#mid century glass coffee table

[zegalba]

Knut Hesterberg for Ronald Schmitt Aluminum "Propeller" Coffee Table (1963)

[youmakemelikecharity]

Living Room - Open

Inspiration for remodeling a mid-sized contemporary formal living room with a brown floor and a limestone floor, white walls, a regular fireplace, no TV, and a tile fireplace.

[deejay-the-first]

Living Room Open in San Francisco Example of a mid-sized mid-century modern formal and open concept dark wood floor and brown floor living room design with gray walls, a hanging fireplace, a metal fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[vampiricallyxspeaking]

Compact in Toronto Sunroom - small modern carpeted and brown floor sunroom idea with a standard ceiling

[daisy-source]

Open - Family Room

[dearstvckyx]

───────────────────────

Bucky Barnes x Clumsy!Roommate

───────────────────────

Imagine moving in with Bucky Barnes, and he quickly realizes you might just be the clumsiest person he’s ever met…

───────────────────────

It all started the day Bucky moved in with his new roommate, you. At first, he’d thought you were just a little absent-minded, but after the fifth (maybe sixth?) time he watched you trip over your own two feet while carrying a bowl of cereal, he started to catch on. You were the clumsiest person he’d ever met. And for Bucky Barnes, who’s lived nearly a century, that’s saying something.

You’re reading a recipe on your phone in the kitchen, brow furrowed, when Bucky feels that familiar prickle at the back of his neck. He doesn’t even have to look up from his book to know what’s about to happen.

“Hey, don’t turn around too fast,” he says without looking up.

“What do you mean—” And before you can finish, you knock your elbow into the spice rack, sending an avalanche of glass bottles toward the floor.

Somehow, Bucky is already there, catching the bottles before they shatter everywhere. You blink at him, wide-eyed. “How…?”

Bucky smirks. “Spider-sense.”

It becomes a bit of a running joke. Every time you drop a knife, trip over a cable, or nearly knock a pan off the stove, Bucky’s there. Like magic, he’s always just in the right spot to keep you from taking yourself out. He even starts calling you “Disaster Darling” under his breath.

One morning, you’re reaching for the top shelf, and he calls from the other room, “Don’t even think about it.” Sure enough, you wobble on tiptoes, but before you tip over, he’s there with a hand on your waist, steadying you.

“You always know, don’t you?” you ask, half-laughing, half-amazed.

“Darlin’, at this point, I’ve got your schedule memorized. 8 AM: trip over your own feet. Noon: almost set something on fire in the kitchen. 3 PM: stub your toe on the coffee table.”

You give him a playful shove. “That’s ridiculous!”

He shrugs, grinning. “Hey, don’t blame me if I know my roommate a little too well.”

He tries to act cool, but secretly? He loves being there to catch you every time. It makes him feel like he’s part of something normal, something real. And maybe one day, when he catches you for the hundredth time, his hand steady on your waist, he’ll let his fingers linger just a little longer. Maybe he’ll pull you close, just close enough for you to feel his heartbeat racing.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll realize that being your safety net was the best fall he ever took.

───────────────────────

Incident 1

You: reaches for something on the top shelf

Bucky: without even looking up “Careful.”

You: pauses mid-reach “I’m fine, Bucky. I’ve totally got this!”

Bucky: gets up and walks behind you, steadying you “You said that last time, and then I had to catch you and the spices before they seasoned our floor.”

───────────────────────

Incident 2

You’re in the kitchen, trying to make pancakes.

Bucky: walking in with a sigh “Alright, what’s burning?”

You: quickly turns “Nothing! I swear!”

Bucky: smirks, watching you almost drop the spatula from the freight of him coming into the kitchen “Sure, sure. Disaster Darling strikes again.”

You: “I am not that clumsy!”

Bucky: “Right, last week you didn’t trip over your own feet getting off the couch?”

You: mumbling “…that was different.”

Bucky: crosses his arms, laughing softly “Uh-huh.”

───────────────────────

Incident 3

One day, you’re reaching for something in the cabinet again.

Bucky: from the other room “Don’t even think about it!”

You: “How did you…?”

Bucky: appears in the doorway with that knowing smirk “I just know.”

It goes on like this. Every time you trip, stumble, or knock something over, he’s there. Sometimes he doesn’t even need to look. It’s like he has his own personal “you’re about to do something clumsy” radar. Sort of like a spider sense but a Bucky sense.

───────────────────────

Bonus

There’s this one time you almost fall off a ladder trying to hang up a picture.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Bucky’s caught you by the waist, holding you steady. And maybe he’s holding you a little longer than he should, but you don’t seem to mind, leaning back with that flustered little smile.

Bucky: clears his throat, looking away “Try not to fall so much, alright?”

You: softly laugh “Guess I’m lucky I have you.”

And in that moment Bucky realizes he loves your clumsiness, he loves protecting you…

[billielolly]

Sims 3 Build - Cheerful Cottage

A cosy and vibrant cottage, perfect for a sim starting their new life. 1 bedroom and 1 bathroom on a 20x20 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/-Kc9YLWA6t0

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/111265861/

Exchange: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9605511

Expansion packs:

Ambitions

University Life

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

None

Custom content:

heaven - Pewter Slate Roof with White Trim

PralineSims - P-Glass Tiles III

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

Mutske - Kitchen Aria Cookerhood

Kerrigan House Designs - Autumnfell Bench

Lulu265 - Eclectic Living Room Coffee Table

PralineSims - Big Flokati III

PralineSims - Sheep Carpet IV

ArtVitalex - Glen Bedroom (Bed, Mirror)

johziii - Irene Bedroom (Nightstand, Lamp):

Martassimsbook - Lorelea Abstract Paintings:

Lulu265 - Bedford Bedroom Wall Art

Julietsimscc - Dolce Vita Paintings (Medium Frame)

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set (Utensils, Dishsoap)

ATS3 - Square Canisters

ATS3 - Kitchen Herbs (Basil, Mint)

ArtVitalex - Rowlett Hallway Extra (Key Bowl, Umbrella Holder)

Martassimsbook - cmdesigns Anemone Bathroom Set Candle

NynaeveDesign - Lyne Curtains (Curtains 1x1 Left, Curtains 1x1 Right, Curtains 2x1)

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

Martassimsbook - Ars-botanica Cup of Pansies

ATS3 - Toothbrush #2

Mutske - Toiletroom Aria Toilet Paperholder

Onyxium - Kearny Bathroom Accessories (Soap Dispenser, Reed Diffuser)

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild My Home Set Potted Cordyline Palm

Martassimsbook - novvvas Mid Century Modern Living Room (Books 2, Succulent 3)

Martassimsbook - novvvas Planties pt3 (Ficus Elastica, Monstera Deliciosa)

bioniczombie - Lug Trio

Onyxium - Troia Living Room (Bergere, Sofa Double)

ArtVitalex - Juniper End Table

Martassimsbook - novvvas Rahat Set Ficus

Martassimsbook - Aira Daisy Set (Acrylic Vase A, Acrylic Vase Flowers)

ArtVitalex - Fullerton Toilet Brush

Catharsim - Syboulette Hortensia Beech Tree

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P1 Shelves

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P2 (Dress Belt, Summer Dress, Tunic, Long Sleeve Dress, Shorts, Sweater)

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P3 (Floppy Hat, Ivy Cap, Fedora, Sunglasses)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Small glass house. No. Just, no. 2011 glass house in Lakeport, CA. 1bd, 1ba, $1.25M. Once again, NO. Also, the property is off-grid and powered by "highly efficient roof mounted solar panels with a separate battery bank and propane generator for reliable power."

For the price, you would think that they had electric shades or blinds.

But, they just have big, bulky gray draperies that you pull yourself.

The small kitchen looks mid-century modern, considering it was built in 2011.

The dining area.

Hmmm. The ceiling is metal.

There's also a table for two out on the deck.

Couch and coffee table facing the window.

Right next to the bedroom. Looks like the walls are glass, also.

I guess the home is minimalist, b/c all your stuff would be visible.

View from the bed.

Shower, toilet peeking out. I thought that it would be more enclosed.

The tub is outside.

I guess the Buddha's included.

Also, on the property is a metal building.

It's a guest house but the owner uses it as an office and home gym.

It has a nice bath.

And, a sauna.

Lamps bounce off the glass walls at night.

Lots of land- 64.54 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3312-Benmore-Valley-Rd-Lakeport-CA-95453/201509479_zpid/

[thetourguidebarbie]

oh my, love is a lie

for @the-road-betwixt. happy birthday. i did some recon on your favorite tropes and i hope i hit close :)

--

"Love is a lie," Caroline declared, throwing back a glass of $418 zinfandel like a shot of tequila and slumping back on the couch in Kol's exquisitely decorated mid-century modern condo. "There's no such thing as soulmates. If I can’t find mine after over a thousand years of trainwreck relationships, it's fake."

"Cheers to that, darling," Kol said, waving his own glass in the air.

"You're so lucky you're not half-wolf," Caroline grumbled.

"Love can be a lie for me too, now. Don't be racist."

"Okay, yeah, but you don't start every relationship knowing that it's probably not right and that your soulmate could interrupt at any time and completely nuke it, so what's the point of even trying."

"I ruin things just fine on my own, it's true," Kol allowed. "But I think you're being a bit fatalistic."

Caroline huffed, propping her bare feet on the coffee table and idly wondering whether painting her toenails a mopier shade would be warranted. Pale grey, the color of the dead corpse of her love life, perhaps?  "The concept of soulmates is by definition fatalistic, Kol. And that's what post breakup wine nights are for. Fatalism, derogatory!"

"You'll find him," Kol insisted, in a rare moment of genuine emotional support. "You have forever, after all."

"Yeah, I do! What if he's already dead? What if I missed him?" Caroline asked, now drunk enough to give voice to the fears that she usually kept compartmentalized in the most out-of-the-way part of her mind. "What if I didn't find him in time and now I'll never have anyone?"

"Ah, we've had enough to invite the entrance of sad-drunk Caroline. A pity."

"Shut up," Caroline whined. "You're not being very helpful."

"I like to think I've been an excellent support system," Kol said indignantly. "I've listened to you mope for centuries and haven't encouraged you to contact an ex-boyfriend once. Do you know how rare that is in this day and age? In the era of looking up your ex-husbands on linkedin because it's the only platform they've not blocked you on?"

"Well I don't have a linkedin or an ex-husband, so that wouldn't be very helpful," Caroline said, glancing at Kol, whose eyes were shifting guiltily. "What?"

"Sorry, darling," he said quickly, chugging some wine straight from the bottle.

"For what? It was a joke," Caroline said slowly, her eyes narrowing.

Kol was being. Weird.

So weird.

"But we've never talked about it," Kol said, avoiding her gaze. "Scrupulously avoided it, in fact."

"Avoided what?" Caroline asked, mystified. 

"I'd assumed it would make you upset."

"That what would make me upset?"

"Mentioning Nik."

Caroline blinked. "Who?"

Read the rest here.

[simstorian-blog]

Dusty Turf

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Parched Prospect

Lot Size: 30 x 20

(3-bedroom, 2 Bathroom)

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

Cottage Living

Desert Luxe Kit

Dream Home Decorator

Eco Lifestyle

Get Famous

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

Island Living

Laundry Day Stuff

Outdoor Retreat

Spa Day

Wedding Stories

Build Mode

AnneSimmer – Wall Mural Pt. 1

Felixandre – London (Chandelier, Panelling)

Felixandre – Grove Pt. (Plaster Floor)

Harlix – Bafroom (Mirrors, Windows)

Harlix – Harluxe (Used Throughout)

Harlix – Orjanic Pt. 1 (Column)

Harlix – Tiny Twavellers (Mural Wall)

Harrie – Kwatei Pt. 1 (Doors, Windows)

Max20 – Polished Sandstone Trim

Peacemaker – Curly Koa Flooring

Peacemaker – Simple Siding

SimPlistic – Leafy Wallpaper

Sooky – Victorian Floor Tiles

Buy Mode

Anye – Cal Magazine

Anye – Neomy Table Lamp

Anye – Zara Bathrobe

Awingedllama – Apartment Therapy (Rug)

Awingedllama – Boho Living (Cement Planter)

Awingedllama – Blooming Plants

BlueTeas – Rivers Bedroom (Base, Headboard)

CharlyPancakes – Lavish (Shopping Bag)

ClutterCat – BusyBee Pt. 2 (FlatBox)

ClutterCat – Cozy Casita (Candle)

ClutterCat – Dandy Diary Pt.1  (Leather Tray)

ClutterCat – Dandy Diary Bathroom

Dereon – Silver Lining Stool (DL Available via Patreon)

Felixandre – Chateau Pt. 4 (Square Container)

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Parasol)

Felixandre – Florence Pt. 3 (Luggage)

Felixandre – Florence Pt. 4

Felixandre – Grove Pt. 2 (Stacked Plates)

Felixandre – Paris Pt. 3 (Pouffe)

Felixandre – Shop The Look 1 (Side Table)

GreenLlamas – Kerv Inkblot Rug

Harlix – Baysic (Bedding, Hanging Clothes, Packs System)

Harlix – Baysic Bathroom (Toilet)

Harlix – Kichen (All glasses)

Harlix – Livin’ Rum (Tv, Bowl, Vase)

Harlix – Orjanic Pt. 2 (Vase)

Harrie – Octave Pt. 4 (Light Switch)

Joyce – Simple Live #5 (Separate Towel)

LeafMotif – House & Garden Covers

LittlBowBub – Home Barista

Littledica – Delicious Kitchen (Paper Towel)

Littledica – Rise & Grind (Flavour Syrup)

Madlen – Dionis Ottoman

MyCupofCC – ColourTalk (Mirror)

Myshunosun – Gale Dining (Cart, Wine Bottle, Wine Glass)

NoStyle – Mara Living Chair

Peacemaker – Ellipse Armchair

Peacemaker – Mid-Century Abode (Bedframe)

Peacemaker – Oasis Chic Living (Cordyline)

Pierisim – Domaine du Clos Pt. 2 (Account Book)

Pierisim – Domaine du Clos Pt. 4 (Zucchini Chopping Board)

Pierisim – Living Room Mini (Citrus Bowl)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 2 (Rug)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 3 (Metal Sconce, Soap)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 5 (Table Lamp)

Pierisim – Oak House Pt. 4 (Shower)

Pierisim – Vera Bathroom (Mounted Hook, Robes, Soap)

Ravasheen – Hot Sim Disguise Clutter (Tray)

RusticSims – Kind of Modular (Books, Coffee Table)

RusticSims – Lofi Pt. 1 (All Lighting)

Severinka – Aura Ottoman

Sundays – Duvet

Sundays – Kediri Pt. 1 + 2 (Sofa, Throw Pillows)

Sundays – Kuta Pt. 1 (Dining Table)

Sundays – Pandawa Pt. 3 (Pouf)

Sundays – Sumba Pt. 1 (Pillows)

Sundays – Swell Pt. 1 (Bolster Pillow)

Sundays – Ungasan Pt. 2 (Slippers)

Sundays – Yarra Pt. 3 (Bed Pillows)

Syboubou – Caroline Shower Rug

Tuds – Ind 02 (Wine Rack)

Winner9 – Malibu Pillow

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: Download

[deepdreamnights]

Spaced Out

Uhhh...

The image(s) above in this post were made using an autogenerated prompt and/or have not been modified/iterated extensively. As such, they do not meet the minimum expression threshold, and are in the public domain.

Prompt: A photograph of an elegant woman from the 1950s, with her hands in front showing a manicure and wearing pearl earrings. She is sitting at a table with one hand resting on it. The other arm has two small glass perfume bottles hanging off its wrist by their labels. Her hair is styled to appear romantic yet natural. She wears a black dress against a black background, with soft lighting, in the style of vintage-style portrait photography with a grainy film filter.:: The interior of the massive house features a spiral staircase with green carpet and wallpaper. The living room has a mid-century modern style, with white furniture and a green glass table lamp on the coffee table. The walls are white, and the living room has a green patterned wallpaper. The curtains are cream-colored, and the overall aesthetic is one of retrofuturism.:: A simple cartoon drawing of three stick figures, one lion, and two people standing next to each other on lined paper in the style of David Dennis. The person wearing glasses is sitting down, holding their head with both hands while looking at an angry man dressed as Zothof Mamenti, who has long hair tied back into braids, his eyes glowing red, and sharp teeth showing through thin lips. There should be no text or words in these doodles. They have been drawn by hand using a black ink pen --ar 3:4 --v 6.1

[nicolestamas]

The Pastel Ladies - A Delightful Duplex by Harlequin Eyes

I built this duplex a few years ago, inspired by a house I drive by occasionally. In my mind the homes are occupied by two elderly sisters. Each side has a living room, kitchen, half bathroom, full bathroom, main bedroom, secondary bedroom/study/bonus room, small back yard, and a tiny front porch off the main bedroom where the sisters sit and chat over tea and coffee. It's definitely got a lot of "cool grandma" energy but you can make it over however you want.

This has been in my game for a while, and I've modified it slightly to work with the upcoming Sims 4 For Rent Expansion Pack. More pictures under the cut!

DOWNLOAD

Packs Needed:

Discover University

Island Living

Get Famous

Seasons

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Get Together

Realm of Magic

Strangerville

Jungle Adventure

Parenthood

Spa Day

Paranormal Stuff

Backyard Stuff

Kids Room Stuff

Romantic Garden Stuff

Movie Hangout Stuff

Cool Kitchen Stuff

REQUIRED CUSTOM CONTENT: (Files are included if I couldn't find a source)

Dishwasher Pro recolor by me (included)

Autumn Pumpkin, Contact Solution, & Gelydh Shop Head by ajOya (included)

Barbie Doll & VHS Box

Make-up Bag & Soft Glasses Case

Lemon Timer

Hair Dye Box

Make-Up Tray

Butter

Toaster (red IKEA-looking one)

DIY Container Mug

Hemnes Vanity

5th Avenue Deco Globe

Magazine - Arts/Music/Architecture

Eyeshadow (6 color pots)

Open Book - Simlish

Tawashi

Coffee Table

Animated Birdbath

Penchant For Plaid Wallpaper

Bistro Tea Set

Fishermen's Nook Set

Woven Chest

Crystal Ball

Get Famous Clutter

Parenthood Bathroom Clutter

Vintage Glamour Clutter

BRIE Reading Glasses

Hatch Mowed Grass by BritStep (included)

Floral Wallpaper by DWS (included)

Freed Eco Decor

Family Fun Stuff Conversion

Pillow Galore Collection

Samspelt Deer

Upright Piano

Sputnik Toaster

Eco Kitchen Stuff

Striped Wallpaper with Wainscoting

Umbrella Stand Collection

Amber Glasses

Plant Life Kit

Cathrineholm Lotus Inspired Kitchen Recolors

Steaming Cups

Shabby Chic Round Pillow

Cottage Garden Set

Sheer Will Curtains

Mid-Mod Seema Chair & Mid-Mod End Table

Kitchen Goals

Study All Night Clutter Item

Luminous Lotus

Binge Inking Stacked Books

Luminous Ball in Lotus Flower

Spring Fling Paintings

Rifle Paper Company Window Valance

Moravian Star Lamp

Under Stairs Bookshelf

Slot Fixes

Tastefully Tacky Paintings

Sims 2 to 4 Mask Conversions by unknown (included)

Ornate Display Stand

Christmas Gifts 2018 - Sweets

BV Souvenirs & Collectibles

Simplistic Curtains Add-Ons

Additionally there are items from the following sets by Peacemaker_IC:

Annabel Bedroom Suite

Atwood Living

Caine Living

Cats & Dogs Siding Recolors

Coba Bedroom

Colour Me Rugs

Country Crafter Build Set

Elsie Bedroom

Essa Kitchen

Futura Living

Geomertic Murals

Graciously Georgian Set

Grove Furniture Collection

Hamptons Getaway

Hamptons Hideaway

Hamptons Retreat

Mid-Century Abode

Mid-Century Eclectic

Mina Kitchen

Myra Living & Study

Oasis-Chic Dining

Oasis-Chic Living

Ornate Tiling

Paranormal Add-Ons

Roarsome Bedroom

Rock'n Rockers

Shrunken Coffee Tables

[akallia]

the fluidity of concrete, part 1

Hello, all! I'm back. Nothing much here but there will be important notes at the end. This is a cross-post from AO3, and there will be a link to it at the end if you want to read it there. Happy reading!

Pairing: Albedo x Fem!Reader, Kaeya x Fem!Reader if you squint

Word count: 4k

Concept: Albedo, son of a renowned German architect, finds himself in small-town America as his mother slips into a coma. You, an employee of your local library and resident architecture nerd, form an unlikely relationship with the foreigner with the platinum blonde hair.

CW: smoking, language, substance abuse, death, abusive parents

Most people would never get to see true stasis. Stasis, a state or period of inactivity or equilibrium. The best place to find stasis is a home owned by someone important which was turned into a museum after their passing. That is where stasis is in its purest form. Where else would you experience a state of such stillness? It feels so wrong - either the original owners should come back and inhabit their home, or the tourists should occupy it. Regardless, the stasis of an empty, culturally significant home possesses an arresting emptiness to it. It is… stasis. Stasis implies that there will be change, soon. It is a home. Homes are for living. Where are all the people? 

The home in question: mid century modern, hidden away behind rows of thick symmetrical hedges, a sprawling lawn behind it stamped with a checkered mowing pattern, dotted with willow trees. A bright conversation pit in the center of the living room with a baby grand Steinway adjacent, immaculately dusted and wanting. Low, flat ceilings, floor to ceiling built in bookshelves decorated in antique clocks and obscure coffee table books on art. A wall of glass behind the conversation pit that faded into a short concrete porch. 

Gold stood there with her hands clasped thoughtfully behind her back, a large, ugly hat on her head as she surveyed the lifeless lawn and its perfectly cut grass. Just her, and her “translator” on the phone in the kitchen, making sure she didn’t wander off. She tended to use her old age to her advantage these days, meandering wherever she pleased in the name of “allowing an old woman her pleasures.” 

—

Again, Gold and her omnipresent companion, now at one of the churches and preschools downtown. Mona, her translator, always on the phone, balancing herself on one hip with all her weight on a dangerous-looking black stiletto heel and impeccably dressed with her innate balance of tasteful and expensive. She jabbered on in German… 

“Was du gesagt hast, klingt für mich so, als ob…” She gave a quick glance at Gold, who had picked up one of their discarded umbrellas and was meandering. “Ach nee!” She said rudely. 

The courtyard of the church was a strange one. The church itself was large and imposing, a compound occupying an entire city block. A large L-shaped rectangle formed the main structure, and in the crook of the L it sank down to an open courtyard an entire story into the ground, a sort of hamster tunnel up above from the preschool to the church proper providing the only shelter from the elements. White concrete contrasted against the green summer grass that housed a small fenced-in playground. The concrete proudly exhibited its popularity with wheel tracks from skateboards and roller skates. 

Gold collapsed in a heap on the concrete as the clouds opened and rain fell on her old body. 

Mona dropped her bag and flung her heels off and ran, dialing 911 as she went. 

--

It was your mid-afternoon smoke break. You wished books weren’t so delicate. If they weren’t, you might be able to smoke in the library instead of outside. It was so fucking hot outside, in the June midwestern heat. You hated it. But the view of downtown was nice, and you got to stare at the church, the library, and the Ragnvindr house. You didn’t mind that much. It might have been a less miserable smoke break if Kaeya was there to keep you company. He was good at distracting you with intellectual bullshit. 

You stared thoughtfully at the large gray-green sculpture that the kids aptly called Dinosaur Bone. The architect had designed it such that when you looked through it from the right angle, the clocktower of the L-shaped church across the street was framed perfectly inside of it. You leaned against the wrought-iron fence of the Ragnvindr house that bordered the library, observing the clocktower, which was in desperate need of renovation. It was interesting that something only a few decades old could rot like that. But it didn’t surprise you. Rot was everywhere, no matter the age. 

While you pondered, you ran over the script in your head, rattling off lines about the church. You hoped the historical society would accept your job application for a tour guide. You knew your stuff, but the thought of staring at strangers, with their expectant eyes intently gazing back at you, and having to recite something from memory gave you heart palpitations. Another drag from your cigarette. You clenched the clear red gas station Bic lighter for dear life. 

“Fuck,” you whispered. You stepped on your cigarette, and went back inside to clock in for the rest of your shift at the library. 

Inside, you were in the zone as you called it. It was easy to get lost in yourself working here. The library was always occupied, but never busy. The ceilings were impossibly high and waffled with concrete, lights inset in every adjacent square like checkers. The rows and rows of wood shelves complemented the red brick walls and dated blue carpet, and the lazy midsummer light pouring in from the monstrously large sections of glass between the brick pillars made you feel cozy.

A half hour of stocking the shelves with returned books came and went, and you had made it to the back of the adult fiction section. There, on the floor leaning against the stacks, was your coworker Kaeya. His thick raven hair was pulled back in a signature low bun, and he wore the same vans, black jeans, and button-down that he wore almost every day, a getup which you affectionately dubbed The Kaeya. He was holding a book open in his tanned hands, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“Reading anything good?” You took a seat on the floor next to him. It was getting close to closing, and you were sure that nobody desperately needed a third copy of Crime and Punishment at this hour.

“Not sure,” he responded, not looking up at you. “Might just be grad school gibberish.” 

“If you need help with something, let me know,” you offered. 

“Yeah…” he trailed off, still engrossed. He suddenly shut the book with one hand and met your eyes thoughtfully. “Do you wanna… see a movie tonight?” 

You were taken aback. Kaeya was your work best friend and nothing more. You bit your lip, wondering how to handle the situation, though you couldn’t deny you found him attractive. In all honesty, it was a bit shocking he wasn’t taken. The two of you did live in the middle of nowhere, after all. Specimens like Kaeya were snatched up fast. 

You kept your expression guarded so you could gauge the situation. “I… can’t. I’m getting dinner with a friend tonight," you lied.

 “Like a date?” He looked a bit disheartened, but maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Kaeya wasn’t the type to mope about stuff like that, you didn’t think. He was a bit of a ladies’ man. 

“No, no, just a school friend.” You tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear, messing with the hem of your shirt. “Nothing like that.” 

He met your avoidant eyes with an even, contemplative look. You could almost fall for him like this, you think. His eyes were deep, dark pools of blue. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He opened the book again. You wished he would tease you. Normally he would’ve teased you over something like that. 

“Do you have your master’s?” You asked, changing the subject. This was getting uncomfortable. If Kaeya really was interested in you, you certainly had a lot to think about. 

Thankfully, Kaeya was a smart guy, and he seemed to catch your drift. “Yeah, unfortunately.” 

“Was it hard to get?” 

“Depends on your definition of ‘hard.’ Why do you ask?” He flipped through the book, his long, dark fingers occasionally grazing over something. The movements of his arm turning the pages constantly messed with his nametag, and it bothered the living hell out of you. 

You paused. “I was just talking to Lisa, and she told me that as a rule they only give full time positions to Masters of Library Science grads.” 

Kaeya didn’t miss a beat. “That’s not completely true. Rosaria doesn’t have one.” 

“She doesn’t?” A flicker of hope blazed in your chest. If there was a possibility that you could land a decent-paying job without the burden of paying for school - which you most definitely could not afford - then there was hope. 

“She has a Ph.D. in Lit.” 

“Great.” Your heart sank and you thought you might burst into tears. 

Kaeya chuckled lightly to himself in self-pity. “Yeah, whatever you do, don’t get a masters in library science. It was recently declared the worst master’s degree for a job.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, still not making eye contact. He was honestly starting to bother you a bit. 

“And yet you have a job,” you jabbed, irritated. 

“I’m an exception.” Another page turn, his nametag flipping around again. “Anyway,” he said, finally looking at you. “You don’t want to be a librarian.” 

“I might.” You weren’t sure if his words were laced with condescension or not. Regardless, a small thorn of spite lodged itself in your heart at his tone.

Kaeya sighed dramatically. “No, you don’t. What about Deborah Berke? You’d be crazy to pass that up.” 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” you laughed softly. Would your future never stop haunting you? You wished you could shut your brain off and never think ever again. 

“Why not?” Kaeya challenged, an indignant look crossing over his face before melting into something less severe. The book in his lap, opened again as he shifted his attention away from you once again, ruffled with the breeze of the AC unit above. 

“It’s just not,” you replied, a bit of a bite to it. “You wouldn’t understand.” You leaned back on your wrists to stare at the waffled ceilings again. 

“Yes, I would.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

– 

It was cloudy again. Summers in the midwest were always hot and humid, but this particular June was stifling. The humidity soared with every inch of rainwater that threatened to flood the river. 

You internally bemoaned these facts as you scooped vegetables into a tupperware container to save for later. Your mother still wasn’t home from work yet, and you wanted the vegetables for dinner to be at least semi-fresh for the meal. You checked your watch - 5:30 and she still wasn’t home. Her shift ended at four. 

You felt a tightness in your chest. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know how you were feeling. But at the same time, she had to understand how hard this was. How hard it was to pretend. The sporadic absences, the overworking, the lack of communication, the trying–God, the trying. It weighed on you. Your house felt so empty without another person in it. 

–

You were back at the bank again. Your beat-up Civic rattled to a halt in front of the building you’d visited a thousand times in the past six years. You got out of your relic of a car and sat on the hood, staring at the four squares of greenish fluorescent lights that covered the concrete overhang for the drive-thru teller stations. 

It was nighttime, and the temperature had dropped to a bearable 85 degrees despite the ever-rising humidity. You deemed this appropriate weather for crying. You stared and stared and stared at the lights and let the paradox of your existence consume you inside and out, silently crying as you always ended up doing when you went to this unremarkable bank that had become something so meaningful to you. 

Most teenagers had a “spot.” For some people, it was the watertower on the west side of town with its suspiciously unlocked ladder. For others, it was the roof of the highschool on the north side. Another group might frequent the soccer fields with its soft grass and border of blue firs. For you, it had been this old mid century drive-thru bank downtown. You hadn’t had many friends in school, so nobody minded that your go-to hangout spot was a fucking bank. 

9:30. Your mom wasn’t picking up her phone. 

–

10:30. You were crying, this time in front of the hospital. The second shift was leaving while a well-dressed man with platinum hair dressed smartly in a navy and tan suit was exiting a taxi. He gave you a passing glance as he pulled an expensive looking matching suitcase and duffel bag behind him before disappearing into the lobby. You gave him a small smile for moral support, wondering why he was there. Maybe he was a doctor or something. If he was, you felt stupid for smiling. Doctors know what they’re doing. 

There she was. Your mom, the last of the group of cleaners leaving. You walked back to the car in awkward silence as you shot down each of her attempts at conversation. You both resigned yourselves to an uncomfortable quiet on the ride home with only the rumble of the engine to fill the void of words. 

–

Albedo found his way to the third floor of the hospital with no difficulties save for the obnoxious distraction of one squeaky wheel of his suitcase. Mona was waiting in the hallway for him, arms crossed and tapping her foot like a cartoon character. Her dark hair was wound in a low, tight bun that made her soft facial features look more severe than they actually were. Albedo didn’t like it on her. It made her look older. He missed the days when she was younger and happier. But then again he hardly remembered those days anymore. 

The receptionist gave him a barely perceptible nod and Mona finally saw him. Her anxious body relaxed a bit at the sight of him, and he let go of his suitcase to catch her as she barreled into his arms, squeezing more tightly than he would have liked. 

After what felt like forever, she finally pulled away. “Come on. Let’s go see her first,” she muttered. Albedo really didn’t want to. 

–

Albedo checked into his room at the Ragnvindr house, a stately old home which had at some point been converted into a bed and breakfast. It was regal, meticulously maintained, and blessedly empty. His suite was large and tastefully decorated with rich oak walls, double hung windows, and heavy velvet curtains. His room boasted a small sitting room of eclectic vintage furniture; a massive, ancient-looking wardrobe, a beat-up desk, and a sumptuous king-sized bed on an ornately carved mahogany frame.

He dropped his expensive luggage unceremoniously on the floor and took a turn about the room he had found himself in. As he rifled through the many scraps of paper and open books still on the desk, he realized he would most likely be staying here for an undetermined amount of time. 

He felt sick remembering that this was his mother’s room. 

Albedo picked up one of the empty notebooks. It was black with a red fabric binding. He flipped through it, pacing the room as he looked at her scribblings and half-legible German. When he felt truly sick to his stomach reading her notes, he threw the notebook on the bed and opened the wardrobe, looking for something more tangible than the abstract, half-cooked drawings. 

Inside the behemoth wardrobe was a singular cropped vest and an ugly green hat. Thankfully, his phone rang and broke him from the reverie of his mother’s hideous fashion sense. 

“Ja?” He picked up. “...Nein. Rufen Sie mich später an, bitte…. Ja. Tschuss.” 

He sighed heavily and laid down on the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. 

–

“I can’t believe how old you are. You look just the same,” Mona said, crossing her legs delicately at the ankle. She daintily took a sip of her wine, a small, faraway smile crossing over her lips. 

Albedo sat next to her at the bar nursing a beer. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his suit despite feeling disgusting from traveling for so long. “That’s not true, but thank you.” 

“You do!” Mona insisted, attempting to inject some energy into the clearly-deflated Albedo.

A beat passed before he scrounged up the mental capacity to grind out, “You’re sweet.” 

They both took another drink before Mona kept the conversation going, her body angling towards him. “So,” she drew out the ‘o’ for too long. Albedo never understood her. She was far too friendly to be German. Did she talk to strangers like this? “How do you like being in Berlin?” 

“It’s okay,” Albedo replied softly. He looked anywhere but at her, somewhat unsettled by her undivided attention. He observed the dim bronze lights hanging from the curved ceiling, and glanced at the other patrons. It was a nice, refined place, reminiscent of a chic subway tunnel. Mona certainly had good taste. 

“What are you doing there?” She asked, her accent hardening the ‘w’ a bit. 

“I got a job at a lab there. Science… stuff.” Albedo felt absolutely sick to his stomach thinking about work.

“That sounds interesting.” Her voice was encouraging, like she wanted him to talk. He did not want to talk. 

“It is… not.” For a brief moment he considered whether or not to dump all his troubles onto her, but then decided against it. He kept a lid on it, intentionally air-tight, just for that reason. “It’s pretty painful, actually. Um, I’ve got projects still ongoing. I just got off the phone with them before we met here.” 

Mona looked offended. “They don’t expect you to work while you’re here, do they?” 

“I think they do. You know,” Albedo began, taking another sip for courage, “it’s that… that thing: ‘We’re sorry, family is important… but really work is the most important… so you’d better fucking finish your project or we’ll lose the grant…’” He trailed off, eyes glazed over. 

“That can’t be true.” 

“We’ll see.” His words held a finality to them. “I wish you were staying another day.” He didn’t wish that at all, but he felt like he should humor her and perhaps honor their history. 

“I know… but I was supposed to be in Chicago a few days ago with your mother. And I have my work…” She trailed off dejectedly, tapping her fingers on the counter. 

“I know,” he almost whispered. “You’ve already done so much.” He stared at the wall of wine bottles.

“I can’t believe this happened…” Mona had a haunted look in her pretty blue-gray eyes. “She was doing fine and then just… I’m sorry.” Albedo was taken aback at her change in demeanor. She hiccuped a bit and placed the back of her hand on her mouth to force back the tears. “I just… I owe her so much. Your mother means everything to me.” 

The bartender tactlessly interrupted the obviously intimate moment. “Is there anything else I can get you guys?” 

Mona beat Albedo to the punch. “No, I think we’re ready for the…” 

“Can I get another beer?” Albedo interjected. 

“Definitely. Another glass of wine for the lady?” He smiled a picture-perfect customer service smile that Albedo knew all too well. 

“No thanks.” 

A moment of unsure silence passed before Albedo spoke up. “She didn’t even tell me she was coming on this trip. Did she tell you that?” 

“No…” 

“That’s about right. Did she mention me at all?” He asked, somewhat desperate. Normally he could keep it under control, lock them away, keep them hidden, but Mona’s presence and the stress of traveling internationally and seeing his mother’s failing body and being in a foreign country was just too much. The lid was slowly popping off and he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to get it back on. 

“We talked a little,” Mona said defensively, eyes darting around like a cornered animal. 

He pressed her further, heart pumping. The rage, God, the rage! He gritted his teeth, spitting out the words, “What did she say?” 

“Albedo…” Mona was on the verge of tears again. Albedo felt a small pang of guilt for it, but she couldn’t pretend to be blind to Gold’s problems forever, no matter how much Mona owed her. He wondered how she would feel when she found out the truth about Gold. 

“Did she tell you that we haven’t spoken in over a year?” His voice lowered dangerously. The lid was slipping.

Mona looked absolutely devastated. “You’re all she has.” 

“That has never been the case,” Albedo said in a deadly calm. His hands tightened under the bar counter, small crescent moons forming in his palms. He knew his mother didn’t care for him. She raised him, if you could call her parenting raising a child, and cast him aside like he was some sort of creature. Like a pet she didn’t have use for anymore. “She has her students… her work,” Albedo spat. His tone was so venomous he was sure the acidity of them could've bled through the bar.

“You’re her son!” Her voice was pleading. It revolted him to his stone cold core. 

“You’ve been watching too much TV” is all he said. The lid was safely back in place.

Mona peeked at him out of the corner of her eye before waving down the bartender, clearly done with the conversation. “Can we get the check?” She sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and pointer finger. “I have to leave early in the morning. I should go to bed.” 

Albedo tried to salvage the situation, adrenaline petering out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.” And he really was sorry. It was so painfully awkward he wished he hadn’t brought her up. 

“The Ragnvindr Inn knows about the situation,” Mona explained, disregarding him. She did this sometimes. Business as usual. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised by the quick construction of the facade; she was practically raised by Gold as well. “You should be able to stay in her room as long as you need.” 

They parted ways. 

–

Back in the suite, Albedo stood in the ensuite bathroom wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants,  arms braced on either side of the mirror. He glared at himself. The gravity of the situation weighed on him. In that moment he believed he might just be Atlas.

“Shit.” 

-

You were peeling vegetables again. This time, a daikon root from the backyard. You’d decided to take on gardening to pass the time, and your mother needed good healthy foods to recover. You dedicated yourself completely to your task, rinsing the root in the sink. You absentmindedly stared out the window as you grabbed the next one, watching your mother smoking under the carport. She was too young to look this old; she was truly 45 going on 60. Your heart twisted violently. 

You ate your meal together in comfortable silence this time, your mother commenting on how much better your cooking had gotten. After you cleaned up, you sat together on the couch and watched Jeopardy, the blue glow of the board and Alex Trebek’s familiar voice enveloping the otherwise black darkness and silence of your tired living room. 

“Do you know what you’re doing on Sunday?” She asked suddenly. 

“No, I’ll just drop you off in the morning and then take it over to Wagner’s,” you replied with a mouthful of ice cream. 

“It’ll cost us more if it breaks down on us…” she said with a twinge of worry. Her long, skinny arm reached across you to take a sip of water. 

“Ugh, I hate cars,” you complained. 

“Me too.”

--------

Author's Note

Heyyyyy! Not sure if anyone will read this but I am back from my little hiatus. I am planning on writing some other pics, maybe Link or Scaramouche, not too sure yet (and maybe even some Levi depending on when the fuck season 4 part 3 is dropped).

Housekeeping stuff:

this is not my original work. this is from a movie called Columbus. I thought the story was really interesting and I wanted to stretch my writing ability and see if I could adapt a really complex, visually-heavy, story-light screenplay into text

I am part German, though my German isn't perfect. sorry if there are mistakes, I'd say I'm only about half fluent, and it's mostly German/English I speak with my family. as such, grammar isn't very strong

reader is about 25 here, albedo is around 27 or 28

for clarity again, this movie takes place in a real town called Columbus, Indiana. for reference, it is in the middle of nowhere, but it is considered a bit of an architectural hub. so if it seems weird that there are important architects with buildings here, that is why

this is already finished on AO3 if you want to read it completed there, but it is NOT edited. it needs a lot more fleshing out, so if you want a better story and a better representation of my writing ability, I'd recommend waiting it out here

this is a 7 chapter story, but I will be narrowing it down to 3-5 on Tumblr. I think longform works better with this story since the "chapters" are so fragmented

Thanks for reading! Have a lovely day <3

[ickytoadfromspace]

This weekend's project: Makeover & remodel for San Myshuno's Penny Pizzazz, part 2

I wanted to update her apartment to match her cool funky sense of style.

Entryway and main CC:

Main living/bedroom area walls- @pierisim Domaine Du Clos Plein Walls with Paneling

Entryway table- @peacemaker-ic Bowed Phorm Sofa Table

Entryway clutter- @peacemaker-ic Palm Frond, Bookender, Not Just Decor Books

Bedroom CC:

Bedframe- @peacemaker-ic Coba Canopy Bedframe & Coba Canopy

@peacemaker-ic Coba Bed-End Ottoman

Nightstands- @peacemaker-ic Bowed Phorm Side Table

Dresser- @peacemaker-ic Coba Lowboy

Mirror- @peacemaker-ic Mid-Century Eclectic Starburst Mirror

Lamp- @peacemaker-ic Furror Floor Lamp

Rug- @peacemaker-ic Geometric Ripple

Art- @simplistic-sims4 Anthropologie Paintings in Gold Frame

You can also see @greyzonesims Willow Print

Plant is @awingedllama Fiddle Leaf Fig D

Living Room CC:

Sofa & Chair- @harrie-cc & @felixandresims Harluxe Collection

Coffee Table- @peacemaker-ic Bowed Phorm Coffee Table

Plants- @awingedllama Hanging Pothos, Short Hanging Plant- Bohemian

Rug- @peacemaker-ic ColourMe Rugs- Multicolor

Art: @imfromsixam Very Famous and @peacemaker-ic Caine Living Foiled Gold

Clutter: @peacemaker-ic Mid-Century Eclectic Baxtor Glass Vase, @s-imagination Nota Living Room Elephant Scuplture, @imfromsixam Pretty Portrait and Beautiful Landscape, @ravasheencc Hoarders Simnonymous Treasure Box

Tricky to get a good shot of the kitchen! Kitchen CC:

Counters & cabinets- @myshunosun Macaron

Clutter- @peacemaker-ic Atwood Dining Fruit Bowl

Little eating nook-

Bar- @myshunosun Macaron

Barstools- @peacemaker-ic High Back Barstool

Mirror- @peacemaker-ic Coba Claimshell Mirror

You can also see her at her little desk space in the living room way back there-- the chair is @imfromsixam Wood Desk Chair.

I couldn't get any good views of her teeny bathroom, but I can add what I used if anyone is interested!

[shadowsong26fic]

Papa and J---- Update!

Author: shadowsong26

Rating: PG/PG-13

Fandom: Les Misérables

Characters: Technically all on-page characters are OCs; Valjean, Cosette, Marius, and Javert are discussed as historical personalities. Backstory Cosette/Marius and heavily implied Valjean/Javert.

Warnings: Nothing specific, I don’t think?

Summary: Euphrasie Pontmercy–known in the art world as La Jardinière–isn’t exactly a household name. Still, the sheer length of her active career (her work was first displayed and sold in 1839, and she left one last work unfinished at her death in 1910) makes her interesting to people who actually study that century in art. But as far as the historical record is concerned, Jardinière seems to have sprung semi-fully-formed from the streets of Paris somewhere in the mid-to-late 1820s. Other than the fact that she was educated in a convent, essentially nothing is known about her parents or her childhood.

Until now.

Or:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a PhD student with no thesis topic must be in want of an undiscovered painting to go absolutely feral over.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.

Notes: Here we are with Chapter 3! Where Ari talks to Phil’s mom and gets a little more background/family lore. Which is...fairly accurate, even after nearly two centuries of generational telephone, lol. also I am. Tempted. to find someone to commission to actually make a version of the painting are any of y’all who might be artists interested/does anyone have any recommendations of artists who are open for commissions who do that kind of style

Updates will be posted here on Thursdays and crossposted to AO3 on Fridays.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Wednesday afternoon, as soon as the last class I was TAing let out, I headed back to Phil’s house. I’d spoken with his mother on the phone the night before, and she’d agreed to meet me at four. Foot in the door, at least. First hurdle cleared.

Traffic was shit, because of course it was on a day I needed things to run smoothly, and I got there about five minutes late.

The woman who answered the door when I knocked was a little bit shorter than me, with the same bright blue eyes Phil had. Too old to be his sister, so this must be his mom.

“Hi, I’m sorry I’m late,” I said. “I’m Ari Wright, we talked on the phone?”

“Of course,” she said, and smiled, stepping aside. “Please, come in, ah…?”

“Ari is fine,” I said, and followed her inside. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me, Mrs. Riley.”

“Oh, please, Louise is fine,” she said. “Would you like some water, tea?”

“Uh, water would be great, thanks,” I said.

She left me in the living room, excusing herself to go into the kitchen to get it, which gave me another minute alone with the painting.

Which was just as ordinary-extraordinary as it had been on Friday night. Exactly like I remembered it.

To be fair, I’d spent probably way too many hours the past few days studying my shitty phone pictures of it, so.

“I have to admit,” Mrs. Riley--Louise--said, rejoining me and setting a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses on the table. “I was a little surprised when Phil told me one of his friends was interested in Mémé Cosette’s painting.”

I stepped away from the wall and sat in one of the armchairs--not the couch; that would have been Awkward at least in the back of my brain. “I saw it when I was over here with Phil the other day, and…well, it jumped out at me.”

“Right,” she said. “So, what exactly are you looking for here?”

“Well, I was hoping to get your permission to do a more thorough study of the piece,” I said, then hesitated. “…if I can start by asking you some questions? About the painting and its history, whatever you know about it. And recording, if that’s okay. Easier than taking notes.”

“That’s fine,” she said, picking up her glass and settling into one of the other chairs.

I took a sip from the other glass, then set my phone to record audio and put it on the middle of the coffee table. “I suppose I should start with...well, I’m not sure how much you’re aware of your ancestor’s career--Phil wasn’t, at least?”

Louise smiled. “I know who Mémé Cosette was, or at least what I was told about her,” she said. “Euphrasie Pontmercy, also known as La Jardinère. I always liked listening to the family stories.”

“What can you tell me about the painting?” I asked. Obviously, if I went forward, anything she told me would have to be backed up by other sources. Anecdotal family history had a funny way of getting tweaked or embellished over the years, especially when the relative in question was someone even moderately famous. “Phil told me it’s always been in your family, and she’s your…”

“Great-great…great grandmother, I think,” Louise said, taking a moment to count. “My grandmother’s grandfather was her son René.”

The youngest of the five children. Right.

“I’m not sure how exactly the painting ended up in my great-grandmother’s possession, as opposed to any of the other children or grandchildren, but I know she was the one who brought it with her to the States, when she emigrated from France in 1912.” She smiled wryly. “According to the story, they almost boarded Titanic at Cherbourg, but one or more of the children had the measles. Or possibly diphtheria, I’ve heard different things at different times.”

“Not something you’d normally think of as lucky,” I said.

“No, not really,” she agreed. “Like I said, that’s the story, and who knows if it’s true. But I do know that the painting came to my great-grandmother somehow, and she passed it on to my grandmother Marie-Celeste, who left it to me. Since I was the only one of her grandchildren who liked to listen to her stories.”

“Had she actually met La Jardinière?” I asked. It was possible--if they’d been planning to sail in 1912, and Jardinière had died in 1910…

“A few times,” Louise confirmed. “She was about six when Mémé Cosette died, but she remembered visiting her.”

Well, that was a pretty damn solid foundation for the painting’s provenance. Again, I’d have to back up the authentication in other ways, but this was looking more and more promising.

“What about the subjects?” I asked. “The men in the painting, I mean. It’s labeled as Papa and J. Do you know anything about them?”

“Only the stories,” she said. “She was adopted, did you know that? Mémé Cosette, I mean.”

That was interesting; adoption wasn’t a very common practice in the early nineteenth century, at least not in the United States or Great Britain, and most of what did happen was very much behind closed doors. I made a mental note to add the history of French adoption law to my research list. It was unlikely, but maybe I’d get lucky, and there would be some kind of record of the adoption somewhere. If I could track down exactly when and where it happened.

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Unless there’s something in an obscure French biography I haven’t been able to find and muddle through, I don’t think anyone knows much of anything about her childhood. Which is one of the reasons this painting is so interesting. When did this happen? And where?”

“I don’t know where, exactly,” Louise said. “Some little town in Normandy, maybe? Somewhere in the north of France, I’m pretty sure. Again, according to the family stories. It was when she was around seven or eight, I think? Before that…I don’t know. My grandmother didn’t know, or if she did she never told me, but I think she had the impression that it wasn’t a very good situation. And then Mémé Cosette was adopted, so that’s where Papa came into her life.”

“Do you have a name for him?” I asked. “Her marriage license listed her maiden name as Fauchelevent, but was that his name, or from her birth parents…?”

“That I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is that she was adopted, and that she named her eldest son for her adoptive father.”

And Jardinière’s eldest son’s name was Jean, which was. Extremely, unhelpfully common.

“Do you know which of the men he is?” I asked. “In the painting, I mean.”

Louise got up and went to the wall to examine it. “I…think the bearded man. My grandmother obviously never met him, and I think her grandfather--René, I mean--was very young when he died, but that matches up with what she heard from her aunts and uncles, as she passed it on to me. He was a very private person, and supposedly very strong. One story--and I can’t say I believe it’s true--involved him physically carrying another man to safety for something like twelve hours after some kind of disaster.”

Which…well, Louise was right, that story didn’t seem all that credible. But the more general description, and the kind of man who would give rise to that sort of story, did match up with the impression the painting gave.

I stood up as well, leaving my glass on the coffee table, and joined her at the painting. “What about the other man? The mysterious J?”

“We’re back to a game of generational telephone on this one,” Louise said. “I know even less about him. But my grandmother said he was a close friend of the family, according to what Mémé Cosette told her when she asked once. That he and her--that is, Mémé Cosette’s--father lived together for the last decade or so of his life. Not sure which him she meant.”

…well, all right then.

My eye was, once again, drawn to J’s hand, resting on the back of the chair. And they lived together, maybe, for a decade or so.

Of course, that could mean a lot of different things. And, you know, it’s easy to see what you want to see, especially when there’s so little information to go on. Whatever their relationship was, though, I’d been right in my initial impression of intimacy. Whatever kind of intimacy it was.

“Right,” I said. “I think that’s a good baseline, at least for now, but I might have more questions later. And I…not that I’m saying I doubt your version of the story, or anything, but…”

“But if you want to actually research the painting, you need more proof than half-remembered family stories after two centuries of generational telephone,” Louise said, and smiled again. “It’s fine, I know how research works. I remember when my husband got his Master’s degree.”

“Yeah, exactly,” I said. “Thank you, for your understanding. Um, so, with your permission, I would like to borrow the painting for a few weeks. To authenticate it, and do a more detailed analysis of the technique and construction and so on, see what else I can learn from the actual physical piece.”

“Right,” Louise said, turning back to the painting again, thinking. “Just to study it, you said? And, obviously, write about your findings if you find anything worth writing about. But you won’t put the painting on display in a museum or anything?”

I shook my head. “Not unless you agree to it, no. I’d take photographs, to include with the paper, but the painting itself won’t go on display unless you allow it.”

“And when you cite it…I don’t know how it works, exactly, but you wouldn’t have to specifically name me?”

“No, I can just list it as being in a private collection.”

“Right,” she said. “…I have to admit, now that you’re here asking questions…I didn’t really think about it before. How many gaps there are in the story.”

“It’s funny how memory works sometimes,” I said. “Especially…well, like you said, when generational telephone gets involved.”

And it was…a weirdly appropriate question in context, since that was something Jardinière had come back to time and time again in her work. This idea of memory, and how it lines up with reality. How it changes. Those repeat paintings she’d made of the same locations in Paris over the years. The series of paintings of her own memories.

And, of course, her last painting. Souvenir--inachevé. Memory--unfinished.

Definitely need to get to Chicago to see it in person.

“True,” she said. “All right. Under those conditions--that the painting won’t be displayed, and that you’ll leave my name out of it, you have my permission to borrow it and do whatever tests or study you need for your research.”

“Thank you!” I said. “Thank you so much, this…I really appreciate all your help, Mrs.--Louise.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “And I hope you’ll share whatever you find with me, before publishing?”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s your painting, your family history.”

“Good,” she said, and smiled again. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Me, too,” I said. “Me, too.”