#danish style coffee table

[delirious-donna]

Who? [Kiba Inuzuka]

an: this is a repost of an old story I wrote for @tired-biscuit who we all know is the biggest kiba girlie on the planet. I've reworked it and added an extra 2k (sorry not sorry). Hopefully, it gets a few reads.

pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x female reader

warnings: NSFW, modern AU, friends to lovers trope, characters in late 20s, angst, toxic males (sorry Asuma, Obito, Itachi and Hidan simps!), pussy eating, blowjob after sex, unprotected sex, cum swallowing, biting and marking.

Masterlist

He eyed you with the utmost disdain.

Glowing amber eyes raked from the toes of your scuffed Converse to the brim of the baseball hat that peeked from under your hoodie. A sleek dark eyebrow rose, stern in admonishment of your haggard appearance and you could scream at him for it.

You knew you looked god awful—felt it too—but did he need to sneer quite so fucking openly? Even from the door of the coffee shop, you knew he was going to give you absolute hell, motherfucker couldn't help himself at the best of times. Some best friend he was.

Kiba Inuzuka appeared his usual well-put-together self, the epitome of the aloof bad boy that most girls had that annoying phase of wanting more than reason should allow. Sickening really, but you loved him regardless. Platonically, of course… of course.

He sat with arms crossed at your favoured table in the back corner, his arms tightly crossed over his wide chest and forcing the cotton of the black tee he wore to work to its limit to contain the muscles beneath. You spied his foot stretched out as he practically manspread in his chair, and the ominous tap of his heavy biker boot sounded like the tolls of a church bell as you walked toward him and your doom.

The strands of his chestnut brown hair were tousled in a sexy 'I just got fucked' style that was meant to look like he had rolled right out of whatever bed he had spent the previous night in. However, you knew the truth of it. That particular look took him a straight forty-five minutes to perfect each morning, and you were tempted to ruffle your hand through it just to piss him off more but you didn’t have a death wish–not today.

You always gave him shit for how long it took him to get ready in the mornings, many a time in your college years you had screeched about him being worse than the girls, and you were not wrong. If any of his floozies were to find out about his skincare regime their little airhead brains would likely implode from shock. Perhaps you should never have taught him that he needed to use more than bar soap on his face each morning, for the man owned more luxury beauty products than you did now.

"You look like shit," he offered with a shit-eating grin on his annoyingly handsome and punchable face.

The onset of summer highlighted the fresh dusting of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and his usual sun-kissed skin darkened further from the abundance of scorching sunlight. Kiba was a true summer child, not something you shared with him as you opted to hide from the dangerous rays of the sun until the weather cooled into a more agreeable autumn temperature.

"Well, fuck you too, dickhead!"

You threw yourself haphazardly into the opposite chair, face screwed up from the squeal of metal on the polished floor and pouted.

"Could've at least bought me a drink. Not like you don't know what I like," you moaned sullenly.

Glancing over your shoulder you could see the line was almost at the door, and the thought of standing in it to get your much-needed fix of caffeine sounded like hell on earth. With your best puppy dog eyes, you rounded back to Kiba who was watching you fixedly, jaw set in a firm line.

"Oh no. I already stood in that queue, had to almost sell my soul to Satan himself to get the last apple danish. It's not my fault that you're so hungover that you can't face standing up for longer than a minute," he all but yelled at you.

Kiba was more pissed than you had expected, you must have really caused a scene for him to be this level of mad at you. Caffeine was your biggest weakness, and he knew it. Groaning loudly as you rubbed at your aching temples, you tried to replay the snippets of what you remembered from the previous night.

Anger snapped at your fingers. The burn of absolute fury had you rubbing at your chest in discomfort, and you well remembered the slap you had landed with the stinging pain that still lingered on your palm. A face you would much rather forget loomed into your mind's eye, tall and dark-haired. A cocky lopsided smile on his face as he tried to wave away your well-founded accusations.

Goddamn Obito Uchiha, he was the devil incarnate. Nothing but a cheating scumbag that had promised you the world but in the end gave you only hell and one heck of a headache.

You could recall the heated whispers of your girlfriends, the words that had curdled your stomach and caused your pulse to pound in your ears. Your boyfriend had been seen by multiple reliable sources engaged in acts that should solely be reserved for you. He had fallen back into the arms of his ex, and he didn't even have the decency to end things before he went and stuck his dick in her.

Sure, you could have handled things better, you knew that, but he had it coming to him.

"Kiba," you whined, "I know that I probably didn't do myself any favours last night, but you can't tell me that he wasn't asking for it? The bastard cheated on me! A slap to the face was hardly the end of the world..."

You fell silent whilst his stare iced over instantly.

The warmth of his amber-flecked eyes was gone in a heartbeat, cold fury descended over his face as he leant forward with his arms braced on the table. You couldn't help but admire the black ink that ran from his left elbow and slipped beneath the sleeve of his fitted t-shirt. His bicep flexed as he pointed a thick finger in your face.

"Are you serious? You think I'm pissed at you for throwing a piss poor slap at that self-centred prick?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Be quiet," he added as your mouth popped open to shoot back your reply.

"Course he deserved it, and the rest of what he got..."

You frowned at the ominous statement in confusion, suddenly eyeing his hands intently, and as you had suspected, the knuckles were raw and split open in places. That only ever happened when… Icy dread whispered down your spine at the unwelcome thought.

"What I am downright furious about is the scene you made after that slap. Don't you remember shouting your damn head off, screeching like a fucking banshee for 'that bitch' as you called her? Must have slipped your mind that you stormed right across the bar, literally pushing over your friends that just wanted to help and then threw up all over the pinball machine, yeah?"

You blanched, literally feeling the colour drain from your face as you did indeed recall flashes of what he spat at you so venomously. All you wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, instead, you raised your hands to cover your face, or at least, you tried.

A rough hand wrapped around your wrist and forcefully removed it from your mortified face.

"Uh-uh, I got more to say and you are gonna listen, so perk those little ears up mama. I could forgive you yelling like a lunatic and spewing your load, god knows I'm more than aware you're such a damn lightweight. What I cannot forgive is you running out the door and going fuck knows where!"

He was getting louder and you cringed.

It felt like a thousand eyes were on the pair of you, and it made the introvert in you crumble like a sandcastle being overwhelmed by the ocean. You had wondered why you'd awoken in your childhood bedroom, why the window was wide open and your dad was holding a baseball bat over his head as you emerged from the cocoon of bedsheets. Old habits die hard and sneaking in and out of your bedroom window proved to be one of them even though you had long moved out of your parents’ home.

Your mouth was drier than a desert, tongue heavy in your mouth as Kiba finished his tirade. He huffed through his nose like an angry bull, and with only the jut of his jaw, he silently demanded a response. The problem was, you didn't know what to say, surely you were out of excuses for the poor choices you had made. It seemed like this was a cycle you were meant to repeat from now until the end of time.

Step One – find a new boyfriend who would quickly become your obsession.

Step Two – Kiba would either know them already or meet them only to immediately disapprove and ask you to end things. Ask was putting it mildly too.

Step Three – you and he would argue like squabbling schoolchildren until one of you stormed out, resulting in a period of silence.

Step Four – said boyfriend would reveal his true colours in the most atrocious of ways and annoyingly prove Kiba right time and again.

Step Five – Kiba picked up the broken pieces of your heart and soul, glueing them back together with an ever-patient hand. Although he never failed to tell you, ‘I told you so.’

Repeat.

Shame burned in your chest, the feeling filled you from head to toe and it was enough to intensify the headache that crested through your brain like waves on a turbulent sea. All this and you had no damn coffee to at least take the very edge off your misery.

What could you say?

You had acted like a selfish brat with those actions, your friend had every right to be angry at you and it was only then you noticed the dark shadows that lingered beneath Kiba's eyes. You grabbed his hand and held it tightly in your own when he tried to withdraw, pulling it toward you.

"Please don't tell me you've been up all night cause of me?"

He shrugged and again tried to pull his hand free, but he didn't truly fight you. It was evident to both of you that if he wanted to retrieve his hand, he would be able to do so with ease. He grunted in reply and looked pointedly over your shoulder.

Fuck!

"I'm sorry," you whispered with a slight hiccup, fighting the flow of tears that threatened to spill upon the bougie-looking rustic tabletop. A fingertip traced a gnarled knot, it grounded you and kept you from completely losing it.

"Kiba, please. I'm sorry, it won't happen again. I know I've said that before but I mean it, I do, I promise. No more idiots and no more making an absolute fool of myself."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

His tone had returned to a more amicable level, with a smirk unfolding on his lips and you knew that the worst of the storm was over.

Worry had been at the core of his fury, not knowing where you were until you had texted him upon waking at your parent’s house. Frantic fingers flew across the keys whilst listening to your dad's yells of indignation about how you should have used the damn front door instead of climbing in through your old bedroom window.

This really was the straw to break the camel's back.

It was exhausting, the emotional toll enough to have you curled into a tight ball on most nights. True that the highs were intoxicatingly good, but the lows were soul-suckingly abysmal. It was time that you stopped endlessly chasing around after men who were never worth your time and effort. Maybe if you stopped searching, the right man would find you instead.

"I'm done, I promise," you reiterated with a steely determination in your eye.

Kiba tipped back in his chair, assessing your words and finding them to be genuine. His normal goofy smile manifested and it was like the first ray of sunshine you had seen in weeks. He truly was the best friend you could ever ask for, and when he stood with a sigh, you realised you couldn't love him anymore.

"Caramel macchiato?"

Or could you?

–

Kiba had known it wouldn't last, it never did, so why would this time be any different?

The trouble was that he adored you from the tip of your sharp tongue right down to your uncoordinated feet that stumbled and fumbled no matter how hard you tried to keep your balance. The pair of you had been friends since your schooldays and you were both prominent figures within your wider social group. What he didn't like about you, and was not quiet about, was your god-awful taste in men.

You couldn't help it, you were downright adorable so of course, men were always gonna be drawn to you, but did you have to pick the worst scumbags imaginable? He had never believed that one person could get it wrong over and over without at least learning some kind of lesson. It must be some kind of imbalance in your brain and it was astonishing, to say the least.

Over the years you had gone through phases, such as the bad boy stage where you swore blind that you could reform idiotic womanizing players like Asuma Sarutobi. Everyone and their grandmother knew that Asuma could not keep his eyes, and hands, off the ladies. It was never going to matter how many times in a day you fucked him, he was destined to stray and stray he did.

Kiba was there to pick up the pieces, to reassure you that it was most definitely his loss, and no, he didn't think you needed to lose any fucking weight! Why would you even think that? He didn’t always understand women and the fascination with weight was his biggest bugbear. 

Then there was the sophiscated phase which he referred to as the smugly quiet phase. Itachi Uchiha was only a few years older than you but damn did he act like he was a motherfucking elder. The condescending smiles, the little tuts and eye rolls at what he deemed to be childish acts and that low almost monotonous tone that spoke volumes about his feelings, or lack thereof.

Again, Kiba had warned you off but you chose to ignore him as usual.

Instead, he waited until Itachi sat you down and told you abruptly that you were too immature for him, effectively breaking your heart in all the time it took him to blink those feminine-looking long dark eyelashes of his. Kiba was there for you to cry upon his shoulder, to wipe your snotty nose and assure you that you were not immature, that dude was just an old ass fuddy-duddy.

Obito had simply been the latest in a long line of utter morons, and part of him had desperately hoped you would keep your word this time. The one thing he was glad about was that you had never dated within your friendship circle, though it hadn't stopped some of the guys from trying.

You would never know about the times he had forcibly taken aside the likes of Naruto and Shikamaru, the muttered threats of mortal wounds and outright death if they so much as dared to touch you. Kiba was always met with nervous chuckles, reassuring pats on the shoulder and hastily sworn oaths that they would keep their distance. Shikamaru had even looked downright pleased with himself, as if he knew something that Kiba didn’t and that encounter had lingered with him for a long while.

It had been a good month since you swore 'til you were blue in the face that you were done chasing men, a record for you but it had all come tumbling down when Hidan entered the fray.

Hidan–a dude who swore he had no last name. Seriously, who did he think he was, the goddamn pope? Perhaps he should have taken that final step much like Prince had done and changed his name into a symbol, it certainly wouldn't have made him any more pretentious.

The man clearly thought he was the next messiah and Kiba had taken an instant dislike to him. This time it was different and he couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart. Worry gnawed at him, the sense that his guy was more than capable of drawing you into things that could endanger you. The saying goes that you should listen to your gut and Kiba took that very literally. His every instinct screamed of danger and put him on high alert for trouble.

Weeks had passed since you two first started dating and although he desperately wanted to teach you a lesson by giving you the usual silent treatment until you snapped, he refrained. Something stopped him, a niggling doubt that poked him at the most random of times. He wasn’t about to let something befall you on his watch, he’d never forgive himself if it did.

Instead, he watched much like a predator would, assessed this cocky-ass male and learned his weaknesses. Kiba knew Hidan hated to be called out on things, his word was law in his mind and that just grated on the Inuzuka to the worst possible level.

He remembered well the night that Hidan had cornered him as he left the bar restroom, his fist thundering into the wall next to his head in an attempt to intimidate him. It didn't take much for Kiba to snap, yet he managed to hold on to his composure this time. Fought to retain his sanity tooth and nail because he would not play into Hidan's hands, for this was a game to him.

"You wanna fuck her, dontcha?"

"Killing you to know that it's my dick that she sits on each and every chance she gets, huh? Cock hungry little slut that she is."

The inflammatory words had been like grenades exploding behind his eyes, what an utter cunt he was for speaking about you in such a derogatory manner. Kiba had stuffed his white-knuckled fists deep into his pockets, biting his tongue and pushing away from the sneering male without further incident.

In hindsight he was shocked that he had managed to keep it together and not outright punched the fucker–he wanted to–but then again so had Hidan. It was a part of his plan to isolate you, to keep you from your friends and family so that he could steal all your time and attention. He was the definition of a toxic male.

Manipulative fucker!

The Inuzuka drained his beer and let his head fall back against the couch cushions. He was at his wit's end, there was no plan to swirl inside his rampant brain that seemed likely to work.

How long had he ignored his feelings for you?

Too long was the answer. He doubted you were ever going fall into his arms as he wished, but he satisfied himself with being your ever-constant rock. If he could not have you, he would make damn sure that whoever was lucky enough to steal your heart treated you like a princess.

It hurt his heart, but it was better than the emptiness that came with the alternative.

Tired eyes looked towards his phone that was buzzing incessantly on the couch beside him, he palmed the device and looked at the screen to find your name illuminated like a beacon in the darkness of his lounge. He schooled his features although he knew you could not see him and answered the call.

"What's up?"

–

You were a dumbass.

There was no other way to describe how dense you were when it came to your love life. You had to wonder if you had a sign above your head that attracted the absolute worst of mankind to swarm you like insects. Was there something wrong with you? Were you actually a bad person who didn't deserve to be loved?

You made your way to the apartment you knew as intimately as your own.

Feet carrying you ever forward, speeding you towards comfort in the arms of Kiba. He would make it all better, wouldn't he?

For once, you didn't know if he could. There were only so many times you could be knocked down before you could no longer get back up and it was getting harder and harder to find your feet.

Tears threatened to fall but you refused. Curling your hands into tight fists until your nails sank into the flesh, close to puncturing the skin but not quite. It grounded you and kept the tears at bay. How long it would last, you weren't sure.

The ache in your chest eased as Kiba answered the door with worry prominent on his features. Pinched brow and pristine white teeth gnawing his lower lip in earnest. Even before you could step inside, he was reaching for you, dragging you into his strong embrace and wrapping you in his essence.

You sank into him willingly, inhaling his musky spice-infused scent until you were filled with it. It felt like stepping into a perfectly hot bath after a long exhausting day, the tension from your muscles draining away whilst you sagged against the chest that rose and fell in harmony with your own. Kiba wrapped one arm wrapped around your lower back, a thumb rubbing against you in soothing motions whilst the other cradled your head and let you settle into his broad shoulder.

Why couldn't all the men in your life be like this?

Kiba accepted you for who you were and had no interest in changing you into something that would better suit him. His soul was filled with warm light, you saw it through the amber flecks in his eyes, the adorable dimple appearing on his right cheek when he smiled broadly and through his caring actions.

"Tell me everything babe," he cooed softly into your mussed hair, ruffling the strands with his breath.

Where to begin?!

You spent the next hour filling in your longtime friend with every dreaded detail from this afternoon, sipping cautiously on a beer that he offered you once seated on his squishy leather couch. The last thing you wanted to do was succumb to alcohol, but one would settle your nerves you reasoned.

"I knew that guy was a motherfucker," Kiba hollered from the kitchen.

Rolling your eyes at the sheer joy that laced his gravelly tone, you turned to find him bent over searching the fridge aimlessly. His tight butt swayed in the hold of his black jeans, it was such a nice backside and if you were in a better mood you might have tiptoed closer to give it a good hard smack. He’d deserve it.

"Mr Kiba 'I knew he was a motherfucker' Inuzuka. Can't you ever give me a break?"

It hadn't bothered you this much when he first said it, but the more you repeated the words, the more fury infused your veins. It hit you like a tidal wave, turning you from weepy sadness to burning anger in less than a minute.

You popped to your feet, pacing back and forth whilst your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides. Wary amber eyes followed your movements, closing the fridge door with a hard thud that made the magnets rattle. Magnets you had gifted that asshole. The grim set of his jaw was back, irritation so quick to line his features until you were both scowling at one another.

"The fuck? Why have you always got to be so fucking high and mighty? You ain't perfect either, you know!" You were yelling now, raw emotion burning your throat and turning your body into a literal inferno.

"High and mighty? You gotta be joking me. Watch your damn mouth, my patience will only remain for so long. I suggest you calm the fuck down and sit down as well!"

He was making it worse, where was his usual compassion when you stormed like this?

"Or what Kiba? You gonna chuck me out?" You snorted through your nose and missed the flash of pure rage that flitted through his blown-wide pupils.

All six foot two of him towered above you, so close you could feel the heat roiling off his body and licking at your flesh. The back of your legs caught the edge of the glass coffee table and he was grabbing at your upper arms in an instant.

You gasped when his fingers dug into the meat of your arms until you almost yelped out for him to stop. Head tipped back and heart thundering from an evil cocktail of anger and bitterness, you straight up growled at him like a dog ready to lunge and attack.

"When are you going to open your fucking eyes?" he whispered, low and so very dangerous that the hairs on the nape of your neck prickled to attention.

Too wrapped in your own negative emotions, you failed to comprehend his words fully. Oblivious to the storm of desire that was rapidly rising to the surface in the male fixing you in place. You ignored his words and spat more venom at him in an attempt to get him to release you.

"When was the last time you even got laid Kiba? Haven't seen any of your airheads flouncing about in forever. They made me sick to my stomach with their simpering eyes out on stalks, drooling over you like you were some kind of fucking god."

He let go in a moment of startled surprise as your words found their mark, and you stormed towards the door only to have your wrist captured in a rough hand. Kiba pulled you back to him, the tug was so forceful that your chest bumped into his and your free hand flew to the wall of steel that was his chest in an attempt to balance yourself.

"Jealous?" he seethed, lowering his face until you were practically nose to nose

Had you been in your right mind, you might have taken a moment to process that incredibly loaded question and see it for what it actually was. Instead, your primal instincts found themselves firmly in the driving seat as a war cry pounded in your ears and a tightness grew heavy in the pit of your stomach.

You snatched your hand back and grabbed two fistfuls of his stupid tousled chestnut hair, pressing yourself onto your tiptoes to reach his wickedly curled lips.

This was no soft kiss, it was cruel and punishing.

Lips met, teeth gnashed and snarls sounded from both of your throats as Kiba reacted in kind. His hands were not gentle as he cupped your face, one hand stealing into your hair and wrapping it around his fist. He pulled, forcing your throat to strain taut and ripping your mouth away from his with a hiss.

White-hot fury veiled your vision in red. His sharp almost fang-like incisors sank into your vulnerable neck, harsh and selfish as he marked you for his own. Greedy lips followed the exquisite sting of pain, sucking at the skin indented by his teeth until the entire area would be bruised and tender to the touch when your sanity returned.

You didn't know what made you say it, the words were out of your mouth before you took note of them.

"Seems like you've been the jealous one.” Kiba froze against your frantic pulse point.

His eyes were positively feral, the pupils almost entirely swallowing his normally warm amber irises. Cheeks dabbled in rough whiskers from the late hour and the tendon from neck to collarbone straining from exertion. Kiba levelled you with a dangerous stare and you couldn't help but look away to admire his forearms instead of succumbing to his piercing gaze. The sleeves of his open shirt rolled to the elbows–a look that had you weak at the knees at the best of times–and the strength in those corded muscles was obvious to your appreciative eye.

"That’s right, m’gonna make you forget about those stupid assholes that didn't know what a treasure they had. Their loss is my gain. If you want this," he pointed to himself to emphasise the point, "if you want me, then come get it."

Without a backwards glance, he stormed to the island in his kitchen and left you there… alone and bereft of his overwhelming heat. Kiba stood with his lower back resting against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded as he watched you. His muscled chest heaved with every laboured breath, cheeks ruddy from the kiss you’d shared and there was a more than subtle bulge on the front of his jeans.

Did you want him, your best friend Kiba?

Hell yeah, you did!

Annoyed by your own oblivious stupidity, the puzzle pieces clicked together in your head. Kiba was downright sexy, his physique godly and a face that was both rugged and angelic depending on his mood. He was funny, a total goofball who made it his mission to keep you laughing until you were clutching your stomach and begging for mercy. A social butterfly who ensured he gave his friends equal attention, he knew every birthday and often was the ringleader of group outings and meetups.

He was your Kiba.

The person you relied upon most in the world, your constant and when you tried to imagine a world without him, it stole your breath until you were crippled by the agony. Had you been jealous of his idiotic little girlfriends? Yes, you always wanted to be the centre of his universe and they distracted from that. You had tried to mask it as a dislike for his taste in women but most of his exes had been perfectly nice if you had given them the time of day to get to know.

It was clear, that you wanted him.

You ran.

Four long strides and you threw yourself into his quickly outstretched arms. He caught you –of course, he did –bearing your weight with practised ease as you wrapped around him like climbing ivy. Hands fisting into the t-shirt that lay beneath his shirt as you found his mouth once more, sought to reclaim it and make your intentions crystal fucking clear.

This time the kiss was more tender, yet the passion was still as ardent and heady. His wide hands roamed your hips until he was kneading the meat of your ass through your pants and making your lower half grind against him in sinful bliss. The zipper of his jeans pressed against your centre through the layers of clothes and you moaned openly into his mouth.

Kiba was famished, he swallowed your lewd noises and was quick to incite more as he turned to perch you atop the counter. His hips rolled into you, languid but forceful whilst he explored the wet cavern of your mouth. Your tongue rolled over his in an erotic dance that had no end in sight. If not for your necessity to breathe, there would be no parting you and only the shared oxygen in the space created by two friends that finally breached a line that had been long held and now threatened to either tie them together or pull them apart.

You tugged expectantly at his clothes, desperate to strip him to your gaze and finally, he relented. Kiba pulled back long enough to tug off his shirt and tee, discarding them haphazardly. His warm breath fanned your cheek, stuttering when your cool fingers stroked and detailed the definition of his torso.

"Eager little thing," he growled. The smile he sported only served to highlight the ego that was often to focus of your teasing. Yet, this time no humourous jabs came to mind. For once you were glad of his self-confidence and eagerness to move things along.

He divested you of your oversized hoodie, thankful you had taken the time to put on a nice bra beneath it despite the mess you had been in earlier. His groan was heaven to your ears and when he dove to kiss you through the sheer material of your bralette you thought you had died right there and then.

Saliva dampened the already thin fabric, those dangerous wolfish teeth nipping at your pebbled buds. With your head tossed back, he used that wicked mouth of his on your breasts and you were unprepared for the piercing rip that flooded the hushed space. Kiba had torn clean through the garment, the halves falling down your arms to lay destroyed on the floor.

"Kiba!" you half yelled, half squeaked as he took that exact moment to suckle your nipple between his plush lips. Your belly quivered, the pulling sensation more intoxicating than the most potent alcohol and the feeling echoed far more intensely between your trembling thighs. Your fingers carded through his lush hair, nails scraping against his scalp and smiling indulgently at the rumble deep in his throat.

"I'll buy you more, promise baby. Lay back, need to get you naked," he said sounding entirely as drunk as you felt.

For once you were eager to follow his instruction, a novelty for Kiba who merely watched with a knowing look that promised he would deliver of your wildest fantasies if you’d just fucking listen to him, at long last. His eager fingers hooked into the waistband of your leggings and were quickly dragged down your supple legs. Slowly, he eased his calloused fingers back up your bare legs, stopping to toy with the back of your knees and listen to the subtle gasp caught tight in your throat.

Funny how you had thought he would be rough and impatient, the deed almost over with and the finish line hurtled towards at inhumane speed when here he was taking his sweet time. It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to feel the searing heat that was radiating from between your thighs, to dip his fingertips against your panties and know how drenched they already were from the mere prospect of being with him.

As if sensing your thought process, Kiba finally parted thighs whilst you rested backwards on your elbows. A low appreciative hum caught your ear and you shifted your focus to the tight grip he had on his bottom lip, teeth sinking deep and the wide flare of his nostrils like he was scenting you as an animal would do. He planted your feet and pushed your knees to the sides until you were splayed out like a cat in heat. It was vulnerable and so exhilarating you couldn't help but wriggle.

His eyes were glazed over when he, at last, moved to touch your panties, zeroing in on the obvious damp patch and letting his head roll along his neck for a second as a visible shiver passed up the length of his spine. You’d swear he appeared like those cartoon characters that have zapped with electricity, near every hair on his body rippling from the sensation.

"Have to taste you, sweetheart. My pretty fuckin’ girl."

A chaste kiss fell to your lips before he began a slow tortured path down your body, stopping here and there as he learned the spots that made you tremble and shake, noting carefully when you would whine and try to cling to him. Smug smiles and smears of his saliva were painted upon your heated skin, and he let loose a triumphant bark of laughter when you whimpered your impatience.

"Please," you mewled, a hand pressing atop his head to hurry his descent. Forward was not something you were familiar with, shyness always overtaking your urge to express your wants, but with Kiba, you knew there was no need for any such concerns.

"Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll deliver."

You could cry at the bubble of pressure that was desperate for release, sitting just below the surface, if he would just touch you.

"Wan’ you to fuck me with your mouth, need it so bad Kiba! Please–"

The last syllable had barely left your mouth before he was diving for your centre, underwear pressed aside as he nudged your clit with his nose and inhaled deeply. One roughened pad explored your slick folds, collecting the nectar and pressing it into his mouth.

His sigh was purely reverential and he settled down to devour you like a starving man sat before his first meal in weeks. It was all too much, the immediate stimulation intense enough to have your toes curling where they now rested down his broad back.

Kiba laid languid swipes of his molten tongue along your slit, alternating between flickering motions against your engorged pearl and slow circular patterns around your sopping hole. The walls of your cunt fluttered, desperate to be filled and clench around something–anything–and when his finger slipped easily inside you bucked wildly.

“Shh, keep still. Lemme hear your pretty voice but gotta hold still, yeah?” He encouraged, mouth only moving far enough way for you to hear his heated request.

It took mere minutes for you to come apart on his mouth, his digit sucked deep as he stroked your slick, spongy walls and suckled at your clit to almost pain. Your legs were limp from the unrelenting waves of euphoria that raced throughout your body and if not for the grounding palm caressing your thigh then you might have passed out there and then when white sparks shot straight through your vision.

Kiba didn’t spill a single drop of your nectar, the wet insistent muscle rolling into your cunt over and over to simply dig more of the delicious juices from your quivering body before he stood with the lower half of his face glistening in your essence. It felt… empowering. The intense lust that blazed in his eyes, a lust that was for you and no one else. Fuck. You loved him. Had for a long time. Why had you taken so long to see it for what it really was?

It wasn’t the time to get stuck in your head like this, there would be moments for these thoughts and what lay beyond but right now, you weren’t entirely satisfied and you wouldn’t be until you had milked the man looming over you for every drop he could deliver.

With renewed vigour and determination, you propped yourself on your elbows and then lunged forward towards the buckle of his belt. You’d never worked so deftly as you worked to unbuckle him, moaning at the loud metal clattering loose. Buttons worked free and zipper pulled down, the waistband of his underwear came into sight and your fingers curled around that final barrier and released with him an audible gasp mingled with his sigh of relief.

You had known he was going to be well endowed, could feel it from the press of his body only earlier, but it was still a shock to see him in all his glory, and what a glory it was. His length was impressive, but it was his girth that was the true beauty–if you could even call such a monster a beauty. Kiba's cock could barely support its own weight, the angry length tipped to a deep purple with precum leaking from the slit under your scrutiny.

It looked enormous in your petite hand, managing to encircle the shaft but only just did your fingertips meet. You stroked his velvety soft skin, paying attention to the stark veins that stood to attention and how Kiba reacted when you traced over the most prominent with a salacious smile. You scooted towards the edge of the counter, eyes locked with him with every deliberate move you made.

The head kissed against your glistening folds and you teased both of you by running the blunt tip along your slit until it bumped against your clitoral hood. His fingers were gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you feared he would crumble the marble under his strong hands if he wasn't careful. You notched him at your slowly pulsing entrance, and on a breathy keening noise, you pleaded. 

"Fuck me Kiba."

You knew that he had snapped when an animalistic noise roared from his throat and the death grip moved from the counter to your hips as he pushed into your cunt. Kiba eagerly watched your walls suck him in, utterly drunk on the silken feel of you in much the same way that you were drunk on him. Every drag of his shaft rubbed delicious friction into your most intimate areas with a precision he shouldn’t yet possess. He was made for you and you were made to take him.

There would be a time for slower moments and tender loving making, for you were sure that Kiba was not going to escape from you, not now. He was yours, and you his. This alone had you urging him on, driving that feral side of him to act and do it hard and fast with nips at his lips and nails clawing down his back. 

His hips pistoned like a well-oiled machine, and sweat clung to his forehead as he set a pace that saw him pounding into your pussy. A relentless rhythm that matched the pound of your heart, clammy skin on skin and kisses that acted better than any drugs ever could.

"This what you wan’? Hungry for my cock, huh?"

His words were staccato with every thrust that he delivered, your body jerking with the wild and powerful movements. Your head fell back against the counter as moan after decadent moan left your throat. Kiba's tight grip moved to your waist and he began to pull you onto his length, your back sliding against the marble top making your tits bounce and your ass slap against his pelvis. Every drag of his shaft against your walls made you keen for him, full to capacity but craving more nevertheless. He was using you like his own personal fucktoy and you were creaming around him at that knowledge, the lewd squelches of your bodies joined in this way growing louder and louder.

"Tell me. Need to hear you say it, kitten."

"Oh… fu-fuck! Need your dick, feel so good–ah!" You screamed when Kiba leaned over you and altered the angle of how he was driving into you. His mouth sucked possessive marks onto the sides of your breasts as you used the last of your hastily retreating sanity to again fist his hair and force him even closer to you.

"Tell me I'm better than those other motherfuckers. No one can fuck you like this, nobody else is worthy of this beautiful pussy," he growled, breaking from your hold to allow him to press his thumb against your clit and making you jerk at the sudden unsuspecting touch.

"Kiba–best. Gonna, oh god–m’so close. No one but you."

Your brain was a puddle, the ecstasy too much for full coherent thoughts as you felt the gush hit against his groin. You soaked him in your juices, the wet noises crescendoing whilst stars winked into your vision.

"Such a good fuckin’ girl, oh shit. What a beautiful mess you've made on me," he cooed in praise, slowing his pace but never stopping. He had to be close; your walls desperately trying to milk him, to force his release in kind.

Slowly, you returned to the earth, oversensitive from each measured stroke that he delivered until he pulled from you and wiped the sweat from his brow. He fisted his shaft as you watched, tears springing to your eyes at being denied his release.

"Wanna come down your throat, think you can manage?" he asked, his eyes burning into yours as he pumped himself.

Your thighs were shaky, the skin slick with the spill of your arousal but you managed not to fall to the floor. Kiba steadied you with his free hand, groaning in his throat as you knelt before him. His head fell back when you parted your lips and accepted him into your wet mouth.

The taste of his essence mingled with your own, sweet and bitter but definitely not unpleasant. You had never done this before and it felt so wicked as you watched Kiba come apart above you. He could barely maintain his eye contact with you, heat surging to his cheeks and his hands cradling your head in gentle reverence.

His hips jerked, your fingers sinking into his ass that flexed beneath your touch as he kissed against your throat. The muscles constricted and he faltered. "Oh fuck, so close sweetheart."

Your teeth unsheathed carefully, tongue running the length of the litany of veins that ran his shaft and teeth grazing his sensitive flesh until his fingers seized and you felt the hot spurts of his release. It poured down your throat until you pulled back, the rest pooling on your pink tongue.

Kiba panted and whined, losing himself in the moment and the feel of your scorching mouth, chest heaving with each laboured inhale. You showed him the milky seed that coated your tongue, watching his eyes roll to the back of his skull the second after you swallowed audibly and opened up to show your now empty mouth.

The seconds ticked by and neither of you moved as your breathing slowly returned to normal. How gorgeous he looked to you, spent and blushing. The massive frame of his body–Kiba’s body–completely undone by your actions and your body.

"That's one way to get over Hidan," he groused, trying to turn from you.

You were not going to allow him to step away from this, two hearts were on the line and you refused to see him in pain. You stood abruptly, possibly a mistake given how your thighs quaked but not giving a shit at the moment. You pulled him back to you, arms resting over his wide shoulders and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Pouring every bit of love and desire into your expression, you fixed him with a sincere smile and watched his eyes widen and soften, the creases smoothing out to reveal his true self, the one you were intimately familiar with.

"Who?"

[according2thelore]

Four SPN characters of your choice are in a bake-off. The category is "Cake That Represents One Of Your Fellow Contestants". What do they all make?

Dean: tries his best bc he's competitive as shit. the only experience he's had with this is one time making a box cake for sam's eighth birthday and he almost burnt the cabin down bc he got sucked into a marathon of confessions of crime. he makes cupcakes to represent garth because "he's y'know...all *makes a face*" he does not elaborate further. they're strawberry flavored. he puts sprinkles on them. garth cries. they (awkwardly) hug it out, and dean's still got a bandage wrapped around his hand because he tried to use a knife to open the icing. he comes in second.

Cas: doesn't understand the assignment. makes devil's food cake to represent sam (the guest judge and not a part of the competition) from a box recipe but it's ossified. literal charcoal. didn't know how to use the oven, realized when he had five minutes left that he forgot to turn it on and blasted his grace at it with the power of fourteen suns. presents it to sam with a proud look on his face.

"it is because you're made for the devil. but sweet. and i think chocolate." he comes in third by default.

Garth: watches the great british bake-off with his nana, so he knows his way around tarts, treacles, cheesecakes, danishes, breads, biscuits, and custard slices. he makes cherry coffee cake. he captures the essence of dean's soul in confectionary.

"it seems easy, but it's got layers. it goes great with coffee, is a little rough around the edges, but genuinely has a good center. i also included cherries because they're his favorite fruit!" (no one knows how he knows this)

sam seems genuinely annoyed by this. he's even more pissed when they taste a-fucking-mazing. he wins even though sam gave him a 3 out of 5 for presentation.

Crowley: buys a vanilla sheet cake from the local bakery to represent Cas. doesn't even try to dress it up, just puts it on the table with a blasé grin. he didn't even take the plastic case off.

"ahh, y'know. bland. appealing to the masses. says it's one thing on the box but if you cut 'er open, deep down, it's just donkey testicles."

he gets disqualified because he did not bake anything. the other guest judge meg still voted a 0 out of 5 for style.

[captainstarsplitter]

I have been productive in the last couple weeks. More productive than I’ve been in a long time, and yet I still feel drained and unaccomplished. I guess I should feel proud that I’m getting stuff done and remind myself that there are lots of good things happening; but it just kind of … doesn’t reach the part where my brain decides to release some goddamn endorphins. I’m hoping that being in the new place will feel liberating and maybe ease some of the relentless persistent sadness I’m feeling. Y’all, I’ve got the morbs. Depression/grief/trauma sucks.

On a brighter note, I found furniture. First, there was a mid-century vanity complete with mirror in mint condition that I snatched up from my local thrift store. The item is unmarked and likely mass-produced, but in decent shape nevertheless and the (cosmetic) repairs I’m currently working on are minor.

To make things easier, I begrudgingly re-activated my Facebook account and realized that a) Marketplace is still the easiest way to get rid of all the crap you don’t need and b) there’s lots of good stuff for cheap. My first find was a gigantic Safavieh area rug from their Kenya collection. It’s bright and delightfully textured and a lot and I can’t wait to lay down on it after a long day.

My second find was a round dining table made of teak, sold by a wonderful retiree couple from a neighboring town. They were sweet and funny and helpful (not to mention their absolutely beautiful apartment), and the table is in immaculate shape, especially considering it’s older than me.

Third I found a Danish teak side table made by Trioh (and there’s even a matching coffee table available from a different seller, which honestly is just too good to pass up). The side table itself is in great condition.

Lastly, I finally found a pair of dining chairs, and at a steal to boot. They’re Maui by Vico Magistretti for Kartell, and while they were not in good shape anymore, fixing them up has been fun and challenging altogether. Plastic is less forgiving than wood, but triple 0 steel wool has worked well for me so far. (The same seller I got the chairs from also has a beautiful Mission-style leather couch made of red oak, and while it’s totally out of my price range I’m considering the splurge).

I’ve noticed again how much I enjoy working with my hands. The monotony and precision of the task calms and distracts me, and it serves as a good reminder that the effort, elbow grease and dedication I’m putting into things will eventually pay off.

[decorworks]

Autumn dose of Muuto news brings Two-Layer lamps and new vases

Beautifully diffused light or space for spectacular floral arrangements is what Muuto's autumn news brings. Immerse yourself with us among design innovations, unique material combinations and refined shades, as is already characteristic of the Danish brand.

Even bigger Kink vase

The iconic Kink vase, one of the essential pieces of the Muuto portfolio, has grown to a new dimension. In the colour sand, it is now available with a height of 39 centimetres, which is suitable for larger bouquets and can easily function as an unmissable work of art. Also, two new shades have been added to the classic sizes – light green and deep red. The latter in particular is guaranteed to get you in the mood for autumn.

The blossoming Ridge collection

We'll stay with the accessories. There are also two new additions to the Ridge collection. The captivating ridged surface now shows its beauty in conjunction with frosted glass, which can be smoked, with a hint of blue or clear. If you prefer indoor plants to cut flowers, you'll be happy to hear another newa. The collection now also includes planters in three sizes. Their ridged surface together with durable stoneware and new, fresh shades are a perfect choice.

Two -Layer lamps

The new Two-Layer pendant lamp from Muuto serves two functions. The hand-blown glass shade both casts direct light downwards and, thanks to two layers of frosted and clear glass, spreads pleasant diffused light throughout the room. The lighting style is true to its name and the contemporary take on classic design is true to the Muuto philosophy.

Flow coffee tables

The Flow collection previously included serving trolleys, but has now expanded to include coffee tables. These are still dominated by the masculine perforated sheet metal and the flexibill castors, which make them easy to transport – from the living room to the terrace, for example. Yes, thanks to the durable material, all Flow tables are also suitable for outdoors. When serving, you'll also appreciate the shelf, which makes Flow tables great partners for parties and get-togethers with friends.

Autumn news has also brought an extension to the Arced mirror collection or Relevo rugs, go and see if this is your favourite shade. You'll find them all neatly sorted in the Muuto new arrivals section. Read the full article

[sarah-addison121]

How to Match Furniture with Your Home Decor Aesthetic in the UK!

When it comes to creating a home that feels uniquely you, it all starts with your decor style. Whether you're channelling the regal vibes of British sophistication or the sleek minimalism of Scandinavian design, the furniture you choose makes all the difference. If you're looking for the perfect pieces to complete your aesthetic, a furniture store with a wide range of options can be your best ally. Let's dive into five fabulous home decor aesthetics and the ideal furniture pieces to match each one!

1. British Style Home: Classic Elegance Meets Cozy Charm

The Vibe: Think of a charming countryside manor with roaring fireplaces, tea on the table, and timeless elegance. British decor is all about comfort with a dash of sophistication.

Furniture to Love:

Chesterfield Sofa: A classic deep-buttoned, rolled-arm beauty that screams timeless British charm.

Wingback Armchairs: These cozy chairs with their tall backs and "wings" are perfect for sitting by the fire with a good book.

Mahogany Dining Table: Elegant and stately, a mahogany table adds richness to any dining room.

Ottomans: Perfect for putting your feet up in style or adding extra seating

2. Hollywood Glam Aesthetic: Lights, Camera, Glamour!

The Vibe: Think old Hollywood glitz with a modern twist—plush fabrics, sparkling accents, and luxurious finishes. This style is bold, glamorous, and unapologetically opulent.

Furniture to Love:

Chesterfield Sofa or Velvet Upholstered Sofa: For that glam vibe, choose a Chesterfield or a velvet sofa in rich jewel tones. Perfect for lounging like a movie star!

Mirrored Sideboards & Mirror Coffee Tables: Reflect the glamour! Mirrored surfaces catch the light and add a sense of spaciousness.

Black and Gold Accent Italian Beds: Luxurious, dramatic, and made to be the centrepiece of a bedroom that feels like a high-end movie set.

Marble Dining Tables: Sleek, polished, and ultra-luxe, a marble dining table screams sophistication and glam.

3. Scandinavian Aesthetic: Cozy Minimalism for the Soul

The Vibe: Less is more! Scandinavian decor is all about simplicity, functionality, and a connection to nature. It’s the perfect blend of minimalism and coziness (or as the Danish call it, “hygge”).

Furniture to Love:

Oak Coffee Table: Natural wood tones and clean lines make this a staple for any Scandinavian-style living room.

Modular Sofa: Functional, stylish, and comfortable, a modular sofa adapts to your needs while maintaining that minimalist vibe.

Oak Shelving Units: Light wood and open design, perfect for displaying minimal decor and keeping the space airy.

French Style Wooden Sideboards: A touch of French charm adds warmth and character to this otherwise minimalist aesthetic.

4. French Country Style: Rustic Elegance with a Touch of Romance

The Vibe: Picture a quaint French countryside home—elegant but relaxed, with a focus on rustic charm and romantic details. It’s all about soft colours, natural materials, and vintage-inspired pieces.

Furniture to Love:

French Style Wardrobe: Tall, elegant, and beautifully carved, a French wardrobe adds a romantic flair to any room.

Chesterfield Sofa: A crossover with British style, the Chesterfield brings timeless elegance and comfort to the French country look.

French Style Wooden Sideboards: These rustic yet refined sideboards offer storage and style, often with charming details like turned legs or distressed finishes.

Wingback Armchairs: Cozy and inviting, they bring a touch of vintage French sophistication to your space.

5. Modern Aesthetic: Sleek, Simple, and Stylish

The Vibe: Clean lines, bold accents, and minimal clutter. Modern decor is all about creating a space that feels streamlined, functional, and stylish with a focus on open spaces and neutral palettes.

Furniture to Love:

Glass Coffee Table: A sleek, minimal piece that adds a light, airy feel to your living room without overwhelming the space.

Sectional Sofa: A modern must-have, sectional sofas offer comfort and style in one clean package, perfect for lounging or entertaining.

Leather Armchairs: Structured, sleek, and undeniably cool, leather armchairs add a bold touch to modern decor.

[livingsolutio]

The Ultimate Guide to Furniture Shopping in Singapore

Explore Local Furniture Stores

Singapore is home to a plethora of local furniture stores that offer unique, high-quality pieces. Shops like Naiise and Scanteak provide a range of stylish, contemporary furniture. Naiise, known for its local artisan products, features a variety of handmade and sustainable furniture, while Scanteak specializes in Danish-inspired designs that are both functional and aesthetic. Local stores often offer personalized service and customization options, making them a great choice for finding pieces that perfectly match your style.

Visit Multi-Brand Furniture Malls

For a more extensive selection, consider visiting multi-brand furniture malls such as IKEA and * Courts*. IKEA is a global giant known for its affordable, stylish furniture and innovative designs. furniture singapore The Singapore stores are no exception, offering everything from sleek Scandinavian pieces to practical storage solutions. Courts, another popular choice, provides a range of furniture styles and prices, along with occasional sales and promotions that can help you get the best value for your money.

Consider Online Furniture Shopping

The rise of e-commerce has made online furniture shopping increasingly popular in Singapore. Websites like HipVan and Castlery offer a convenient way to browse and purchase furniture from the comfort of your home. HipVan is known for its modern, trendy furniture and frequent discounts, while Castlery offers a blend of contemporary and classic styles, with options for customizing fabrics and finishes. Online shopping provides the advantage of home delivery and often features customer reviews, helping you make informed decisions.

Embrace Singapore’s Design Diversity

Singapore’s furniture market reflects its multicultural society, offering a diverse range of design influences. From minimalist Scandinavian designs to luxurious, ornate pieces inspired by traditional Asian styles, there is something for everyone. Consider exploring stores that focus on specific styles, such as The Mango Tree, which offers elegant, classic Asian-inspired furniture, or The Rustic Furniture, known for its handcrafted, rustic pieces.

 

 

Look for Sustainable and Eco-Friendly Options

As environmental awareness grows, many Singaporean furniture stores are embracing sustainability. Brands like Greenlam and EcoHouse provide eco-friendly furniture options made from recycled or sustainably sourced materials. Investing in sustainable furniture not only benefits the environment but often ensures a higher level of craftsmanship and durability.

Think About Space and Functionality

Singapore’s compact living spaces require thoughtful furniture choices. When shopping, consider pieces that are both space-saving and multifunctional. Items such as expandable dining tables, modular sofas, and storage beds can help maximize your space while providing practical solutions. Stores like Rattan House and Dwell offer versatile furniture designed to fit seamlessly into smaller homes.

Don’t Forget to Compare Prices

Before making a purchase, it’s essential to compare prices across different stores and platforms. Many furniture stores offer seasonal sales, discounts, and bundle deals, which can significantly impact your overall cost. Utilize online comparison tools and visit multiple stores to ensure you’re getting the best deal.

Seek Professional Advice

If you’re unsure about your choices, consider seeking professional advice. Coffee Table Singapore Interior designers and furniture consultants in Singapore can provide valuable insights and help you select pieces that suit your space and style. Many furniture stores also offer design consultations, which can be a helpful resource in making your final decisions.

[formeryelpers]

Kitchen Mouse, 4503 N Figueroa St., Los Angeles (Montecito Heights), CA 90065

Kitchen Mouse has expanded again, with a cute walk-up coffee & bakery spot in Montecito Heights (near Mount Washington and south Highland Park). There is a small kitchen, so you can also order off a limited menu: vegan breakfast sandwich, vegan waffles, bagel sandwiches, and fancy toasts. The pastry case had two shelves of gluten-free pastries (muffins, brownies, cookies, scones, cakes) and two shelves of pastries with gluten (vegan bagels, vegan croissants, danish). There’s also drip coffee, cold brew, espresso drinks, tea, and hot chocolate.

Order at the window and pay first. Prices are on the higher side but they do make their own pastries and their own schmears, and offer lots of gluten-free, vegetarian, vegan, and even nut-free options.

Buckwheat waffle, vegan, gluten-free ($9) with Earl Grey whip ($1.50): A thick, Belgian style waffle with vegan butter and real maple syrup. Excellent – I didn’t miss the gluten. The buckwheat waffle (made with buckwheat, oat, corn flour and flax, maple & coconut oil) has a nutty flavor and the waffle was moist with crisp edges. They provided plenty of vegan Earl Grey whip which did taste like Earl Grey and wasn’t too sweet. The waffle took about 15 minutes and they weren’t busy.

Cappuccino ($5): No foam art, strong and very bitter, wouldn’t get again

This is meant to be a takeout spot though there are three outdoor picnic tables (shared with Taco Fiesta?). They also sell some KM merch and coffee beans. They have their own coffee roast (Ethiopian). Parking was easy to find in the strip mall.

4 out of 5 stars

By Lolia S.

[corkcitylibraries]

Cork City Libraries Sustainability Blog | Sow…Let’s Grow!

December is the busiest month of the year for many people, from the stress of Christmas shopping to the excitement of finishing school for the little ones, and the all-important winter exams for those in secondary school or college – the garden is the last thought on anyone’s mind...or is it? The garden doesn’t just stop at the front door you know. In this blog I’ve hand-picked some books that we have in stock here in Hollyhill Library that can complement your gardening from how to make Christmas wreaths to what herbs perfectly accompany the Christmas day roast.

Beautiful Wreaths & Garlands: 35 Projects to Decorate your Home for all Seasons & Occasions by Catherine Woram contains pages of stunning ideas on how to bring all that wonderful winter foliage into your indoor space. Using materials that can be found in almost every garden, she shows you how to create beautiful Christmas wreaths that can highlight your fabulous gardening success.

The Homemade Year by Lily Higgins is a wonderful read that I would recommend at any time of the year. She has divided her book by the seasons and has lots of gorgeous recipes and projects especially suited to each one. Winter starts on page 247 and the very first project is a stunning leaf wreath using dried leaves and herbs from the garden. This wreath is slightly less showy than the one in the previous book and would be perfect for those trying to incorporate a little bit of the Danish hygge tradition into their Christmas. On page 255 is a how-to for a facial steam using chamomile and rosemary which can ease congestion – especially handy at this time of year! And on page 289, one of my favourite Christmas activities, instructions for an orange pomander. Now I know that neither oranges nor cloves are particularly common plants to see growing in an Irish garden, but I love this one all the same and for less than the price of cup of coffee, your house can smell like Christmas for weeks. It is a lovely activity to do with your family, or whomever you choose to spend the holidays with. In the picture below you can see the pomanders my housemates and I made together.

Ultimate Christmas: The essential Recipes and Festive Crafts for the Perfect Christmas published by Paragon Books Ltd has lots of festive recipes that you can use to utilise your fruit and veg harvest. Regardless of whether you’re growing to feed a family of six or just have some herbs on your windowsill, this book has recipes that cater to everyone. Potato and parsnip rosti with smoked salmon, sour cream and chives on page 83 is a delicious recipe which uses common veg you may have grown yourself. No matter how small your gardening endeavours may be, there is no doubt that home grown produce adds just a little bit extra to any dish you desire to make. This book also has a small section in the back dedicated to Christmas crafts and here we find another wreath design, this one uses holly leaves which can be found almost anywhere – I pass several bushes on my walk to work every morning!

A Very Vegan Christmas: Plant-Based Recipes for Celebrating in Style by Sam Dixon is all about those plants. This book may be marketed towards vegans but anyone who believes veg deserves a starring role on the table, should most certainly give it a read. I’ve already leafed through this one and I’ll share with you some of my favourites. Maple & pecan stove-top carrots uses the thyme I’ve grown, and I’ll probably throw in some rosemary as well, I feel they really must be used together. Mushroom and chestnut stuffing also uses a host of herbs, and this will absolutely be on my dinner table come Christmas day. Roast butternut squash curry for those in-between days where you’re not quite sure if you can eat another charcuterie board, the recipe also calls for spinach and I’m going to use my rainbow chard instead, the colour will look just stunning.

Happy Christmas everyone from Hollyhill Library!

[indeeperwater]

open starter for  ➣ everyone location  ➣ Bakery + Coffee Shop thread  ➣ Ada x Your Choice

Ada enjoyed the normal side of her life. Granted, she felt more on guard and constantly on edge to keep the people from her secret life, well, that - a secret. However, she still enjoyed the consistency of her ordinary and boring life. Truthfully, she performed her job well enough to keep her lives apart with much distance; she still worried about someone finding out who she was and hunting her down. Regardless, she put that out of her mind as she climbed out of the shower and got dressed to meet up with one of her only friends. No, Ada didn’t like people so much, but the others had their way of snaking into her life and stuck around. 

On my way now. Ada texted the other and pulled on her brown combat-style boots over her black jeans. She said her goodbyes to her beloved dog, Jespar, and headed out to the bakery + coffee shop, where she met her friend. Ordering a Cheese Danish and an iced Pumpkin Spice latte, Ada sat at one of the empty tables and awaited the other. 

[educationalinstitutesindia]

Wines For Easter Brunch Or Any Brunch At All

Whether you’re really celebrating Easter in the old-school sense, or marking the passage of spring with a glass and some friends, there are few times of year that so call for celebration. Getting around to it calls for some planning.    We fret over the depths of winter, but somehow anything heavy, heavy, heavy will do in winter. Come spring though, when we really come back to life, suddenly we’re at a loss as to which wine will go best. The American trend seems to lean away from the big formal Easter Sunday dinner and toward a brunch-style gathering. While that welcome informality makes for some much more social and easy-going camaraderie, let’s hope, it also takes a little pressure off the choice for the perfect wine. Like any time of year, the way you’ll be cooking and the toppings and sides are going to determine what you’re pouring. Baking, grilling and sautéing are very different processes, but for brunch, it’s the sauces, fruits and toppings that become doubly important. Eggs or quiches are more flavorful, not less, and so they very often require a more flavorful wine.  Brunch In a general sense, for early afternoon and brunch, we’re looking at Pinot Gris, Chenin Blanc and many Rieslings. These are slightly more acidic wines with more fruit flavor, but medium to light in body. We’re looking for the acid to highlight the flavors of the food, without overwhelming it. And generally, unless your serving literally dozens of people, let’s leave the mimosas out for the moment.    Rieslings in particular stand out with eggs (and here with salmon, too) particularly as the morning starts to spread into the afternoon. Rieslings tend to be more medium bodied wines, and though they are not terribly popular in the states, there are some very good and affordable options available. Drier Rieslings go well with most brunch items and the spicier the dishes, the sweeter you’ll want your Rieslings. On the other hand, a whole variety of Italian Proseccos, like the Terre Deor Delle Venezie Prosecco Rose, make nice replacements for Champagne or a similar sparkling wines. It still goes very well with omelets, fritatas or quiches for which brunch is famous. Normally you’ll want a fresh, round wine, perhaps some citrus, peach, and a little mineral. This one suffices very nicely.  Breakfast Foods Before we get to the carbs that dominate so much of brunch, let’s talk about your one “big taste” breakfast food. Even at 3 in the afternoon, bacon is going to be the taste to beat (or in this case, to match). Something equally robust needs to be a little buttery, but hopefully medium bodied. A Chardonnay may very well be called for. It’s spring after-all. With butter, almond, lemon, and a medium finish, the 2010 Domaine Seguine Manuel Vielles Vignes Poully Fuisse makes a very nice afternoon toast and will stand up next to all that bacon. For a lot of us, though, brunch is always more about carbs. Pancakes, pastries and French toast, normal toast or bread are just as good as eggs and tend to show up in far greater quantities. You’re right back to thinking about toppings – and fruit. Your spicier white wines are going to cover most of your bases. Pinot Grigio is probably too rich, but a more northerly Pinot Gris with highlights of vanilla or cinnamon will go well with most fruits or even maple. If you really are sticking with coffee and Danishes, some of the yeast in sweeter breads really is better complemented by those same Champagnes we snubbed above.  Light Wine Then again if you plan on going with a medium to light bodied red, try a Pinot Noir, Barbera or Gamay. There lighter, but still provide lots of fruit and will go well with some of the other fruits or fruit toppings on the table. For steak and eggs, you are ok with a medium Merlot. But that should be as velvety and comforting as possible.  And like any time of year, experimenting a little before hand, testing out a few bottles, flavors and textures goes a long way toward making your final decisions the right ones. No one ever argued against a “practice-run Saturday brunch” – even when your big show is coming up the next day.  Invite some trusted confidantes and don’t be afraid to try out some new combinations and something extra special too.  Read the full article

[hailthebonegod]

Storage Box

This storage box fits under our reclaimed wood coffee table (I cannot claim credit for the table), and I used some elderly wood I found to make a façade which would approximate the style of the coffee table.

Recessing the box from the table means it's not such an imposing structure but also the box is in shadow, so inconsistencies between 2 types of wood are less obvious. Hopefully.

I had to rip the reclaimed front down the middle with a circular saw, then used a planer to get it flat (ish).

To sort the cut ends, I charred them with a blowtorch, then scraped the 'char' off to artificially age the wood (below, left). A prop-maker told me this trick, and it seems to work pretty well although it's not entirely consistent - I think exposure to wet and grim has darkened the rest of the planks significantly. Oiling with walnut oil* darkened the wood significantly, reducing the impact of the grain so I scrape off the top layer to lighten it with a wire abrasive brush.

*I use walnut oil because I'm too impatient to wait for danish to set.

Left: Cut end after charring and scraping. Right: The top half of the plank has been scraped, the bottom half un-scraped to show the impact of the abrasive brush. This is after oiling.

The main body of the box is some old drawers I reconfigured.

I used tiny fixed castors (Pictured below) to help it pull out, although they were so small the carpet caught the lower edges of the box, so I need to drop them down with a 5mm shim. I may replace them with larger ones or use some aluminium c-channel to make tracks in the future. This works for now.

The handle looks like the top of an old ammunition tin I found washed up on the shore on the Isle of Arran. I stripped off the rust with citric acid, cut it up, then used a club hammer to flatten the various corrugations. I use the heavy club hammer more than I anticipated, they're great.

Left: Handle before final stripping and sides still attached. Right: Handle following removal, prior to drilling and flattening.

[thehistoryvintageantiques]

#17 Mid-Century Modern Marble Coffee Table

Vintage marble coffee table

Denmark 1980’s

Mid-century Danish coffee table. Polished brass trim and base with dark oak sides and a polished marble top. Comes with two sliding draws. In very good vintage condition.

45Hx130Lx65D cm

[decorworks]

Autumn dose of Muuto news brings Two-Layer lamps and new vases

Beautifully diffused light or space for spectacular floral arrangements is what Muuto's autumn news brings. Immerse yourself with us among design innovations, unique material combinations and refined shades, as is already characteristic of the Danish brand.

Even bigger Kink vase

The iconic Kink vase, one of the essential pieces of the Muuto portfolio, has grown to a new dimension. In the colour sand, it is now available with a height of 39 centimetres, which is suitable for larger bouquets and can easily function as an unmissable work of art. Also, two new shades have been added to the classic sizes – light green and deep red. The latter in particular is guaranteed to get you in the mood for autumn.

The blossoming Ridge collection

We'll stay with the accessories. There are also two new additions to the Ridge collection. The captivating ridged surface now shows its beauty in conjunction with frosted glass, which can be smoked, with a hint of blue or clear. If you prefer indoor plants to cut flowers, you'll be happy to hear another newa. The collection now also includes planters in three sizes. Their ridged surface together with durable stoneware and new, fresh shades are a perfect choice.

Two -Layer lamps

The new Two-Layer pendant lamp from Muuto serves two functions. The hand-blown glass shade both casts direct light downwards and, thanks to two layers of frosted and clear glass, spreads pleasant diffused light throughout the room. The lighting style is true to its name and the contemporary take on classic design is true to the Muuto philosophy.

Flow coffee tables

The Flow collection previously included serving trolleys, but has now expanded to include coffee tables. These are still dominated by the masculine perforated sheet metal and the flexibill castors, which make them easy to transport – from the living room to the terrace, for example. Yes, thanks to the durable material, all Flow tables are also suitable for outdoors. When serving, you'll also appreciate the shelf, which makes Flow tables great partners for parties and get-togethers with friends.

Autumn news has also brought an extension to the Arced mirror collection or Relevo rugs, go and see if this is your favourite shade. You'll find them all neatly sorted in the Muuto new arrivals section. Read the full article

[nighterwriter]

Kiss the Baker

Jason Todd x reader

Word Count: 906

A/N: Loosely inspired by @citrinesparkles drabble 'Red Herring.' (I reread it almost every day.) Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason watched you curled in your seat on the couch, back towards him as you continued to read the mystery book you'd hidden in your lap. It was the second one in the series, one that you were enjoying until yesterday when your lovely boyfriend made a comment about the talking style of one of the side characters in the first book that ultimately spoiled the ending of the novel. Hence the back turning.

It wasn't on purpose, but the apparent writing paired with his years of training as a detective had him blurt out the answer before he could stop himself. And you had told him how much you loathed spoilers, especially for mysteries because 'the whole point of them is for the reader to solve!' - a passionate declaration after coming home from celebrating your college graduation. You were intelligent and perceptive but hadn't gotten far enough into the book to pick up what he had in the chapters where the ne'er-do-well was introduced; only when he saw your face drop at his statement did he realize what he had done.

You hadn't talked to him in hours, trying to speed the process of finishing the book and moving on to the next one before he could say something. (He knew the killer in the current book too, but it's safe to say he learned his lesson.) It was a little before the afternoon and he wanted to hold you while you read your respective books on his day off. But he knew he needed to clean his mess before coaxing you into his arms.

He'd gotten out of bed a bit earlier than you, placing his customary kisses on your forehead and cheek before moving to the kitchen and donning an apron. Sweets, especially pastries, were your weakness, one he abused quite often. And he knew which ones made you crack the fastest: morning buns and cheese danishes.

He'd prepared both doughs the night of his crime and moved to prepare the cheese danish filling and get the morning bun dough into its swirled circle. He worked quietly, but he'd attracted your attention once the oven beeped to signal that it was time to place the cheese danishes next to the morning buns, a delightful sign that soon, the house would smell of sugar and baked dough.

He spent the duration of the dough being cooked sitting on the other side of the couch, reading his novel of the week, biting his lip to stop his smile as you raised your head to see what was in the oven. The timer rang half an hour later, but you hadn't progressed in the book, rereading the same page over and over, too curious about what your boyfriend had put in the oven.

Jason checked over each pastry, making sure the cheese danishes had the cheese-to-dough ratio that you preferred and that the morning buns looked moist and inviting as he plated them and brought them out to the living room. The corner of his mouth twitched as you quietly gasped at what he was holding, only to narrow your eyes when he placed them at the side table closest to him, forcing you to move closer to him or miss out on freshly baked pastries.

Crossing your arms, you watched as your boyfriend chose a morning bun for his first treat, dramatically unwrapping the end before placing it into his mouth, moaning wantonly at his creation. He caught your eyes as he chewed, holding his arms out in an invitation for you to join him. You rolled your eyes and uncurled yourself, book bookmarked by your thumb, your socked feet patting against the carpeted floor as you crossed the room and aimed your sights on the two overflowing plates. You reached to grab a danish, but your hopes were dashed as a hand hooked around your waist, pulling you to the one person you didn't want to be near.

"Y'know it's rude not to kiss the baker." He murmured, pulling your book from your hands and placing it face down on the coffee table. He gathered you in his arms, your butt in the opening of his legs and your feet perching on the strip of the couch near his waist.

"Well, when the baker spoils his pastries-"

"I said I'm sorry, baby. And I baked you your favorites." Jason pouted, sugar and cinnamon coating his protruding lower lip. "Could you find it in your heart to forgive your stupid but ruggedly handsome baker?"

Once again your rolled your eyes, but couldn't stop the smile growing on your face. Your baker. You pretended to deliberate, laughing when Jason puckered his lips. Pecking his lips a couple times, you reached over and grabbed a danish, humming in contentment at the perfect ratio. You shifted your body so your head leaned on his shoulder while your legs were outstretched in the gap of his parted legs. His hand rested on the one you placed on his chest as the both of you ate in silence.

"I figured it out a couple chapters in." You broke the silence as you finished your pastry, tapping your boyfriend's chest for another one.

"Really?" You're handed a perfectly rolled morning bun.

"Yep. The tennis instructor. What a perv."

Jason hummed in agreement, kissing your hand.

"Does that mean we can read the third one together?"

"Don't push your luck, Pillsbury Dough Boy."

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 10 October 1833

5 55

12 25

very fine – F57° at 6 ¾ - breakfast at 7 - Lady Harriet came at 7 20 – she and I and Eugenie off at 8 in calêche – good road – dead flat – no wood – light poor sandy land – almost all in grass to Roskilde, the ancient capital of Denmark, but now a nice neat village like little town – nice little Inn – 4 Danish miles from Copenhagen – had stopt ½ way at 9 37 to 10 50 to bait the horses – at Roskilde at 11 25 Lady Harriet took warm rum and water – In the cathedral at 11 55 for 1 ¼ hour – fine old gothic very neatly kept, whitewashed, plafond painted (the other plaster a running patter) church – handsome carved pulpit and fine organ and handsome piece of old oak painted and gilded carving over the altar – the life and death of Xst – some very handsome marble sculptured royal tombs – and below the six little coffins of the present kings’ children – 1 born before the time – another 4 years old, and one about a year old – none but the tombs of royalty and some few of the old noble families here – a new chapel (royal) in the Corinthian Greek style tho’ very handsome in itself not in keeping with the rest of the church – a granite pillar there (said to be from Italy) evidently formed by putting 2 short ones end to end together – on this column the height of Christian 1 marked equal to 3 Danish ells + 10 inches and under this Peter the great of Russia marked about 3 ½ English inch shorter – the church 140 Danish ells long end 41 ditto high – off from Roskilde at 1 25 – still good road – woods and mounds and the fiord in sight much cattle and less barren looking country to [Ryeghaarin] (Madame de Rosenkrantz (widow of the minister of foreign affairs) at 3 12 – tall fine looking elderly lady née princess .......... of Petersburg – came up to dress almost immediately – dinner at 4 10 – 4 dishes of dessert (3 fruit 1 preserved ginger) and the soup – then that (the soup) removed and hashed piquée filet de bœuf in a large round dish with small turnips, potatoes, carrots and cauliflower round the edge, handed round – then fish boiled with purple sauce, then cut up roast chicken then plain boiled artichokes – then a gateau – then dessert just before it, vin doux in small glasses – port and red wine French on the table – coffee immediately – tea about 9 – supper (a tray with fruit wine) a little of the dinner gateau, and a plate of one row cold meat, one ditto Bologna sausage, one ditto anchovies on white bread toast – all the ladies Madame de R- her niece Miss R- and a ½ Italian ½ Dane, and lady H- had their work – sat talking – of Russia – different people etc. Madame R- very attentive, and Ladylike and moderately agreeable – came upstairs at 10 ½ - a little awkwardness about shaking hands but Mrs. R- and I did at last    I cannot make out if she likes me but fancy not dullish evening very fine day – F52° now at 10 50 – to tell the truth a very stupid evening

[dwellordream]

“...By the 1920s, only the very poorest Danish families had to depend on the economic contributions of adolescent children for survival, but in most households daughters were still expected to help supplement the household income by handing over their pay. Especially in their first years as wage earners, parental control over children's income was considerable. Mothers in charge of the family budget generally kept most of the wages, permitting adolescent wage earners only a limited weekly allowance for personal expenses. Young women's family responsibilities continued in other ways as well. 

While sons were given much more leeway, daughters were generally expected to contribute their labor to the household after they arrived home from work. "In my family, all the children were sent out to work after their [Christian] confirmation [at the age of thirteen or fourteen], and we all had to give mother some of the money we earned for housekeeping," Gerda Eriksen recalled of her working class youth in the early 1920s. "But," she continued, "the girls also had their chores—running errands, peeling potatoes, setting and cleaning the table, doing the dishes, bringing up coal from the basement. My brothers never had to do any of that. That was women's work."

But if contributing wages and labor to the household continued to be the unquestioned norm, young women's sense of their rights and obligations vis-a-vis the family was nevertheless changing in other ways in the early decades of the twentieth century. When earnings were sufficient, some daughters decided to strike out on their own and live independently in rented rooms, small apartments, or boarding houses, but given their low wages this was a possibility for the very few. More frequently, young working women sought to use their earnings as leverage to negotiate a stronger position within the family. Especially after World War I, when most families were able to place themselves safely beyond the poverty line, the necessity of individual sacrifice for household survival began to fade.

This allowed even working-class daughters to assert their right to new privileges in exchange for their economic contributions, and in the 1920s they did so in increasing numbers. Young women's sense of what they could legitimately demand from their families clearly sprang from their status and experiences as wage earners outside the home. In the labor market, and particularly in jobs other than domestic service, young women learned a rhythm of time and labor that divided daily life into paid work and one's "own" time. This was a rhythm already familiar to most men, whose lives had long been split into realms of work and leisure. Therefore, (male) wage earners were the obvious beneficiaries when Danish government regulations in 1919 limited the work day to eight hours, allowing working men more free time than ever before. 

Married women, on the other hand, did not experience a similar shortening of the workday. Whether they worked outside the home or not, housework, child-rearing, cooking, and cleaning were never ending tasks, and unlike their husbands, they had to snatch their few leisured moments in between domestic responsibilities. As working women, daughters were precariously positioned between these different patterns of daily life. Even though they took on wage labor much like their fathers and brothers, young women were simultaneously expected to share the steady burdens of domestic work with their mothers and to devote their nonworking time to household labor. 

It was this discrepancy between expectations fostered by labor market participation in the context of increasing standards of living, and the realities of family life that became increasingly intolerable for many young women in the 1910s and 1920s. In their minds, earning a living and bringing home money positioned them on a par with male members of the family, entitling them to at least some of the same prerogatives. Consequently, while they did not resist having to hand over a substantial part of their earnings, they more and more openly resented that their financial contribution did not always earn them what they considered its reasonable counterpart, namely the right to free time. As a result, families with adolescent daughters were plunged into conflicts about the degree of personal autonomy that labor market participation and wages ought to bestow. 

Intrafamilial conflicts are often difficult for historians to document, but in this case tensions between parents and children are easily discernible. They surface, for instance, in the immensely popular advice columns of the 1910s and 1920s. Convinced of their right as wage earners to at least some free time and exasperated by their parents' unwillingness to grant them this privilege, some young women turned to advice columnists, hoping for replies that would affirm the legitimacy of their demands. 

Among the correspondents was "Betty" who openly questioned her parents' authority. "I work from 8 A.M. to 6 P.M. every day," she explained. "When I come home, I am tired, but I still have to fix dinner and look after my younger sister. In the evenings my parents say I have to do needle-work, but I would rather read or go for a walk. Can they really demand that I stay at home? I am seventeen and a half years old, and I pay my mother Dkr. 8 every week."

Similarly, "a Copenhagen girl" found the relationship between rights and duties in her life unreasonable. "Before I leave in the morning," she complained, "I have to light the fire, make coffee and pack lunches. When I come home, the dishes are still sitting there, and there are errands to be run. Sometimes I want to meet my girlfriend at night, but my parents will almost never let me go. They say there is no reason to 'gad about,' but I don't understand what is wrong with having a little bit of fun at night when you work all day." Other evidence also suggests that many young women openly struggled to obtain the right to leisure and independent activities they thought they deserved. 

Personal narratives often reveal both the intensity of such conflicts and the ingenuity of young women bent on getting their way. Emilie Johansen, who grew up in a middle-class family in a suburb of Aarhus recalled, for example, how she and her sister enlisted the help of an older aunt in their conflicts with an authoritarian father. "He was so strict. He would never allow us to have any fun, never allow us to go anywhere. It was hopeless. But then my aunt—I guess she was feeling sorry for us— we talked to her, and she hired us to do some cleaning and stuff. And we would get there and she would say, 'Why don't you girls run off to see a movie?' I don't remember if we ever actually did any work."

Equally resourceful, Copenhagen native Anna Eriksen depended on the backing of an older brother, who, in exchange for small favors, would promise to act as her chaperon outside the home only to vanish as soon as the siblings were out of their parents' sight. In addition to such evidence, numerous magazine articles and newspaper columns from the 1910s and 1920s chronicle the anger and bewilderment of parents who found themselves in constant conflict with their daughters. For mothers, this seemed particularly difficult. Not only did their daughters' desire for a "modern" life seem a rejection of their own norms and values, which in itself was hard to bear, but on top of that, some girls directly flaunted their disrespect of maternal authority, especially if fathers were absent, indulgent, or merely lackadaisical.

"When my daughter is not at the office, she thinks life has to be lived in a cafe, or in other places where people are judged according to their dress and style," "Ninka's mother" wrote to a women's magazine in 1921. "If I tell her to stay home even a few nights a week, she acts as if I've just imposed a life sentence on her." "She doesn't listen to me," another mother complained of her seventeen-year-old daughter. "When I tell her to stay home, she just laughs and says that you are only young once, that this is the twentieth century and not the Middle Ages, and that she is already wasting too much of her youth in a dirty factory. Besides that, she has her own money."

Even more desperate, the mother of one of the much maligned Langelinie girls told a newspaper journalist that she had "begged and pleaded with [her daughter] not to go there, but it doesn't help. I have to go to work, and my neighbor tells me that as soon as I am out the door, she takes off." Using whatever means it took, many young working women who came of age in the late 1910s and 1920s thus pushed for new personal freedoms and especially the right to free time. While some parents never gave in to their pressure, most young women seemed gradually to succeed in carving out of daily life at least some uninterrupted time devoted to relaxation and their own enjoyment. 

From the mid-1920s, the frequency of daughters' publicly voiced complaints declined dramatically, and coming-of-age stories no longer featured such conflicts. Apparently, Ernestine P. Poulsen, born in 1902, described a phenomenon that extended beyond her family when she explained that "I fought a lot of battles with my parents [over the right to leisure]. Perhaps I cleared the way because when my [younger] sisters came along, they did not have to do the same. My parents had kind of accepted that girls also needed time of their own."

This did not mean, however, that conflicts between parents and daughters faded. Rather, the grounds of conflict merely shifted. Much resistance to giving young women free time derived from the material conditions of daily life—the practical assistance of grown daughters was still important for the well-being of many working-class households—and from a more general reluctance to give up control over children. But parents' reluctance also stemmed from their misgivings about young women's actual use of their leisure time. 

Had daughters simply demanded more time to pursue leisure activities within the home, had they insisted on participating in cooking classes and sewing circles, or had they wanted to attend lectures on hygiene and housewifery, they would probably have been met with more understanding. But these were not the kinds of activities young women longed to engage in, and therefore the question of female leisure remained a contentious issue throughout the postwar decade.

Working-class and middle-class daughters had of course not been entirely without time of their own prior to the 1920s. Nor had they been completely confined to the home. Girls from the countryside had always been allowed to participate in regional fairs, celebrations, and local get-togethers of young people. Urban working-class daughters had long socialized outside the home on staircase landings and front steps, in backyards, and on city streets or in neighborhood parks, and many middle-class daughters belonged to women's clubs and organizations. 

What constituted the major departure from convention in the 1910s and 1920s was young women's insistence on their right to "go out," an activity significantly different from the kind of casual socializing that took place outside their parents' windows or in clubs and organizations under adult supervision. "Going out," Regitze Nielsen recalled, "that was when we got dressed up and went somewhere." More specifically, "going out" meant pursuing pleasures that took young women away from home and family, into the public, and, in particular, toward new forms of commercial recreation, including movie theaters, cafes, dance places, and amusement parks. As a social practice, this form of "going out" challenged older norms for female behavior in several ways. 

First, it obviously entailed their deliberate desertion from the domestic world, if only momentarily. Second, "going out" meant young women venturing outside familiar neighborhoods and beyond the realm of adult control and surveillance, claiming for themselves the right to an independent, unsupervised social life distinct from familial traditions. Third, as opposed to more traditional forms of leisure for women, "going out" was a strictly peer-oriented activity in which kinship ties had much less significance than freely chosen and carefully cultivated friendships among girls and young women who usually met in school, at work, in clubs and organizations, or in the neighborhood where they lived. 

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, "going out" meant women's entrance into public spaces traditionally defined as male territory and often imagined as sites of immoral activity where men and women freely mingled, potentially transgressing social and sexual boundaries. Because each of these four aspects seemed to pose a fundamental threat to the social and sexual status quo, intense controversies between parents and children over young women's new leisure activities reverberated throughout the postwar decade. Years after families had conceded to daughters' demands for more time of their own, parents struggled to control or at least influence their use of that time. 

By dictating curfews, prohibiting particular activities and specific locations, insisting on being introduced to friends and companions, and demanding the chaperonage of brothers, parents sought not only to protect their daughters against potential dangers but also to maintain at least some authority. Consequently, when young women ventured out into the public sphere, they generally did so under the intense scrutiny of parents who continued to hold some power to revoke their newly won privileges. Thus, even as "going out" gradually became a regular part of young women's lives, treading carefully remained an often perplexing prerequisite.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Good Girls and Bad Girls.” in Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s