#danish furniture shop

[happywebdesign]

Audo Copenhagen

[thehistoryvintageantiques]

#226 Mid-Century Grant Mobler 2 Seat Sofa

Vintage Danish 2 Seat Sofa

Denmark 1970’s

Classic mid-century design from Grant Mobler. A 2-seat variation in a cognac-coloured leather with original patina.

A perfect combination of Danish style and function. Just perfect for that special spot in your home.

78H x 157W x 79D cm

[kombuuuu]

hii i really enjoyed ur miles 42 fic, was wondering if u could write something about reader and miles meeting for the first time? who was interested first🤭?

For the Soul (and the Heart)

Miles!42 x Fem!Reader

“I’ll be here. So pretty fun, i’d say”. “Guess you’re right, Chiquita.”

AHHH meet cute x simpy miles we LOVE

Miles getting comfy w reader and reader getting progressively more combative the more time they spend together bc they luvvvvvvv each other? perfection

please don’t read if you get uncomfy with suggestive content, nothing too bad but still suggestive!

The morning was still. An odd occurrence for a Saturday. The winter chill had settled the night prior and seeped into ever cracked windowsill.

Streets coating in a thin layer of snow and trees dusted with the same. And acknowledging this freezing weather, obviously you decided to go for a walk. Snow crunched under your feet as you followed street signs, the only thing telling you where you were going was which street looked prettier.

Eventually you stopped, hugging your scarf closer to your nose and looking for a stall or shop that caught your eye.

Eventually it did, a quaint cafe stationed between two clothing stores, relatively small and pretty empty. The outside was decorated with white Lilly-of-the-Valley flowers, flower beds filled with the pretty things. Contrasting to the deep Mahogany of the wooden shop. Which looking into the wide window, seemed relatively the same. Deep furniture with white accents and a soft yellow light dancing along shiny hardwood floors.

Swirling cursive words cut into the wooden headboard swinging from a chain outside the door. “Morales Coffee.”

There looked to be seven or eight people in there currently, for how inconspicuous it tried to look, the amount of patrons at such an odd time (10:42 AM, not morning but not afternoon either.), You’d assume that coffee has to be amazing.

The door bell chimed sweetly at your entry, Barista turning to greet you.

The sweet woman gleamed over at you for a moment, turning back to her current customer while he pulled out his wallet. You lined up, looking at the pastries lining the glass displays. The ones catching your eye a Raspberry Danish and a cute baby blue Lunch-Box cake.

The man had moved away, leaving it your turn to order. The woman smiled at you and for once, approaching someone in costumer service didn’t feel as scary as it should’ve.

“Hi, What can I get for you today?” The curly haired woman had a twang of an accent curving her words. And a motherly vibe about her.

“Hey,” You smiled back at her “,Could I get a regular Mocha—.” You paused to let her punch it in. “.—A raspberry Danish and your blue cake.”

You pointed vaguely towards where the blue cake would be to her side of the display. “Yes, of course! That’ll be $18.40, thank you.”

Whilst you pulled out your purse to pay and she began to retrieve the items. She spoke up again. “Someone’s birthday?”

You laughed, not expecting her to speak so suddenly.

“Oh, no!” A chuckle left your lungs “Just want some cake recently. Saw your shop and its cakes. Thought may as well get it while i’m here.”

She laughed along with you, snorting a little as she boxed the small cake in the cardboard lunchbox. “Seems reasonable.”

“Thank you.”

She grabbed your danish and placed it on the counter, putting the cake in a bag and handing it to you.

“Thank you, again.”

“No worries, your mocha will be out shortly!” The bouncy lady turned around, going close to the back of the counter and opened a door you hadn’t realised was there, talking into it.

“Bebé, hay una chica linda ahí afuera que quiere un Mocha. Ve a hacerlo para ella. Y no la riegues.”

"Baby, there's a cute girl out there who wants a Mocha. Go do it for her. And don't mess it up."

Miles glanced up in confusion.

“¿Pero porqué me dices a mi?”

“Why me?”

“Pues es linda, y parece de tu edad.”

“She’s pretty, and around your age.”

“Ma, porfavor.”

“Ma, please.”

“Go.”

“Fine, fine.” He raised his hands in defeat and Rio kissed his cheek on the way out.

You found a seat with a cute view of the street outside and waited patiently for your coffee, people watching to pass time.

There was always a fear of crime in your neighbourhood. The lack of supposed ‘good guys’ coupled with the city being run down by anyone who wanted to escape trouble. Once news broke out of the first robbery in Brooklyn, where no one was caught. It was immediately put on the radar for any criminal looking to live somewhere safe.

The Prowler had been changing that. Little by little the Panther-esc.. Anti-Villain was scraping through the streets of Brooklyn and letting his blood stained claws drag over those in his way.

People feared him, the violence he brought with him.

You thought he was the closest thing to a hero you were getting, so who’s got room to complain?

If he’s not going to do the dirty work, who will?

The chatter of other people in the cafe had gotten slightly louder, four more people walking in while you sat.

“Miles, la chica linda de ahí.”

“Miles, That sweet girl over there.”

“Sí mamá, ya sé.”

“Yeah mama, I know.”

The smooth baritones accent of a boy around your age caught your attention. The way his letters curled giving you a rush of something down your spine. You looked up when you heard feet approaching, seeing probably the most ridiculously handsome man you have ever met bring you your coffee.

The way his jawline sharpened at a point, braids lying on his shoulders just below it. His lips that seemed awfully soft for someone who probably doesn’t even know what chapstick is. Lashes fluttering prettily over his high genes cheekbones, accenting his golden eyes. Jesus christ he’s pretty. His lips curled into a smirk at your face, your doe’d eyes gleaming up at him. He had some sharp canines.

“‘S one’s yours, Miss.” He placed the steaming mug on your table and you smiled. “Thank you!”

“No worries, Hermosa.” He looked at you a moment longer before the sweet lady called him back to make another order.

“Coming, Momma.” He called back to her, turning back to you for a second time and adding.

“I’m Miles, by the way.”

“Miles.. that’s a cute name.”

His lips upturned again at the compliment.

You gave him your name, which he hummed at, repeating it and rolling it around his tongue. His accent was gorgeous.

“Hope to see you ‘round, [Name].”

You choked out a pathetic affirmation, “Mhmma.— Yeah, yep.”

He laughed lightly and dragged his fingers along the table as he left.

Like claws.

—

Two days later you were back. It was some of the best coffee you’d ever had. And the desserts were the same, most of the cake still sitting boxed in the fridge.

Also there was an added bonus, being the coffee house owner, and her son.

The boy was interesting enough to keep your attention, sweet to you but held a sort of curiosity about him. Like he was hiding something but felt no shame in doing it, that it was righteously excused.

And to be real, you were dying to hear his voice again. Two days and all that had been playing in your head was the way he’d said your name, let the word travel down to his lungs and breathed life into it. A longing into it.

Miles was about the same, probably worse.

You saying his name was cute was probably his new lifeline. The way you had said it so innocently, sweetly to the likes of him. A twisted, wretched man. You had him swooning faster than he deemed safe, his body was going into overdrive. He had watched you while in their cafe, having never met someone so.. untainted by the world. Someone so sweet who carried nothing but a childlike innocence in their curios nature. Nothing done out of bad faith or in vain. You were nothing like him, he adored that.

So when you came wandering back into his Mommas cafe, he hoped to every universe it would be something you didn’t stop doing.

“Ah! Miss, You’re back!” His Ma greeted her, watching as the girl told Rio her name, and his Mom in return.

You guys chatted idly for a moment, your expressions clear as day. He could read you like a grown man could read a picture book, so easy it would be insulting to present him with it, if the content wasn’t you. The brightness and easy nature of you was something refreshing, he would say his Momma was easy-going, but times had been hard lately and his family needed a cheering up. You seemed like the perfect candidate.

Sweet, bubbly and looking at him right now- Oh. He waved at you, shivering at the eye contact and watching as you smiled at him and waved back, hands shaking. He likes how nervous he makes you.

You sniffled a little from the cold, dripping your hand as his Mom room your attention again. She handed you a cinnamon scroll and you paid quickly, dropping twenty bucks in the tip jar and quickly finding your way back to your seat.

“Miles! Un Mocha regular porfavor.”“Miles, regular Mocha please.”

He nodded to his mom, like he hadn’t remembered from last time. Like he hasn’t watched as you enjoyed something he made you.

—

“Bienvenida de nuevo, Chiquita.”“Welcome back, Chiquita.”

Sitting in the same spot as last time, staring at the idling passer-by’s, the light of a Winter morning danced off the snowy ground and highlighted your face, leaving a soft glow in your eyes.

You turned to him, paying him your whole mind.

“Thank you, Miles.” He placed your coffee in front of you, slightly leaning over you. He raised his eyebrows and hummed. You inhaled quickly, breath caught in your throat. Now realising the proximity between the two of you. Not only that, but there was a sweet smell that followed him around, coffee and cinnamon. How fitting.

His voice had gone deeper, smoother.

“I’m glad to see you back here—,” He leaned back again, hand dragging the same way it had two days prior. Your slow blink and parted lips made a deep rooted part of him begin to blossom once more.

He wanted to protect you the way he knew no one else could, wanted to lay his Soul down for you. Let you trace the veins imbedded in his skin with your teeth and take as much from him as you could. Run him dry, let him owe you his life so he can die protecting yours.

The speed his infatuation was growing probably wasn’t healthy.

“Really?” Your sweet, breathless inquiry silenced that though.

“Of course, Mami.”

“I—,” You paused, picking at you fingernails for a moment “,—I like it here, a lot.”

You leaned a little forward in your seat. Pressing your forearms against the wooden tabletop and leaning on them. He watched your back drop into a small arch, and for his own health, decided to ignore it. “‘S very cozy.” You glanced towards the window again. Watching another lad and her dog pass. He watched you.

“Mm, it is.”

“And you’re here.”

He sucked in a breath, fingers twitching.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your gaze flickered to him once more and he held it.

He let his hand drift to your shoulder, rubbing it slowly while he peeled himself away from the table.

“I gotta go, Mami, but enjoy your time.”

“You too, Miles.”

“I’ll be working,” He smiled at you, a small thing.

“I’ll be here. So pretty fun, I’d say.”

He hummed.

“Guess you’re right, Chiquita.”

—

It had been around four Months since Miles had met you. And he was in over his damn head, not that he wasn’t at your first meeting. But progressively, over time, he’d fallen deeper and deeper for you.

Everything you did had him in a chokehold. The way you were so sweet with his Mom, or how even uncle Aaron liked you when he’d stopped by the cafe.

How you offered to help around with no pay, generosity basically leaking from your heart. When you would come over just to see him because you “missed his voice”.

Or would sit in his room and wait for him. If he ever came home late, injured from things you had no business knowing, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You stayed quiet, and patched him up. Let him rest his head on your collarbone while you softly rubbed his shoulders. Trying to lighten the weight of the world off of them.

Every little thing.

He was done pretending like it didn’t affect him. He could barely go a single day without you on his mind constantly, as if.

He knew you felt the same.

Still just as readable as your first meeting. He knew the frequent outings between the two of you were more than just friendly meet-ups to you. To him.

And when your gazes would catch one another, he’d try and tell you. Express without so much as a word how you were the only person he could do this with. The only one he felt comfortable to walk down the street with, and let you chat his ear off about any new movies you’d seen, books you’d have read.

He would let you sleep in his bed, bring little things into his room and give the bland walls life.

You had made a home in him. Cracked chips in his walls on by one until you’d found a single loose stone and happily let everything he’d built up fall just for you.

—

Miles had texted you around mid-day that he’d wanted to see you, in which you’d giggled at your phone dreamily.

Laying on your bed with your stomach down, kicking your legs like a girl gone stupid.

It hadn’t even been much to fret over, just a simple:

Can you come over later?

He had phrased it rather questioningly, but for no good reason. He’d known full well the moment he even insinuated you being with him, you’d jump at the chance.

And you did, swiftly replying;

okayyyy !!

I’ll pick you up at 7.

six…?

7, [Name].

>:(

Don’t be childish.

i’m nvr childish, see u at 6 C:

You got up, threw your phone somewhere on the bed and checked your, admittedly already-packed, overnight bag. Making sure nothing was missing before putting it at your door.

Your phone pinged again.

See you at six.

You smiled.

You spent the rest of that afternoon anxiously waiting for him to pick you up.

—

He showed up at your door five minutes late, greeting you at the door with a soft apology about the tardiness.

“Sorry, Mami. Took a wrong turn.”

“Don’t apologise, Miles.”

You smiled at him, stars in your eyes. He looked away for a second, a bit guilty for lying to you, but he feels it’s worth it.

“Grab your bag, ma. Let’s go.”

You hummed an affirmation, rushing to your room to grab the pink duffel bag.

You grabbed your phone off your night stand and did a double check for everything.

You walked out again, closing the door behind you. Miles was leant up against your doorframe. Forearm pressed on the wood and his torso stretched. A small sliver of his skin had peeked from under the fabric, you thanked the warming weather. Quickly averting your gaze, you noticed him watching your stare in intent, a curious smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“You good, Chiquita?”

“Uhuh—, yep. Fine.”

“Mmhm.”

You huffed out, pouting and pressing your palm to his chest, his very toned chest, and pushed back lightly.

“Get outta my way, lame-o, I gotta lock the door.”

He resisted for a moment longer, gazing down at you in humour. He trailed his hand up your arm slyly and pried your hand off his chest by sliding his thumb up from under your wrist onto your palm. Slowly pulling you off him.

“Maybe ask politely.”

You gave him an unimpressed stare and flipped him off.

“Miles.”

“[Name].”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s just a ‘please’.”

“..-Please, get the fuck outta my way.”

“Of course, Hermosa.” He snorted as he did.

You turned around, Miles still close to you in the cramped hallway, and locked your door.

You turned around, noticing his eyes glance up from where they were before and shot him a questioning look. He turned around and led you through you hallway, dismissing the look.

—

He opened the steel door to the cafe. The scenery of a rooftop garden with the same Lilly-of-the-Valley flowers up here as there were out front of the store.

Shrubbery lined the rooftop edge and the string lights hung from the veranda created an atmosphere that seemed almost cinematic.

“Jesus, Miles. This is beautiful.”

“Mm, thought you’d like it.”

“I do, so much.”

You stated in awe at the mural painted on a buildings wall behind the door. A man who stroke a resemblance to Miles painted surrounded by colours of any.

The moonlight basked against the neon colours, accenting the man’s features.

“My dad.”

Your gaze snapped up to him beside you, brows furrowing in a frown.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S cool. Nothin’ you coulda known, Ma.”

He sighed at the image of his father, wishing him well rest.

Turning to you, he wasn’t surprised to see the greif in your eyes. He was, though, surprised at the lack of pity.

He was so used to having his far family whisper behind his back at how his soul had died with his fathers. How the light in his eyes had gone missing the day his hand had been forced, unable to get to his dad in time.

There was no escaping his death.

So to feel the understanding coming from you—. The confidence in your sorry but knowledge that pity would do no one any good, it was refreshing. Everything about you was.

He turned away from your watchful eyes, the intensity being unusual for him.

“Come sit, vida mía.”

You followed him dutifully, loyally. Like you had since the last Winter. Like you would continue for the next to come.

A set of pillows had been placed in the middle of the veranda. White wood covered in lively vines and the aforementioned string lights.

There was a layout of his pastries (which you had learned he was the baker of) laid out on a cotton blanket.

You sat on one of the pillows, legs crossed. Miles following short after.

“Oooh,” You begun to tease him “,This a romantic dinner date?” The tone of your voice was in jest, but when he had failed to answer— Your heart rate sped up and your face went hot to the touch.

“Miles? Y’know I— I was just jokin’—“ “If you want it to be.”

You stood stupidly for a moment, not quite reeling in his words like any other person would.

“Wh—.”

It was his turn for unsurity now, eyes dancing nervously between you and the skyline.

“No pressure, though. Just think it’d be nice.”

“It would.”

He refocused on you again, finding you already watching him owlishly. “Yeah?”

“Mm, we could—,”

He anxiously started picking at the blanket. Who knew someone usually so calm could be this nervous asking out the most harmless girl he knew.

“Try. We could try that, together.” You mumbled a bit, seemingly playing it off. “If you want, or something..”

“I do.” He gained some leg to stand on, finding it easier and easier as you spoke, your nerves somehow calming his own.

“I’ve wanted that for a while.”

“Oh good, cause—“ You placed your hand in your lap, cracking your knuckles. “—Me too, so. That’s good.”

He grinned at your awkwardness, knowing your lack of experience in the relationship aspect of life, this mutual agreement, instead of one asking the other out, probably hasn’t been an experience of yours yet. He liked he was the first.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.”

You puffed at him, punching his arm lightly.

“I’m never shy, that’s for dumb stupid lame people. And I am none of those.” “Oh, sure.”

“Wh— Sure?! Which one are you ‘sure’-ing? Dumb, stupid or lame?!”

“Uhuh.”

“Miles!”

“Keep saying my name like that, mami.”

“Oh my goodness!”

—

And when you both finally got into his bed, you’d slept tangled together like you had dozens of times before. But this time, Miles would grab your waist and pull you closer. Settle his face in your neck and trace his nose down the length of your shoulder, peppering a kiss on every inch of skin he could find, and you’d both finally felt sure.

Maybe people were right, maybe Miles’s soul had died with his father.

But meeting you, something new, something rejuvenating—.

It left him with a light he could search for, a new soul. A whisp of a being you’d taken from your own heart and placed in his. It left him breathless with life.

—

YIPEEE!!!!! another one 🗣️‼️

thank you to my translation helpers (bbgs) @kissmxcheek and @millyswife

(oh, wrong Miles! oops! 🤗⬇️)

[melrosing]

GOT low-points for Jaime

ok I don’t like complaining about GOT too much cos it gets boring and I am here for the books. but this is kind of fun so

Telling Brienne the one secret he has never told anyone, the biggest secret of his entire story…. and then telling Qyburn shortly afterwards just to have a comeback

Getting essentially murderered by pound shop Euron Greyjoy bc….??? the actors are both Danish??

Hearing Cersei has tried to kill him and going back to her approx. 10 mins later to raise a child w her x

Hanging around Dorne with Bronn in the most Naruto filler episodes of all time

That scene where he and Tyrion are making fun of their disabled cousin crushing beetles by imitating his voice for like a painfully long period of screen time. Yes I know the backstory as to why this ‘joke’ got written but I honestly don’t care, I only saw it once back in whatever year it aired and it was just excruciating

‘I never really cared about the innocent’ - absolutely iconic

Pursuing Brienne cos he heard she’s a virgin (A: obviously B: you literally already knew that), then never saying another word to her onscreen before dumping her in the snow and forgetting she exists x

Hearing Cersei is replicating Aerys’ worst instincts, going 🫤 and then hanging around King’s Landing for another season fucking Cersei and building IKEA furniture for a baby bc what else is he supposed to be doing I guess

Angrily crying over the fact Tyrion murdered Tywin as Tyrion explains in the background ‘you remember how he abused me and tried to kill me too right’

Planning atrocities till Brienne physically appears to say ‘hey remember your entire story arc? aren’t we supposed to be making more complex decisions now?’ Then jaime looking briefly inspired before explaining to Edmure he’ll kill his baby because he likes to fuck his own sister so don’t push it

Getting fired from the Kingsguard and then never thinking about it again

Killing his cousin for no real reason in season 2, then forgetting how he even did it when citing his list of sins to Brienne in season 8

Telling Joffrey there’s still time for him to fill the White Book with his deeds in season 4, then shoving it off the table to fuck his sister later in the same season

Brienne completing his entry in the same book desperately trying to frame a single act of Jaime’s as having had a point

[outsideratheart]

19 Making Christmas dinner with sofie svava

New relationships are great and you loved the fact that you could call Sofie your girlfriend but because you had only been dating since the summer it meant that you would be celebrating Christmas with your own families instead of each other.

Whilst you were with your family you found yourself thinking about Sofie more than you normally do and as you sat down for Christmas dinner you came up with an idea.

It was a few days after Christmas and both of you were back in Madrid preparing to go on the team trip to ring in the new year when you put your plan in action.

Sofie is looking through her wardrobe when she hears a knock at the door. She found it strange because she wasn't expecting anyone and you always text before coming over, or least that is what normally happens.

"Y/N! What are you doing here?" Sofie's arms are wrapped around you before she finishes her sentence.

You savour the moment. It may have only been a week but you had missed your girlfriend more than you thought you would.

"I thought we could have Christmas dinner together" you reluctantly let her go so that you can hold up the shopping bags that contained numerous ingredients.

"But Christmas was a few days ago" Sofie's face oozed confusion as her mind begins to think if you had mentioned this to her.

"Yes it was but as I sat down at the dinner table I starting thinking of you and how much I wish I could have spend the day with you" you feel your cheeks blush when you admit this out loud.

Before Sofie you never liked the thought of having someone else be your source of happiness but after months of trying to bury your feelings you plucked up the courage and told her how you felt and much to your surprise she felt the same way. Since then Sofie has brought out a new side of you, one that you never thought possible.

"You know parents say that cooking a meal of this stature is a test for any relationship" Sofie steps aside to let you into her apartment.

"That's what you said about IKEA furniture and that turned out pretty well" you remember the moment fondly. You spent your day off building furniture for your living room, the two of you working like a well oiled machine.

"Duck or pork?" Sofie asks as she helps you empty the bags onto the kitchen counter.

"Is this part of the test?" you ask and your girlfriend hums in response "Then you are going to have to try harder. I bought Duck because that is what you have always had although I did google some things and it said I should buy pork beca-"

"No" Sofie holds her hand up "Pork doesn't have a place on the Svava Christmas table. You need to remember this for when you come home with me for Christmas"

A smile tugs at your lips. You liked the sound of going back to Denmark with Sofie for the holidays and it made you feel warm inside knowing that Sofie had thought about it too.

"I like the sound of that"

Sofie's smile mirrors your own.

You and Sofie devise a plan on how best to cook the dinner with the work shared evenly between the two of you. Sofie takes charge of the duck given that it is Danish specialty whilst you focus on the side dishes. You are trying your best to make each dish perfect and when you turn to get something out of the fridge you see Sofie sat on the counter with a wine glass in hand watching you.

"Can I help you?" you ask her.

Sofie wraps her legs around you, pulling you close to her as she does so. You take the glass from her taking a sip of the red wine before placing it to the side. You wrap your arms around around her waist, your hands sitting very low on her hips. Sofie's arms clasp around your neck and you feel her thumbs playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

"Oh don't mind me. I'm enjoying watching you work" Sofie says.

"I bet you are" you lean forward placing a gentle kiss on her lips only for Sofie to deepen it. Your hands begin roaming her body. She pulls away but only when oxygen becomes an issue.

"Thank you" Sofie's words are sincere but you have no idea what she is thanking you for and the look on your face must tell her this.

"For showing me what the future could look like" you answered your unasked question.

"There's no could about it. You're stuck with me Sofie Svava" you steal a quick kiss before telling her to set the table.

The two of you enjoy your delayed Christmas dinner before spending the night cuddled up on the sofa watching your favourite tv show.

[darlingandmreames]

Hello! I've had this idea in my head for a fic but currently lack the wit and drive to even attempt it- but every time I listen to Tom's Diner cover by AnnenMayKantereit x Giant Rooks I have this flash of Eames as a regular patron of Arthur's coffee shop, and Mal being the woman who enters, greeting Arthur with a kiss. Eames is secretly enamored of Arthur and thinks them married, until a later conversation with Arthur or Mal reveals otherwise... it could go either way, Arthur the patron and Eames the owner. Indeed your fics come to life with your beautiful writing, I thought to entrust this idea to you if ever you should wish to write it.. happy days to you, lovely!

This is such a cute prompt and such a sweet comment, thank you 🥺❤ have a lil ficlet as a treat, I hope it's at least somewhat similar to what you were envisioning! ❤

Eames tried not to sigh as Mal walked into the cafe. 

He loved it here, he really did. It was a small shop on more of an alleyway than an actual street, the sort of place that made its money from local regulars rather than tourists. The exposed brick walls, warm light, comfortable chairs, and charmingly eclectic decorations made for a cozy atmosphere that was absolutely perfect for those days when Eames wanted to work anywhere but the actual office space in his apartment. Even the coffee itself was amazing, and Eames was enough of a coffee snob that his compliments for coffee made by anyone besides himself were few and far between. 

All of the wonderful things Eames loved about the space seemed to lose some of their luster as Mal burst through the door with a flourish though.

“Mon amor!” She set the large container of pastries down on the cafe bar as she rounded the corner and crowded into Arthur’s space, pulling him into a hug and pressing a kiss against his cheek. “It’s been too long, my dear.”

Arthur laughed, kissing Mal’s cheek quickly before going back to drying mugs. “It’s barely been a few hours.”

Mal waved his answer off dismissively. “Like I said, too long.”

Arthur’s smile was warm. “Whatever you say.” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing to where Eames was sitting at the counter. “You do realize I have a customer here, though, right?”

Mal smiled at Eames, pulling a danish out of the box and sliding it over to him with exaggerated secrecy. “Of course. How could I overlook the shop’s resident writer?”

Eames picked up the danish with a grin and a wink. Apricot- his favourite. “That’s a nice way of saying cafe bum who’s here so often that he’s practically part of the furniture.”

Mal scoffed as she started carefully arranging the new pastries in the display case. Arthur, meanwhile, caught his eye from the other side of the cafe bar with an amused smile. Eames returned it, his grin shifting into something warmer and more genuine. For as much as he loved the location and atmosphere and coffee, his favourite part of the cafe was unquestionably the owner. Arthur was a prim and proper man who wore cardigans and fitted suit vests and who had a sharp mind and even sharper wit, and Eames had been hooked after their first conversation. It wasn’t often that he found someone who could keep up with him in a conversation but Arthur managed to do that and more, challenging and needling him in a way that was as fascinating as it was exciting. The fact that he was also simply gorgeous was just an added benefit. 

So it was an absolute shame he was already married. 

Eames had almost managed to get his hopes up that maybe his interest was reciprocated when he’d first been at the cafe when Mal stopped by to drop off the day’s set of pastries. As he’d quickly come to learn after that, her entrances were always dramatic and involved a flourish of terms of endearment and at least a few kisses. He’d gotten used to it before long but the first time had caught him off guard and he’d left the cafe feeling surprisingly upset, which was stupid. He’d always had a penchant for wild dreaming- both the gift and a curse of a writer’s mind- and he knew he’d simply gotten a little carried away with his daydreams of a particularly handsome cafe owner. That was all it had been. He knew that and had quickly adjusted.

But still. Dreams weren’t easily gotten rid of. 

Mal was the sort of person whose personality lit up any room she was in, and she’d quickly identified Eames as a regular. She added a lovely brightness to the mornings he spent at the cafe and he’d honestly started to look forward to her pastry deliveries. If he also felt a little jealous seeing her be so affectionate with Arthur, well, that was beside the point. 

“Alright, my love, I should be heading off.” Mal pressed another kiss against Arthur’s cheek before heading back towards the door, the now empty pastry container under her arm. “You know how Dom is- if I’m gone much longer, I’ll come back to the bakery up in flames.”

Arthur chuckled. “Thank you, as always.” He gave a small wave as Mal opened the door. “See you later.”

Mal’s energy always seemed to linger in the space for a little after she’d left, but Eames could already feel the cafe’s normal calm seeping back in. He took a bite of the apricot danish as he turned back to his computer, savouring the burst of flavours. He’d always liked having something to nibble on while he wrote, and Mal’s pastries had quickly become a favourite.

“She must really like you.”

Eames looked up, surprised. “Hm?”

The amusement from earlier had crept back into Arthur’s expression. “Mal. She only ever gives free pastries to people she really likes.”

“Oh. Huh.” Eames looked at the danish in his hand a little more closely. He hadn’t realized he’d made that much of an impression on Mal. “Well, don’t you dare tell her the truth about me then, because this is delicious.”

Arthur’s laugh was bright and Eames found himself smiling in return without even meaning to. It was the sort of laugh that made Arthur’s eyes crinkle and put his dimples on wonderful display and even after months of coming here, the sound and sight still managed to make Eames’ stomach flutter. He quickly looked away, worried that a telling blush might creep into his cheeks otherwise. 

He glanced back at the danish as Arthur’s laughter faded, feeling slightly guilty. Mal had always been nice to him ever since she’d swept into the shop that first time while he was here and she apparently liked him enough to give him free baked goods. Begrudging her the fact that she was Arthur’s wife was petty and mean and certainly wasn’t a kind thing to do if he wanted to continue building a friendship with Arthur. Which he very much did. Among other things, of course, but a friendship was the most he was going to get and there was no point pouting over it. 

He looked back up with what he hoped was a casual and convincing smile. “Can I ask how long you guys have been married?”

“Hm?” 

Confusion took over Arthur’s expression but Eames kept his smile even, motioning to the pastry display. “You and Mal.”

Arthur’s confusion deepened for a moment before he suddenly started laughing again, even brighter than before and hard enough that he had to lean against the counter. Eames frowned. This…wasn’t how most people reacted when you asked them about their spouse. 

It was several moments before Arthur managed to get his laughter under control enough that he could even start stringing words together again. “I’m…we’re not…” He paused, taking a deep breath as he clearly teetered on the edge of laughing again. “Eames, Mal and I aren’t married.”

Eames’ frown deepened. “You’re…not?”

“No, she’s married to Dom.”

Eames blinked, trying to process what Arthur was telling him. “I…oh.”

“I’ve known her for years and she’s a very dear friend, but that’s it.” Arthur watched him for a moment, obviously amused. “Have you really spent this whole time thinking she was my wife?”

Eames sat back, gesturing broadly at nothing in particular. “I…she greets you with, like, seven pet names every morning! And kisses you!”

“Well, I can guarantee you it’s all completely platonic.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, fixing Eames with a pointed- if still very amused- look. “Even if she wasn’t already married to Dom, she’s…not exactly my type.”

“I don’t…oh.” The realization slammed into Eames almost as soon as he started talking and quickly shut his mouth, heat immediately flooding his face. “Oh.”

“Mm.” Arthur went back to drying the remaining mugs. “Certainly took you long enough to get there. I’ve been flirting with you for months.”

Eames stared at Arthur. He was calmly and methodically going over a mug with the dish towel like everything was completely normal. Eames’ brain, meanwhile, was scrambling to catch up. “I…I thought you were married!”

Arthur kept his gaze on his work but Eames could see him smiling. “So you’ve said. Though,” he glanced up briefly with a sharp grin, “I suppose it’s nice to know you’re not a homewrecker.”

Eames stared at him a moment longer before leaning back in his chair, rubbing at his face and groaning. “God, I’m an idiot.”

Arthur hummed. “Undoubtedly. You could make it up to me though.”

Eames paused, peeking through his fingers. “Oh?”

Arthur’s posture was relaxed as he finished the task in front of him with well practiced movements. “I was thinking dinner.”

Eames rested his chin on his fist as he leaned forward onto the cafe bar again. He could feel a smile breaking through, even if his face still felt like it was on fire. “Dinner, hm?” Arthur hummed again and Eames quirked an eyebrow, his smile breaking through even more. “Funny you mention that. There’s this Moroccan place I’ve been meaning to try out.” He paused, suddenly feeling emboldened by everything. Still embarrassed- he doubted that was going to go away any time soon- but not just embarrassed. “How’s Friday sound?”

Arthur shot him a coy, amused look. “Friday sounds lovely.”

“Perfect!” Eames’ smile was wide. “It’s a date.”

Arthur set the last mug aside, finally looking back at Eames more fully that was surprisingly soft, and Eames felt his stomach flutter again. “Yeah, it is.”

[grennefoam]

Day 1 of @benthan-week-forever: Practicing together (sparring, interrogating, etc.) | The ultimate relationship test: shopping at IKEA

He chances a peek at his partner, and slowly casts his eyes then to the half-empty box of cinnamon buns. Benji buys this and another 6-piece of maple Danish, meanwhile between the two Ethan is the one with a sweet tooth. Not once has Benji offered to share since they arrived. Meaning: Benji isn’t just angry. He’s livid. “Benji,” he begs. “Please.”

Happy Benthan week yall!

[umichenginabroad]

Week 5: Groceries, Madrid Musts, and Barcelona

The thing no one tells you about moving to a different country is that grocery shopping is exhausting. There are no brands you recognize, everything’s in different packaging, and even if you know the language, your food vocab probably isn’t extensive enough to know the difference between different types of milks or oils. Now in my fourth week of grocery shopping here. I thought I had the hang of things, but it still takes me like an hour to get two weeks worth of groceries. I have to walk around and figure out where what I need is, then sift through the twenty different options of the same thing by turning each item over and pretending that I understand the ingredients list enough to help me make a decision. I guess one perk of not knowing anything about the grocery store is that you get to discover new foods. Back home, my family’s always gotten the same bread, milk, eggs my whole life. So I have no idea if there’s a better brand out there. But here, I get to pick and explore. Last week, when buying cheese for sandwiches, I picked a random one and oh my gosh it’s the best cheese I ever had. Maybe when I get home, I’ll start being more adventurous with my grocery shopping. But yeah, mini rant over, and to summarize, if you’re going abroad and reading this, get mentally prepared to go grocery shopping.

In other news, this week, I went to see the sunset at Templo de Debod and also went to see Museo Sorolla. Both are musts in Madrid. Templo de Debod is an Egyptian temple that was moved to Madrid in order to be preserved. It’s a super cool piece of Egyptian history with a small museum inside, and it’s on top of a hill, so it makes for one of the most popular sunset spots. I really enjoyed watching the sunset here this week and will definitely be back! 

Even if you’re someone who doesn’t quite enjoy the big art museums (like the Prado), I can almost guarantee that Museo Sorolla will still be enjoyable. Joaquin Sorolla is a famous Spanish Impressionism-esque painter. His house in Madrid is turned into a museum, so you get to walk through his house while looking at his original paintings, furniture, gardens, etc. It really feels like more of a tour through someone’s life than an art museum. And it’s a small museum, so you can finish in about an hour, or two with the audio guide (which I loved so much and definitely recommend). I loved the gardens out front and how beautifully everything was preserved in the house. It really is a lesser known gem in Madrid. 

Another rather unconventional must in my opinion is Flying Tiger. Flying Tiger is a Danish chain of stores that sell things I can only describe as “things you didn’t know you needed until you see them”. I think it’s pretty aptly named because you’ve probably never thought of a flying tiger before, but now that I’ve said it- how cool would a flying tiger be? That’s exactly what everything in the store is like. Little knickknacks that you don’t really need, but are so interesting you’ll just need to have it. One of my favorite things were these little balloon clips that let you reuse the balloon instead of tying it. Like how cool is that??? It’s a dangerous shop to go into for sure, and you’ll probably end up buying something. But embrace it and go visit Flying Tiger for yourself. 

This weekend, I took a quick trip to Barcelona. Having already been there with my family back in 2019, I took the time to walk around, explore the more artsy districts, re-visit the Sagrada Familia since it’s just that beautiful, and went to the flea market. We also went to the Bunkers of Carmel which had gorgeous 360° views of the city. I remember liking Barcelona better than Madrid when I first visited with my family, but now that I’ve been living in Madrid for almost a month, going to Barcelona has made me realize how much I appreciate Madrid. Both are beautiful cities, but there’s just something about the liveliness and deep history and culture in Madrid that’s unmatched. 

So…you probably noticed there’s no drawing of the week today. Basically, I got my first Fluid Dynamics homework assigned and the time I would’ve spent drawing was spent on that. But I’m going to go ahead and say maybe there’ll be two drawings next week. 

You’ll have to wait and see :)

Isha Venkatesh

Mechanical Engineering

Comillas — Madrid, Spain

[birchkillchronicles]

Getting to Marigold

Chapter One

Mushroom, Raw Umber, Tobacco

            A mole’s nest. 

A dark, stuffy mole’s nest. 

That’s what Bernie’s bedroom is, sniffed Jeanie Dinmont. 

A dark, stuffy mole’s nest where—for the last fourteen years!—my daughter has chosen to burrow her silly head.

Gazing around the offending room, Jeanie was stumped. 

Why, she wondered for the trillionth time, had Bernie—back when she was a cantankerous sixteen-year-old—cruelly demanded that they chuck the lovely ivory-and-cream French Provincial décor���with pops of cherry-blossom-pink!—which her mom had so lovingly designed? 

And for what? 

For the Gothic-Victorian-techno mishmash of her current dismal lair?

What a waste of effort! Jeanie had mourned at the time.  And, frankly, she hadn’t seen the need to let Bernie have her own selfish adolescent way.  In her opinion, the sweetly feminine bedroom had been perfect for a young lady of tender years and, at the time, she’d wished that her daughter would just leave it alone. 

Yes, well…

As Jeanie’s mother would say, ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.’

The hollow-eyed teen had moped and sighed and sulked and pined, until—bowing to her best friend Sylvie’s parenting advice—Jeanie had yielded to Bernie’s unfathomable desire to transition her room into a ‘more grown-up space.’

Still—loathe to give up all aesthetic control—Jeanie had energetically counselled her daughter on how to curate her attic retreat. 

“Now, kidlet—with these small windows and sloping ceilings,” she’d cautioned, “you’ll want to keep everything light.  A neutral palette is the ticket here.  So, if I were you, I’d switch out those ivory pieces with a blond Danish-modern suite.  And then freshen up that matte cream wall paint with a semi-gloss buttermilk hue...”

But had her daughter listened? 

Nope. 

Not a chance.

Stubbornly insisting on her own dour notions for the space, Bernie had pushed her perplexed mother to repaint and then cram far too much dark-walnut furniture against stodgy mushroom-gray walls.  

Next—during an increasingly rare mother-and-daughter shopping jaunt to Sears—the cranky teen had opted for equally bleak soft furnishings. 

Then, she’d staged a weekend hunger strike—which her scrawny body could barely abide—in order to gain a plush area rug in a regrettable shade of raw umber. 

And, to complete the desecration, she’d insisted that her pleasant sitting area be transformed into a video gaming lounge!

So, now, an olive-drab duvet smothered the heavy Victorian double bed.  A battleship-grey slipcover obscured what had once been a delicate ladderback desk chair.  And over Bernie’s flat television screen lurked ugly posters featuring the sombre wizards, pointy-eared boys and snarling white wolves from her ghastly video games. 

The window treatments were no better. 

Inky-black roller shades masked every pane.  And tobacco-brown curtains shrouded each implacable shade so that Bernie could never be startled awake by even the slightest stray hint of rosy dawn. 

No sunlight.  No birdsong.  No air…

            Gee whiz, grimaced Jeanie.  I’d go mad if—even for a single night!—I  had to endure this frumpy old nest.  Let alone for the past fourteen years…

            Still—once she’d let Sylvie persuade her to allow the gawky girl dress her third-storey refuge to her own leaden taste—Jeanie had to concede that her best friend had been right.

Concede that Sylvie had understood far better how to assuage the pain of Bernie’s murky adolescence and her ensuing prickly twenties than Jeanie had ever wanted to.

Concede that Sylvie—a seasoned campaigner in the teenage wars with her flamboyant son, Nick—had been entirely correct when she’d warned Jeanie to forfeit the small battles to Bernie and save her energy for the big conflicts to come. 

            Yes, but—

Where was Sylvie now?

            Gone. 

Gone forever…

And that, decided Jeanie—vigorously refusing to be slurped into an insidious bog of regret—that abandonment, no matter how involuntary, certainly meant that now—right now!—Jeanie was allowed to decide for herself that enough was enough!

            With her usual deliberate stride, she wooshed across the deep-piled rug to the window, threw back the heavy curtains, snapped up the roller shade and wrenched open the double hung window. 

A waft of mid-July heat met the chill of the air-conditioning and died on the sill.

            “Jessica Bernadette Todd!” she carolled in her cheeriest voice. “Rise and shine!”

            Beneath the heavy duvet, a slight figure stirred.  Then, an unaccountably tidy head of dark-brown hair turned to reveal hazel-grey eyes peering dully out of a small pale-white face.

            “Mom.”

            With that single word, Bernie neatly expressed everything she wanted to say.

Don’t fool around with my window.  Leave me alone.  Go away.   

            Jeanie decided to ignore it all.

            “The day’s a-wasting!” she chirped.  “It’s time to greet the sun!”

            Her beloved kidlet—never ‘Jessica’ since that September afternoon when she’d announced that, with three other Jessicas in her fifth grade class, she would henceforth be known as ‘Bernie’—dropped a limp hand over to her bedside table to consult her phone.

            “Mom.”

It’s only nine-thirty on a Sunday morning.  Close my drapes.  Leave me alone.

Bernie’s pallid face swivelled inexorably back towards the wall.

            Jeanie decided to ignore that too. 

            Leaving the window wide open, she nipped over to her daughter.  Tugging off the unspeakable duvet to reveal Bernie’s frail powder-blue flannel-wrapped back, she plopped herself down on the bedside for a bracing chat.

            “Look, Bernie—” Jeanie began. “If our loopy-neighbour-from-three-doors-down, Lindy Styre, can get over herself long enough to write a summer play, you can get over yourself long enough to get up and go see it.” 

Bernie’s hibernation remained undisturbed. 

“Oh, for pity’s sake, kidlet!” Jeanie continued, relentlessly.  “According to the radio, Loopy Lindy’s done such a cracker-jack job, her theatre group’s gone and scheduled a whole extra matinee in the Glebe today!  Now, the show starts at one.  And I know that—if you stop for breakfast—it’ll take you at least an hour to get up and out.  So, I thought that, after you’ve had your shower and got dressed, we’d hike over to Starbucks for our coffee and then trot across the Bank Street Bridge.  Once we’re in the Glebe, we’ll pick up a snack—and then window-shop our way up to the park—”

            Heaving a deep-dark sigh, Bernie flopped back over to confront her intolerably perky parent.  “Mom.  There was a headline in the Old Ottawa South paper that said Excursion Theatre’s coming to Windsor Park in early August.  Why can’t we go then?  It’s not as if this matinee’s a case of now-or-never.”

            Delighted with this multi-sentence response, Jeanie seized upon her daughter’s argument with gusto.  “See?  You’re planning to go see Loopy Lindy’s play. Why not take advantage of this lovely golden day?  That August date could be rained out and then we’d miss everything!”

            “Mom—”

            “So why not sling our folding chairs over our shoulders and march on down through the Glebe?  We’ll buy fresh bagels, and it’ll be so much fun—!”

            “Mom—” groaned Bernie, attempting to retreat beneath her bedclothes once more.  

But Jeanie had scented victory in her daughter’s former lengthy reply. 

“Oh no, you don’t!” she laughed, wrestling the awful duvet from Bernie’s feeble grasp and tossing it to the floor.  “We’re overdue for a Girls Day Out!  So, get cracking, kidlet!  And I’ll go rustle up those chairs…”

            Filled with happy purpose, Jeanie scampered down two flights of stairs to her blond maple kitchen.  There, her husband, Donald Todd—an unpretentious man in his late sixties who’d recently retired from the Federal civil service—sat on a caramel-leather-upholstered stool at the pink-granite-topped kitchen island.  He was just as fair-skinned as Bernie and three inches shorter than his long-limbed wife of almost forty-two years.  And, as he sipped his second cup of coffee, he was puzzling through the cryptic crossword from yesterday morning’s paper. 

Always the intellectual, thought Jeanie, indulgently.  Can’t simply do the regular crossword like the rest of us mortals…

            Don had popped his golf shirt collar up on one side, so Jeanie straightened it out for him.  Then, planting an airy kiss on his greying temple, she offered, coyly, “You’ll be glad to hear that your devoted wife and darling daughter won’t be underfoot for most of the day.”

            “But I’ll miss you both so sadly,” returned Don, evenly.  Without even a glance his wife’s way, he filled a long word into his puzzle grid.

             “We’re having a Girls Day Out.  No men allowed!” Jeanie brightly informed him as she disappeared into their recently refreshed mudroom.  There, she pulled a couple of bagged folding chairs out of the closet and leant them against the wall.  Now, she thought with satisfaction, those will be close at hand...

Returning to the kitchen, she double-checked that the box for today’s date on the Inuit art wall calendar was empty.  She wanted to fill it in with the lively acronym ‘GDO!’  But where was the pen that ought to be laying on the shelf nearby?

“Don,” she asked, “have you seen the calendar pen?”

            “Mmm…what?”

            “The calendar pen.  The one that we always leave here on the shelf.” 

The pen wasn’t on the counter.  It hadn’t been knocked to the floor.  So where was the calendar pen? 

Had somebody moved it on purpose? 

Jeanie felt a buzz of frustration arise in her mind. 

“Not this one, is it?”  Still concentrating on his crossword, Don waved the pen he was using at her.  “I found it over there somewhere.”

Jeanie’s mouth pursed in to a strained smile. 

“You know, Don,” she admonished her husband, as if spelling out an indisputable fact to a little child, “you should leave the calendar pen where it belongs.  Then—whenever we need it—we  won’t have to search all over the house.”

“Sorry, dear.”  Don kept reading his puzzle clues and, again, didn’t bother to look up at his wife.

“And I know that you don’t mean to be careless.  But it doesn’t take much to throw everything into disarray.”  Jeanie didn’t like to be a nag.  And since it was only about a month ago that Don had reluctantly retired from the long days of his government career, he could be forgiven for not being on board with her household routines.  But there was a limit to her patience.  “If you start picking up stuff at random and just using it for whatever, pretty soon the whole system will be in a shambles.”

Don nodded thoughtfully and wrote another answer.  “As soon as I’m finished, I’ll put it back,” he said.  And—although her fingers itched to grab the pen out of his selfish hand—from long experience with her husband’s talent for sly evasion, Jeanie knew that she had to be content with that.

Restlessly, she surveyed the kitchen.  What other mischief had Don been up to?  There weren’t any of his used breakfast dishes cluttering up the counter or the sink, so she unobtrusively checked in the dishwasher to see if he’d put them away correctly.

Aha!  Don’s cereal bowl was in the appropriate slot on the bottom rack.  But he’d stuck his juice glass in the widest row of the upper… 

Juice glasses go in the narrow outer row, frowned Jeanie.  Any fool should know that. 

With an air of great tolerance, she lifted the offending glass and placed it in its proper spot.  Then she snapped the dishwasher closed and, with a pen selected out of her cache in her kitchen junk drawer, wrote ‘GDO!’ in today’s calendar box.        

With her good mood restored, Jeanie placed the substitute pen on the designated shelf and turned to Don with an unfeigned smile.  “Don’t you wonder where your girls are going?”

Don glanced up briefly from his puzzle and took a swig of coffee.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll eventually tell me,” he said.

            “We’re off to see that play that Lindy Styre wrote.”

            “Uh-huh.” 

            “It’s got great reviews, and they’re doing a matinee today in the Glebe.  So, Bernie and I thought we’d give it a peek.”

            “Great.”  Don’s slate-blue eyes drifted back to his crossword. 

            “It’s supposed to be really funny.”

            “No doubt.”  He picked up the ex-calendar pen again and wrote.

            “But you can’t come with us—”

            “Mm-hm…”

            “—because we’re having an exclusive Girls Day Out!”

            His brow wrinkled in deep thought, Don looked up and past his wife to stare vaguely at a spot over the kitchen stove.  So, giving him up as a bad job, Jeanie retrieved her phone from its charging bay to check for messages she might have missed while she was upstairs rousing Bernie. 

There was nothing too important.  Just a reminder from the clinic about Jeanie’s follow-up mammogram.  And a text from her former boss, Roberta Tsang. 

Nearly twenty years ago, Roberta had hired Jeanie as a part-time receptionist at her Bank Street interior design company.  And, now, she was asking whether Jeanie would like to come bargain hunting at the Westboro garage sale next Sunday? 

Jeanie deftly texted Roberta that she’d ‘love to go pickin’!’ and ‘how ’bout lunch too?’ And then stuck the details of the medical appointment into her phone calendar. 

‘Done like dinner,’ as Sylvie would have said. 

‘All good and proper!’ as Jeanie’s mother would amend. 

Pocketing her phone, Jeanie ran up the back stairs to refresh her lipstick in her marbled en-suite bathroom.  Once there, however, she paused to admire her newly-dyed hairdo in the vanity mirror. 

Keenly aware that her aging Clear Spring complexion now benefitted greatly when she lightened her colour palette to a Pastel Spring’s lower intensity hues, she’d instructed her stylist to tone her hair down to a soft-honey tint.  She wasn’t ready to go grey, she’d explained.  But she certainly didn’t want to look like one of those desperate ladies in their early sixties who try to offset their wrinkles with a brash shade of copper or platinum blonde…

Then again, Jeanie was a realist, and she wasn’t going to hide from the fact that she was getting old.  Yet, even with their fortieth anniversary in the rear-view mirror—and a year’s hiatus during her health scare—she and Don were still having it off a couple of times a month.

I might be vintage, Jeanie reminded the smiling woman in the mirror as she lightly touched up her coral lip gloss, but I sure ain’t antique!

As usual, Jeanie had dressed very carefully this morning and, assessing her appearance in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she was quite pleased.  She hadn’t painted too much tawny colour on her cheeks, and she liked the nice summery effect of the plain gold hoops in her ears.  Her flowery aqua cotton top bloused enough to disguise any imbalance in the size of her breasts and, with a nod to her mature status, she’d opted for a pair of faded denim-blue shorts which left only a tasteful stretch of her long legs bare.  And—playing peek-a-boo with her neatly coral-polished toes—sprightly new espadrille sandals completed her flawless attire. 

“You look like a million dollars!” she told her beaming reflection and giggled when it responded with a duck-lipped super-model pose. 

Next, knowing that—even at the best of times—Bernie never moved fast in the morning, Jeanie detoured for a few minutes to her craft room, which was located across the hall from the guest bedroom on the second-floor.  She wanted to finish cutting and filing a couple of articles from her favourite women’s magazine. 

Of course, Jeanie knew very well that this was the age of the computer.  But, in some fundamental way, she preferred winnowing real pages to simply downloading images from a screen.  And she wasn’t about to give up her favourite hobby just because it wasn’t modern…

In fact—through years of careful scrutiny of homemaker’s magazines—Jeanie had assembled a tangible ‘vision’ of what her family’s life should ideally be.  And via scrapbooks, files and inspiration boards, she continued to pursue that vision with passion and zest.

Now, donning her reading glasses, Jeanie flipped merrily through the latest issue’s glossy pages.  She clipped illustrated instructions on how to host a gingham-themed summer picnic.  And then a page of chowder recipes with both seafood and vegetarian options.  She usually filed the ‘Simple Sewing Crafts’ feature, as well as the fantasy vacation pages, so she plied her scissors there too.  Then, making sure that the paper remained uncreased, she stashed the articles into appropriately multi-colour-labeled folders, ready to be pasted into one of the many tidy scrapbooks that lined her craft room shelves.

Gratified with this bit of orderly housekeeping, Jeanie skipped up to the third floor to monitor her daughter’s progress.  But—

There wasn’t any. 

Or, at least to Jeanie’s mind, there hadn’t been.

Perhaps, in Bernie’s opinion, there had.

            The window was once more firmly shut.  The inky-black roller shade was pulled down and the tobacco-brown curtains had been yanked across.  The olive-drab duvet had been restored.  And it was painfully obvious from the bedclothes’ unruffled façade that the small silent bulge beneath hadn’t moved since Bernie had rearranged her mole’s nest back to her own heavy dark taste. 

            Wordlessly Jeanie stood and stared dumbfounded at her daughter’s dead heap.  She felt like she’d been slapped in the face with a wet fish… 

And then blistering incredulity replaced her initial shock.

How could any kid of mine, gasped Jeanie’s mind, so brutally reject my efforts to engage her in the wonderful al fresco pleasures of life?  Haven’t I tried beyond hope to understand her ridiculous reserve?  Haven’t I given her the benefit of my sunny philosophy every single day?

So, why this obstinate refusal to participate in a cheery Girls Day Out?

As my mother would say—'What’s the worst that can happen?  What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, girl.’

So, get out there in the fresh air and have a ball!

It all seemed so easy to Jeanie.  But then again—as she was the first to admit—tolerating the personal quirks of her deeply loved but totally mystifying kidlet had always been the major challenge in her life. 

Jeanie had miscarried multiple times before Bernie had finally been born, and the doctors had decreed that she’d have no more kids.  So, there went her plan to have a troupe of children skipping through the halls of the three-storey, two staircase, six-bedroom, white elephant of an Edwardian red-brick house that she and Don had optimistically purchased in Old Ottawa South.

Then, Bernie had been a difficult, hyper-sensitive baby, hard to put to sleep and often screaming with colic.  And—long past the ‘making shy’ stage—her finicky daughter had strenuously objected to strangers.  So, Jeanie’d had to shelve her new scheme of housing international university students too. 

No matter, she’d rationalized, and industriously repurposed the four superfluous bedrooms instead.  On the second floor, she’d allocated a study for Don and a craft room for herself.  And, in the two bedrooms on the third, she’d set up a box room for storage and—in the larger one—a quaint gabled playroom for her only child.

But then it had turned out that Bernie’s immune system had been massively unforgiving of even hypoallergenic pets.  Reluctantly, Jeanie’d had to re-home their Labradoodle dog and Balinese cat.  And, for the last twenty-eight years, the only animals in their home had been the mindless goldfish swimming endlessly around their bowl in Don’s study.  

So, no brothers or sisters or boarders.  And not even a furry pet…

With puberty, of course, Bernie had insisted on moving her bedroom up to the third floor.  And—remembering her own dramatic middle school years—Jeanie had indulged her twelve-year-old kidlet’s sudden need for privacy.  Efficiently, she’d hired a builder to tear down the wall of small attic box room and install another full bathroom for Bernie’s exclusive use.  And then she’d happily decorated her daughter’s new en-suite bedroom and sitting area in that delightfully feminine ivory-cream-and-pink colour scheme.  

Next, the generous walk-in closet in Bernie’s former second floor bedroom had been renovated to become Jeanie’s and Don’s en-suite bath.  And—after purchasing an antique birdseye-maple bedroom set which included a spacious wardrobe—Jeanie had refurnished the remaining space for the use of overnight guests. 

But then, as an ungrateful older teen, Bernie had stubbornly chosen that woeful attic décor.  And—all the way through her Carleton University days and right into her nerdy government computer system analyst career—she’d persistently ignored her mom’s every encouragement to brighten it up. 

Unfortunately, to Jeanie’s mind, thirty-year-old Bernie seemed to be stuck in a teenage funk.  And—equally unfortunately—the end of their tense mother-daughter journey seemed to be nowhere in sight. 

Which was because—as far as Jeanie knew—her persnickety kidlet had never led a normal social life.  No gang of gal pals, no best friend and not even a whiff of romance had given a dash of spice to her daughter’s achromatic existence.  Day in and day out, she’d simply slunk off to class or to work.  Or sat at a computer.  Or stared at a phone…

And when, a couple of years ago—at Jeanie’s urging—Don had offered to help with a substantial down payment, Bernie had balked at moving into her own place. 

So, it had become increasingly obvious to Jeanie and Don that their daughter wasn’t planning to decamp anywhere else anytime soon.

Holy doodle, grimaced Jeanie.  Imagine a thirty-year-old woman deliberately living at home with her aging parents.  Still single and perfectly content to be buried alive in her dark, stuffy mole’s nest—

That was Bernie in a teacup! 

And now, Jeanie realized, bitterly, the world’s most exasperating daughter wasn’t even going to disturb her self-centred agenda to venture forth on a rare Girls Day Out with her long-suffering mom!

Swiftly, Jeanie’s incredulity morphed into fury.  And—aware that she was on the edge of saying or doing something unforgiveable—she abruptly spun on her heel and swept down the back stairs to the kitchen where Don still struggled with his puzzle. 

“Bernie’s not coming!” she snapped.  “Your daughter won’t even get up out of bed!”

“She won’t?” returned Don without looking up from his crossword.  “What a surprise.”  With a grunt of pleasure, he filled in one of the last two answers and, surveying the final clue, nonchalantly offered a helpful suggestion.  “Maybe you could call somebody else to go with you.  Probably Sylvie—oh, dear god, Jeanie, I’m so sorry—!”  Too late Don realized his indefensible mistake and, red-faced, sprang up from his stool to give his wife his full attention.  “Jeanie, I didn’t mean to—!” 

But there was really no excuse.

“She can’t be bothered—and you don’t mean to—!  That’s the story of my life!” snarled Jeanie, snatching her light summer tote bag from its peg.  “But don’t let it bug you, Don!  Sylvie may be gone.  But I’m not beaten yet!  I’m going to Lindy’s play—all by myself!”

Helpless with guilt, Don shrank back on his stool. 

And, ditching her miserable husband, Jeanie stomped into the mudroom, seized her folding chair and slammed through the side door to face the pitiless hot and sunny world.

Alone.

[rjcustomcreations]

Custom Oak & Walnut Coasters

Another batch of exquisite, sleek, sexy coasters are leaving the shop. Custom made set of 6 coasters made of hardy, durable Oak with a gorgeous strip of Walnut giving them an elegant feel. Fine furniture protection that's sure to match any decor.

These coasters measure approximately 4"x4"x1/4" thick and easily accommodate most beverage sizes. The slightly offset strip of Dark Walnut set between Mighty Oak comes finished with Watcos food safe Danish Oil and coated with 2 coats of Watcos Spray Lacquer. Each coaster also comes equipped with 4 clear rubber feet to help prevent accidental sliding on furniture surfaces.

[titathepixie]

At least in Denmark, a lot of grocery stores have begun discounting things that are nearing their last sell-by date, though depending on the stuff, it can be by days or months. I have seen (n bought) cheese, salmon, soda, yoghurt, pasta, bread, ready-made meals n various sweets/snacks

Frozen vegetable mixes/medleys are a wonderful thing, especially when you're cooking for just you. This has also helped my neurodivergent self eat better

Get a plunger. At some point, you'll probably get a clogged sink. It's okay, that's why they sell plungers, and it's not nice to need one and not have one ...

When getting a pillow for your bed, try to get one that matches your sleeping style (i.e. on your back, side, stomach. Was a while until I did, but it is amazing and I would not want to go back. I've considered travelling with it)

Depending on the water where you live and the type of electric kettle you get (I recommend getting an electric kettle), you might have to clean chalk out of it. No worries, boil water with either a lemon or lemon juice, then you just rinse it out

If you've got a freezer, you can buy a bunch of bread when you can get it cheap, n then heat it when you want to eat

If you don't have a printer, you can probably get stuff printed at the library. Just check the price before you print a load of papers (might, again, be a Danish thing)

Hoping this isn't just a Danish thing, you can get furniture and books secondhand. You can also look for glassware, cups, mugs, plates n decorative stuff, depending on the secondhand shop it might be under or a couple of dollars (guessing based on Danish prices)

You can also buy bedlinen in secondhand shops! If you don't feel comfortable sleeping in them, it can be table linen, curtains, or you can make clothes

And some less practical advice; those things that you didn't do because you were ashamed or afraid, you can do them now. It's okay to try to get some of that childhood you didn't get. As silly as it may sound, getting a Pokemon plushie that I wanted, n drinking mainly out of mugs with cats on them has been freeing. I plan to buy bedspreads that I want, rather than what people who are supposedly adults are supposed to have.

Actually, stepping off that, if you're able, getting bedlinen that you like the look of is a surprising joy. It'll be a while until I'll be able to get rid of the bedlinen that I dislike the look of, but there's definitely bedlinen that I enjoy climbing into, and bedlinen that I don't

things i wish i had known when i escaped my family household and couldn't ask my parents for help

invest in a good mattress early on. there are many other ends you can save on - sleep is not one of them. this is key to how much energy you'll have throughout the day

you don't need a bedframe but you do need a slatted bed base (even if it's just pallets)

opening a bank account is easy

there's youtube tutorials for everything. how to install your washing machine, how to use tools, fixing stuff around the place. channels like dad, how do i? are a godsend

change energy provider as soon as your old deal runs out. you'll get better offers elsewhere and avoid price gouging

assemble a basic first aid kid at home: painkillers, probiotics, alcohol wipes, bandages, tweezers, antihistamine tablets - anything you might need in a pinch

and an emergency toolkit: flashlight, extra batteries, a utility knife, an adjustable wrench, multi-tool, duct tape

set your fridge to the lowest temperature it can go. the energy consumption is minimal in difference and it'll give you +4/7 days on most foods

off-brand products are almost always the same in quality and taste, if not better, for half the price

coupons will save you a lot of money in the long run

there's no reason to be shy around employees at the bank/laundromat/store; most people will be happy to help

vegetarian diets are generally cheap if you make food from scratch

breakfast is as important as they say

keep track of your budget in a notebook or excel file - e.g. rent, phone and internet bills, food, leisure so you'll have an overlook on your spending over the months

don't gamble

piracy is okay

stealing from big stores and chains is also ethically okay

keep medical bills and pharmacy receipts for tax returns

also, file your tax returns early

take up a hobby that isn't in front of a screen. pottery, music, going for a run every now and then, stuff that'll keep you busy and sane

and most importantly... you're allowed to get the stuff you want. treat yourself to the occasional mundane thing. a good scented candle. a bath bomb. that body lotion that makes you feel like royalty. the good coffee beans.

you're free and you deserve to be happy.

[decorworks]

Mid-century modern design "embraced a more human aesthetic"

More than 70 years after its birth, the popularity of mid-century modern design and architecture shows no signs of abating. This overview by Penny Sparke kicks off our series about the movement. Mid-century modern design is hard to pin down. As soon as you think you have grasped it, it re-invents itself. Unlike the late 19th- and early 20th-century architecture and design movements – arts and crafts, art nouveau, art deco, and Bauhaus – which are all linked to specific time periods, places, and visual styles, the definition of what constitutes mid-century modern is in constant flux. Also, while all the earlier movements have been revived from the 1970s onwards, they have tended to come and go. Mid-century modern's rebirth, however, has been in place since the 1990s and, three decades later, is still going strong.

Mid-century modern design, like the Eames House, is still popular. Photo by Leslie Schwartz and Joshua White, courtesy of Eames OfficeAntique shops and auction houses are full of boomerang-shaped coffee tables with spindly metal legs and lightly decorated ceramic and glass items – the prices of which continue to soar – while popular home magazines across the globe show us easy-to-live-in interiors filled with elegant Danish chairs, sculptural room dividers, patterned textiles, modern paintings, and sprawling houseplants. Mid-century modern design usually associated with the home If we can say anything definite about mid-century modern design, it's that it is usually associated with the home rather than the workplace, and that it manifests itself as architecture, furniture, textiles, and as decorative ceramic, glass, and metal items. While they can all be looked at in isolation, they are better understood as ensembles. Moving beyond the austere modernism of the 1920s and 1930s, mid-century modern design embraced a more human aesthetic while remaining aggressively forward-looking. The adulation of the machine was replaced by an affection for the organic forms of the natural world.

'High' mid-century modern design in Scandinavia included Josef Frank's print designs, seen here on a curtain. Photo courtesy of Svenskt TennAlways optimistic, the style emerged to offset the austerity of the post-war years and symbolised the importance of economic and cultural reconstruction. By the late 1950s, many countries in the developed world had developed their own versions of it. While its roots were in Europe and the USA, as a popular domestic style it quickly spread further afield. Many questions remain, however. When did it start and finish? Where did it originate? What does it look like? Who are its designer heroes? Scandinavian mid-century modernism "reached its full potential" post-war In many ways, the Scandinavian countries can be seen as the home of what we might call "high" mid-century modern design, as opposed to its later, more popular manifestations. There were early signs – in the form of Iittala's lightly engraved glassware of the 1920s, designed by Simon Gate and Edward Hald, and the work of the Swedish-based architect-designer, Josef Frank, described as bringing in a new "sanity in design" – that Scandinavia wanted to humanise the stark, tubular steel designs emerging from Germany.

Hans J Wegner's Wishbone chairs are among many Scandinavian design icons. Photo by Tom RossScandinavian mid-century modern design reached its full potential in the post-war years. In the form of sleek items of Danish furniture designed by the likes of Hans J Wegner and architect-designer, Arne Jacobsen; elegant ceramics and glass pieces, designed in Sweden by Gustavsberg's Wilhelm Kåge and Orrefors' Vicke Lindstrand; airy textiles created by Sweden's Astrid Sampe; and the dramatic forms of Finnish designer Tapio Wirkkala's glass sculptures, the concept of Scandinavian Modern was celebrated worldwide. Many of the designs have become iconic: Wegner's Wishbone bentwood-and-rope chair of 1949, for instance, still graces many a fashionable dining area, while, with its three slim steel legs, Jacobsen's moulded plywood Ant chair looks as modern today as it did back in 1952 when it was first produced. Italian designers rejected the past While Scandinavian mid-century modern design was about everyday family life and democracy, Italy's version was all about high style. The furniture, lighting, and decorative items created by Gio Ponti, Franco Albini, Marco Zanuso, Gino Sarfatti, Piero Fornasetti and others inhabited chic interior spaces.

Gio Ponti's Superleggera chair (top back) represented optimism. Photo by Luc BoeglyNone of them represented the optimism that was in the air at that time more than Ponti's little Superleggera chair, produced by Cassina in 1957. Its light, tapering legs and woven cane seat rejected the weight of the past and looked enthusiastically to the future. The mid-century modern lifestyle dominated in the US Across the Atlantic, American designers Charles and Ray Eames, Finland-born Eero Saarinen, George Nelson, and Harry Bertoia also embraced the new, unencumbered lifestyle. On the West Coast, the Eameses created a home for themselves – Case Study House 8 – which epitomised a new life that was lived as much outside as inside, and which was as comfortable as it was modern.

Harry Bertoia's Diamond chair "was as much about sculpture as it was about sitting". Photo courtesy of KnollTheir leather and moulded rosewood lounge chair and ottoman, originally designed for filmmaker Billy Wilder, epitomised that attractive combination. However, Bertoia's gridded metal chair, with its leather cushion, of 1950-1, was as much about sculpture as it was about sitting. Britain's Contemporary Style attracted manufacturers and retailers Great Britain quickly followed. Lucienne and Robin Day, Ernest Race, and John and Sylvia Reid were among the protagonists of what the British called the Contemporary Style. Manufacturers, such as Ercol, and retailers, such as Heals, joined their ranks, while the producers of decorative glass and ceramics items employed designers to create new, exciting wares for them. With its lightly decorated surfaces depicting abstract organic forms inspired by the natural world, Jessie Tait's Primavera dinner service for Midwinter, for example, evoked a new world miles away from the traditional dinnerware that filled so many people's cupboards. The revival of mid-century modern design While the mid-century modern design movement owes its origins and meanings to the pioneering designers working in Scandinavia, Italy, the USA and the UK in the 1940s and 1950s, from the perspective of the early 21st century the term embraces a much wider, ever-evolving, range of designs.

Robin Day's Forum seating design represents Britain's Contemporary Style. Photo courtesy of Case FurnitureIn today's vintage furniture stores, pieces by Jacobsen and Eames sit alongside Italian plastic chairs by Vico Magistretti and Joe Colombo from the 1960s and chunky German ceramics from the 1970s. While different in style, for today's consumers, the designs from the 1960s and 1970s embrace the same spirit of modernity and optimism as the earlier pieces. That spirit died, arguably, when, from the 1970s onwards, the cycle of retro styles – from arts and crafts to art nouveau to art deco to Bauhaus – came into being and optimism was replaced by nostalgia for past models of modernity. By the 1990s, it was mid-century modern's turn to be revived. Seemingly, however, it managed to buck the trend of ever-changing fashionable retro styles as, in the mid-2020s, the power of that historical design movement remains as strong as ever. The optimism of its early protagonists still speaks to many people who seek to remain upbeat in the face of countless contemporary challenges – from the climate crisis to economic inequality, to migration, to the threat of global war. There are no signs as yet that that power is beginning to fade. Top illustration is by Jack Bedford.

Illustration by Jack BedfordMid-century modern This article is part of Dezeen's mid-century modern design series, which looks at the enduring presence of mid-century modern design, profiles its most iconic architects and designers, and explores how the style is developing in the 21st century. This series was created in partnership with Made – a UK furniture retailer that aims to bring aspirational design at affordable prices, with a goal to make every home as original as the people inside it. Elevate the everyday with collections that are made to last, available to shop now at made.com. Read the full article

[livingsolutio]

Furnishing Your Home in Singapore: A Guide to Style, Comfort, and Durability

Understanding Your Space and Needs

Before diving into specific pieces of furniture, take a step back to evaluate your space. Understanding the layout, dimensions, and natural lighting of your home will ensure you make smart decisions when selecting furniture. Singapore apartments, especially HDB flats and condos, tend to have limited space, so maximizing functionality without compromising on style is key.

Opt for multi-functional furniture, such as sofa beds, extendable dining tables, and storage ottomans. These pieces will not only save space but also provide practical solutions for everyday living. Minimalist designs and modular furniture are especially popular in Singapore’s compact urban apartments.

Selecting the Right Materials

The tropical climate of Singapore, furniture singapore with its heat and humidity, plays a big role in determining the best materials for your furniture. Natural materials like wood, rattan, and bamboo are great choices because they are not only durable but also add warmth to the space. Hardwood furniture, such as teak and mahogany, is particularly suitable for Singapore’s climate, as these materials resist moisture and can withstand the test of time.

If you prefer upholstered furniture, opt for fabrics like linen and cotton, which are breathable and comfortable in Singapore’s humid weather. Leather furniture is another durable option, but ensure that it is of high quality and treated to prevent cracking in the heat.

Balancing Aesthetics with Functionality

Singapore’s furniture market offers a wide variety of styles, sofa Singapore from sleek Scandinavian designs to contemporary minimalist pieces, to more traditional Asian-inspired aesthetics. It’s essential to strike a balance between what looks good and what is practical for your home.

For instance, while a large, plush sofa may look inviting, it may not be the best choice for a smaller living room. Instead, opt for streamlined, space-saving designs that can still provide comfort. The same goes for dining sets—round tables are great for small spaces, and choosing foldable chairs or stackable seating can add versatility.

Additionally, custom-made furniture is a growing trend in Singapore, allowing homeowners to tailor pieces according to their specific space and design preferences. Local artisans and bespoke furniture stores can help you create unique, one-of-a-kind pieces that blend seamlessly with your home’s décor.

Shopping for Furniture in Singapore

Singapore is home to a plethora of furniture stores,  catering to all styles and budgets. From high-end showrooms like Castlery and Danish Design Co., to budget-friendly options like IKEA and FortyTwo, you’ll have no trouble finding pieces that fit your style and wallet. Many stores offer online shopping and delivery services, making the entire process convenient.

For those seeking sustainable or eco-friendly furniture, Singapore also offers green furniture retailers like Journey East, which specializes in reclaimed wood furniture, and Ethnicraft Online, known for its sustainably sourced wooden furniture.

Durability and Maintenance

Given Singapore’s climate, maintaining your furniture properly is crucial for longevity. Wooden furniture should be treated regularly with protective coatings to prevent moisture damage. Upholstered items should be vacuumed and cleaned to avoid the buildup of dust and mold. Leather furniture requires conditioning treatments to stay soft and crack-free. It’s also advisable to position furniture away from direct sunlight to prevent fading or warping.

[topthreebydesign]

Elevate Your Bathroom Bliss: Nichba's Chic Bath Shelf Corner Transforms Your Space with Top3 by Design

Imagine stepping into your bathroom – not just a functional space, but a tranquil haven. The Nichba Bath Shelf Corner, available at Top3 by Design, Australia's leading furniture and home decor store, plays a pivotal role in achieving this sanctuary. It's more than just a shelf; it's a statement piece that elevates your bathroom experience with its minimalist design and functionality.

Beyond the Basics: Why Choose the Nichba Bath Shelf Corner

Traditional bathroom shelves can be bulky and impersonal. The Nichba Bath Shelf Corner offers a refreshing alternative:

Scandinavian Simplicity: Inspired by Danish design principles, the Nichba shelf boasts clean lines and a minimalist aesthetic. It complements a variety of bathroom styles, from modern and contemporary to industrial chic.

Space Optimization: The corner design utilizes often-unused space, maximizing your bathroom's storage potential without sacrificing floor area. This is especially beneficial for smaller bathrooms.

Functional Elegance: Made from powder-coated stainless steel, the shelf is designed to withstand the humid bathroom environment. It comfortably holds essential toiletries, keeping your shower clutter-free and organized.

Top3 by Design: Your Trusted Source for Nichba Delights

Top3 by Design is your one-stop shop for all things Nichba in Australia. Here's why we're your ideal partner for transforming your bathroom:

Leading Nichba Stockist: We offer a curated selection of Nichba products, including the popular Bath Shelf Corner. Browse our extensive online catalog or visit our stores to discover the perfect piece for your bathroom.

Expert Advice & Inspiration: Our team of design enthusiasts is passionate about helping you create a beautiful and functional bathroom. We offer expert advice on product selection and styling tips to bring your vision to life.

Hassle-Free Shopping: Enjoy a seamless shopping experience with our user-friendly website and convenient in-store options. We offer secure online transactions and free delivery on orders over $100 (excluding bulky products) Australia-wide.

The Nichba Bath Shelf Corner: A Step-by-Step Guide to Bliss

Transforming your bathroom with the Nichba Bath Shelf Corner is a breeze:

Choose Your Nichba: Visit Top3 by Design online or in-store to browse the Nichba Bath Shelf Corner and discover its sleek design and functionality.

Plan Your Placement: Consider the layout of your shower and identify the optimal corner location for the shelf. Ensure it's within easy reach while showering.

Easy Installation: The shelf comes with clear instructions and all the necessary hardware for a straightforward DIY installation. Alternatively, you can utilize our professional installation services for added convenience.

Nichba & Top3 by Design: A Collaboration for Bathroom Bliss

The Nichba Bath Shelf Corner, available at Top3 by Design, is more than just a storage solution – it's an investment in your daily routine. It embodies minimalist design and functionality, transforming your bathroom into a space that reflects your style and prioritizes your well-being.

Ready to Elevate Your Bathroom Experience?

Visit Top3 by Design today and discover the Nichba Bath Shelf Corner. Our friendly team is here to answer any questions and guide you towards creating your dream bathroom sanctuary. Together, let's turn your bathroom into a space that sparks joy and promotes relaxation.

Additionally, explore our extensive range of Nichba products to complete your bathroom transformation:

Towel Rails: Maintain a clean and organized aesthetic with Nichba's sleek towel rails.

Soap Dispensers: Elevate your bathroom with Nichba's stylish and functional soap dispensers.

Mirrors: Create a sense of spaciousness and light with Nichba's minimalist mirrors.

By incorporating Nichba products from Top3 by Design, you can create a cohesive and aesthetically pleasing bathroom that reflects your taste and enhances your daily rituals.

Contact- Web - https://top3.com.au/collections/brand-nichba Mail - orders@top3.com.au Ph - 1300 867 333 Address - 26 Mologa Rd, Heidelberg West VIC 3081, Australia

[retromasterseo]

Furniture Trader

Unraveling Timeless Elegance: Exploring Furniture Trader – Retro Master

In a world where trends seem to change at the blink of an eye, there's a resounding appreciation for the enduring allure of timeless design. Amidst the ever-evolving landscape of furniture retail, Furniture Trader – Retro Master emerges as a beacon for aficionados who are drawn to the enchanting whispers of yesteryears. Nestled in the heart of urban sophistication, this emporium stands as a sanctuary, inviting discerning patrons to immerse themselves in the nostalgia and elegance of the past.

Step through the doors of Furniture Trader – Retro Master, and you're instantly transported to an era where craftsmanship was revered, and every piece told a story. This isn't merely a showroom; it's a curated collection of treasures that evoke a sense of nostalgia and admiration for the artistry of bygone days. Here, passion and expertise converge seamlessly, creating an ambiance that resonates with enthusiasts and collectors alike.

At the heart of Furniture Trader – Retro Master's ethos is a dedication to preserving the legacy of vintage aesthetics. Each piece is meticulously selected, not just for its aesthetic appeal, but for its ability to transcend time and bring a touch of history into contemporary spaces. From mid-century modern classics to Art Deco wonders, every item in the collection exudes a sense of charm and sophistication that is as relevant today as it was decades ago.

What sets Furniture Trader – Retro Master apart is its unwavering commitment to quality and authenticity. Unlike mass-produced furniture that saturates the market, each piece in this emporium tells a unique tale of craftsmanship and heritage. Whether it's the rich patina of a well-loved leather armchair or the sleek lines of a Danish teak sideboard, every item bears the unmistakable imprint of its origins, adding character and depth to any space it inhabits.

But Furniture Trader – Retro Master is more than just a purveyor of furniture; it's a haven for those who appreciate the finer things in life. Here, customers aren't merely shoppers; they're connoisseurs on a quest for that perfect statement piece that will elevate their home or office to new heights of sophistication. The knowledgeable staff are not just salespeople; they're passionate storytellers who delight in sharing the history and craftsmanship behind each item, enriching the shopping experience and forging lasting connections with patrons.

In a world that often prioritizes the shiny and new, Furniture Trader – Retro Master offers a refreshing alternative. It's a place where time slows down, and the beauty of the past is celebrated and cherished. Whether you're a seasoned collector or a novice enthusiast, a visit to this emporium is sure to reignite your love affair with timeless design and leave you inspired by the enduring elegance of the past.

So, if you find yourself yearning for a piece of furniture that transcends fleeting trends and stands the test of time, look no further than Furniture Trader – Retro Master. Let yourself be captivated by the allure of vintage aesthetics and discover the magic of bringing a touch of history into your home. After all, true elegance knows no bounds, and at Furniture Trader – Retro Master, it's always in fashion.

[thehistorysblog]

Elevate Your Space: Embrace Timeless Elegance with Vintage Chairs in Sydney

Many people love mid-century furniture and there are leading stores offering vintage chairs in Sydney that when placed in the house give the interior of the house a royal look. The iconic chairs offered by the leading companies can really make the house look beautiful and put a great impression on the minds of guests visiting the house.

Scandinavian and Danish furniture in Sydney is offered by leading stores dealing in such products and they cater to the enthusiasts offering such goods at great prices. When it comes to iconic mid-century sofas to retro modern decor there are many different products to choose from as the leading companies have a very large catalogue of products so that one gets what one requires. Not just sofas and chairs but also many tables and sideboards are available from the leading furniture shops dealing in such products.

A Deeper Dive into The Various Vintage Furniture to Learn About Them

French steel and glass coffee tables are quite stunning to look at as they are great for welcoming guests with a cup of coffee. Vintage Danish sideboard generally gives a royal look and can be the centrepiece of the room in which it is kept. There are many other types of sideboards available from the leading retail stores like mid-century Danish sideboards, small mid-century rosewood sideboards, rosewood sideboards, low, mid-century sideboards, etc. Sideboards are great for storing goods and also to give a room a better design to the interior of the house as these sideboards act as decorative furniture.

The sideboards could be put in not just in living rooms but also in the kitchen, bedroom, and other rooms in the house. Similarly, vintage sofas are not just used for sitting and relaxing only but also for giving the house a beautiful and good look. Some of the most beautiful sofas that are offered by the leading vintage furniture stores include mid-century Danish sofas, Danish 2-seat sofas, vintage Danish sofas, etc.

When it comes to buying quality furniture one must buy from stores that have a large catalogue of quality furniture products. Browse the catalogue of leading furniture stores or contact them to buy the best vintage furniture.

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