#large danish corner sofa

[interiorcollective40]

Enhance Your Space with Floor Lamp Scandinavian Design: A Perfect Blend of Functionality and Aesthetics

Scandinavian design is revered worldwide for its simplicity, functionality, and timeless elegance. It is a design philosophy that emphasizes clean lines, natural materials, and a focus on light and space. When it comes to lighting, a floor lamp Scandinavian design is a staple piece that can transform any room. These lamps are not just about illumination—they are about creating an atmosphere of warmth and coziness, reflecting the essence of Scandinavian interiors. In this blog, we will explore the features that define floor lamp Scandinavian design, how to choose the perfect lamp for your home, and how to incorporate it into your living space.

Understanding Floor Lamp Scandinavian Design

At the heart of Scandinavian design is the concept of hygge, a Danish term that encompasses coziness, comfort, and well-being. Floor lamp Scandinavian design embodies these principles by combining functionality with minimalist aesthetics. Let’s take a closer look at what makes these lamps so distinctive.

1. Minimalist Aesthetic: One of the most defining characteristics of floor lamp Scandinavian design is its minimalist aesthetic. These lamps often feature sleek, clean lines with no unnecessary ornamentation. The focus is on form and function, creating a piece that is as practical as it is beautiful. Whether it’s a simple tripod base or an elegant arc design, the minimalist approach ensures that the lamp blends seamlessly into any room without overwhelming the space.

2. Natural Materials: Scandinavian design is deeply connected to nature, and this is reflected in the materials used for floor lamps. Wood, metal, and fabric are commonly used, with a preference for natural finishes and textures. A floor lamp Scandinavian design might feature a wooden base with a linen or cotton shade, or a metal stand with a simple, understated design. These materials not only add warmth and texture to the lamp but also contribute to the overall hygge atmosphere of the room.

3. Neutral and Soft Color Palette: The color palette in Scandinavian design is typically neutral, with shades of white, gray, black, and natural wood tones being dominant. Floor lamp Scandinavian design follows this palette, often featuring soft, muted colors that create a calm and serene environment. This neutral color scheme allows the lamp to complement a wide range of interior styles, making it a versatile addition to any home.

Choosing the Right Floor Lamp Scandinavian Design for Your Home

When selecting a floor lamp Scandinavian design for your space, it’s essential to consider both its functional and aesthetic qualities. Here are some tips to help you choose the perfect lamp:

1. Determine the Purpose of the Lamp: Before purchasing a floor lamp, think about its primary function. Are you looking for ambient lighting to create a cozy atmosphere, or do you need task lighting for reading or working? Floor lamp Scandinavian design offers a variety of options, from soft, diffused light that enhances the room’s ambiance to more focused lighting for specific tasks. Consider where you will place the lamp and how it will be used in your daily life.

2. Consider the Size and Scale: The size of the lamp should be proportionate to the space in which it will be placed. A large, arc-style floor lamp can make a bold statement in a spacious living room, while a more compact, tripod lamp might be better suited for a smaller area or a cozy reading nook. The lamp should enhance the room without overpowering other elements of the decor.

3. Think About the Placement: Where you position your floor lamp Scandinavian design can significantly impact the overall look and feel of the room. For example, placing a lamp next to a sofa or armchair can create an inviting reading corner, while positioning it in a dark corner can help brighten up the space and make it feel more open. The lamp should not only provide the necessary light but also contribute to the room’s aesthetic harmony.

Incorporating Floor Lamp Scandinavian Design into Your Decor

Once you’ve chosen the perfect floor lamp Scandinavian design, the next step is to integrate it into your home’s decor. Here are some ideas on how to do this effectively:

1. Enhance a Minimalist Interior: If your home follows a minimalist design approach, a floor lamp Scandinavian design can fit in perfectly. Choose a lamp with a simple, clean design that complements the rest of your furniture. The lamp’s neutral colors and natural materials will blend seamlessly with a minimalist interior, adding a touch of elegance without disrupting the room’s simplicity.

2. Add Warmth to a Modern Space: In a modern living space, a floor lamp Scandinavian design can introduce warmth and texture. Opt for a lamp with a wooden base or a fabric shade to soften the sleek lines of modern furniture. The warm glow from the lamp can create a more inviting atmosphere, making the room feel cozier and more comfortable.

3. Create a Focal Point: While Scandinavian design often emphasizes subtlety, a floor lamp can also serve as a focal point in the room. Choose a lamp with a distinctive design, such as an oversized shade or an unusual shape, to draw attention and add character to the space. Position the lamp in a prominent spot, such as next to a piece of artwork or in a reading corner, to create a visually appealing arrangement.

Conclusion

A floor lamp Scandinavian design is a perfect addition to any home looking to achieve a balance between functionality and aesthetic appeal. Its minimalist design, use of natural materials, and neutral color palette make it a versatile piece that can enhance a variety of interior styles. Whether you’re aiming to create a cozy reading nook, add warmth to a modern space, or simply introduce a touch of Scandinavian elegance into your home, the right floor lamp can make all the difference.

[crones-trash]

It’s really good news things are moving along with your mobile home. You will be in your new home before the holidays. Pretty much be all moved in and get to enjoy the holidays at your new home and also with family. Will the previous owner install the cabinets before closing? I lived in two different mobile home parks and I loved both of them. I hope you will share pictures when ready. Did you take most of your furniture or are you buying new stuff for your place

I down-sized, never expecting to find a place w/ almost the same square footage as the one I left. Consequently, there's going to be a lotta open space, which is NOT bad. I kept my husband's Steelcase Modular Work Station Modules because they look like a starship command center. No joke. They assemble into a U-shaped arrangement w/ 2 angled-corner workstations attached to 3 tables in 5', 7', & 10' lengths. The work surface is pale mottled grey w/ brushed steel legs & 2 nearly black file cabinets. I plan on putting my computer in one corner & my sewing machine in the other.

I don't plan on having a sofa or a big screen TV. I can stream movies on my large screen monitor or watch them on my laptop in my muted blue velvet recliner.

The walls in the house are already white. I reckon this is gonna look stark until I put up stained wood shelves I packed for my books & decorative objects & cover the walls w/ my collection of framed art. I could also make a statement w/ curtains over the expansive windows. But, I can't decide what statement I feel like making. I'll make up my mind when everything else is in place.

I also kept his bedroom suite w/ SIX pieces, solid honey oak inside & out, which are close to the color of the floors, very 70's w/ rounded corners. That's more than enough to set up 2 bedrooms. In fact, one or more pieces might end up in the living area because I will have nowhere else to put them.

I've also got a dark oak round pedestal table w/ 4 chairs & custom cushions I made for them. And a Danish walnut Mid-Century Modern china hutch to display my collection of Blue Calico china. I'm a person w/ eclectic tastes.

You may notice I don't mention a sofa or side chairs. We never used the ones we had & I gave them to his oldest daughter. When people came to visit, we had extra rolling desk chairs for them to sit inside the circle of our workspace. I'll do the same. Maybe I'll find child-size desk chairs...HA!

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 1: Chapter 28

Christmas & New Year’s in NYC: December 2015

Word count: 3k

SkyFire 1 MASTERLIST

>Instagram posts

Instead of splitting up for Christmas or trying to decide which family they should spend the holidays with, Aurora and Harry decided to invite Harry’s family out to New York so they could all spend Christmas together. Gemma and Robin’s kids all decided to go to their partners families so Anne and Robin were happy to fly out to them.

Harry flew back to New York with Rori on the 16th after the X Factor show and the couple spent the week leading up to Christmas finishing the decorations around the penthouse, watching sappy Christmas themed romcoms and going ice skating in Central Park.

Anne and Robin flew in on the 23rd and in an attempt to avoid the paparazzi, Happy picked them up from the airport and brought them to the tower. Once they arrived, Anne pulled Harry into a tight hug while Robin went to greet Aurora. After dropping their bags in one of the guest rooms they all headed for the kitchen where Steve was cooking dinner for everyone. It was a casual night in, just Harry, Aurora and their parents with the rest of the Avengers having dinner on another floor to give them some time with Anne and Robin. Once dinner was finished and the dishes were cleared, they all moved into the living room to watch a movie and stayed up late into the night sharing stories of Christmases past. Aurora always loved when Anne would tell stories from when Harry was little, and he would bury his face in her shoulder as he blushed in embarrassment. Steve entertained them all with stories of Christmases in the 1920s and Aurora shared a few tales from her own childhood. The large pine tree in the corner provided the room a soft glow as they chatted, and the large wall of windows looking out over the city provided a beautiful backdrop. Aurora nuzzled into Harry’s chest as conversation flowed until she finally dropped off to sleep. Everyone took that as a sign to turn in for the night and Harry gently lifted Rori into his arms and carried her to bed.

xXx

Harry had spent the morning of Christmas Eve taking Anne and Robin to the holiday market in Union Square. He was happy to spend time with his mum and stepdad, but also wanted to be able to give Aurora her space, knowing that December 24th was always an emotional day. They headed back to the tower after lunch, stopping at Aurora’s favourite bakery along the way to pick up donuts for everyone and an apricot Danish for Rori.

Most of the Avengers were sprawled out in the living room when they got back, excited to see the boxes of donuts in Harry’s hands. While Anne and Robin joined them on the sofas, Harry turned to Tony. “She downstairs?” he asked, expecting Aurora to be in either of her studios as she usually spent her mother’s anniversary.

“No,” Tony replied. “Last I saw she was in her room.”

Harry scooped up the Danish and headed down the hall towards Rori’s wing of the penthouse, finding her pacing across the smaller living room there.

“Brought you back a Danish from Maggie’s,” he said as he approached her, he quickly dropped it on the nearby coffee table and pulled her into his chest as soon as he spotted the tears dripping down her face. She was shaking in his arms as he held her but didn’t make a sound as her tears stained his shirt. “It’s ok love,” he soothed. “It’s ok.”

“Every year I think it’ll get easier,” she whispered, “but it never does. It always hurts so much.”

“I know baby,” Harry murmured, his hands rubbing circles in her back. “You’re always going to miss her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I really thought I’d be ok,” she said. “Last year was so much easier with you and your family, but this year I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“This hasn’t exactly been an easy year, love,” he replied. “I don’t think it’s all that surprising that you’re struggling more with missing her after everything that’s happened.”

“I just don’t know what to do, H,” she confessed. “Usually I’d paint, or I’d play or just do something to get out what I’m feeling but I haven’t been down to the studios in months.”

“I could go down there with you if that would help,” Harry offered.

“I… I don’t think I’m ready,” Rori replied. “I know it won’t be as easy as it was, and I’m scared to find out I can’t do anything the way I used to.”

“Ok,” Harry said. “Today’s probably not the best day to tackle those fears so what do you say we go for a run. Just the two of us. We can run until we’re dead on our feet and then curl up in bed and watch The Santa Claus.”

“That actually sounds perfect, Harry.”

“Alright, come on let’s go get changed.”

After quickly slipping on some work out clothes, they both pulled on their hoodies and headed for the elevator.

Tony turned in his seat to watch them pass by the living room. “Just going for a run in Central Park,” Aurora explained.

“Ok, have fun kids,” Tony replied. “Make sure you’re back before it gets dark.”

Once the elevator reached the lobby, they left the building and crossed the street. They both stretched out their legs before heading off north towards Dalehead Arch at a gentle jog. After a few minutes of jogging, Aurora broke out into a harsh sprint and Harry sped up to follow. They ran for the better part of an hour, until they were both sweating heavily, their breathe ghosting in the air as they bent over, hands on knees as they gasped for air.

“Feeling better?” Harry asked once he regained the ability to speak.

“Much,” Rori gasped. “We should probably head back; the sun will be setting soon.”

Harry reached out for her hand, lacing their fingers together as they turned for home, slowly walking along the paths as the sun sank lower in the sky. As they walked, they started to cool down, the winter air biting at their skin. Aurora tucked her left hand inside the large front pocket of her hoodie, her fingers turning cold where they poked out from the brace. She shivered a little, drawing Harry closer to her side and letting him wrap his arm around her. When he let go of her hand she tucked it into her pocket as well.

“We’re almost back,” he said. “Want to jog the last bit?”

“Yeah,” Rori agreed. “I’m exhausted but it’s too cold to stay out any longer.”

Harry nodded and they both increased their pace to a light jog, soon reaching the edge of the park and crossing the street. They both sighed in relief as soon as they stepped into the welcoming warmth of the lobby, smiling at the receptionist before heading towards the bank of elevators. Rori blew warm air onto the tips of her fingers, while Harry rubbed his hands together and they both laughed at each other’s bright red faces. When the elevator opened on the penthouse, they stepped out to find everyone exactly where they’d left them two hours ago.

“Good run?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Rori smiled. “Exactly what I needed. Bit cold out though.”

“A bit cold?” Harry chuckled. “It’s bloody freezing out there.”

“Yeah ok,” Rori said. “It’s more than just a bit cold.”

“Go shower and get into something comfy,” Steve told the pair. “We’ll come get you when dinners ready.”

They did as they were told, heading down the hallway towards Aurora’s room and the large bathroom leading off from it.

“How about I run us a nice hot bath instead?” Harry asked.

“Sounds wonderful,” Rori agreed, heading over to her chest of drawers to pull out her thick Christmas pajamas and then grabbed Harry’s from his case before joining him in the bathroom. The room was already warming up as it filled with steam and she quickly stripped out of her hoodie and active wear, as did Harry and they both sank into the hot water of the bath. Aurora situated herself between Harry’s legs, leaning back against his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist. She left the brace strapped around her hand and opted to rest it on the lip of the tub instead of taking it off. While she’d shown Harry the scars on her stomach and shoulder, she had yet to show him, or anyone, the mess that was her hand and she still wasn’t ready for him to see it. He hadn’t pushed her, but he had noticed the way she never let him in the bathroom when she went to shower or any other time she needed to take the brace off, and he hoped she would realise soon that he would never be horrified or disgusted by what was under the brace, just as he hadn’t when she’d finally shown him the rest of her scars two weeks ago. As if in answer to her silent fears, he placed soft kisses to both her shoulders, paying special attention to the golf ball sized knot of scar tissue on the back of her left shoulder from the exit wound. She lent her head back against his chest, relaxing into his arms in the warm water.

“Feeling better?” he murmured.

“Much,’ she replied. “I love you, Harry.”

“Love you too.”

xXx

Christmas Day in Avengers tower was loud, and the penthouse was crowded. Having grown up with only her mother and her unofficial family from the bar, Aurora was surprised to find that she absolutely loved the crazy, bustling madness of the ragtag group assembled around her. Thor, Clint and Natasha was piling their plates high while Bucky and Sam bickered over crackers. Tony and Steve, with Peter’s help, continued piling more and more plates of food on the already full table, while Rhodey, Pepper, May and Happy were laughing cheerily as they took photos in the paper crowns from their own crackers, and Bruce was chatting with Anne and Robin. Harry sat by Aurora’s side, one of his hands on her thigh as the he dug into his food with the other, a bright smile lighting up his face and making his dimples pop. They all migrated to the sofas once they were all full to bursting and spent the rest of the day lounging around enjoying each other’s company.

xXx

Anne and Robin left a few days after Christmas and Aurora and Harry spent the week before New Year’s watching movies, going ice skating in the park or doing anything at all that let them spend time together.

Before long New Year’s Eve was upon them and everyone got dressed up for the massive party Tony was hosting, and by 11:30 the penthouse was crowded with people, the music loudly filling the space as people danced and drank away the final hours of 2015.

Aurora slipped down the hallway towards her room, towing Harry along behind her until they were away from the flashing lights and the swarming mass of people. She pushed him against the wall, attaching her lips to his as she pressed her body against him in the dark. They kissed for a while before Harry spun them around, pining Rori against the wall as he lips moved down along her jaw.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Harry asked, leaning in the suck on the skin below her ear.

“You did,” Rori sighed, tilting her head, inviting him to continue. “But please, feel free to keep saying it.”

Harry chuckled into her neck. “I know this year was bad but 2016 is going to be good for us.”

“I think you’re right,” she agreed, lacing her fingers through his long curls and tugging his face up to kiss him again. “I’m feeling more like myself every day.”

“I love you,” he whispered, lips brushing lips.

“Love you too,” Aurora replied. They pulled apart a few minutes later when they heard someone shout out that it was nearly midnight. Rori adjusted her dress and smoothed out Harry’s shirt before they made their way back down the hall and into the living room where everyone was gathered around. The patio doors were open, and people were gathering out on the balcony in preparation for the fireworks display and the large flatscreen on the wall displayed the ball, ready to drop.

Harry wrapped his arms around Aurora as he stood behind her, his chest pressed tightly against her back while his chin rested on her shoulder looking out across Central Park as they waited for the fireworks to start.

 “10… 9… 8… 7… 6…”

As everyone began to shout out the countdown, Harry spun Aurora in his arms so that she was facing him, kissing her deeply as the countdown reached one, and everyone screamed out wishes of happy new year. Harry blocked it all out, focused entirely on the beautiful woman in his arms. They were both so swept up in their kiss that neither realised that the fireworks display had started until they pulled apart. “Happy New Year my love,” Harry murmured in her ear as he quickly spun her back around. He heard her giggle as she moved and he returned to his previous position, holding her tight with his chin on her shoulder. The fireworks burst against the night sky and Aurora’s laughter died on her lips. Due to the way his was pressed against her from hip to shoulder, he instantly felt the change when she froze, her breathe sticking in her throat as her heart began to thunder in her chest. Before he could ask, she was spinning around to bury her face in his chest, her chest heaving as she gasped for air and trembled in his arms. It took him a brief moment to realise what was happening but as soon as his thoughts caught up with him, he bent down, scooping Rori into his arms and rushing from the room. As the elevator doors closed behind him, the sound of the fireworks was muffled but he didn’t stop until he reached the soundproof booth of the recording studio, dropping down onto the sofa in the corner of the room, Aurora still cradled in his arms as he attempted to calm her.

A few minutes later, when she was still shaking and gasping for breath, Harry realised that he was out of his depth. “JARVIS?” he asked. “I need you to get Sam down here now.”

Sam appeared at the door a couple of minutes later.

“What happened?” he asked, falling to his knees beside the couple.

“The fireworks triggered her PTSD I think, so I got her down here as quick as I could, but I can’t get her to calm down,” Harry said in a rush, his own face wet with tears.

“Right,” Sam nodded. “You did good Harry.” He reached out to touch Aurora’s shoulder, but she flinched away, burrowing closer against Harry. “Rori, it’s Sam. You’re safe. There isn’t anyone here who’s going to hurt you. You’re safe Aurora.” His voice was low and level, calmer than Harry knows he was when he was trying to soothe her before Sam arrived. “Harry’s here,” Sam continued. “Can you hear his heartbeat? Can you feel his breathe? I need you to try and breath with him kiddo.” Sam looked up at Harry as he spoke. “Need you to steady your breathing too, Harry, otherwise this isn’t going to help much.”

Harry nodded, focusing on his own breathing, taking deep, deliberately calm breathes to encourage Rori to mimic him. Slowly she began to settle against his chest, the shaking lessening more and more as the minutes ticked by until she was almost completely still in his arms.

“You with us again?” Sam asked calmly, once again placing his hand on her shoulder.

“I am,” she whispered softly. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Sam replied, his voice still calm and slow. “We talked about how this might happen, remember? I’m guessing you didn’t mention it to Harry like I suggested given how freaked out he was when I got here.”

“No, I didn’t,” Rori admitted. “I’m so sorry Harry. I just thought I’d been doing so well and the pyrotechnics at the X Factor didn’t set me off at all, so I figured I’d be fine tonight.”

“S’ok love,” Harry murmured, his hand rubbing along her spine. “Just wish I’d known how to help you.”

“You did,” she promised. “You got be somewhere quiet and got Sam. Couldn’t have done any better.” She sat up a little to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll leave you kids to it,” Sam chuckled. “Have JARVIS let me know when you’re ready tomorrow and we’ll have a chat, yeah?”

“Got the surgeon in the afternoon,” Rori replied.

“We can talk before you go to the hospital then.” Sam stood up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor and headed for the door. “JARVIS can you let them know when the fireworks have stopped?” he asked before he left the room.

“I really am sorry, H,” Aurora said after Sam left.

“Please don’t apologise,” Harry replied. “Not your fault.”

Instead of replying she kissed him deeply, putting all her love and appreciation in the way her lips moved against his.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said when they pulled apart.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” he replied, a soft smile on his face as he lent in to kiss her again. “Happy New Year Rori.”

“Happy New Year Harry.”

 I’ve made the decision to split this story into two halves.

This is the end of SkyFire 1: The First 5 years.

It seemed like a good place to end and then I will pick up the story in SkyFire 2: The indefinite hiatus.

I have a lot planned for these two characters and I’m really excited to have you join me 😊

SkyFire 2: The Indefinite Hiatus

READ THE COMPLETE FIRST PART ON AO3

[goodeveningtowrite]

Like Hell

So, a few weeks ago, I had this little plot bunny that wasn’t quite big enough to do anything else with, but it was big enough to do this (and a bit more!) with. Happy reading! x

Warning: Mature content ahead.

It was supposed to be a relaxing holiday with a dash of European culture, but when Lucie and her friends had agreed on the cozy little ski chalet tucked away in the Austrian Alps, she hadn’t known about him.

Him, who’d cut in front of her when she was loaded down with two carry-ons and a large suitcase to take up the last bit of free space in the elevator with a roguish wink of one cerulean blue eye, cheeks pink from the whipping wind and dirty blond hair peeking out from underneath his beanie.

Him, who was at breakfast the next morning and stole the last danish from underneath her nose without the tongs that were in her hands.

Him, who was chatting up her friends after a long day on the slopes when she wanted to chat to them and not listen to his obnoxiously extroverted regaling of his university life or his plans for the next day with his ass just about next to her face from where he was perched on the arm of the overstuffed sofa.

Him, who, if she allowed herself to admit it -- in an objective way, of course, with no personal feelings on the matter whatsoever -- was ridiculously attractive. He carried every air she found made a person unattractive -- arrogance, entitlement, inconsideration for others -- but he had a warm voice, and his lanky frame easily towered above her average height, with blond hair that looked as golden-red as hers in the firelight and a sharp jaw that got sharper when he smiled.

Him, who if he didn’t already have more than three strikes against him, would have been type to she’d pick if she were to have a fling on holiday -- someone to be reckless with, because feelings weren’t part of the equation when she’d never have to see them again.

His eyes twinkled when he knew he was being a nuisance, though, and that made whatever physical appeal he held vanish into smoke. Like hell was she going to get anywhere near him.

He had a name, but despite how many times he’d introduced himself to Lucie and her friends, she refused to use it (as if it wasn’t on her mind when she tossed and turned with a scowl). Doing so might give him a feeling of self importance, and he seemed to have enough of that to go around. All she could say was she was glad it was just one week, or however long he was staying for.

“Biscuit?”

The lilting question accompanied the treat waved in front of her face, wrapped in a napkin and pinched between long fingers that always had a way of grabbing up the sweets.

“No, thank you,” Lucie said stiffly, pulling the knit blanket up closer to her chin where she was curled in front of the sofa. She’d gone out for a solitary ski earlier and by the time she got back it was getting dark and exponentially colder, and a cozy evening by the snapping, crackling fire had been in order.

He grunted when he landed on the couch, squeezing into the tight space and barely leaving her any, and she scowled at him out of the corner of her eyes. He had a thick, maroon sweater on that was rolled up around his neck, and his floppy, blond hair was over his eyes before he pushed it back. “Sure?” he asked, waving the treat in front of her.

“Yes,” she said. “Where’d you get it from, anyway?”

Crumbs fell off onto his sweater when he bit in, and he brushed them away poorly while saying, “Just put them out by the front desk. Complementary,” through a full mouth with one puffed cheek. “Good day on the slopes?”

She grit her teeth but nodded once out of politeness.

“Saw you out there,” he said.

“Sorry?”

His smirk was infuriating when she turned to him, one dark blonde eyebrow arched annoyingly high. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t watching you,” he said. “Was on my own way. Thought about saying hi, but decided not to. You looked like you were kinda into it.”

“Oh?” Lucie asked dryly. “Shame. You should have,” she said, adding a silent prayer that he hadn’t. “Next time, maybe.”

“Don’t think so,” he said. “You don’t really like me.”

Instantly, she felt her cheeks burst into flame, and she could only hope the fire disguised the fact that they were probably redder than her hair.

“What gives you that impression?” she asked.

“What doesn’t?” he laughed. “First time I saw you, you gave me the nastiest look when I got on the lift.”

“I had three bags and you cut in front of me,” she said curtly. “Think I had every right to be pissed at you.”

“I felt badly about that -- I did!” he insisted when she scoffed.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Because this--” she gave an exaggerated wink, “really says, ‘Sorry for taking up the last spot in the elevator.’”

“Well, it was meant to be a little cheeky,” he admitted, and she swore she saw a tinge of pink in his otherwise pale face. “But I thought the intent was clear.”

“You stole the last danish the other day,” she said.

“That one was on purpose,” he said, shrugging when she rolled her eyes. “I like danish.”

“You’re a showoff.”

“How’m I a showoff?” he asked, brow furrowed with insult for the first time.

“All your stories about what kinds of jumps you’ve done or who you trained with and how you could have championed England at the Olympics but chose to pursue your education instead.”

"It's only conversation, innit?" he asked. "Shooting the breeze, trying to get to know people. Only get to see each other for as long as you were here, don't we? Little cultural exchange?" "I've got my cultural exchange," Lucie said. "I've lived in London for the last year, and I’m glad most of the people I’ve met have made a better first impression than you have." "Oh, yeah?" he asked. "You've got a job?" "School," she sniffed. "Mathematics." "Impressive," he said, eyebrows rising to the point she almost believed him. "I never could put two and two together."

She blinked and he grinned more toothily than the Cheshire Cat.

“That was clever,” he said. “Admit it.”

“And what did you study?” Lucie asked. “Law?”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“You look the type,” she said. “And I was right.”

“You were,” he said. “I studied law.”

She smirked, chest puffing some.

“Until I switched to English.”

The fire snapped aggressively behind them and he picked a crumb off his maroon sweater. “Go on,” he said. “Ask me what I'm going to do with it.”

She stared, silent.

“The answer is, ‘I don't bloody know’, but I hope I'll be happy with it,” he says. “What are you going to do with maths?” he asked.

“Why are you asking?”

“Never going to see each other again, are we?” he asked. “That's the fun about holiday -- meet new people, tell them anything or the truth, and whatever they think of it--” he shrugged, “doesn't really matter, does it?”

Lucie narrowed her eyes. “So, is anything you've told me true?” she asked.

He grinned and she scowled.

“Oh, take a joke,” he said.

“You haven’t offered one,” she said and he threw his head back with laughter.

“You’re funny,” he said, the ghost of his humor still on his face.

“I’ll work on that,” she said, skin prickling. “Is there anything else you want?”

A pregnant pause followed, and the shadows of the flickering fire in the darkened room played over his face like a shadow lamp.

“Yeah,” he said and she bit her lip. “But I think you’d like me even less if I told you the truth.”

For all intents and purposes, it was an invitation to walk away, but walking away felt like defeat, and he’d beaten her enough these past few days.

“Never going to see each other again, are we?” she echoed him. “So, you can tell me whatever you want as long as it doesn’t put me at harm, and who cares.”

He lifted his chin and his lips thinned a bit.

“Right?” Lucie asked, heart thrumming to the tick of a clock in her ears. It skipped a beat, though, when he edged closer, decreasing the already minimal space between them. Underneath the blanket, she balled her hands up into fists and her nails bit into her sweaty palms.

“I want to kiss you.”

She gulped and he cocked his head, that infuriating smirk back on his face.

“Well?”

Her laugh was reminiscent of a gasp. “‘Well’ what?” she asked. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“‘You're mental’, for one,” he suggested. “You've all but told me you’d use my guts to string a violin. I'd expect a little repulsion.”

So would she, and as nettled as she was with him for suggesting it, she was more angry with herself for not stalking away from his arrogant suggestion.

“Never have to see each other again,” he said just under the roaring fire.

“Why do you want to kiss me if I don't like you?” Lucie asked.

“Why aren’t you saying ‘no’ if you don't like me?” he asked and she gulped. “Thought I’d like to kiss you for a bit now. But every time I try to start a conversation, you ignore me. This is this is the first time you've bothered to give me the time of day,” he said.

“And if I don't kiss you?” she asked, heart speeding up. “What happens then? You find the next person’s bed to move into on holiday? Do you even have a room?”

He chuckled, and he was so close that this time she could catch a waft of the treat he'd had. “Yeah, I've got my own room,” he said. “And if you don't kiss me, then you don't kiss me. It'll be your loss, though -- I'm an excellent kisser.”

“Arrogant,” she breathed.

“Confident,” he said. “But I'm not doing it unless I have your permission. So, have I got it?”

He was mental, but so was she for considering it -- and she was. It wasn't that she just wasn't saying no, it was that she was thinking of it.

He annoyed her, but she’d never have to see him again.

When she gave her agreement by way of a short bob of her head, he leaned in slightly, wetting his lips briefly, gaze flickering between her mouth and eyes. He slid his hand over her cheek, and she swore she nearly blacked out when her eyes rolled up just before he closed the final distance.

Lucie sucked in a sharp gasp when it wasn’t his mouth, but his tongue to touch her lower lip first. Just after that, his lips locked with hers, gentle yet firm, and she parted her mouth under his when he sucked slightly. Not too much, just enough, and Lord help her he was an asshole, but his kiss was making her dizzy, and she’d blame that on her submission.

He tasted minty, and cool -- a strong contrast to the crackling fire behind them -- and she shivered when he dropped his hand from her face to her arm and he slid it up the soft wool of her sweater, squeezing, drawing himself closer and pulling her in.

The first tentative touch of her palm to his warm cheek, just starting to lose whatever smoothness his fresh shave had given it, drew a groan that echoed in his throat, and the guttural sound made her tingle from the rush of power.

“Hang--” he panted and her stomach twisted from how deep and breathless he sounded. “Hang on, let’s get this….”

The blanket pulled across her lap when he tugged on it before he sat up a bit and yanked the edge out from underneath him, draping it over his lap when he sat down again, closer, blazing like a furnace.

With his arms around her shoulders and her fingers pulling at the neck of his sweater, she had to admit in all her hazy impairment that this was slightly more than a kiss. Indeed, it seemed like for his part he was fighting to hold some line of decency with every pulsing squeeze of his hands on her, and she should have been able to push him away a few nibbling sighs ago. Each time she tried, though, and  wound up leaning back in, she had the drugged up thought of well… while he’s here…. Just one more couldn't hurt, but one more required one more after.

The worst part was she wasn't even angry with him about this, and she ought to be. She'd held her ground for how many days and crumbled like this? She'd have to have a word with herself.

Later, though. Much later.

Even without his body heat, the chill that had settled into her bones from the slopes was long gone, and if they weren’t where anyone could find them….

She’d no sooner had that thought when she felt his fingers pulling at the button on her jeans, and she froze in place from the delicate insistence before the pressure around her waist released.

Never had she ever done anything like this.

“Is this okay?”

The inquiry startled her out of her skin and brought her slamming back down to earth. This, she knew, was the point of no return. Whatever was or wasn’t going to happen, it was her call, and she could walk away from it right now.

“Yes,” Lucie breathed against his mouth, and she heard the teeth on her zipper unlocking, muffled by the thick knit blanket, barely a second after she gave her consent. “Oh!” she sucked in a sharp gasp when his fingertips grazed over her underwear, and he pulled back slightly.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered. “It’s alright, promise. Won’t let anyone see, just have to stay good and quiet,” he said, stroking her through the cotton. “Don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Maybe it was reverse psychology, but him actively not pushing and his assurances that they didn’t have to, that she didn’t have to, made her want to more. She was in control, and as much of a thorn in her side as he’d been the past few days, he felt safe now.

“Ok,” she said. “Wait!” she said, grasping the blanket and pulling it higher when it slipped, and he laughed under his breath.

“Hold it nice and tight, yeah?” he said, and her abdomen tightened in conjunction with her abdomen when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear. She held perfectly still as he fit his hand between her thighs, mind racing and fists wrapped in the blanket for dear life. Her toes curled in her thick socks when pushed the pad of his finger to her clit, and she could feel the throb increase from the pressure as he stroked, slow and firm, in upwards motions.

“Try not to… be so tense…” he mumbled against her motionless mouth. “Looks funny. Don’t want to give people a reason to look, do you?”

She sighed when he stroked a little lower, and he nodded a bit, nose brushing her cheek.

“There we are,” he said between kisses. “Nothing to be nervous about, is there?” he asked, fingers dipping just inside of her. “That’s easy, innit?”

Not three days ago he’d made her skin crawl, and now he had his hand down her pants and she was letting him, and worst of all it felt good -- thrilling, even. Forget the Olympics, this was what he should’ve been bragging about, whether or not it made her hate him more.

“Promise I won't let anyone see,” he said. “This is just for me, innit?”

She nodded quickly, feeling like her heart might burst right out of her chest.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding, forehead pressed to his. “Yeah…!”

“How’s it feel?” he asked under his breath. “Is it good?”

She nodded again, mouth open in awe and he smashed his to the side of hers.

“Shh,” he reminded her when a choked sound echoed in her throat. “Have to go somewhere else if you want me to hear you like that,” he said. “Fuck, you probably sound even prettier, don’t you?”

Just kissing, just fingers, just body heat and the snapping fire, but even with just a little more than heavy petting she was starting to tense in all the right ways. He hooked his fingers up inside of her when she bucked and he grunted some when he twisted his wrist to try to catch her clit with his thumb, and somehow her leg wound up across his lap under the blanket to give him more room. Above the knit, they looked for all the world like they were getting caught in an intense kiss, but underneath his fingers were starting to press, and push, and and twist more frantically. Her sweater was starting to cling to her back and shoulders from sweat, and if they didn’t need the blanket for coverage, she’d have thrown it off by now.

“Give--” He swallowed hard and let out a breath so long his teeth practically rattled. “Give me your hand,” he said. “It’s alright, nobody’s here, I’ve got the bl-blanket.”

Still holding the knit blanket with one hand, Lucie allowed him to take her other one, which felt stiff from her hold on the cover, and he pressed it down over his lap. It took her a moment to realize where exactly he’d placed her hand, but when she opened it wider and pushed down, rubbing slightly, he inhaled sharply.

“Fuck…!” he said under his breath and her lips trembled with a smile before her legs jerked and she let out a pitchy sigh that made her hair stand on end.

“Be quiet!” he said, short of breath and barely audible over the drum of her heart in her ears. “Close, aren’t you?” He pressed a smacking kiss to her mouth to cover her answering moan. “Gotta….”

Whatever he was going to say, he either didn’t finish it or she didn’t hear it. All she knew was that she became aware of how her muscles trembled and the pulsing between her legs before she went lax against the cushions. Spinning untethered through space, she closed her eyes against the reeling room, his hand still down her pants and wedged between her thighs and his breathing heavy in her ear as he ghosted kisses across her cheek.

“Not so bad, am I?” he asked, dragging his nose over her temple, and she wished like hell she could disagree.

That’s all for now! Look for the next part in approximately 2 weeks with plenty of other activity in the meantime. Coming up: we learn Casanova’s name. ;) x

[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Challenge - Day 17: Eating

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm cheating today.

For one thing, I had a whole host of errands to run this morning that ended up taking me significantly longer than I thought they would. Then I thought I should probably FINALLY put the music into this podfic that's been fully edited for a while now and was just waiting to get the music inserted so I could post it. By that time it was close to 4:00pm and I thought--writing seems hard and like it will take too long. Which...considering it's now 7:00pm and I've just finished the work I *did* do for today's prompt tells me that I was just deflecting in an attempt to not have to write new material for this prompt, but it is what it is, I guess.

Today's prompt is "eating." I've said any number of times before that I truly LOATHE any time I get into a situation where I have to describe food. Here's the thing...I love food. I really, really, really love food. But I'm terrible at actually talking about food. Like...idk if I just lack the vocabulary for it or I'm unable to process descriptors for food in depth or what it is, but I am TERRIBLE at talking about and writing about food. Like, this bit that I am presenting to you today is *barely* about eating. I mean, they ARE eating, but it's not at all the focus of the scene. There's actually a lot more description (none of it sensory WHATSOEVER, cut me a break) about the food in the scene before this and in all honesty it took me DAYS of dedicated work to even get that scene to what it is now. I'm just--not talking about it. The food exists. People make it and then they eat it (or don't eat it).

What I've got today is the last scene of my current WIP that I had actually written. Good news, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was. I mean, it wasn't good. I cut out A LOT of it at the end and I'm still missing a lot of descriptions (that honestly at this point IDK if I'm going to go back and put in), but I've spent 3 hours editing this scene now so it's better than it was. I'll probably edit it some more before this thing ends up posted, but I feel a bit better about it than I did immediately after writing it, at any rate.

Honestly, with this scene, since it's been edited at least once, if anyone has any suggestions or thoughts on ways to improve it (or if you think it's great as is and I should just move past it and let this stand) feel free to let me know. This fic has been my nemesis and I'm honestly not in a position to judge whether it's good or not because I've been fighting it from start to finish. Some days I work on it or I think on it and it's like...everything is flat and there's no depth or impact and you need to make it better, and some days I read it with an eye to "what can I improve?" and I'm like...actually this is good.

So, idk, thoughts and opinions welcome. I can't get a read on this thing.

"I wonder if you have enough sandwiches, Vincente," Coco called out as Vincent slipped into the room behind Christian. “You might need to go back in and make some more.”

“Ha,” Vincent said, rolling his eyes at Coco. He really needed to get better friends.

Somehow, he’d managed to lift the plate from the counter without spilling any of the tiny sandwiches. Now, he moved slowly, cradling the plate against his chest and doing his best to block any that threatened to slide off with a combination of his left forearm and the side of the beer bottle still dangling between the fingers of his left hand. It wasn’t exactly conventional, and Vincent certainly didn’t have any future as a waiter if this whole football thing didn’t work out, but none of the sandwiches had ended up on the floor yet, so he was counting it as a win.

"I made them for Christian, too," Vincent replied, wishing his voice hadn't come out sounding quite so petulant.

Ahead of him, Christian's shoulders flinched and he drew his arms in, making himself small once again.

Vincent sighed. He should have known Christian would be tired of Scandinavian food and would be looking for something more interesting. Even though Vincent had spent much of the summer on what Roman had referred to as "an exploratory culinary tour of Russia"--the two of them spending hours looking for what sounded like the most interesting restaurants that still mostly managed to stay within their meal plans--Christian's meals had been carefully prepared by a team of Danish-sponsored chefs and probably hadn't been all that exciting after weeks of eating the same few things on repeat.

Still, it wasn't as though Christian hated this food, and the thought behind it had been to welcome him home with something comforting. But maybe Christian didn't want comfort. At least, he certainly didn't seem to want it from Vincent.

Ben handed Coco one of the beers he'd grabbed from the ice bath they’d prepared in the sink and sat down on the end of the sofa nearest the door. Usually, that was the seat Vincent occupied on the rare nights he was in London--he and Christian curled together beneath a blanket, Christian's head resting against Vincent's chest, Vincent settled into the corner where the arm met the cushioned back. Vincent didn’t say anything, of course. What was he supposed to do, announce to the room that Ben was in "his" spot on the sofa and ask him to kindly slide over? Ben might be clued in to their relationship, but Christian would never forgive Vincent if he just started speaking about it in casual conversation.

Instead, he slipped around the low coffee table, careful to choose the side facing away from the sofa lest he accidentally brush against Christian and set off another chain reaction that would lead to he and Christian pressed up against one another trying to pretend that neither of them had ever found themselves in that particular position in this particular room before.

Christian, for his part, stood still, staring down at the sofa and occasionally flicking his eyes up to watch Vincent's progress as he somehow managed to squeeze past Coco, skirt the table, and ease himself onto the far end of the sofa without dropping either beer or sandwiches.

Once Vincent was seated he reached around Christian, leaning over almost comically far in an attempt to avoid stray contact with Christian’s leg, and set the platter down on the table in front of him.

This got Christian to move. He took a step away from Vincent, then gave a small huff of a sigh and sat down between Ben and Vincent. He moved slowly, every action measured and precise as though he were making a show out of staying as far away from Vincent as possible. Once seated, he shifted around as if trying to get comfortable, letting himself settle in closer to Ben’s side of the sofa than Vincent’s.

He curled into himself, his elbows drawn into his ribcage in a way that definitely didn't look comfortable. Ordinarily, Vincent would have wrapped one arm around Christian's shoulders and pulled him in closer, Christian sliding over to rest his head on Vincent's chest, their thighs and knees touching, shared heat radiating between them. But with the way everything else between them had gone that evening, deliberate avoidance of any contact was for the best for all parties involved. After all, Vincent had just about managed to get his body back under control from the last time he and Christian had been in one another's proximity. No need for a repeat performance.

Vincent took pity on him and slid as far away from Christian as he could, resting his elbow against the cool, smooth leather of the armrest, his left side pressed completely into the cushion.

Christian uncurled slightly at that, leaning back into the cushions and relaxing his arms a bit. He looked around the room warily, an animal uncertain of its circumstances and readying itself to bolt away at the slightest sign of danger.

Vincent sighed, then leaned back into the sofa and took a large drink from his mostly empty bottle of beer.

He should have finished it and grabbed another before heading in here. Now he was left with only a few more mouthfuls, and he was pretty certain he wasn't ready for the look he'd get from Christian if he got up to grab another one five seconds after sitting down with a half-full bottle.

Then again, at least if he was busy disapproving of how much Vincent was drinking he’d be forced to stop doing his level best to act like he absolutely wasn't noticing Vincent.

And really, Vincent understood Christian’s hesitance, especially given their current circumstances and how prone they both were to let the slightest brush of contact between one another devolve rather quickly into activities none of their friends needed to pay witness too, but still. Christian was treating him like someone whose presence he was being forced to tolerate. He didn't expect him to slide into their usual routine of close contact and casual touch, but he could at least act like Vincent wasn't about to scorch his skin if they got within a few centimetres of one another.

Vincent leaned forward, this time not bothering to be too careful to avoid brushing against Christian's leg on the way--they were supposed to be good enough friends that Christian was willing to offer Vincent a place to stay for a few weeks, after all--and snagged two of the small sandwiches off the plate.

Christian pressed himself further into the sofa twisting his knee at the last second to shift it out of the way of Vincent's forearm.

Vincent turned to look at him, but he dropped his eyes to avoid Vincent’s gaze, turning it instead to the plate of sandwiches on the table in front of him.

"You don't have to eat them," Vincent said, his voice quiet.

At that, Christian finally flicked a glance over at Vincent, then lifted one of the sandwiches off the plate.

He didn't eat it straight away, instead staring down at it as though it might be somehow suspect or questionable. He narrowed his eyes slightly, his face threatening to twitch into a frown but quickly schooling itself back into its too familiar blank expression, shrugged, and took a small bite. He chewed deliberately, face still carefully blank, the remainder of the half-sized bread held in his palm as he took his time with it.

He let out a small, dry, choking cough as he swallowed, then grabbed for one of the neatly stacked plates Ben had deposited on the table amongst the sandwich platter, beer bottles, and drinks glasses, dropped what was left of the sandwich onto it and set it in his lap, then took a rather large drink from his bottle of juice.

And, okay, so Vincent's sandwich craft almost certainly wasn't up to par with what Christian had been eating during his time with Landsholdet, but it couldn't be so terrible that he'd needed to immediately rinse the taste out of his mouth. Vincent frowned over at him, but Christian was back to paying Vincent no mind. Shifted even farther towards Ben's side of the sofa now, he had angled his body towards Ben and Coco, nearly turning his back on Vincent.

Another sip from his bottle of juice, then he cleared his throat once and said, "Okay, so. Who wants to fill me in on the first half. I need details so I can convince the boys my eyes were glued to the television in rapt attention for the entirety of the match."

Coco leaned forward at this, eager to jump in with his thoughts on the half even as the studio pundits on the television chattered away with their own opinions. Ben chimed in with his own running commentary about Belgium’s lethal attack combination somehow overcoming the lack of midfield organisation and eventually Vincent drifted off, pressing himself somehow further back into the cushion and finishing off the last drink of his beer.

It wasn't that he didn't care about the outcome of the match. For all their disagreements throughout the past few years, the Belgian trio had welcomed Vincent into their strange little family from nearly the start of his time at Spurs, and although they'd sometimes been more of a hindrance than a help to him as he tried to navigate life in London and his growing, seemingly one-sided feelings for Christian, they'd generally made themselves available whenever he needed them. They'd been good friends in their own way, and he knew that everything they'd done, they'd done out of love and concern for Christian and to push Vincent to be his best.

When Christian had insisted on helping Vincent settle in to the league, Mousa, Jan, and in his own way Toby, had joined right in, putting in extra hours on the training pitch and reviewing footage of previous matches to help Vincent find his feet and earn his place in the squad.

It hadn't worked, of course, but he was grateful for the extra time they'd put in with only a few lighthearted complaints.

And when Vincent hadn't been able to stand it anymore, when he'd been at his wits end with his ridiculous, uncontrolled feelings for his friend and teammate, Mousa and Jan had been there to talk him through it, and in some instances talk him down. They knew Christian like few other people did, and Vincent didn't know what he would have done without Jan's knowing smiles and constant admonishment to "just be patient...he'll sort himself out", usually echoed by Mousa's teasing laugh and an "or he won't."

Even Toby had tried to help in his own way. Vincent hadn't exactly appreciated it at the time, but with time and distance he could see that Toby had just been looking out for everyone's best interests. This thing with Christian wasn't exactly the most intelligent thing either of them could have done, Vincent could admit that now, but at the time he’d planned to be in London for longer than a season, and he knew if he didn't speak up and tell Christian his feelings sooner rather than later, they'd all be forced to exist in a perpetual state of mutual awkwardness that wasn't good for anyone. As long as he gave Christian the space to say "thanks, but no thanks" Vincent could get over himself and get on his way. The not knowing, he figured, would be the downfall of them all.

In many ways, it had been his undoing from the start. He’d never been able to fully show up at a practice, always flustered and frazzled around Christian, especially when they were drawn on a team together and Vincent had to somehow focus on doing his job while his entire body did its level best to betray him every time he caught a glimpse of Christian’s lean body twisting and turning as he shook off defenders and slid a bullet of a through pass straight towards Vincent’s feet.

This thing with Christian was stupid, but it had been inevitable. Vincent had never intended for it to happen. He'd never expected it to last half this long--not with the way the footballing world worked--and he'd certainly never dreamed that they'd have both carved out the space to keep this going even across thousands of kilometres.

And now, here he was, back in London, living in Christian's house, ready to tuck himself neatly back into Christian's life, if only for a few weeks before the distance separated them once again, and Christian was treating Vincent like a poison that threatened to infect his entire system if he got too close.

Across the room, Coco yelled out some disparaging remark about the Brazilian NT, causing Ben and Christian to both erupt with laughter, Ben nearly bent double, his face bright red as he slammed a hand against his thigh. Christian shaking his head at Coco even as he laughed along, the sound bright and fizzing in Vincent's ears and radiating through his every bone.

Vincent leaned forward, angling his body towards Coco as well. Christian may not want to acknowledge his presence, but Vincent was here--he'd organised this gathering and, at least for now, he had every right to participate in the discussion.

"I'm glad, really, that I don't have to face De Bruyne. I can sit back and fully appreciate his talents knowing I'll never have to stop him doing anything. A gift, truly."

His three friends abruptly stopped their laughter at the words, Ben and Coco turning to face him, Christian keeping his back to Vincent and his eyes carefully glued to the floor. The plate holding most of his sandwich, Vincent noticed, had been discarded onto the table in front of him, uneaten and unwanted.

Ben was the first to break the silence. "Truer words, mate. I'd like to say I've just given up trying, but...well..." he cocked his head in a mock shrug.

"This is why we're looking for a new left back, yes?" Coco asked.

Ben flashed him a rude gesture, but his face was still set in a teasing grin.

Silence for a time and then Coco said, "There's always the national team though, no? You're not free of him yet."

Vincent shrugged and flashed his friends what he hoped looked like a smile of mock self-deprecation. No sense them knowing how close to the truth his words were likely to be. "With, Oranje...who knows? New team, new manager. I'm still in exile, you know. So...perhaps. Or perhaps not. For now, I will enjoy watching him be your problem to solve."

Christian made a low, choked noise in his throat then sucked in a breath and stood up, his back still turned to Vincent. "I'm...getting some water. I'll be back."

With that, he stalked towards the kitchen.

Vincent thought about calling after him, asking if Christian wouldn't mind bringing him another beer--which...he definitely didn't need, but also absolutely did need if he was going to survive the next hour unscathed, but he thought better of it. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Christian returned empty-handed, pretending he somehow hadn't heard Vincent's request yelled around a corner into the next room.

He thought, also, about getting up and following Christian to the kitchen under the guise of retrieving his own drink, but he reconsidered that, as well. Whatever was going on, he knew Christian would dodge the subject, at least until Ben and Coco were safely on their way home and they could have it out--whatever "it" was and however that needed to happen--without being overheard by the others.

Honestly, Vincent didn't care if they talked or yelled or fucked or cried or some combination of all three things as long as it meant Christian might be bothered to acknowledge that Vincent was actually in the room for a few minutes.

[mariajustinteriordesigns]

Bring Nature Indoors With Textile Prints + Curtains

Hello and happy Friday, let’s fill our imaginations today with some lovely ideas for the home with botanical curtains and textile wall hangings. I loved reading about how artist, Pernille Folcarelli in Denmark, uses both to, “create a soft home style and a calm, harmonious atmosphere.”

I personally love the first image shown above, handmade by Pernilli, because it speaks to my personal aesthetic so very closely. Everything about it, from the rosy wall color to the calmness in the display, and of course the wall hanging, tugs at my heart. The books on the cart, the ceramics, dried flowers, it’s very feminine, calm, and modern.

Aside from looking beautiful, it’s also important to note that textiles reduce disturbing room acoustics or that “hollow” echo that so many minimalist rooms have.

I know this isn’t a trend in the states, but did you know that many northern Europeans have ditched curtains for simple blinds or shades, or nothing at all? I vote to please BRING THE CURTAINS BACK! I love how they both frame a window and absorb sound so a room loses that annoying echo which is so extremely cold. Also, I love how, in the evening, windows are no longer big black boxes - you can close the drapes and enjoy your cozy, warm nest.

Above is another example of warm and beauty, which speaks to my heart as well. I love the vintage-inspired lamp and the printed drapes because they give this otherwise bare room a bit of a soul. I also like seeing patterns. For very long now, pattern has been outed a bit here in northern Europe - passed by for solids, tactile things like faux fur, velvet, “teddy bear” chairs, leather, etc.

In America and the UK pattern seems to be forever a thing - they LOVE their patterns. It isn’t as common here these days to see printed drapes in the homes of local Instagram influencers or even in your favorite design books and magazines. Everything is very solid and tactile, which is super lovely, but when I see this room above I definitely vote YES on prints done right.

The Dutch are starting to move prints into the interiors world again, and the Danish are giving it a go, so let’s see where we end up.

I gladly welcome back patterns BUT in a very controlled fashion, as shown above. The example below is a bolder version of the one above that maybe would appeal to someone who really LOVES pattern and color combined - someone BOLD! Both examples are just lovely.

BUT on the flipside, I can’t imagine living in the 80s or 90s again when everything was printed including wall-to-wall carpet. Do you recall those days? Here’s a fun thing to try so please google it: do you remember the floral sofa from the Golden Girls’ home? WE HAD THAT SOFA in our home for 10 years. Yes, really. My mother was a massive decorator, totally full-blown into it. She had all the latest and loved color. We had macrame, dried flowers, gold embellished everything, ficus fig-trees, pampas grass, and rattan chairs long before they came back in vogue in 2018.

I still remember when our Golden Girls apricot sofa moved in - heavily patterned, I knew the 80s had arrived and my mother was giddy over it. And if you’re wondering what our sofa looked like before the Golden Girls sofa, it was a super plush lime green velvet sofa (70s) which I was perfectly happy with, combined with gold metallic bamboo-patterned wallpaper and Chinese hand-painted porcelain in the cabinet with red dragons painted all over it. In the corner, a large vase filled with very tall pampas grass. In the windows, macrame planted hanging from hooks filled with plants.

This view below may appeal to the monochromatic fans out there, or fans of the handmade minimalist modern movement where everything is very sculptural and rooms are extraordinarily edited. The patterned wall hanging offers something more than a mirror or framed art.

I like what Pernille, the maker behind these patterned textiles, has to say about our innate connection to nature,

“In an unpredictable and uncertain world, we turn to nature. It brings calmness and grounding. Studies show that we relax and feel less stressed when looking at nature's motives. This also applies to images and imprints of plants and nature. But having lots of nature outside is not a given for everyone. Therefore, plant motifs on the walls are a unique opportunity to surround ourselves with botany and green colors. Like an indoor garden, which requires neither watering nor care.”

I want to wish you a wonderful weekend, thank you for stopping by my blog to visit me today!

Love,

Holly

Photos: Pernille Folcarelli

[crazyflyingspip]

Be wowed by a charming farmhouse with an eye-catching extension in the East Sussex countryside

Moving to a dilapidated farmhouse with 140 acres of land wasn’t part of Lisa and Toby’s life plan. They had just had their second child and were ensconced on a country plot near Brighton. But when an estate agent’s email alert arrived with details of a run-down property in an East Sussex village, everything changed.

The house and its outbuildings hadn’t been updated for about 30 years, and the land hadn’t been farmed for a similar length of time. This didn’t daunt them, however. ‘It was actually a great benefit to us,’ says Lisa. ‘It meant we had a blank canvas to work with, and that we inherited ancient wildflower meadows and woodland.’

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There was a strong emotional pull, too. Lisa’s great grandmother had a farmhouse in County Kerry, Ireland, and the farm had a similar feel. ‘It really felt like coming home,’ she says.

‘We didn’t have a masterplan and knew nothing about farming, but we saw a house with potential, and outbuildings that could make holiday cottages,’ says Toby. Soon the granary and cowshed were turned into accommodation decorated in a stripped-back style with environmental consciousness at its core – think self-regulating wool duvets and pillows, and organic clay paints.

Exterior

Image credit: Polly Eltes

There was little to do in the farmhouse itself, as Lisa and Toby loved it just the way it came: dark and cosy, and with all its original doors and beams. ‘We fitted new windows and gave it a lick of paint, but largely let it be,’ says Toby.

Keen to bring in more space and light, the couple added an eye-catching extension. A glass walkway links the old to the new, and an arched zinc-clad roof on the upper storey holds the main bedroom, dressing room and en suite, and a light-filled kitchen and dining area below.

Kitchen-diner

The kitchen is a bright and modern contrast to the original farmhouse, but one that sits comfortably alongside, thanks to its use of natural materials including wooden wall panels and furniture. Rattan shades over the oak dining table add rustic texture and warm lighting.

Get the look Buy now: Woven Rattan Shade, £150, Cox & Cox

Living room

Image credit: Polly Eltes

A corner sofa and rich colour palette create a cosy feel here. Lisa and Toby have used colour and pattern to bring the scheme to life.

Guest bedroom

Image credit: Polly Eltes

The king-size white cane bed enhances the period feel of the beamed space.

Main bedroom

Image credit: Polly Eltes

The curved room shape creates a cocooning feel, while painted wooden floorboards complement the raw wood ceiling. The wall of glass creates an incredibly light space. The Danish rocking chair was a flea market find.

Image credit: Polly Eltes

Bathroom

Image credit: Polly Eltes

Simple pattern used in fabrics adds to the elegance here.

Get the look Buy now: The Falmouth Cast Iron Bath, £1064, The Cast Iron Bath Company Buy now: Chunky Cotton Rug, £175, Molly Mahon

Shepherd’s hut

Image credit: Polly Eltes

The hut has become an essential space for children’s sleepovers. Lisa’s friend, textile artist and block printer Molly Mahon, decorated the interior of the hut in her signature bright and cheerful style.

The house has more than delivered on its promise of ‘possibilities’. As well as the holiday cottages, Lisa runs her botanical beauty business, Amly (named after one of the wildflower meadows) from here, and Toby brews beer from their own spring for his business Gun Brewery.

They have planted an orchard, and Lisa holds weddings in the woods as part of her Foxtail Weddings business. ‘Now, we feel increasingly connected with the land and are outside much more than we thought we’d be.’

Image credit: Polly Eltes

Ready for another? Relax and enjoy a barn conversion decorated in the colours of the Devon coastline 

This is especially true in the summer when doors are flung open and children and pets roam freely. ‘The children go dipping in the river that runs along the bottom of the land,’ says Lisa. ‘In summer the wildflower meadows come into their own and reach their peak on the longest day of the year, when it’s a cacophony of sounds and smells. It’s a special time of year and such a lovely place to be.’

To stay at Hawthbush Farm visit hawthbushfarm.co.uk

Words by Clare Gogerty

The post Be wowed by a charming farmhouse with an eye-catching extension in the East Sussex countryside appeared first on Ideal Home.

from Ideal Home https://ift.tt/3dFWiWa

[rawkingbunny]

Bitter and Sick - Chapter One

Hey guys! It’s been years since I’ve written anything and decided to stretch those writers muscles and give it a swing!

–Rating: M

–Gravity Falls/Rick and Morty

~Diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, Stanford Pines is forced to reflect on past regrets and experiences that bring him back to one person. A narcissistic sociopath who saved his life~

~Chapter One~

…

“Brain Cancer, Stanford? Are you shittin’ me?”

There was a cold silence in the air, the usual sound of cash registers opening and noisy tourists were drowned out by the hoarse tone in Stanley Pine’s voice. He received a few uncomfortable stares, but chose to ignore the attention.

Stanford Pines fidgeted, lifting a six fingered hand to anxiously rub the back of his neck. He used the other to nudge up the frames of his glasses. This isn’t how he’d planned it, but he’d already dug his own grave. “Stanley, Can we maybe talk somewhere a little more private?” he choked, bloodshot eyes shifting to the audience that filled the gift shop.

Stan’s eyes narrowed, and he heaved a sigh, popping his collar as they made their way to the back room. He locked frightened eyes with Wendy as they passed, trusting she would be able to handle the rush on her own.

Ford sluggishly followed, hands shaking violently as he closed the office door behind them. He shuffled his way across the shagged carpet, collapsing on the danish sectional couch in the corner of the room. He held his head in the palm of his hands, holding back tears that were long overdue.

“How long?”

Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips to relieve a mild migraine, looking up to find his brother rummaging through one of the cabinets in the opposite side of the room. Stan had pulled out a vintage bottle of whiskey and a couple of shot glasses from the dusty storage cabinet.

He was so overwhelmed by the sudden news that he hadn’t taken time to really bother with the details. Honestly he’d never expected this to happen, not that anyone ever does. Teeth clenched, Ford rested his weary palms on weak knees. “ A year at the most…”

“Fuck!” Stan seethed, nearly dropping the bottle as he finished pouring a glass. Brown eyes flickered in Ford’s direction, fatigued with age.

Ford flinched, avoiding Stan’s gaze and staring mindlessly at his hands. “What happened to us, Stanley?”

His brothers features began to soften, wrinkled cheekbones curling to a faint smile. He chuckled, and made his way across the room. “We got old…”

Ford looked up at the sound of ice hitting glass, and chuckled as Stan towered over him with the whiskey offering. He accepted, six calloused fingers curling around the cool corners. He downed the amber liquid without hesitation, welcoming the burn that accompanied it.

“Good, ain’t it?” Stan collapsed next to him, downing his glass and releasing a mild grunt at the taste. He stretched his arms over the back of the sofa, the hand with the glass leaning lazily to the side. “We can’t tell the kids…”

Ford eyes flickered as he came back to reality and turned to his brother, finger tapping his own glass idly. “Do you think that’s wise? You saw Wendy, you know she’s-”

“-I’ll talk to her…” Stan interrupted, “They’ve been through enough hell.”

“I’m not just going to give up, Stanley. You know that, right?”

Ford stared at his brother with half lidded eyes. He’d been awake for almost three days without sleep, and the toll it was taking on him was tremendous. He thought distracting his mind with his research would alleviate the pain, but he was becoming weaker every day.

Stan’s reply was sincere as he placed a large hand at the base of his brother’s back. “I know you won’t, Poindexter…”

Ford chuckled at the nickname, slowly lifting himself from the sofa’s embrace. Stan began to rise to help him, but was halted by a gentle hand to his chest. Ford carefully dropped the empty glass on the desk, making his way to the doorway.

“Ford…”

Stan paused as his brother tilted his head to the side, hand resting on the door handle.

“…We’re gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok…”

Ford’s eyes were shadowed beneath the frames of his glasses, but Stan could feel the sadness radiating from him.

“Of course, Stanley…”, he lied. “I mean…What’s the worst that could happen?”

The door shut quiety behind him, casting a dark shadow across the dimly lit room. Leaving Stan to ponder in his own dark thoughts. He lifted a thumb to his eyes, wiping a single tear with the corner.

Yeah…what’s the worst that could happen?

…

“Great Uncle Ford! What’s this?” Mabel Pines let out a squeal of excitement, nearly falling in an old trunk as she reached for the old book beneath.

Ford let out a heavy cough as the object brought clouds of dust with it, gingerly taking the book from her hands as he recovered, bringing it into the light. Two small five and six fingered hand prints were visibly faded on the cover, two ‘S’s’ lazily scrawled across them in both print and Stanford’s signature cursive handwriting.

“I haven’t seen this in ages, “ Ford muttered, carefully lifting the cover to reveal pages of vintage photos and Staney’s macaroni art.

Mabel curled up to her Uncle’s side, intently observing as he flipped through pages of his past.

“Is that Grandpa Shermy?” her eyes settled on a small spectacled child with a much smaller jaw line, a visual cowlick curling around his forehead.

Ford smirked and let out a low chuckle, “That’s your Grandpa alright, always pranking Stanl-”

“BREAKFAST!! WHO WANTS STANCAKES!!?”

Mabel’s attention shifted and she leapt from Ford’s lap, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. “Come on, Great Uncle Ford! Let’s eat!”

Ford gave a half hearted smile, “I’ll be right behind you. I just need a minute, Pumpkin”.

Her small hand slid from his, not looking back as she made for the attic stairs.

Ford set the scrap book back down in the trunk, his hands hitting another mysterious object hidden beneath the dusty corners. He snatched it, brushing off the remaining dust to reveal the cover. A familiar handprint embossed on the front with construction paper, and a large #4 scribbled on the front with a marker.

His heart sank, taking in the pathetic replica before him. He licked the corner of his dust covered finger, slipping through the worn pages. Halfway he paused, settling on a memory he had kept in the back of his brilliant mind for decades. One he never thought he’d have to revisit, and one he swore to put behind him.

In the corner scribbled in a pen, quite sloppily he added, was a message from an old friend…

Thanks for the shitty memories, Six-Fingers - R

…

“Hey, Sixer! How about you show us those sick moves you keep boasting about?!”

Ford let out the hybrid of a snort, hiccup, and laugh as he took another shot. Eyes glazed over from the heavy amount of drugs and alcohol swirling throughout his system. He was in no way a light weight, despite avoiding the college parties outside his dorm every night.

“No thanks Gearheee—aaad,” he slurred, popping the cap off another beer. Unable to make out any more words out of annoyance from shouting over the high music volumes. He stammered his way past the small crowds in front of him, avoiding a cute blonde and making a note to swindle her out of her phone number by the end of the night.

Ford nearly tripped over Squachy’s tail, eliciting a loud hiss and several unintelligable slurs that mostly consisted of variations of the word “Squanch”. He lifted his hand to apologize, but was more focused on getting as far from the noise as possible.

Reaching the sliding doors to the balcony, he released a sigh, stepping out into the cold air and wiping a few beads of sweat from his forehead. He was unexpectedly greeted by the sound of fingers strumming melodic chords against a guitar.

“Surprised to see you hiding out here, Rick”, Ford rasped, his gruff voice shot from overuse.

Rick Sanchez shrugged, a blunt hanging loosely from his lips as he played a few notes on his acoustic guitar. He paused to run lanky fingers over his ripped jeans, trying to warm them in the night chill. “You fuckin’ kidding me? Shittiest party I’ve ever been to…”

Ford bit his lip, tapping a finger against his beer. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Fuck you, Sixer”. The younger man continued to strum, not even caring to look up when Ford nealt down in front of him..

“Does this offering please you?” Ford drunkenly exclaimed, holding the beer at Rick’s face.

Rick heaved a sigh and snatched it away, “Ok nerd…what do you want from me?”

“Thank you…”

Rick nearly spat his drink from all ends as he took a sip, but swallowed hard. Bringing the blunt back to his lips and inhaling. He took in Ford’s features as he sat down indian style, early signs of wrinkles curved his smile.

“You’re fucking ancient…”, Rick muttered, taking in the grey hairs that were starting to peek out from chestnut locks.

“You’re one to talk”, Ford retorted, a wicked drunk smile crossing his face. It was true Ford had 9 years on him, but Rick had already reached the ‘Grandpa’ look in his late 40s, hair already silver and forehead creased with aging. He guessed it was the years of alcohol and drugs, but had no interest in investigating further.

“I mean it, Rick. Thank You…”

The younger man strummed a few more notes, “You say that again, and I swear i’ll beat your ass into another dimension…”

“Oh, I believe you”.

“You’re hammered,” Rick mocked, placing the guitar next to him and extending his hand to offer the blunt. Ford’s nose twisted in disgust, raising a hand to decline. “Suit yourself”.

Rick inhaled again, pulling his leather jacket tighter around him. “You want to know the truth?”

Ford blinked, pushing the bridge of his glasses up his nose. In the few months they’d known each other, he’d never known Rick to offer an explanation for any of his odd sporadic behavior. He was honest, brutally so, but not open about himself.

“The truth is rarely pure, and never simple”.

Rick rose an eyebrow, eyes narrowing at Ford’s poetic words. He took another puff, and flicked the blunt away lazily.

“Oscar Wilde…”

“Fuckin’ Nerd.”

Ford smiled, pulling a small notebook from behind his jeans, “Mind if I write this down? This a rare occasion. You being an open book, and all.”

Rick scowled, hugging his knees. “I’m trusting you with this, Sixer…no notes in that pansy ass journal of yours.”

His eyes widened, placing the book down on the ground without question. “Is it really that important to you?”

Rick had never looked so tense, not as long as he’d known him. Whatever it was, it had him seriously fragile in the head. Ford watched as he parted his lips to speak,ignoring the muffled sounds of the crowd enjoying shots in the next room.

“Have you ever been in love?”

He choked the words when they came out, like it was poison, running a lanky hand through silver hair. He avoided the older man’s gaze, not entirely comfortable with the conversation.

Ford didn’t even hesitate, running a hand over his shoulder in deep thought, tracing his fingers over a hidden tattoo that contained the painful answer to the question. Memories returned of a muse, of a promise that was shattered in an instant. “Yes.”

Rick looked his way, lips pursed in curiosity, but he didn’t care enough to pry. “Fuck love…”

Ford chuckled, grabbing the beer that Rick had set down between them. He downed the rest, wiping the corner of his lip with his flannel sleeve.

“I second that…”

They sat there in silence, a dark sky full of stars to entertain their thoughts. Rick strumming a few more harmonious chords while Ford rose a finger to sketch the numerous constellations.

It was at that moment, inebriated and high as a kite, that Rick made a silent vow. He would get Ford home, even if he had to tear apart the multiverse to do so.

Next Chapter

[jeremystrele]

A Lovingly Restored Mid-Century Marvel In Mount Martha

A Lovingly Restored Mid-Century Marvel In Mount Martha

Homes

by Lucy Feagins, Editor

The Fender House in Mount Martha, with renovations from Whelan Project. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Say hello to that green carpet! And a peek of B&B Italia sofas from Castorina and Co in the background. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

The ‘music room’ surrounded by huge double height windows. Chairs from Angelucci 20th Century Design, the table base was an Ebay find about 15 years ago with a new custom made top. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

The view coming down the stairs from the kitchen, leading into the music room then the sun room, then out onto the deck. Karl Fender’s original hand-drawn picture of the house framed on the wall above the fireplace. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

There are stairs and split levels everywhere in this house. These stairs lead from the sun-room to the music room then up another level to the kitchen.  You can also see the original porthole lights in the ceilings and the very uniquely designed light boxes, which Katie and Ian re-furbished. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Corner nook holding part of Ian’s large vinyl collection, pot is from Milk and Sugar, and vintage frames of our girls from op shops.Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Ian relaxing in the breakfast room. The built-in cabinetry and wood panels are original, as are the wood panels, and Katie and Ian put in the Terrazzo tiles from Perini Tiles. Danish chairs and table from secondhand store in North Melbourne, and colourful champaigne glasses box on the shelf was a wedding gift from the UK. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

We love our kitchen, it’s so big and spacious and chunky. We can all Cabinet maker Roman rebuilt all the cabinetry as it was rotting and about to fall through the floors. He skilfully managed to match the wood stain to the original wood panels. On the bench is the 1970s Le Creuset pot, and vintage orange bowl. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

This is the top lounge or formal lounge. The 70s modular sofa is made by iconic brand, B&B Italia  from Ugo and Pratizia at Castorina & Co. The coffee table is an original Willy Rizzo, and the Danish occasional table is part of a nest. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Super 70s staircase! Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Milla and Yvie hanging by the front door. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

The kids zone upstairs. Large smiley face artwork is called the Friendship Flag and is from Outré Gallery in Melbourne. The white pot is Melbourne designed, Mr Kitly (self watering) from My Grandfathers Axe. The small orange tulip table and brown Featherston chairs are from CCSS Melbourne. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Yvie busty on the phone! The large George Nelson ball light is from Luke Furniture in Prahran. Yvie is wearing clothes from Hipkin.Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Milla’s room with bed from BedTime, mushroom lamp from CCSS Melbourne, and linen from Kip and Co and Country Road. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Renovated ensuite with white 70s mosaic tiles. Orange floor vase by Kartell. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

This is the main bedroom., with  a Derek Swalwell picture, Jacobsen floor lamp and Patricia Urquiola clip bed (both from Hub furniture), little stool next to the bed is from Luke Furniture. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

A peek into the formal lounge, with vintage Bertossi lamp and ashtray. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

View from the rear of the house. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

The pool has undergone some restorations, but the incredible shape is the original design. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Hanging out pool side. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

A real 70s splash! Photo – Derek Swalwell.

When Katie Brannaghan and husband Ian purchased this home in April 2017, they were met with slight shock at how much work needed to be done on the property. The previous owners were hoarders, so a large scale clean was necessary – but as these surface works were undertaken, Katie realised how many 90s and early 2000s renovations had altered the mid-century space. She explains ‘we wanted it to look similar to what it would have originally looked like, back in circa 73.’

The incredible home was originally designed by Karl Fender, who, incredibly, was only 23 years old when he took on this job for an eccentric local. (Things worked out pretty well for the architect wonderkid… he’s now one half of the iconic firm Fender Katsalidis!). Katie tried to research the property, but was met with dead ends, until  ‘one day I was posting about it on Instagram, and tagged Karl in one of the pictures, and to my delight he responded!’ Katie invited Karl to come and visit, who brought along his original hand-drawn plans and plenty of stories. Katie highlights ‘much to our relief and joy, he was very happy with what we’d done to the house.’

The Karl-approved renovations are extensive, and have brought the house back to life, by gently drawing upon the past. 90s tiles were retro-updated with 70s style terrazzo around the pool, and original-era-appropriate green carpet was introduced, that guests now assume is original!

Beyond these aesthetic features, the kitchen was a space that required a massive overhaul, not least because it was about to fall through the floor. Katie explains ‘it was a death trap!’ Other essential renovations included getting rid of asbestos, replacing termite riddled floors and walls, introducing hydronic heating and cooling system, rendering the pool, installing solar panels, landscaping, building a woodshed, and bringing in a septic tank. Phew!

Inside, the renovations look forward by looking back. Katie highlights ‘it feels like you could have stepped back into the 70s when you walk through the door.’ The original wood-paneled walls and high ceilings create a mid-century ambience, while the six bedroom home offers incredible views from every angle through the giant glass windows. Katie describes ‘when Karl design it, so much thought went into where the light streams in.’ As the home sprawls, it also offers plenty of nooks and crannies to feel cosy and homely across the large space.

The family have now moved back to the city for ease of commuting to work, but still love spending weekends down the coast here. The property is listed on airbnb  – but get in quick, as it isn’t available very often! It’s such a special place for the family they only rent it out a few times a year. Which seems fitting, seeing as Karl Fender himself told Katie and Ian ‘I’m so glad this house found you.’

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Sixth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

First … Second … Third … Fourth … Fifth … Fifth Christmas, Part 2 … Sixth … Seventh … Eighth … Ninth … Tenth … Eleventh … Twelfth … Thirteenth … Fourteenth … Fifteenth … Sixteenth … Seventeenth … Eighteenth … Nineteenth … Twentieth … Twenty-first … Twenty-second … Twenty-third

———————–

After the monster that was Rob Roberts, they ended up with a layover in Chicago. Mulder looked out the window at the waiting area, decided he wanted to see Chicago and turned to Scully, suggesting they should stay there, check out the wonders of the Christmas season in the Windy City.

She’d only said they’d better do it on their dime and not the FBI’s. He’d agreed wholeheartedly, given he really didn’t want to have to explain to accounting why he had a room with a Jacuzzi tub and had raided the mini-bar within an inch of its life.

It was a medium-sized nightmare to get their luggage off the plane but between two badges, authoritative voices and a wee bit of lying, they were soon in a hastily rented compact car, Mulder with his knees up around his ears as he tried to drive. She’d offered to drive but he turned her down, saying this was his idea, he’d deal with the unfamiliar city and heinous traffic.

While they waited for their luggage, Mulder had cruised the shops of the concourse, then asked two separate security guards and an on-break ticket agent about hotels and returned soon enough with a destination, directions and the keys to their car.

Scully nearly protested when he told her he’d found a place but when he flashed her his gold credit card and said it was his treat, she stopped worrying. Mulder may have a penchant for flea-infested nightmares when it came to the government’s dime but when he shopped for himself, he usually went classier than Tom and Bob’s Trave-Lodge.

Traffic wasn’t the total nightmare she’d been expecting. It was far worse but given all she had to do was look out the window and enjoy the views, she began relaxing while Mulder quietly wished death upon all those that drove in his way.

Her first grinding halt occured when she saw where they were staying had the hotel name on the front glass doors … and an honest-to-God man, in uniform no less, opening that door for them, greeting them with a hat tilt and a smile. He had to gently nudge her to get her moving through the door.

Her second grinding halt, which caused him to run directly into her, happened when a young man of no more than 20 scurried over and took her bag, including her satchel, as Mulder liked to refer to it and she argued every time that it was a handbag.

Her third and final grinding halt came when the bill slid across the smoother the glass mahogany check-in desk, the fleeting number of $548 meeting her wide-eyed gaze before disappearing discreetly under Mulder’s hand as he easily scrawled his name across the bottom. Whispering in her ear, “I like that I can still surprise you,” he put his hand to her elbow and turned her from the desk to the elevator.

She didn’t even seem to notice the woman standing inside, pushing the button for the 15 floor for them and he leaned over, grinning, “not gonna comment on the elevator lady?”

“Still processing it has more than two floors and needs an elevator.”

His smile continued as he got them in the room, Scully taking a minute to register that he didn’t let her in her own room. About to ask, he beat her to it, “so I got the jacuzzi suite which has a full size pull out sofa as well as a king-size bed. Figured I could take one and you could take the other and we could share the tub.”

There was a hot flash of muscle-twinging anticipation that shot through her before she got things under control, turning to him with a cool exterior that he saw right through, “you should have told me to pack a bathing suit.”

“We’re about two blocks of the main strip. I think we can find you one if need be.” The ‘need be’ hung there between Mulder’s grin and her raised eyebrow. Finally, he started towards her, smile widening, “want to go shopping now or should we jump right in?”

Finally, her face began heating, her cheeks first, then the slow creep of it over her scalp, across her ears and down her neck, “I’m leaning towards the shopping part.”

Coming in closer, “does that mean you could be properly persuaded to lean the other way?”

“Shopping, Mulder. Let’s go shopping.”

&&&&&&&

She’d been to Chicago before but only driven through, always on her way to somewhere else. Looking around, she ignored the frigid wind blowing through her inadequate coat, given they’d just flown in from L.A., and savored the lights, the people, the sheer envelopment of a city in a holiday that made the human race seem just a little nicer, a little calmer, a little better.

While Mulder grumbled because he got whacked in the back with a stranger’s gift of golf clubs.

Winding her arm through his, she lay her head on his jacket-encased bicep briefly as she smiled, “glad you stayed in Chicago still?”

“I’ll be better once we find you a bathing suit and that guy gets his clubs home in one piece without trying to kill anyone else.” She then felt him pull her a little closer, “cold?”

“Freezing but I don’t mind … not yet anyway.” With a glance upwards at the store they were walking past, he pulled her inside, bought her a hat, scarf, mittens and a thick, cable-knit sweater big enough to go over her light coat, her thin pullover, two small children and a tiny, independent nation. As he stood out of the way by the door, he gestured for her to take off her coat, which she did so, an incredulous look of ‘really?’ plastered on her face as he took it, draping it over his arm. Then, in a smooth, ‘I’m 5 and going to dress you’ motion, he dropped the sweater over her head, tugging down until her face emerged, hair askew, fuzz in her eyes and smile as wide as her cheeks would allow. His grin equaled her as she wrestled her arms into the sleeves, finally speaking again once she was dressed, “kinda big, isn’t it?”

“I bought it for me and am generously letting you borrow it. You can thank me later.” As he did the same with the mittens, hat and scarf, he declared her ready for the cold, “all set?”

Looking from the thick, Irish-knit, cabled, fisherman sweater to her flimsy, folded coat, “pretty sure I can’t get that back on, no matter how hard I try.”

He immediately began scanning the store, skimming over the employees and customers who had been watching with amusement the entire time, “do you see any winter coats?”

Scully, with embarrassment beginning to creep up her cheeks, simply held open the bag from the store, “just put my coat in here. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ve got enough European sheep wool on me to live through nuclear winter.”

His goofy grin returned and taking her mittened hand in his, he escorted her out of the store, “I’ll expect that back the minute we get home.”

“Sure. Fine. Of course.”

Both knew that wasn’t going to happen but they had a routine so why mess with it.

Soon, they found a shop that, to Scully’s complete surprise, sold bathing suits in December … and fairly cheaply, too. Well, it wouldn’t break her bank account completely but it would bend it well enough. Denying Mulder his request to see the suits modeled, she didn’t even show him which she’d picked and purchased, shooing him to the front of the store to wait. Instead, he headed outside after letting her know, looking in surrounding store windows and ducking in the one next door before returning to his position by the door of the bathing suit place.

The sweater kept her fairly warm, all but when the wind blew its coldest, off the water, making her teeth chatter slightly but not enough to tip Mulder off she wasn’t all toasty. She did, however, stop dead in her tracks when they ambled past a bakery, complete with hot chocolate, cinnamon rolls and cute little table by the window that she bet would make Mulder seem like a giant if she got him to sit down at one. Tugging his sleeve, she pointed inside, the steam collecting at the corners of the front windows and calling to her with the promise of warmth and chocolate and sugar.

Soon, much to her amusement, Mulder was indeed settled at a tiny table with his gigantic cup of cocoa and equally large blueberry Danish, looking, as she had thought previous, like a giant … but a friendly one. He laughed, he joked, he captured both her legs between his on the pretense of warming those skinny, little sticks up with his calves and magical thoughts.

The contact was enough. Magical thoughts would have set her on fire.

They had to leave eventually, however, mostly because the waitress/counter woman kept pointedly looking at them, shooing them with her eyes so she could have their table for the torrent of customers that kept passing through. Bundling back up, they mutually decided to head back towards the hotel, the sun having set and the wind blowing even colder. Scully didn’t balk at the fanciness of the hotel this time, instead talking to the elevator operator and the doorman, laying on easy smiles, friendly banter and perfect Scully charm.

He really should have kissed her in the elevator but he had plans for that for New Years.

If he made it that long.

&&&&&&

Mulder, honest to God, always did bring his swimsuit. Not the Speedo but his normal, to the knees blue-green-yellow suit with the drawstring that never stayed tied. Changing first, he came out of the bathroom with his eyes shut, the Jacuzzi faucet filling the room with a rushing noise that he had to talk loudly over to be heard, “you decent?”

“Depends of how much liquor I’ve had and the company I’m keeping.”

Mulder stumbled, opening his eyes a fraction too late and tripping over what had to be the stupidest placed chair in the history of hotels, “I … um, I meant if you were in your suit yet so I could open my eyes but while on the subject, what kind of company am I?”

Safely in her modest, one-piece suit, she gave him a look that would pass mere mortals by but set Mulder’s heart thudding heavily, his eyes unfocusing for a fraction of a second.

And she knew it, too.

She left him standing in the middle of the room while she retrieved towels, then stepping into the hot water, her cold skin hurting for a moment at the drastic temperature change but settling in, she sighed and shut her eyes, the steam curling her hair instantly.

Mulder thought about baseball while he climbed in across from her, turning the water off when it reached a good depth. The sudden silence pushed on his ears, that stuffy cotton feeling he hated forcing him to speak, “so, that was a really good Danish.”

Scully let out a burst of laughter, nearly sliding under the water in the process but saving herself by stretching her feet to the low seat Mulder was on, then, needing better purchase, she settled her feet against his knees. Finally stable, she looked at him, amusement obvious, “yes, that Danish was very good but I prefer the cinnamon rolls myself.”

Giving her a grin, “I just hate that first few seconds when it goes from loud to quiet. Had to fill in the space.”

She squeezed his knees with her toes, “I know. Just having some fun. Although,” reaching over for the control buttons, “you could have just turned on the bubbles.”

The smile grew wider, “I forgot about those. Sitting in a glorified bathtub with you in our room in Chicago pretty much pushed my brain capacity to its limit.”

As the bubbles began to churn, she reclined back once again, head against the side, “I pretty much stopped thinking when you said we were sharing a room but I never forget bubbles.”

Yes, yes, he was never going to sleep tonight.

&&&&&&&&&&&

He did.

Even after she told him to get his ass in the king size bed because the sofa was bound to be lumpy and she had at least five feet of room he could probably squeeze himself into.

Mulder debated.

He lost.

He jumped in beside her.

And nearly bounced her right out the other side. Giggling an uncharacteristically beautiful giggle, “if you want me out of bed, just ask.”

Wiggling to settle in, he looked up at her from his pillow, “I will never, ever ask you to get out of my bed, trust me.”

“Trust no on, Mulder.”

“You don’t trust me?”

Reaching out to poke him in the cheek, “you didn’t let me finish. There’s a tiny asterisk that you didn’t know about. It says, “Trust No One asterisk except Mulder ‘cause he’s the only one I trust … that and my mother … and possibly the Gunmen depending on the day of the week and how many times Frohike looked at me like I’m Sunday dinner dowsed in gravy.”

“That is a very long asterisk.”

“Very tiny writing.”

Her turn to get comfortable, they lay there in silence for a few minutes before Mulder jumped back up, jiggling the bed once again. Eyeing him in the dark as he dug in first one pocket, then the next of his coat, he pulled out a bag, then got back under the covers, handing it to her, “I bought this for you while you were getting your bathing suit.” Sitting up, she automatically reaching for the nightstand light, he stopped her, “it’ll look better in the dark.”

Intrigued, she opened the bag, then the paper wrapped item inside, finding a small, faceted glass heart that Mulder reached over to turn on at the bottom. Suddenly, the softest red-gold light filled the hollow area, sparkling against her face as she stared, a small smile spreading slowly, never reaching full capacity but stopping at just above amazed. He loved that smile and watching her eyes take in the sparkles and glints, he reached over, running his fingers over her cheek, her chin, fingering one particularly stubborn curl at her temple, playing with the ends of her hair until he let his hand fall back to land on her thigh.

His palm on her leg brought her out of her imagination, which pictured him hanging it on her tree for the next 70 years, their kids, grandkids, great-grand kids opening gifts under while it twinkled above in the branches. Seeing it so clearly made her head spin and turning to him, she leaned in, catching him with a kiss so quick yet so firm against his mouth that when she was gone, he never doubted she’d been there.

He didn’t go back for another but sat staring at her while she stared back, her smile going wider than it had been a moment earlier, “I love it. Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome.”

After gazing for another few seconds, Scully turned the ornament off, setting in on the table beside her, “g’night, Mulder.”

Mulder knew, instinctively and because he wasn’t a complete idiot, that when she snuggled down and left her right hand extended across the mattress that yes, he was supposed to hold it.

So he did.

And watched her until she fell asleep.

While she watched him.

[my-house-of-fashion]

Precht creates monochromatic interiors for RayData office in Beijing

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Grey upholstery helped architecture studio Precht bring a “human touch” to the interior of this data office in Beijing, which features black walls and white zigzag desks.

RayData’s Beijing office takes over the 19th floor of Poly International Plaza, a 31-storey skyscraper completed by Skidmore Owings & Merril in 2017.

The building’s cylindrical form and latticed shell ended up becoming a key point of reference for Precht, which was brought on board to develop the office’s interior design scheme.

The 980-square-metre office follows the building’s looping plan but has been split into two halves – the north-facing side contains work areas for employees, while the south-facing side is dedicated to communal areas like the reception and company showroom.

An almost-black corridor leads through to the work areas which, in contrast, largely feature white surfaces to create a bright and relaxed environment for staff.

Triangular desks have been arranged in a zigzag pattern across the room, to subtly mimick the latticework on the building’s facade.

Spotlights on the office’s ceiling, bench-style sofas and door handles are also triangular in shape, in a nod to RayData’s logo.

Each desk is partially lined with slate-coloured fabric from Danish brand Kvadrat. The studio hopes that, along with the grey carpeting, this will help manage acoustics in the office and bring a comforting sense of tactility.

“With all the advancing technology in the space, we were looking at how to bring a human touch and haptic materials to the design,” explained Fei Precht, who leads the studio alongside her husband Chris Precht.

“I don’t believe that the future of offices will look like your WeWork living room nor like your sci-fi white-plastic fluid space,” she continued.

“For this project, I think the movie Her was a source of inspiration, which connects technology with a very warm and tactile atmosphere.”

“I think we need this balance of technology and facility,” added Chris Precht. “The tasks of tech companies is to ask ‘how can we know more’ and transform this knowledge into information or products.”

“The tasks of architects, on the other hand, is to ask ‘how we can feel more’. Yes, information and knowledge are important for the future – but so is consciousness and the connection to our senses. I think that’s an interesting balance.”

Staff are separated by large panes of glass engraved with geographical maps of different cities, however should they want more privacy they can head to one of the textile-covered booths that have been created in the corners of the room.

White pod chairs have additionally been dotted throughout.

The southern side of the office is accessed by a bright-white walkway, but the studio has completed rooms here in a darker palette to dramatise the appearance of the presentation screens and interactive models on-site.

LED strip lighting has also been installed to channel the “unique atmosphere of the AI-era office”.

Although the office is meant to largely feel open-plan, some spaces are divided by pivoting floor-to-ceiling screens upholstered in the same Kvadrat fabric that appears on the desks.

At the core of the plan lies a further fleet of meeting rooms where staff can chat one-on-one or work in small groups.

Chris Precht recently spoke to Dezeen as part of our Virtual Design Week, where he talked through his studio’s body of work from his home in the Austrian mountains.

Recent projects by the studio include Parc de la Distance, a conceptual, maze-like park divided by towering hedges that would allow people to safely spend time outdoors while social distancing.

At the beginning of this year, the studio also collaborated with Mamou-Mani Architects to create an intricate installation that was 3D printed with sand.

Photography is by CreatARimages.

Project credits:

Design: Precht Project team: Fei Tang Precht, Chun Chen, Zizhi Yu, Chengcheng Liu, Yanyan Gu, Mei Li, Chris Precht Structural consultant: Haifeng Li Lighting consultant: Yuebo Min Construction team: Beijing Million Partner Construction Company Carpet design in booths: Florian Pucher, Bo Liu Furniture suppliers: Hay, Matsu, Human Scale Fabric supplier: Kvadrat Carpet supplier: Bolon

The post Precht creates monochromatic interiors for RayData office in Beijing appeared first on Dezeen.

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