bought last week and began to sift through all the hanging fabrics. Picking out my favourite jeans and a long sleeve shirt, I closed the door to my wardrobe and stepped back to admire my new apartment.

I had just moved to London a month ago for a six-month-long residency at an art gallery. I had been shocked when I was first offered it but jumped on the opportunity immediately. A six-month trip to London with free housing and endless hours to work on my art? It was a dream come true. 

The housing that the gallery supplied me with wasn't anything extravagant, but it was definitely charming. My apartment was on the top floor of a three-story walk-up, boasting giant slanting windows that brightened the single-room apartment even on the gloomiest of London days. I had found various charming vintage pieces of furniture and art to spruce up the bland basics I'd originally been supplied with, and it had finally started to feel like a home away from home. 

As I glanced one last time into the full-length mirror, I admired my outfit. My vintage light-wash perfectly worn-in Levi's fit me like a glove, and my new beige fitted long-sleeve mock neck looked effortlessly sexy, the semi-sheer knit material showing my black bralette in a casually immodest way. After I put my thin black sunglasses over my now brown smokey eyes and slid on my black vintage cowboy boots, I popped my AirPods in as I locked my apartment door.

Singing along to the opening lyric of an upbeat playlist, I started to get excited about my little trip to the coffee shop. I had just discovered it last week, finding out that they sold what I believed to be the best cookies I'd ever had in my life. Noticing the sun peaking through spotty clouds, I quickened my step down the stairs into the tube as I decided I'd take my coffee and cookie to a park to finish my book and maybe draw up some new ideas for pieces to make. 

Twenty minutes later I found myself saying "I'll have three cookies please" to the friendly barista, trying and failing to not blush at the fact that I knew that the extra two cookies I was buying for later wouldn't even make it home. 

Excited that they hadn't run out of cookies yet, I stood at the counter, humming and letting my toes tap along to the music in my ears while I waited for my iced latte. Considering how my day had started, I was positively chipper. 

I had already begun to daydream about some new pieces I wanted to sketch out as I stepped out the door of the coffee shop. I was about to turn to walk towards the park when suddenly something slammed into me and I lost my footing, falling straight to the ground. 

Disoriented, I gasped for breath as the air had been knocked out of me. Looking around to see what had hit me, I was met with a pair of chocolate-coloured eyes. 

"Oh fuck! I am so sorry! Are you okay, darlin'?" the eyes asked me earnestly.

I opened my mouth to answer yes before I noticed the searing pain that engulfed my entire chest. 

I winced, and then, I blacked out.

[separatist-apologist]

Straight To My Head

I want to be where you are

Summary: All Nesta wants is to live outside of London in peace. She would like nothing more than days filled with books and quiet- a dream made impossible by the Scotsman determined to relive past battle glories on her front lawn

Big thanks to @dustjacketmusings who gave me the idea of LARP-ing Cassian, and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant once again.

Part 1/2: I Want To Be Where You Are | Read AO3

Six months before:

“Your Uncle Rupert has died.”

Nesta didn’t bother looking up from her book, despite how terribly rude it was to read at the dinner table. Beside her, Feyre was scrolling through her phone, a frown pinching her face. It left only Elain to set her spoon neatly against a folded napkin and ask, “Uncle Rupert?”

“He was your mothers uncle,” their father replied, drawing both Nesta and Feyre’s attention toward him. He looked absurd in his polo get up, an aging man trying desperately hard to fit in. He reminded her of the girls from school and their lack of personality outside of whatever the latest trend was. It was all terribly boring. 

And so was he. 

“Oh. How terribly tragic,” Elain, ever dutiful, waited to see if there was anything else expected of her. Nesta knew Elain well, and though she was far too polite to ever show it, she cared just as little as Feyre and Nesta did. 

“He’s left you girls an inheritance,” their father continued, drawing a soft sigh of annoyance from Feyre. 

“Oh?” Elain questioned, examining her immaculate nails that held the garishly ugly diamond Graysen had given her. Nesta was biding her time, certain her younger sister would realize was a dull, preening asshole he was and call it off…but just in case, Nesta also intended to throw Elain an intervention under the guise of a bachelorette party. 

She had time. At least a year.

Maybe more, depending on what this inheritance was.

“Castles. Three castles—one for each of you.”

“Why would he do that?” Feyre asked bluntly, echoing both Nesta and Elain’s thoughts. Their father only shrugged.

“Perhaps he was hoping to elevate the three of you.”

Nesta scoffed. Of course their father would think so. All he cared about was more. More money, more power—more than they could ever need, could ever use. Nesta wanted no part of it. 

“Where are these castles, exactly?” Nesta asked, finally setting her book down to look him dead in the face. 

“I think I’ll turn mine into a bed and breakfast,” Elain murmured, eyes shining as she mentally began planning.

“You don’t even know where it is,” Feyre interrupted. “What if it's crumbling? What if it’s in the middle of nowhere or what if it’s filled with ghosts. What if—”

“Feyre,” Elain interrupted, eyes wide. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure we weren’t given the crumbling wreckage of some haunted estate.”

Now:

Famous last words. 

Nesta often thought of Elain’s certainty. While Feyre and Elain began remodeling, Nesta hadn’t needed to. Of the three, hers was in the best condition, though it needed a heating source outside of fireplaces, and she’d used the money their uncle had also left for renovations to revamp the electric.

After that, Nesta had wasted all of the rest of that obscene allowance on furniture and art, furnishings for the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the kitchen—and the library. Nesta had poured so much time and attention into her library that some nights she fell asleep in the oversized white chair just beside the window. 

She’d never imagined herself anywhere but London.

Now she was certain she’d never go back. She’d fallen in love with the solitude, with the Scottish Highlands and the town that existed at the base of the hillside her castle had been built upon. It was as old as the stones themselves, and the people were far nicer than anyone in London on their best day. 

Nesta would often walk down the steep pathway where she’d have lunch in the little tavern and buy a book at the shop, which was well-stocked with romance, before making her way to the loch where she’d fall asleep on a blanket, reading the new book she’d purchased. 

It was exactly like one of her stories.

Save for him, of course.

All books needed a romantic hero. A man who was both handsome and interesting. Cassian MacDougall was certainly the first—at least six foot five and built like a warrior of old, with dark brown hair that hung against broad shoulders, and hazel eyes that were more brown than green. 

Not that Nesta was paying that much attention. Not of the closely trimmed beard against the sharp cut of his jaw. Certainly not of his tattooed arms and chest, which were often bare, his golden brown skin gleaming with sweat given he so often forewent a shirt. He did wear a kilt—a red and blue plaid that offered a rather nice view of his muscled knees.

The problem with Cassian was his personality. Before she’d moved in, Cassian had taken to staging loud battles on her front lawn—it was, apparently, the sight of a very famous Scottish victory in some long forgotten battle against the English. 

Nesta had merely asked him to stop doing it so close to her window. She wasn’t even unreasonable the first time. 

Could you move further down the hill? She’d asked him, intimidated by his largeness, by how obscenely handsome he was.

He’d shot her a grin, and then turned to his friends. “Did ye hear that, lads?! The Englishwoman wants us to clear out!”Everyone had laughed, and Nesta had been humiliated. 

Now it was a battle of the wills between them. The nearby town of Killin was swarmed with tourists during the Spring and Summer months, and Cassian made some of his money by taking tourists on a trip through Scottish history—or so Emerie, the woman who owned the local grocery store, had told Nesta. Spring had officially arrived just that morning, and Nesta was wholly unprepared for the sounds of violence wafting through the open windows. 

She was going to kill him. It wasn’t even eight in the morning. Rising from her chair in the empty dining room table, Nesta marched through the quiet halls of her castle. Had her uncle known about this when he’d given her this cursed place? Had she angered him once when she’d been a child?

Nesta didn’t know how to reconcile her love of her home with her hatred of Cassian. He was just as willful, just as stubborn, and perhaps worst of all, determined to push her out. 

She’d embarrass him right back. She swore she would. If he’d taken money from people and led them up here, she’d ruin his reputation on Yelp, too. She’d read them—just to know how best to ruin him—and everyone liked Cassian. 

Everyone but her.

He was there, in his kilt and a sword and, mercifully, a breezy white shirt. He’d brought all his friends with him, some dressed in the stuffy red and white uniforms that had once belonged to the English. They had bayonets attached to guns, none of it sharp enough to wound, and somehow, someone had managed to roll a replica cannon onto the immaculate grass. 

She froze, heart hammering at the sheer scale of what was happening—it was fake, and yet her brain and body reacted as though it were real. Not far from her, an Englishman fell to the ground with a groan, clutching at this chest before going utterly silent. 

Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off him. Memories of her mothers death flooded through her, as vivid as the battle raging around her. No one else had been in the room when her mother took those last, rattling breaths but Nesta, who had been only eleven. Nesta had spent those six months caring for their mother while she fell victim to aggressive, incurable cancer. Back then, she hadn’t understood that it would take far more than her love and devotion to save her mother. 

Elain and Feyre had been too young to take on that burden, and their father too buried and work and grief. It left only Nesta to witness death, to be there in the final last moments. 

She’d refused to speak about it, and rarely allowed herself to even think about death. Something had solidified that day, had become hard and Nesta’s will was unbreakable.

And right then, in the early morning sun, she felt it fracture. Just a little, just enough to empty out her mind. Nesta forgot why she’d gone out in the first place, or what she was doing until warm, strong hands lifted her up in the air and began moving her.

A breath of fear wooshed out of her, palms slapping against a muscular back. Cassian—his shirt plastered to his sweat soaked skin—was carrying her across the grounds as he announced, “And we’d take any English lass for our own!” 

Revulsion flooded through her. 

“Put me down!” she ordered, afraid he was going to accidentally flash a crowd of tourists with her underwear. 

Cassian did as he was told, grinning ear to ear. “Everyone applaud for Lady Nesta. She’s a good sport, playing the part of stuffy English broad.”

Tourists in fanny packs, Hawaiian shirts, and thick socks to their knees, offered her a round of polite clapping. She’d come here to humiliate him, and as he so often did, it was Cassian who’d gained the upper hand. Nesta tried to turn, to leave him there, but his hand shot around her waist, holding her firmly against him. 

He rattled off battle facts for a solid ten minutes, fingers digging against the fabric of her blue maxi dress. It was only when he finished, and one of his friends began herding people toward the path that Cassian turned to face her.

Nesta’s heart raced. “What do ye think ye’re doing?” he demanded, dropping his hand as though she disgusted him. 

“Me?” she replied, adopting an imperiously cold tone in order to mask her own fear. “This is my home, Cassian.”

He scoffed. “For how long, Nes?”

She hated when he called her that. Hated the familiar, intimate nickname of the fact he’d given her one at all. No one had ever dared. 

“Excuse me?” she demanded.

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “How long,” he repeated, enunciating his words with that faux British accent she hated. He was forever mocking her. “How long before you pack up and move out? Another couple months?”

“I’ll be here forever,” Nesta hissed, hoping he believed her. “I’ll be chasing your children off this lawn one day.”

Cassian’s laugh was humorless. “Oh, I believe ye will. I hope ye’re ready for that. I intend tae be prolific.”

“You’d have to find a willing woman, first,” she replied, holding his stare. “And from what I’ve seen, they don’t find you charming. I wonder why that is?”

“So concerned about my bedroom habits, are ye?”

She’d kill him. “What’s to be concerned about? A man in love with his hand is terribly common.”

Cassian took a step toward her, staring down his nose. He was terribly handsome, a brutal prince with that scar slashed over his thick eyebrow and those eyes that she swore saw right through her.

“If ye want to know what I’m like in bed, ye only have to ask.”

“I don’t fuck animals,” Nesta snapped, praying he couldn’t tell how quickly her heart was beating. She turned, not daring to continue this conversation. It was far too dangerous. 

Nesta made it all of two steps before his fingers curled around her wrist, turning her so roughly she stumbled into his chest. Nesta inhaled without thinking, drinking the scent of snow capped wind and cedar and the way the sun smelled against the salt of his skin.

She reached with her free hand and slapped him as hard as she could, right against his jaw. 

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she ordered. Cassian’s eyes widened, dropping her as he reached for the blooming mark of red against his skin. 

Nesta marched off, though it hardly felt like victory. She was certain she’d lost far more than just her side of that argument. Cassian’s booming laughter chased her back in doors, where Nesta remained even after he returned that afternoon. 

She couldn’t face him.

And she certainly couldn’t face herself—or her memories.

-*-

“I heard a rumor about ye,” Emerie called as Nesta browsed the shelves of her shop. 

“Oh?” Nesta replied, putting a bag of pasta in her little shopping basket.

“I heard Cassian made ye part of his reenactment last week.”

A groan slipped from Nesta before she could stifle it. “Bragging, is he?”

Emerie’s laugh was a pretty sound. “Of course. He’s tae stupid to realize the reason ye bother him so much is because he has a crush on ye. Like a schoolboy tugging on yer braids.”

“Gross,” Nesta responded. Though, Emerie had grown up with Cassian. Surely she could shed light on why he was so…so…Cassian? “Why is he single?”

Emerie’s brown eyes danced with delight. “Thinking about him, tae?”

“Nope. Just curious, that’s all.”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t be curious? Maybe ye should ask him. I’m sure he’d tell ye all about it…maybe over candlelight and—”

“Okay, that’s quite enough,” Nesta grumbled to more laughter. She collected the rest of her groceries while Emerie filled her in on gossip that didn’t center around Cassian, before bidding her a good day. Nesta had never had true friends, and wasn’t sure if Emerie could even be counted as one. She might have, if Nesta could muster the courage to ask her to do something—anything. 

But she couldn’t. So Nesta left knowing a little more about the people of Killin and the sense that some of her loneliness was self-imposed. She couldn’t even pretend it was her mothers death that had made her cold. Even as a child, no one had wanted to play with her. None of the other children liked her. 

“Ah, mo chridhe,” Cassian called, jogging up the path that led from the edge of the village toward the castle. “I’ve been looking for ye.”

“I can’t see why,” Nesta sniffed, even as Cassian pulled her heavy canvas bag filled with her groceries and slung it over his broad shoulder. “Do you intend to hold my groceries hostage, too?”

“I’ve come to talk with ye,” he replied, one hand thrown up in defense. “About business.”

“I have no business with you.”

“C’mon, Nes,” he pleaded, drawing her attention toward him. “I’ve been staging battles at Killin Castle for five years now.”

“There is land all around you, Cassian. Surely you can move it.”

“Aye, I could, but the castle adds a certain majesty. And it allows me tae charge more—hold on, don’t look at me like that. I’ll give ye a percentage for your trouble.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Take my fucking balls too,” he grumbled. “Thirty.”

“Thirty percent of your total profits just so you can pretend to kill the English on my lawn?” Nesta asked, arching a brow. 

“Forty if ye let me haul you off again.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Thirty it is, then. In exchange, ye’ll leave me be while I’m working—”

“And you’ll stay further away from the windows,” Nesta replied, pausing to both catch her breath and stare him down. Cassian didn’t seem winded at all, lovely beneath a waning sun.

“Fine.”

“And I want a schedule,” she said, hands on her hips.

“Anything else? My fucking cock and balls on a silver tray, tae?”

“You can keep those,” she sniffed, not wanting to think of either. Cassian didn’t protest, didn’t offer her a filthy remark. He was grinning, as if he’d gotten everything he wanted. Nesta hated to see him so happy.

“This is time limited, Cassian. Just until the summer is over. And then I want you gone. Out of my life.”

“It’s a small town, Nes,” he replied with mock solemnity. “I cannae leave.”

“You can avoid me.”

“What makes ye think I’d want that?”

Having reached the top of the hill, and the end of her patience, Nesta reached for her bag. Cassian pulled just out of reach, eyes searching her own. She didn’t like the look of contemplation on his face, or how serious he’d suddenly become. 

“What about what I want, Cassian? Which is peace, and a moment free of the chaos you drag with you.”

“Ye might like it, mo chridhe.”

Nesta glared. “We could have had an amicable relationship months ago. This is all we have now, Cassian. Give me my things.”

He handed her the bag with a rueful smile. “It’s a pleasure working with ye.”

“If only I could say the same, Cassian.”

He merely grinned, which annoyed her more. She took off, daring only once to glance over her shoulder. Cassian remained at the top of the hill, his dark hair blowing around his face while he watched her. He raised a hand in a wave, one Nesta did not return. She didn’t trust this new, helpful Cassian.

Whatever angle he was working would only hurt her if she chose to believe it.

Nesta had learned that lesson with Tomas not a year before.

Nesta wasn’t going to learn it again. 

-*- 

The thing about Cassian, Nesta learned, was that he woke early. He scheduled his mock battles every day at nine am like clockwork. Nesta was rarely up that early and no matter how she tried, could not fall back asleep. He’d taped his schedule to her front door rather than knock and wake her up, which detailed a seven day schedule in which he reenacted two battles monday through friday, and four on saturday and sunday. It seemed brutal, and yet when he came by, sweaty and grinning that Sunday night with a check, Nesta stopped complaining. 

If that was thirty percent, no wonder Cassian had been adamant about continuing. Nesta tucked it away, strangely uncomfortable with taking his money. All through spring, Cassian faithfully left money in the little mailbox, and from April to June, Nesta did her very best to avoid him entirely. 

She was avoiding everyone. Even herself. Most days, Nesta left her phone uncharged so she didn’t have to see the incoming messages from Elain. Elain, planning her wedding and somehow managing to deal with what seemed like an incredibly irritable tenant of the castle she’d been left, still checked in. Still asked after her—still wanted to know what had happened to chase Nesta out of London so abruptly.

The joke about becoming a bog witch had never meant to shape her reality. Sometimes she wondered if Elain hadn’t heard. If she didn’t know about Tomas, what he’d said.

What he’d tried to do. 

As the weather warmed, and more people flooded into the town, Nesta retreated further into the castle where no one could see her. The mere idea of going out filled Nesta with trembling fear. There was too much left to chance, too much chaos and in response, Nesta found herself practically eating in the library. It was the only place that felt safe anymore.

That. And somehow, Cassian, who’d begun knocking on the front door to offer her up money.

She made her way through the open grand hall, eyeing cobwebs clinging to the overhead chandelier. She needed to find someone who could do some cleaning for her.

Nesta pulled open the old, iron handle to find Cassian, his hair half pulled off his head in a messy bun. He was in his kilt, a stable given how often he played the battle warrior, though it was paired with a plain black t-shirt that showed off both his bulging biceps and his collarbone, teased by the little vee just in the front.

“For ye,” he said, holding out an envelope. As she reached for it, Cassian ducked around her, stepping onto the stone floor. He whistled with appreciation.

“I’ve always wondered what this place looked like.” “It looks like a castle,” Nesta replied, the door still open. “Get out.”

Cassian looked her over. “Are ye eating up here?”

“How is that any of your concern?” she asked, hating how her cheeks warmed under his appraisal.

“Emerie said ye aren’t coming down as often. She’s worried about ye, asked me tae check in. I’m checking, Nes. You look tired.”

“You wake me up early,” she replied, though they both knew that wasn’t it.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Did something happen?”

“Nope. I’m perfectly fine. I’ll see Emerie—”

“Why not let me buy ye something tae eat?” he suggested. “At tae Ensnaring Snake. A pint and something else? Whatever ye want.”

“I don’t need your charity, Cassian. I can have a drink without your leering presence.”

“Ah, but what fun would it be without me?” he asked, a roguish grin on his face. “Come down. Even if ye ignore me the entire time.”

There was no way.

“Unless,” he added casually, unaware of how her heart thudded in her throat. “Ye’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Nesta snapped. “Now get out, Cassian!”

“Anything, mo chridhe,” he replied, all but sauntering out. She might have believed his swaggering, male bravado, had he not turned to look at her with those worried eyes. It prompted her, once the door was slammed shut in his face, to go up to the bathroom. She supposed she had gotten a little thinner…and the circles beneath her eyes had become far more pronounced. She was paler, too, though she could blame that on avoiding the sun. Nesta couldn’t remember the last time she’d drank any water.

Or eaten a vegetable.

She showered, braiding her hair in a crown around her head like she so often did. Her hands shook as she buttoned up a pale purple dress and laced up her shoes. She couldn’t bring herself to put on make-up, or do anything else that might draw attention to herself. 

You’re so fuckint hot, Nesta. You know it, don’t you, with those eyes—those tits—

Nesta wanted to scream. Hand frozen on the handle, she almost turned around. Tomas’s voice, the feel of him pressed against her, how he’d—no. She took a breath, cleared her throat, and marched out into the waning sunlight. There was no way Nesta would let Cassian think she was afraid of going outside.

Even if he was right.

It wasn’t the outdoors that made her nervous. It was all the people, it was the things she couldn’t control. 

By the time she made it down the hill and into the center of the village, Emerie had closed up for the day. A little handwritten note told Nesta exactly where she was. 

The Ensnaring Snake. 

It had Cassian written all over it. Still, despite how it made her palms sweat, Nesta very carefully made her way toward the tavern she’d once enjoyed eating in. Back when there was no one but familiar faces and the streets were mostly empty.

Now it was packed. Nesta pushed the door open just enough to see Cassian at the far end of he room, head thrown back with laughter at something someone at the table had said. His hair was loose, and he’d foregone the kilt for a pair of regular jeans. He looked so normal—and of course he had friends. She didn’t know why that surprised her. She didn’t know why the sight of a rather pretty blonde running her finger over his bare arm made Nesta back out of the doorway.

Why she suddenly felt so stupid. She hadn’t come for him. 

She didn’t care about him. 

“Hey!” 

Nesta ignored the male voices behind her—and the jarring, American accents that seemed so wildly out of place. Arms wrapped around her body, she meant to trudge back home and pretend none of this had happened. 

“Hey,” that voice called, dragging the sound of heavy steps over cobblestone with it. A moment later, a hand was on Nesta’s shoulder. She jumped nearly out of her skin, twisting to look at three unfamiliar faces. Each of them reeked of whiskey, and were likely looking for more fun than the village had to offer. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t touch me,” she ordered, earning snickering laughs. 

“Or what?” the first, a bleach blonde with a pair of sunglasses clipped to his t-shirt, asked. “We’re just being nice.”

“Oh? Is this considered polite, where you’re from?”

More laughter. Nesta’s heart raced even as she told herself nothing was going to happen. They were having a laugh at her expense but they’d slink off when they realized they were getting nowhere.

“We could be much more polite,” that first step, lunging forward. Nesta stumbled back, falling to the ground and bashing her elbow against the rough cobblestone. Pain ricocheted through her while her eyes smarted. More humiliation, brought low by men she hated. 

Nesta scrambled back to her feet, turning without looking at any of them.

“Aw, sweetheart, come back,” they called, laughing loudly. Nesta started to turn for the castle, thinking she’d race up the hill and lock herself up until morning came. 

But they were still behind her, trailing after her while whistling and making other little sounds with their tongues and teeth. Cassian could crest that hill without breaking a sweat, but Nesta was slow—they’d catch her.

She sped up, trying to think of where she could go. Panic was making her clumsy, was making her stupid. She should have turned around and gone back into the tavern where anyone could see. Emerie was in there, she would have helped. 

Instead, Nesta picked up her steps, hoping they’d get tired of following her when they realized she was heading out of the village. And when they didn’t—when they tried to get closer—Nesta took off running. 

They followed, their shadows jumping ahead even as the sun vanished over the hillside. Nesta could only hear her pounding feet and her nervous heart. She was heading for the loch, the absolute worst place to be given there was unlikely to be anywhere out there. Just her, a body of water, and three very drunk tourists looking to have fun at her expense. 

Nesta slowed, trying to figure out her next move.

“Tired, babe?” One of them called.

“I can think of something else that’ll tire her out,” another replied. Nesta was inching closer and closer to the dock, wondering if she could swim far enough out that they’d finally leave. Or if that was stupid, and they’d just jump in after her where she’d be well and truly fucked. 

She couldn’t go past them. Glancing over her shoulder saw the three of them walking in a solid line. They’d catch her. 

“Please stop,” one of them called, jogging after her. Nesta surged forward, her feet touching the dock before she felt those fingers on her arm again. “Why are you running?”

She wanted to die. “You’re chasing me.”

“You don’t have to run. We don’t want to hurt you,” he lied, his eyes absolutely betraying him. She’d seen that look before, had watched another man’s gaze dip below her chin, taking in her body, wondering what it would feel like to just have her, regardless of her own feelings on the matter.

“Take your hands off me.”

The other two laughed and laughed. “Or what?”

“Or—”

“Or I’ll kill ye,” came another, familiar voice. Nesta could have sobbed at the sound, had never been happier than she was just then to see Cassian strolling up, deceptively casual. He cocked his head, dark hair spilling around him as he waited.

That first man looked from Cassian to Nesta and then, with a smile that clearly said he thought Cassian was outmatched, replied, “Oh? She’s yours?”

Cassian didn’t smile. “Find out.”

Nesta was so busy watching Cassian  that she’d stopped watching the others. She didn’t see that hand shove toward her, didn’t realize he’d decided to call Cassian’s bluff until she stumbled backwards. 

She hit the water with a choked scream. She flailed for a moment, twisting around before pushing upward. The water was dark, was colder than she’d expected, though not so cold she couldn’t still think straight. 

She broke the surface a moment before she heard a splash, and then felt him, arms around her.

“Don’t hit me,” Cassian warned breathlessly.

“Where did they go?” Nesta demanded, letting Cassian drag her back to the dock. He hoisted her up effortlessly before joining her. Water sluiced off him, though he hardly seemed to notice. His eyes burned, and when he reached for her, she saw his knuckles were bloody and had begun to swell and bruise.

“They’re gone,” he said tightly. He swallowed some unnamed emotion, looking her over.

“Unharmed,” she said, resisting the urge to draw her knees up to her chest. Instead, Nesta gingerly rose to her feet, weighed down by the heavy fabric of her dress and her wounded pride. 

“I saw ye,” he said, following her up. “In the tavern. I saw ye come in and I—”

He’d followed her. Nesta might have asked him why another night. Might have berated him for thinking she’d want his attention. Instead, Nesta forced herself to take a breath.

“Will you walk me home?”

Cassian swallowed again. “Yeah. I—is this my fault, Nes?”

“No, Cassian,” she said, suddenly exhausted. 

“I was trying to rile ye up. Get ye out of that castle. I feel like…”

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated. 

It’s mine, she nearly added, though she kept it behind her teeth.

“Why didnae ye run home, mo chridhe? Why’d ye come out here?”

“The hill,” she whispered, trying so hard not to let him see how rattled she was. Cassian looked down, eyebrows raised with surprise. 

“Can I show ye something?”

And right then, Nesta would have let Cassian do anything he liked so long as he didn’t leave her.

“Sure.”

“Cassian,” Nesta began when he opened the door to the Ensnaring Snake.

“Trust me,” he replied, placing a careful hand on her bruised elbow. Inside, music and laughter flooded Nesta’s senses, and for a moment she expected him to lead her back to his table. She almost wanted him to, though she was in no mood to make conversation. It might have been nice to hear him introduce her to his friends, to sit her down and buy her that pint like he’d promised.

He wove in and out of the tables, nodding when people called his name. His touch was light—careful. Like he knew better than to do any more.

Like he knew what she didn’t like about it. 

There was no way to explain to him that his touch had never bothered her. She’d have to tell him that she noticed his eyes, how they stayed on her face. How even when he’d been surveying her that morning, he’d been looking with concern—not desire. Not lewd appreciation. And how even when Cassian was manhandling her, his hands never went anywhere inappropriate, though it would have been all too easy for him to cop a feel and play it off like an accident.

She wondered if he even realized it. 

Cassian took her around the back of the bar, pulling open an old, wooden door that clearly led to a cellar.

“Cassian,” Nesta tried again.

“Trust me,” he repeated. Nesta opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t trust him at all. But she could see his swollen knuckles from the corner of her eye, and thought of how quick he must have been to hit them hard enough to hurt himself and jump into the water after her. He hadn’t had to do either. He could have left her. Could have walked away.

So Nesta followed him down into the musty dark, wishing she could grab his arm. 

“I used tae come here when I was wee,” Cassian explained, leading her around packing boxes and crates toward another, sturdier door. “You’ll still have to go uphill, but it takes ye right to the castle.”

Nesta was still sopping wet, exhausted and wrung out. She looked up at him, wanting him to go with her. She couldn’t ask.

“Thank you,” she said instead, turning toward that dark.

“I’ll see ye up,” Cassian said gruffly.

And together, they plunged into that darkness. 

-*-

“What do you mean, married?” Nesta demanded, phone to her ear as she stomped out of the bookshop. “How can she marry a fictional man?” “He’s not fictional,” came Elain’s patient voice. “I looked him up. Rhysand Campbell is a Duke. I guess that’s why she kept such a tight lid on him back home.”“A Duke? For Feyre?!” Nesta spluttered, trying to imagine wild, carefree Feyre marrying into ancient, outdated royalty. She’d always expected that of Elain, if anyone. 

“I’m going to meet him next week, so I’ll let you know. But he seems very accomplished, and he’s quite handsome.”

“Is she sure?” Nesta asked, not thinking about her path until she was already on it. “Marriage is just so…”

She trailed off, remembering that Elain was engaged. Hell. She hadn’t meant to insult her, though the tense, following silence made Nesta think she had. “How er…how is that going?”

“I called it off,” Elain finally said, her voice strange and small. “Just yesterday.”

“Did he do something?” Nesta demanded, readjusting the blanket she was caring beneath her arm. “Because I’ll kill him—”

“It’s all handled,” Elain assured her quickly. “I don’t expect him to give me any trouble.”

“What does that mean? Handled how?” Nesta demanded. Elain was so nice it practically made her a doormat. Nesta didn’t believe for a single second that Elain had truly handled anything, and wondered if the engagement had been called off for infidelity. Graysen wouldn’t give her trouble because he’d already moved on.

“Drop it, Nesta,” Elain replied firmly. 

“Fine. But if you need help—”

“I don’t. Everything here is fine. How are you doing? Did you ever get rid of that guy role playing on your lawn?”

Nesta started to say that she and Cassian had reached a truce of sorts, which wasn’t quite the truth and not exactly a lie, either. Instead, Nesta said, “Erm…let me call you back.” Because there, in the middle of the glittering water, stood a very shirtless, possibly naked Cassian. Gleaming in the sunlight, his head tipped back so the rays might warm his face. He didn’t look real and Nesta didn’t know what to do. 

He wasn’t alone. Along the shore, children splashed and kicked up water while others floated around him, oblivious to what Nesta was seeing. She wondered what the whorling, inked tattoos on his shoulders and chest meant.

And as she wondered, her eyes drifted down the packed muscles against his ribs, toward the carved vee of his hips. Nesta could scarcely breathe, had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing until her eyes came back to his face.

He was looking at her, too. Shit eating grin etched over his handsome face, one hand raised upward to beckon her to join him.

Hell.

Nesta turned, embarrassed she’d been caught ogling him. She would not submit to any of his humiliating taunts or those burning eyes that promised far more than Nesta thought she wanted. Of course, Cassian couldn’t bask in his victory, of knowing some diseased part of her was attracted to him, despite their strange push-pull between animosity and friendship. He was behind her in a pair of bright red swim trunks and nothing else, jogging up the path while Nesta tried desperately to escape him. 

“Why are ye leaving?” he asked, running a hand through his still wet hair. “Come swim.”

“No, thank you,” she replied. “I just remembered—”

“Oh, bullshit, mo chridhe,” he replied. “There is nothing to do but sit up at that miserable stack of rocks. Swim with me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Okay, then do something else with me,” he replied.

“Why would I do that?” she asked, rounding on him. That was a mistake. Cassian was far closer than she thought, and when she stopped, he kept going. He kept her from tumbling backward, wrapping a slick around her and pressing her into his chest.

She hated how good it felt to touch him. To feel him hold her, to keep her close for a moment before he let her go.

“Why not?” he asked, strangely breathless. “Ye’ve been here half a year—don’t ye want friends?”

“Is that what we are?” she asked, distracted by how close he was, by how nearly naked he was. It took no effort to try and picture what the rest of him might be like…and it would have been a lie to say she wasn’t curious if all of him was large. 

“Yes?” he asked, clearly frustrated. “I thought so.”

“I don’t want to swim,” she repeated, though in truth, Nesta didn’t want to do anything with him right now. It was too risky to be alone with him. She’d touch him, she’d get on her knees and do any number of terrible, filthy things to him. Nesta couldn’t breathe. She needed to escape him. 

“Something else?” he asked, not moving an inch. His eyes were glazed over, staring right through her. Nesta blinked.

“I er…another day, Cass.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I should—” he turned abruptly. Had she upset him? Nesta watched him for a moment before she turned, too, unwilling to get caught staring at him again. Nesta didn’t allow herself to think of him at all. For the rest of the day, every time the image of him standing in the water, Nesta banished it quickly and busied herself in some other task.

Right up until night fell, and she could crawl into bed.

Only then did Nesta allow herself to think about Cassian. 

-*-

“Rhysand is missing,” Elain whispered to Nesta. Nesta, still guarding the door where Feyre was speaking with a Duke, turned to look at her sister, eyes wide.

“I’ll kill him,” Nesta hissed, biting her bottom lip.

“His friends are here,” Elain said, running through a mental list of guests. “I’ll see if they know where he is. Don’t move,” Elain added, finger in the air.

“This whole thing is a disaster,” Nesta grumbled, hating the pitying look Elain threw her. Nesta knew, realistically, that Elain had done her best with the guest list and she was terrible at telling their father no. And Elain had called ahead of time to warn Nesta that the Mandray’s had secured an invitation.

Everyone wanted to see Feyre Archeron marry a Duke. Social parasites and other hanger-oners had flooded into the lovely castle all day, marveling over the architecture and hoping to rub elbows with real royalty.

Nesta didn’t think Elain had managed to get anyone but Duke Campbell, just as she didn’t think Feyre was aware her wedding had turned into the event of the year. Nesta was desperate to avoid the majority of London, and planned to catch a ride back with Elain in the morning. Just to the train station—she’d make the rest of the way back on her own, even if she had to walk. 

There was no way she was spending a weekend with Tomas Mandray.

Elain returned, accompanied by a familiar, grinning face. “Well, well, well,” Cassian said, running his hand down a buttoned down, black shirt. He wore that red and blue kilt and black socks that came up over his knees, a sporran around his hips.

“Do you two know each other?” Elain asked.

“This is the gentleman roleplaying on my lawn,” Nesta said. The man beside him, dressed identically, though his kilt was primarily blue plaid. 

“Role-playing, Cass?” he asked.

“This is Cassian?” Elain replied, eyebrows raised to the sky.

“Have ye been talking about me?” Cassian asked Nesta with a lopsided smile. “What else does she say?”

“That you’re exceptionally obnoxious,” Elain replied, earning a laugh from the other man.

“All true,” he murmured, before adding, “Azriel.”

They were given no more time for pleasantries before Feyre emerged, flushed and practically glowing. She didn’t seem concerned that her fiancé was missing—only annoyed. Elain ordered them to split up, which Azriel did without complaint—but Cassian did not.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said just as soon as Elain and Azriel were out of earshot. “I didnae know Feyre was yer sister. I should have guessed, I supposed, given what a hard time she’s given my brother.”

“Good for her,” Nesta replied before adding, “Brother?”

“Not in tae biblical sense. Rhys and I met when he was at a posh boarding school and trying to buy whiskey on the weekend.”

“Let me guess—you sold him the whiskey.”

“Ye know me so well, mo chridhe,” he said with a grin. “Been inseparable ever since.”

“Then why is he missing?” she demanded. Cassian pulled open a closet door, revealing a mop that fell to the floor with a loud clatter. 

There was no humor on Cassian’s face as he knelt to pick it up. “He doesn’t think he’s worthy.”

Nesta didn’t know how to take that, how to possibly respond. She didn’t know any man that had ever put a woman above himself. The idea that Rhysand would have left because he thought her sister could do? better was an anomaly. Unheard of. 

“I’ll bet they’re outside,” Nesta said after a moment. Cassian caught her by the arm, holding her still.

“Maybe they don’t want tae be found just yet,” he murmured, that burning back in his eyes.

“Cass—”

“Nesta?”

She wanted to die at the sound of that voice. Those brown eyes, that sharp, sneering face and that lean body pressed into an elegant suit. Cassian turned, looking Tomas up and down with such keen awareness on his face. She could read his every expression, the oh, I understand now. 

But he didn’t.

Nesta started to inch closer to Cassian, who, of course, immediately noticed. He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips, and ghosted a kiss against her knuckles. It was so obviously a claiming and a threat, all at once.

“Hi, Tomas.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“For my sister's wedding?” she asked archly. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

Cassian raised his brows.

“Of course I am,” he replied, staring her down with those dead, soulless eyes. “Your father said I was the son he never had.”

Cassian started to take a step forward, stopped only by Nesta’s vicious squeeze of his hand. 

“He’s still so terribly disappointed by how things happened. What, exactly, did you tell him?”

Nesta wanted to die. “Nothing,” she managed, her heart pounding in her throat. Cassian watched this power struggle—did he understand what was happening? 

“We should get together the next time you’re in London,” Tomas said, eyes flicking to Cassian with distaste. As if Cassian couldn’t have broken him clean in two. As if Cassian was someone beneath him. “Carter.”

Cassian offered an edged smile. “Hackit.”

Nesta snorted, pressing her hand against her lips. Tomas narrowed his eyes, but kept moving without insulting her. Nesta imagined he, too, realized the danger Cassian presented. Even without those swollen, bloodied knuckles, Cassian looked like a man who could fight. 

“Want tae tell me what that was about?” Cassian asked the second Tomas slipped down the hall.

“Of course not,” she snapped, wrenching her hand from his. “Don’t kiss me again.”

“No? Are ye sure about that? Because I saw ye at the loch—”

“You didn’t see anything,” Nesta insisted, heart hammering. Her two worlds were colliding unforgivably. Cassian and Tomas were not supposed to exist together, and seeing Cassian, in his kilt, call Tomas ugly in his suit, had managed to tie Nesta up in knots.

“Don’t go out there,” Cassian complained when Nesta stepped onto the lawn, still rain soaked from a recent storm. “Yer gonna ruin yer dress!”

“FEYRE!” she yelled, mostly to convince Cassian to stop talking. 

“Ye cannae end every conversation ye don’t like by running off. I’m not going anywhere, mo chridhe come back—”

Cassian hauled Nesta up over his shoulder before she could take another step.

“Cassian! Put me down!”

“No,” he replied easily, walking her back to the house. “They’ll return when they’re ready.”

“Cassian,” she pleaded. He set her back to her feet, catching that note of desperation in her voice before she had to beg, though his body blocked her path further into the castle. 

“What did he do to ye, Nes?” he asked, his fingers curling to fists at his side.

“Why do you care?” she demanded, throwing her hands up in the air. 

“Of course I care!” Cassian hissed, stepping closer, until Nesta was pressed against the stone wall. 

“I don’t understand you,” Nesta breathed, swallowing hard as he drew nearer. 

“Trust me, I don’t either,” he whispered. “Will ye tell me what he did to ye?”

“Why? So you can hit him, too?”

“Oh, mo chridhe, I will do far, far worse,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth. Nesta had lost control of the situation, of this man who she didn’t even like. Who would go back to reenacting battles on her lawn, who was beloved by the town and the son of a Duke and—

“If ye won’t tell me that, tell me something else.”

Nesta’s eyes went back to his. More brown than green. “What?” 

“Tell me the truth, Nesta Archeron. Tell me ye want me just as much as I want ye.”

“I—” he caught her lips before the lie could tumble out of them, kissing her softly. One hand cupped her cheek while the other braced the wall she was pressed against. His eyes fluttered shut but Nesta kept hers open, drinking him in. He looked so wrecked, like he’d been thinking about this for a long, long time and was finally realizing it was nothing like he imagined. 

And so she kissed him back, hands at her sides while she waited for the inevitable disappointment. The realization that whatever he’d imagined didn’t live up to reality. One kiss became two, became a third and yet Cassian didn’t pull back like they so often did. He didn’t sharpen. If anything, he became softer, more desperate with each passing kiss between them. The softness of his closely trimmed beard brushed over her jaw while his thumb rubbed a soft circle over her cheek.

Give in, she swore she heard him say. Nesta wanted to—oh, she wanted to take everything he was offering so badly it made her legs shake. If he didn’t know now, he’d figure it out soon enough. Nesta was not the kind of woman men fell in love with. She’d never been that woman, and never would be. No matter how badly she wanted to be, no matter how much she wanted to believe Cassian could push through walls made of iron and find the trembling softness beneath, he was still a man.

And at some point, she’d become a game for him. Something to conquer, regardless of the tactics it took. It was that thought that convinced Nesta to finally pull back, hands planted on his chest as she shoved. 

“That’s enough,” she said, another lie he immediately caught. 

Cassian pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It’s not,” he rumbled, reaching for the back of her neck. “Ye want me to think yer made of ice, but I know better.”

“Oh? And what am I made of, Cassian?” she demanded in that hard, imperious tone. The sort that pissed men off, that sent them running.

His eyes flashes.

“Fire.”

When he kissed her again, Nesta’s eyes slammed shut before she even realized what she was doing. This time, Nesta’s fingers raked through his neat hair, pulling him closer. She wasn’t gentle, thinking it would push him off her. She misjudged him—Nesta pulled at the strands and Cassian groaned, pressing his body hard against her. He liked this. 

Which was a fucking tragedy, because she did, too. Cassian moaned again, loud enough anyone with ears in the vicinity knew what was happening in the back hall, and Nesta, for just this once, did not care.

Her tongue swept into his mouth, tasting him like she’d wanted to the day at the loch. He tasted like whiskey and warmth and like she needed to get him out of his clothes as fast as she could, before she changed her mind. 

“Slow down, slow down,” he breathed, catching her wrist when she trailed down his chest. “Have ye done this before?”

“Does it matter?” she replied, certain it didn’t.

He huffed out a soft breath. “Of course it fucking matters.”

“I—” He was going to ruin her. He was already making a mess of things. Nesta needed the upper hand, needed a way to get what she wanted without getting hurt. If that was even possible.

There was no way to have him and remain unscathed. The smart thing to do was walk away. “This can’t mean anything, Cassian.”

His brows furrowed. “Ye don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know me–”

“Because ye make it impossible!” he replied, raking his fingers through his hair. “People care about ye, and it’s like…”

“Like what?” she asked, her throat rough and dry. She never should have stopped kissing him. She shouldn’t have said anything at all. Cassian looked down the hall, sighing a breath.

“Like ye expect us all tae leave ye, so ye leave first.”

“You don’t like me,” she said. It was a question. 

No one likes me. Why should you?

“At first,” he admitted. “I thought ye’d be like yer uncle. Stuffy…arrogant…and ye were, ye know ye were. I thought ye’d leave—hoped, I suppose. Until I started liking the sight of ye, storming out with yer braid and yer book. Fuming mad and all of it directed at me. I wanted to get tae know ye and I’ve been trying. And not just me. Emerie, tae. She thinks the world of ye. Yer sisters, tae, and probably everyone else if ye let them.”

Nesta shook her head, swallowing the wave of emotion rising. “This is all wrong. You hate me–”

“Hate,” he said, pressing both palms against the wall, caging her between his body, “is the last thing I feel for ye.”

“I wish you did,” she said.

“If all ye want is something unserious,” he began, eyes searching her own. She swore he could read her every word for the truth, that he didn’t need to hear her speak to know all the things wrong. All the secrets she held. “Then I’ll take what yer offering. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to fuck ye in the hall.”

“Cassian—”

“Ye said, ‘I don’t fuck animals,’” he began mimicking an absurd British accent. “And I believe ye. At least, for now.” 

“This is a bad idea,” she whispered, certain she was going to be picking her shattered heart up off the floor by the time they were done. Cassian brushed his lips over her own.

“When it comes tae ye, mo chridhe, I have no defenses.”

[glendajackson]

RIP Glenda Jackson (1936-2023)

Glenda's love affair with acting began in her teens. Near Hoylake, in the North Country she comes from, there were three neighborhood cinemas, each showing two films a week. She hardly missed a one, and very quickly in her growing up, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford became her ideals.

They still are, and she longs to meet them. "They had incredible style and ability," she says. "They knew their medium and what they could do with it. They had a superb sort of arrogance. When they walked, they ground the poor beneath their heels." (When she was told of Glenda's devotion recently, Joan Crawford asked, "Who's Glenda Jackson?") Glenda remembers every film Joan Crawford made; and that she wore a different gown in every scene, no matter how humble the character she was playing. And, when her husband died, "the marvelous, tight-fitting black dress and widow's weeds she wore to the first board meeting of his company after the funeral."

For years, hunger was a commonplace in the lives of Roy and Glenda. They had five shillings (about 70 cents) between them when they were married 12 years ago. Their first flat was so inhospitable that they spent their nights in a "super four-poster," center stage in the London repertory theater where they were both working, and the bed was one of the props. An understanding carpenter would bring morning coffee when he awakened them. "It was the largest bedroom I ever slept in," says Roy.

It was the beginning of two years in which the only steady work either of them could get was waiting on tables, working in factories and pubs, selling in shops, where Glenda would steal little things like food or packages of razor blades that she could hide under her skirt. They don't apologize for this now. "It kept us alive," Roy says. "The terrible part about hunger" says Glenda, "is that you can never see when it will end."

Despite this hiatus in her career, Glenda has somehow managed to appear in about 200 productions, which could go far toward explaining why she is so skillful and adaptable as an actress. Often, when she was in repertory, she did a new play every week, seven shows plus morning and late-night rehearsals for next week. She would double as assistant stage manager, which meant sweeping out the theater at night, scrounging props and stage furniture, painting scenery.

Glenda was, she says, the first actress in London to go on stage completely nude. It was a play in which, incredibly, she was both Christine Keeler on her way to jail, and Jacqueline Kennedy at the funeral of her husband. Christine's bathtub, overturned, became the President's coffin. The whole skit lasted only four minutes.

Since then she has been willing to act in the nude, "as long as the purpose is not spurious or sensational." Clothes, she feels, like stage sets, often only hamper and distract from the action. "You can't equate nudity and sex," she says. "Actually, the greatest intimacy between two people doesn't depend at all on whether they can lie together naked."

What does she regard, then, as a convincing way to evoke intimacy? "Maybe a couple cutting their toenails. No one ever does that in public." In any event, she is delighted that "the whole enormous hang-up about sex is well and truly smashed, and a much saner attitude is around."

[rom-e-o]

In your Scroogeverse, after the Wolves gain full custody of Bess' siblings and they move back to London back into Wolf's flat (still a few years off from them looking to buy that country cottage they end up in), Bess decides the flat is in much need of a makeover. So, what does she do? Naturally, THRIFTING! (Because this girl loves a bargain in any universe.) And she decides to bring her new sister-in-law along to bond. Plus, she feels a little braver going into the ritzier stores with someone like Connie by her side, still struggling to feel like she belongs in this new strata of society and all that.

I'm absolutely in love with how their passion for thrifting transcends universes (that feels so eternally fitting for these girls, haha).

I mean, I don't blame her. I imagine a bachelor's apartment after decades of depriving yourself of most joys in life could use ... a little TLC. Especially since they're going to both be enjoying the space. It's no longer only his flat. It just needs a little TLC and updating.

Connie is, of course, overjoyed at the invitation. A chance to bond with Bess? Um, OF COURSE she's game. They plan a whole day and route - this is gonna be thrifting with a PURPOSE, after all. She has a few stores in mind where she has had some luck with.

So, the day arrives, and they set out. They rent a car and driver for the day, just because thrifting can be heavy, and a car allows them to travel across town and have paparazzi pester them slightly less.

"So, we're looking for a little bit of everything, right?" Connie asks. "Anything off limits?"

Bess hums and mulls it over, thinking of all the rooms across the flat. They all need a little ... assistance, she thinks. "I think anything is fair game. Wolf hasn't updated his space in a while, and we're just looking to make things feel a little more ... homey."

"Oh, this is so exciting! Decorating is always so fun, but now you get to make the space up to suit you both as a couple!"

She gives Bess' shoulders a delighted squeeze as they pull up to the first store.

I imagine they girls start at some familiar places - thrift/vintage stores they've explored before. Some quaint places just filled with eclectic items. They look for smaller items first - maybe a cute spice shelf here, a beaded lamp/lampshade here. Maybe a lovely pair of velvet curtains to dress up the plain window blinds? They find some lovely, vintage paintings too, of course. Some feature lovely, dark-haired ladies, which Connie is quick to point out that Wolf will "surely adore."

They slowly work their way up, and at the next place, they find this amazing, Victorian-inspired full-length dressing mirror.

"Oh, just imagine this in the bedroom," Connie suggests dreamily. "You and Wolf taking turns helping each other into your outfits -- him zipping your dress, you fastening his cufflinks -- all while framed by this masterpiece? Oh, we should see if they have a chaise to pair with it! That way you and him have a place to sit while dressing.

Connie gets ... very much into helping out, haha. ^^;

She never pressures Bess into buying anything she clearly doesn't like. Connie, with her knowledge of what Bess and Wolf like, tries to find pieces that fit the bill, and paint a picture of how they might look styed.

As they fill the car with oil paintings, vases, hand-tufted pillows and more, one of the last places they go is one of those more expensive stores. There's a doorman, which woman waves to as she and Bess stroll in, arm-in-arm. It's definitely a high-class store, but the pieces are STUNNING, and they're not badly priced either for what they are. There are tons of heavy, gorgeous heritage furniture pieces.

There are GORGEOUS, pearlescent-finished wooden armoires, and an AMAZING Turkish rug that would look so gorgeous in front of the fireplace. "Perfect for cozying up - among other activities~"

Along the way, as Bess finds smaller items or things that she's a little hesitant to buy ("Ooooh, I love this, but don't want to overwhelm his flat with just my stuff! Maybe I'll think about this for now ... ") she sneaks in a few extra purchases of those items as future birthday/Christmas gifts.

I imagine there are some shoppers that ... give them looks. The ladies are well-known for their afflictions at this point with the Scrooge Twins, and while many people are kind, there are obviously many jealous people. I feel like many upper-society ladies feel like they somehow 'robbed' them of their chance.

I'm sure the ladies hear some gossip. ("Look at those two, flaunting their money. Have they no shame?")

And Connie is quick to roll her eyes with a smile and whisper to Bess, "As if they aren't shopping in the SAME store we are. Some people, I swear."

She's not letting anyone dull their day.

By the end, I imagine they have QUITE the haul. They might even need some movers, depending on how large the pieces are. That night, I can imagine them getting takeaway and tag-teaming arranging some pieces in the flat. They decorate things juuust enough to play around and see how things look.

Connie clears out by the time Wolf comes home, so she's not in the way of them officially enjoying their space together or making some adjustments.

The second Wolf keys in, his reaction is visible on his face. The bare walls are adorned, the cold lights are replaced with gentle, warmer ones... and it feels so much more welcoming immediately. It feels like a home with a woman's welcoming, sensual touch.

Bess definitely gets many adoring smooches, and Wolf absolutely requests a tour of everything, wanting to see every chance.

"Tell me about your day, love. I'd love for you to walk me through and show me everything you found."

To have the woman he loves not only take the time and effort to make their flat feel more personable and homey ... it tugs on his heartstrings. No person, and no woman, has shown that care and attention to him before. It inspires him to actually THINK about flat decor, and while he's not the biggest shopper, he enjoys the idea of joining her on a future trip as they continue to make the flat their own. (And yes, I imagine he is QUITE enamored by the paintings as well - though the real woman at his side remains unbeatable in remarkableness.) <3

[houseofbrat]

The Sun in summer 2022:

The Cambridges' new pad Adelaide Cottage needs no extra taxpayer-funded security or costly refurb. It's understood the family will have no live-in staff, with any aides commuting to Windsor instead. And sources say they dream of a "modest" home with a garden so the children can play outside together. One insider told The Sun: “They were adamant they didn’t want anything too showy or anything that needed renovating or extra security so as not to be a burden on the taxpayer." The property was modernised back in 2015.

The Daily Mail in June 2022:

Prince William and Kate Middleton will move their family into a four-bedroomed home on the Windsor estate this summer. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, are reportedly set to uproot their family from Kensington, west London, to Adelaide Cottage in Berkshire in order to be closer to the Queen. Re-erected in 1831, the Cambridge’s new Grade II-listed retreat is just a short walk from St George’s Chapel and Windsor Castle, and sits proudly on the 655-acre royal estate in Berkshire.

Victoria Ward for The Telegraph on 14 August 2022:

But in the coming two or three weeks, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge will do the opposite, swapping their grand Kensington Palace home for a relatively modest four-bedroomed cottage on the Windsor estate, a move that will see them navigate life without a live-in nanny for their first time in their children’s lives. [...] Although Ms Borrallo will be kept on full time, she will live elsewhere, as will the handful of other support staff that have long “lived-in” with the family at Kensington Palace, thought to include a housekeeper and a chef.

The Sun on 03 September 2022:

“They had to have moved in this weekend, because the children have to start at their new school next week. “The renovation is no-frills, by royal standards — and is certainly in stark contrast to the £2.4million work Harry and Meghan had done on Frogmore Cottage. It will have been a builder’s finish.” Kate and William spent around a year searching for a home in Windsor so the children could go to school together. They settled on Adelaide Cottage, as first revealed by The Sun, because they believed it needed no major renovations. They decided to go with existing furniture and fittings but had a fresh coat of paint to make it feel like home for the children.

LESS THAN TWO YEARS LATER...

The Mirror on 15 April 2024:

Prince William and Kate Middleton are reportedly hatching surprise plans to transform a secret home into something of a sanctuary as part of the Princess's recovery process. The Royal couple is said to be contemplating renovations and extensions to a little-known redbrick annexe adjacent to their Adelaide Cottage residence in Windsor. The family, who relocated to the Berkshire estate towards the end of summer 2022, currently divide their time between the four-bedroom cottage and their cherished Anmer Hall retreat on the Sandringham Estate. While Adelaide Cottage offers an ideal location due to its closeness to Lambrook School where Prince George, Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis attend, insiders suggest the family are considering plans to expand a currently vacant annexe to assist in the princess' recuperation. However, this decision is not without its challenges, as sources indicate that the Prince of Wales is "conscious of public scrutiny" regarding Royal expenditure and is taking a cautious approach to personally funding the costs. "They [William and Kate] absolutely adore Adelaide Cottage, but it just about fits the entire family, whereas Anmer Hall is much larger with extensive grounds," the source revealed to OK!. "Adelaide Cottage is being used as a term time property while the children are at school nearby and Anmer Hall is for long weekends and holidays." Insiders have spilled the beans on plans to revamp a run-down redbrick annexe at Adelaide Cottage, aiming to turn it into a perfect retreat for the Wales family and their aides. While the project is on pause as the Princess of Wales focuses on her recovery, the plans are reportedly simmering away in the background, ready to spring into action when the time is ripe. "Nobody knows that there is quite a spacious red-brick annexe building that's not being used next door to Adelaide Cottage," an insider said. "It's currently inhabitable and needs extensive renovation works if it were to be used. Discussions have been ongoing for a while about using the property as part of the overall cottage grounds, but it's just about finding the right time to kick the project off." The need for space is more than a luxury; sources say it's vital for Kate's path to wellness, providing her with a serene environment to manage her treatment's demands. Anmer Hall is the top pick at the moment, thanks to its generous size and seclusion. Mindful of past backlash over public funding, the Wales clan is considering footing the bill for the Adelaide Cottage annexe's refurbishments themselves. "William is very conscious of the public scrutiny over the Royal Family's spending habits, so he is looking at the best way to cover any renovation costs," a source revealed. "It's a project that's very much been put on the back burner for now due to the family's unfortunate position, but it will be looked at again when the time is right." Adelaide Cottage, tucked away in the Crown Estate's private 655-acre Royal park, was originally constructed in 1831 as a sanctuary for the wife of King William IV, Queen Adelaide. The cottage underwent significant refurbishments in 2015 and boasts some seriously opulent decor. It's said that the master bedroom's ceiling is adorned with gilded dolphins and rope ornamentation, according to various reports.

Well, well, well...

Adelaide Cottage "just about fits the entire family."

"Just about" but not quite, apparently.

Is four bedrooms no longer enough? It was perfectly fine two years ago when they selected it as it "needed no major renovations."

But Kate needs this annex renovation completed for her "path to wellness"? I've never heard of a person undergoing "preventative chemotherapy" needing extensive renovations to their personal real estate to improve their health, particularly when they already have above average living space.

There is a time limit to "preventative chemotherapy." She shouldn't need to be doing "preventative chemotherapy" forever. If she's just doing "preventative chemotherapy," then she should be able to recover within a few weeks after she completes "preventative chemotherapy." (Unless she's really not doing "preventative chemotherapy" to begin with...)

But, hey, if she needs more "space" at home for non-"luxury" reasons, then The Mirror is supporting my previous statement that Kate "is going to be more reclusive for the next year or two."

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Six - Celebration @sapphicmicrofics

April Daily Series - 576 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Dorcas worked full-time as a legal assistant, she had a Bachelor of Laws degree, and was actively studying for the Solicitor’s exam. The last thing that she needed was a distraction from her lofty goals and the obscene amount of work required to attain them. She didn’t have time to lose herself in that devilish grin and those ocean blue eyes.

Stop it! That’s not helping.

She tore her gaze from the photos and shook her head clear. Dorcas needed Marlene like she needed a hole in her head. Both would destroy everything she’d built for herself here in London. When she finished her law program, Dorcas decided to forgo a celebration in favour of continuing her dogged pursuit of a solicitor’s title. Her parents were proud of her and she was proud of herself. That’s all she needed.

Nothing would impede her progress now. Not even a fit, blonde hockey player with muscular thighs, curvy hips, and arms that were deceptively strong. Definitely not.

“What on earth are you thinking about?” Pandora asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. “You look overwhelmed all of a sudden.”

Dorcas dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Nothing. Lost in my thoughts.”

“Thoughts about Marlene?”

“No!” Dorcas stood up and resumed her pacing. She needed to settle herself and the repetitive movement helped. Walking stimulated blood circulation to the brain and she needed all the help she could get, at the moment.

Pandora followed her path with her eyes, but remained curled up on Dorcas’s bed. She never simply sat on a piece of furniture. That would be entirely too easy. No, of course not. Pandora insisted on draping herself over furniture like a Greek goddess instead.

“Come out for drinks with us tonight.”

Dorcas shook her head. “Alcohol and agitation are a terrible combination.”

“You need to relax, Dorcas.”

“The last thing that I need to do with her around is to relax,” Dorcas retorted, pointing at the closed bedroom door. “I will not allow myself to backslide now. Not after everything I went through last time.”

Pandora hummed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Fine, but you should know that she’s crashing on our sofa for the next few days. You can’t avoid her forever.”

“I thought Lily was crashing on the sofa.”

With a derisive snort, Pandora shook her head. “Do you know how long it's been since I had a girlfriend? Too long. She’s sleeping in here with me.”

Dorcas nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?”

“We have a two bedroom flat, Dorcas. Until Reg gives in to James and moves out, we’ll have to share the master.”

“All three of us?”

Pandora’s smile didn’t waiver as she nodded slowly. “Yes, it should be fun. Don’t you think so?”

“Pandora, if you shag her while I’m in here, I will–”

“That will not be a problem.”

Dorcas eyed her warily. “It won’t?”

“No, because Lily is a screamer and she’d be mortified if you heard her.”

Pandora’s expression was completely unbothered and her voice matter-of-fact. As if she hadn’t just given Dorcas a glimpse of her and her girlfriend’s physical relationship entirely unprompted. Then again, this wasn’t new. Pandora always was a little too open about her sex life.

“Yes, well…let’s make that a new house rule then,” Dorcas said, biting back the urge to tell her off.

What was I going to say? How dare you have mind-blowing sex with your girlfriend? I am losing the plot.

Next Part>>>

[partisan-by-default]

With a closer look, it is usually possible to confirm AI interior design the same way as other forms of generative AI imagery: by looking for unrealistic textures, inconsistent angles, stray pixels or garbled text. But the tech is getting better all the time. Does Virtual Staging AI make it clear when it is being used in listings? “Usually, it's up to the agent to disclose in descriptions,” Bonacina says. “Some of them also add a watermark on the picture and quite a few of them actually upload both pictures, so [people can see] the empty and the staged room.”

But not all agents make it clear that they are using AI. While the US passed the AI Disclosure Act last year, requiring any generative AI content to carry a disclaimer, the UK has no such legislation. Despite Virtual Staging AI not applying a watermark or disclaimer by default, Bonacina says not making AI use clear could have repercussions with prospective movers. Given the housing crisis, competition for rentals is high and there have been reports of some renters taking on properties without viewing them in person. Is AI staging really helping people make an informed decision about where they want to live?

The other obvious issue is the potential for AI to fit out rooms with furniture that is not to scale, giving the impression that somewhere is bigger than it actually is. Omar Beg is the managing director of McBryer Beg, a chartered surveyor and letting agency in London that has been using AI to virtually furnish some of its own listings for around a year (you can see an example of their AI handiwork here). He explains that AI furnished rooms can give a less-than-accurate representation of their real life potential: “Some agents can be a little bit flexible with the truth. You know, where a bed and a chair and a wardrobe fit into a space where you couldn’t swing a cat.”

AI staging services usually generate multiple renders of how a room might be furnished, and agents are likely to choose images that make rooms look their best, even if it’s not a realistic setup for people who actually have to live there. Omar gives the example of wardrobes, which he says rarely crop up in AI, but are a staple of pretty much every bedroom in the real world. “The reason why that is done is because open spaces are more attractive. They feel more attractive, they feel more welcoming, but the reality is that's not going to be the space that you're living in.” 

[hybridresi]

Finding the Perfect Place: A Guide to London Apartments for Rent and Short-Term Rentals

When you're searching for a place to stay in London, the options can seem overwhelming. Whether you're a student, a professional on a temporary assignment, or simply visiting the city, finding the right accommodation can make all the difference in your stay. From London Apartments for Rent to Short Term Rentals London, the variety is vast, and choosing the best option requires some research. If you're in the market for affordable and flexible living arrangements, HybridResi is here to help you find the perfect fit.

In this blog, we'll explore various accommodation options in London, ranging from Cheap Short Term Accommodation London to Furnished Short Term Rentals London, and even London Serviced Apartments Long Term. Whatever your needs may be, this guide will give you a comprehensive overview of what to expect and how to find a place that feels like home.

Why Choose Short-Term Rentals?

For many people, Short Term Rentals London offer an ideal solution, particularly for those who don't want to commit to long-term leases. These rentals are typically more flexible, allowing tenants to stay for just a few weeks or months without the need for complicated contracts. This flexibility is particularly beneficial for business travelers, international students, or people who are relocating to the city for a short time.

Unlike traditional leases, Short Term Flat Rental London can be booked for shorter periods and often come fully furnished. You won't have to worry about buying furniture or dealing with the hassles of setting up utilities. Many short-term rentals also include amenities like Wi-Fi, housekeeping, and even fitness facilities.

The Appeal of Furnished Rentals

When you choose Furnished Short Term Rentals London, you can move in with just your suitcase. These rentals are fully equipped with everything you need, from kitchen utensils to bedroom linens. This is especially convenient if you're moving to London for work or school and don't want to spend time and money furnishing an apartment.

Moreover, Cheap Short Term Accommodation London doesn't necessarily mean compromising on comfort or quality. Many furnished apartments offer modern amenities and stylish interiors, providing a cozy and convenient living space at a reasonable cost. These types of rentals are perfect for anyone who wants a hassle-free move without the burden of furnishing an entire apartment from scratch.

The Benefits of London Serviced Apartments

If you're looking for a more luxurious or hassle-free experience, London Serviced Apartments Short Term may be the right choice for you. These apartments are similar to hotels in that they come with services such as housekeeping, security, and sometimes even concierge service. However, they offer more space, privacy, and a homier feel compared to standard hotel rooms.

For individuals planning a longer stay, London Serviced Apartments Long Term provide a great balance between the comforts of home and the convenience of hotel-like services. You can enjoy fully furnished spaces with kitchens, living areas, and multiple bedrooms—ideal for families or groups staying in London for an extended period. Not only do you have more living space, but you also have the added benefits of amenities like laundry services, room cleaning, and even 24/7 customer support.

Ideal for Relocation or Business Travel

London attracts thousands of professionals from around the world who come to the city for work, business meetings, or short-term projects. For these individuals, Short Term Accommodation London or London Apartments for Rent are the perfect solutions. Business travelers, in particular, need comfortable, well-located apartments that allow them to be productive and relax after a long day of meetings.

Choosing a Short Term Flat Rental London gives you the flexibility to live close to where you work, minimizing commute times and maximizing your time to explore the city. Many short-term rental providers also offer a variety of locations throughout London, from the financial district to more residential areas, allowing you to choose the location that best suits your lifestyle and work needs.

Budget-Friendly Options

Finding Cheap Short Term Accommodation London doesn't mean sacrificing quality. In fact, there are numerous affordable options throughout the city that provide comfortable and well-equipped living spaces. By booking a short-term rental, you can often get better value for money compared to hotels, particularly if you plan on staying for more than a few weeks.

For instance, Furnished Short Term Rentals London offer significant savings because they eliminate the need to buy furniture, set up utilities, or pay for separate services like cleaning or Wi-Fi. Additionally, if you're sharing the apartment with a colleague or family member, the cost per person can be significantly lower than booking multiple hotel rooms.

How HybridResi Can Help

At HybridResi, we understand that finding the right accommodation in London can be a daunting task, especially for those unfamiliar with the city. That's why we offer a wide range of options, from London Serviced Apartments Long Term to Short Term Rentals London, tailored to meet the needs of different travelers.

Our goal is to provide flexible, affordable, and comfortable accommodations that allow you to enjoy your time in London without the stress of searching for a place to stay. Whether you're here for a few weeks or a few months, we have the perfect option to suit your needs.

Conclusion

London is a city filled with opportunities, and finding the right place to stay should enhance your experience, not complicate it. Whether you're seeking London Apartments for Rent, Short Term Accommodation London, or London Serviced Apartments Short Term, the options are vast and varied. With fully furnished apartments, flexible leases, and a wide range of locations, you can find the perfect place to call home during your time in the city.

If you're looking for an affordable and flexible living arrangement in London, don't hesitate to explore the options at HybridResi. Our team is ready to assist you in finding a space that meets all your needs and allows you to enjoy everything London has to offer.