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[miss-kittys-magical-library]

In The Air Tonight

From The MoonBrella Academy

Word Count: 2300

Warnings: sex (penatrative, m/f), erotic asphyxiation, death, angst, PTSD, mentions of war, magic, general Klaus-induced chaos. GIF by @sheehanspam

A/N: During the summer of 1974, The Kostas family feels more than the oppressive weight heat. A true prophecy warns them something is on the horizon. Something that will set the course for the rest of their lives all thanks to the man out of time and a baby they promised to raise.

Honey found her balance after straddling Leon. Her hips rolled in a steady rhythm of back and forth. Her husband reached up to caress her breasts. She seized his wrists so tight, her manicured nails dug into her own palms.

Leon, switching gears, grabbed at them roughly instead. He pinched one of Honey’s nipples swollen then the other. They were lost perfectly in his grip as he massaged them, played with them as Honey rode him. He growled and she cried out before moving his hand towards her mouth to suck and bite at Leon's finger and thumb.

They were like a couple possessed. There was something in the air like static. Manhattan was the hottest Honey had known it to be. Everyone drifted slowly and drenched in sweat on the streets and in her apartment. It had been quiet during the worst of the heat. Only Diego and Klaus dained to still visit.

Earlier in the evening, up on the roof with their feet solidly in a wading pool, Leon and Honey sensed Klaus was uneasy about everything. He complained that the temperatures and the electricity in the air was suffocating him. Making his skin crawl as he stripped to his underwear. Everyone was in stages of undress, even the littles were naked and Honey topless.

“It's like Vietnam. The humidity is cellular. I feel strange and twisted.”

“Murderous, but fancy a good shag?” Leon’s query settled across the roof. “Like you could kill who you..” he mouthed fuck.

Two sets of verdant eyes gawked at Honey who suddenly sat up and covered her breasts. “Knock it off, the both of you. You're creeping me out.”

Somehow they made it through dinner and bedtime and MASH and Carol Burnett before Leon threw Honey over his shoulder. She squealed and mimicked trying to escape, but it only spurned Leon into grabbing a fistful of her ass. He maneuvered her around so she could wrap her arms and legs around him while they lumbered and kissed and undressed towards the bedrooms.

“Shhh,” Honey admonished with a strangled laugh. She pointed at the doorway to Sugar and Sunny’s room.

Klaus had passed out on the floor between the tiny beds, his head in his arms on his stomach. Sunny half poured out of the bed with a hand on his.. uncle? Brother? Klaus’s head, little fingers tangled up as he sucked on his free thumb.

Now here they were maybe hours later, insatiable. The air was stifling and had a magnetic crackle that raised the hair on their bodies as they kept having sex. Honey pushed it out of her mind that metal objects were slowly shifting in one direction as she placed Leon's hand around her throat. Her body rocked up and down faster.

There was a blue tinge to the sky and lightning. Heat lightning Leon insisted. It set Klaus on edge with the kids playing around him. He and Sunny tested out telekinesis while Selina danced to David Bowie. Her dark eyes were covered by Klaus’s literal rose colored glasses. He kept zoning out. Like he was waiting, waiting for the consequences of all of his actions.

“Tio Topolino, watch me!” Selina spun with her arms up in the air. Uncle Mouse. Klaus had been too hard to say before she learned her parents’ native tongues.

“Something is coming, Gracie.”

“Why would you say that, Leonidas?”

They were whispering in Greek. The littles weren't quite ready for Greek yet, but Klaus was born fluent. So they spoke in hushed tones on the fire escape.

“Doesn't it feel that way? The last few Weeks. Klaus usually leaves after a day. He's been here for nearly two months. There's bound to be repercussions, right?”

“Not much happened that he's said, or we read, as the result of Vietnam or 1960-1963.”

Leon rolled his eyes at his wife and made a tsk sound, “Just a bloody apocalypse or two. That Dickensian fuck who raised him got a whole new legion off it. Klaus talked you into having our baby. Then into taking another baby he stole. Skip a stone on a pond, and it makes ripples, don’t it?”

Honey hated when her husband was right. And her vagina loved how smart he was. She had looked in the window in time to see Sunny stand and toddle towards Klaus. His eyes glossed over and lost their irises. It was as if he had gone blind.

The parents scrambled through the window towards their son, but Klaus had him by the tiny hands. Sunny's pudgy fingers curled around his.. The larger ones for stability.

“Sunny?!” Selina shook her baby brother lightly.

“Klaus what the fuck? HELP HI-!” Honey yelled but Leon clamped a hand over her mouth.

“He’ll be ok,” Klaus sort of cooed. His voice was low and gentle. “I remember these. It happened so much when I was a kid. It's the innocence I think. I lost this ability because of Reginald.”

“He's in a trance, love. Like in all those movies with seances where the medium goes wonky, and they've got a message from the other side.” .

Everyone held their breath. Then a delighted shout came from the boy. “BIRB!! BEN!!” Then his eyes came back into focus; he threw his arms around Klaus’s neck. As if that was what he planned the entire time.

“Ben?!” Two men with the same face asked simultaneously. “That's my brother.”

“That was your brother’s name?” Klaus spoke first. “Maybe that's where I got it. When Mom asked us to choose our names based on our birth countries, I thought Germany was mine. My brother was Korean, but he couldn't settle on a name. Ben came to my mind. It felt.. familiar.”

Leon walked over to his kids and his twin, or clone, or whatever Klaus was, and picked Sunny up. The toddler stuck his thumb in his mouth and flexed and unflexed his little chubby fingers in his daddy’s long curls.

The matching mess of hair covered Leon's neck and chin as Sunny laid his tiny head down on the elder’s shoulder. The little yawned as his hand now absently stroked Leon's goatee.

“He died in Cyprus. He fought for Britain against our own people. He defected and was killed,” Leon said so casually. “He was 20. I was 16. It was really bloody difficult being an immigrant. A refugee. We left Greece during the Independence War when I was a year old. There's so much death, mate. All around us. I'm just really so sorry you and Nicklaus have to see it up close. I hope here, with Honey and I, they're a bit friendlier.”

Klaus had offered to conjure Leon's brother. His Benjamin. Leon declined. One day, maybe, but 15 years still wasn't enough time. That The Séance had likewise lost his brother in battle at the same age was empathetic enough.

Everyone was a bit melancholy, the air more humid with a spark, Klaus offered to get the littles to bed. Asked if he could crash in their room tonight instead of on the couch. The couple didn't mind.

Really, if Klaus could somehow, they both preferred he just stay here permanently. Honey could keep an eye on him that way. She and Leon knew Klaus had to go back and forth, maintaining his own timeline.

Except the last time he came was two years after he smuggled Sunny to his parents. He promised five minutes. This time it had been over a year. The Kostases were worried the next time he showed up, it would be the 80s. Or they would be old, their kids in their forties.

It was a silent agreement between Leon and Honey that they liked Klaus being around. “But what’s the price WE end up paying?”

Now there they were in the throes of it all. Honey encouraged Leon to tighten his grip around her neck as she scratched at his forearm. Their bodies gyrating in ways they hadn't in years. Not since before Selina. As if they couldn't fuck each other harder or faster.

Honey started to see black spots on the corners of her eyes. She relished in the struggle to breathe. Looking down, the blue tinted midnight sky with its wild lightning reflected back at her through Leon's eyes. He looked deliberate, livid. She knew she looked barking mad to him.

Honey tore at her tits and hair as she felt an orgasm coil around her sex and stomach. She was lightheaded and unable to scream out like always. She began to laugh as best she could like a woman possessed. Rode Leon through his explosion inside of her. She mentally willed it to get her pregnant.

Such a strange thing to wish for while Leon was killing her. Except he wasn't really, was he? Honey could feel herself pass out when there was a massive explosion in the sky over Manhattan.

Leon immediately let go of his wife. A blazing white light that blinded both of them filled the bedroom, and a squawking noise sounded from down the hall. Then yelling from Klaus lost somewhere in the present and possibly Vietnam. There was giggling and the patter of feet with more incoherent shouting and swearing from the littles’ room.

The bird noise only grew over the shouting, so Honey covered her ears to drown it all out. Leon looked stunned. Like he had woken from a terrible dream. That little girl laughter. The patter of feet running down the hall. The yelling and squawking all stopped. Cut off, as if the couple had fallen deaf.

“Mummy!” Selina exclaimed delightedly. It would be strange to Honey that her daughter had developed an accent like Leon's. Except that's who she spent most of her days with. Eventually Selina grew out of it, and Little Italy would take over.

“Can we keep him?! Are you and Papa playing?”

Honey knew Selina’s little head would be tilted. Little forehead wrinkled as it gathered between her eyebrows, tiny pink mouth slightly agape. How Honey loved finding more of Leon in her daughter every day.

“Keep what, Poppet?” Leon asked while helping Honey slide off of his lap. They weren't being modest, she just clearly was coming down from an adrenaline rush.

“This!” Selina held something large and black aloft. That squawking sound again.

Her parents froze. Selina held a raven nearly the size of Sunny in front of herself. It blinked its bright ebony eyes a few times, but was rather calm for being squeezed by a 5 year old. It, he. They knew it was a he. There was even affection on his face.

“Blimey love, whatcha got there?” Leon dared to ask. He was more fascinated than scared. The corvid set Honey’s hair on end.

“It’s Ben, Daddy!” Selina made a tsk noise and rolled her eyes. Little female Leon. “Sunny told us he was coming! The sky was filled with blue people, and Topo was scared. And Sunny’s little hands were blue and Topo’s were too and then Sunny started to fly. He's on the inside roof! Is he Mary Poppins?!” Selina could barely breathe, she was so excited.

“Those blue people are sad and Topo saw one and started to cry. That blue people is Dave. Then the bird came,” she held him out again towards her parents, “and he started making noises at all the blue people and they went away except three and Topo won't stop crying and Sunny is giggling. I'm tired. Can I sleep with you?”

As calm as they could muster, Honey and Leon got out of bed and put on clothes. Leon scooped up Selina who held the raven like a baby. Her dad ignored it. They made their way to the second bedroom where a blue light emanated into the hallway.

Like Sugar said, Klaus was on his knees crying into his hands. Sunny bobbed along the ceiling. He pushed off of it and bounced back up. The little boy’s laughter was a creepy juxtaposition to his older self gently weeping on the floor.

Honey knew. Leon knew. The “blue people” were ghosts. All of that static, that violence and heat in the air the last few weeks were the dead. Crackling and surfacing, begging to break through now that TWO mediums were together. It was, they immediately understood, Klaus’s sheer willpower that had held them at bay. But he was vulnerable, lost vigilance. They all broke through at once.

“Fuck me,” Leon managed at one of two soldiers. He was taller than Leon, but no mistaking his best of curls and angular jaw. Honey knew in life he had dark eyes. “Βενιᾱμῑ́ν?” Benjamin?

Dave, the woman knew, had been Klaus’s lover in Vietnam. He died saving Klaus and their regiment on the front line.

Except Honey could tell that wasn't true. The Commission had him killed to fix the timeline. They were different, not governed by violence more like stern warnings. As if parents instead of a dictator ran them now. When would they come to scold her family?

Lost in her worry, Honey didn't see the third man. The melancholic one with a cigarette perched in his fingers. He wore a giant suit jacket and equally large pants. There was a transparent tumbler of whiskey in his other hand.

This one, this ghost opened his mouth. At the same time Klaus sat up, his head cocked. Then he spoke, and a voice Honey hadn't heard in ten years came out.

“Hiya, Gracie.”

Honey began to weep. “Uncle Lenny.” She hid herself away so he wouldn't see the tears.

“Aw c’mon dollface. It's ok. I'm ok. I'm not ruining my life anymore. I do miss the stage. And Kitty. Tell Kitty I love her, will ya? And Honey, my Honey. That Kindergarten hooker. Spiteful bitch. I miss them. Proud of you, Gracie. We gotta go, ok. The three of us got wrapped up in all that jazz. By the way, cute little fuckers ya got there.”

Lenny tipped his head at Honey and Leon. Then he was gone. They were all gone. Everyone left behind in their wake to cry harder. To mourn in disbelief. Then giggling brought them all to.

Sunny floated down enough for Klaus to catch him by the ankle. He held the little boy to his chest, and Sunny patted him on the cheek. His hands weren't glowing anymore as he shoved a thumb in his mouth. Then, delighted, he gave a shout in the direction of the raven:

“BIRB!!”

@neuroticpuppy @nightmonsters @magic-multicolored-miracle @forenschik @super-unpredictable98 @ghouls-buddy @vonkimmeren @messengeronthemoon @frogs--are--bitches @bisexualnathanyoung @elliethesuperfruitlover @070188 @firstpersonnarrator @rob-private @duck-noises @sylvertyger

[vs-redemption]

Hey babe!!! Congrats on 1.1k ♥️ Can I request the postcard one with Atsumu in Milan, Italy & shopping!!

Thanks for participating in my event! I secretly love writing for Atsumu, so I was happy to see this request. I hope you enjoy this small peek at your vacation in Italy!!!

(requests for this event are still open!)

Shopping in Milan (Atsumu Miya x GN!Reader)

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you let the impossibly soft fabric slide from your fingers and drape back down from the hanger, the number printed on the price tag making you feel guilty for even touching it in the first place. You continue to eye the article of clothing longingly though until you feel a strong familiar arm slide around your waist to tug you closer.

“Why don’t you try it on?”

You glance up at your boyfriend, scrunching up your face at the insane idea until you saw that his question appeared to be one hundred percent genuine.

“Tsumu, have you seen how much some of this stuff costs?” You lean into his side and pat his broad chest gently. “Don’t forget this is a sightseeing stop. We didn’t come here to shop.”

“I know,” he looks down at you with softness in his brown eyes and a love sick grin on his lips. “But what kind of boyfriend would I be if I brought you to the oldest shopping mall in the world and didn’t buy you something, huh? If you like it, try it on.”

The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II was indeed the oldest shopping mall, but it was also a famous landmark in Milan. Your interest in the building had simply been to admire the large glass dome ceilings and gorgeous floor mosaics before moving on with your tour of Italy. Shopping had been the last thing on your mind since all the stores were designer brands and way outside your budget range.

“I’m not trying it on!” You laugh at the mere suggestion. “We can go somewhere else to look for clothes later.”

“If it’s about the price, don’t even worry about it,” Atsumu leans down to nuzzle his nose against your temple and press a kiss to your cheek before pulling away. “You never ask me for anything, so why don’t you let me spoil you just this once?”

His sweet words make your heart flutter and you turn around to face him, going up on your toes to kiss his cheek appreciatively. You knew he could afford whatever he wanted in the store, but you hated the idea of taking advantage of his pro athlete salary. It was a special occasion though, and maybe you’d end up hating it once you tried it on anyway. You hesitate for just a moment longer before snatching the hanger off the rack and skipping over to the dressing rooms.

[blueiscoool]

The $21 Million Achille Salvagni-Designed Miami Beach Mansion

It’s no stretch to picture Don Johnson, playing his Sonny Crockett character in Miami Vice, all white linen suit and turquoise tee, lounging by the pool of this spectacular Miami Beach mini-mansion. Or climbing the home’s majestic bronze-finished staircase to kick back on the mezzanine floor’s soft-pink sofa, gazing out over the palm-fringed waterfront. It’s definitely camera-ready.

The credit for this sleek, retro-cool architectural jewel, just a short speed boat ride to downtown Miami, goes to acclaimed Italian genius Achille Salvagni. The Rome-based 50-year-old is well known for his designs for super-luxury homes and yachts, together with his exquisite, bespoke furniture and lighting creations.

According to listing agent Oren Alexander of Douglas Elliman, Salvagni was commissioned by an overseas client to design both the exterior and interior of the home. With the Covid-19 pandemic restricting travel, coupled with the booming market for upscale homes in Miami Beach, the owner has decided to sell. The asking price: a cool $21 million.

Completed just weeks ago, this almost 8,000-square-foot, gleaming white residence is squeezed onto a third-of-an-acre lot on Lakeview Drive, in the less frenetic west side of fun-loving Miami Beach.

Boaters will love the 110 feet of waterfront on the Surprise inlet from Biscayne Bay that leads into Surprise Lake. But forget about docking your superyacht here; fixed, low bridges restrict access to smaller vessels. Sonny Crockett’s 38-foot Scarab however, would fit just fine.

Salvagni designed the exterior of the two-story home with curvilinear walls, towering floor-to-ceiling windows and sweeping roof lines. Dark wood accents on the entryway contrast with the stark white paint and white pavers.

Sliding steel gates lead from quiet Lakeview Drive into a small motorcourt and entrance to the house. A grand foyer opens to a double-height living room and dining room with views out to the pool.

Throughout the home, the furniture is all bespoke from the Achille Salvagni Atelier Collection—he has studios in New York, London and Rome—and includes some truly exquisite items. Add to these a number of curated antique pieces from his native Italy.

The kitchen enters the realm of museum quality with custom cabinetry detailed in 24-karat gold leaf, a surfboard-like island and glossy Belgium Black marble flooring. The appliances are all high-end Wolf and Sub-Zero.

In the living room, it’s hard to miss the quartet of funky, retro-style yellow armchairs, the shiny blue lacquer column and an additional grouping of curvy sofas and armchairs.

And pre-empting the inevitable question; yes, every stick of furniture (even those designed by Salvagni), every piece of art, and every light fixture in the home can be included in the sale for an additional $1.2 million over the asking price.

Climb that bronze staircase to the second level and here you’ll find the expansive primary suite with its private deck overlooking the pool, a spacious bathroom, custom walk-in closets and desk area.

Four additional bedrooms reside on this floor, along with an open seating area featuring those funky pink chairs and sofa. Back down on the first floor are two more bedrooms, a yoga room, steam room and access to the garage.

Huge sliding glass doors open from the living area out to the white limestone terrace and 90-foot infinity pool. Here there’s also a cabana with outdoor kitchen.

But don’t expect breathtaking water views from the deck; the home sits on a narrow stretch of canal and looks straight into the far-from-attractive Ritz-Carlton Residences condo building. Hence the multitude of palm trees and shrubbery by the water’s edge to provide some privacy.

Even with that lofty $21 million asking price, Douglas Elliman’s Alexander is confident the home will sell quickly. Inventory for luxury, waterfront, single-family homes on Miami Beach has almost dried up, with demand far exceeding supply. Add to that the Achille Salvagni factor.

“This property is beyond comparison to any other Miami Beach home available right now. The depth and detail of the artistry and craftsmanship has to be seen to be understood,” he says.

By Howard Walker.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

The Hunter Who Loved Me (Part 1)

Series Page

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline, Dean x OFC

Series Summary: Part Three of Some Sunny Day. Dean's trying to balance his new relationship with Julie and his need to hunt. How long can he keep it from her? And can Julie keep her curiosity at bay?

Section Word Count: 6300

Section Content: language, fluff, dirty talk, smut, Domestic!Dean, Slight Dom!Dean

How did I get so lucky? That this was turning into just another day in her life with Dean Winchester made her shake her head. This has to be what it feels like to win the lottery.

Julie sprayed the top of the sliding glass door with a window cleaner. She took time to enjoy all the sexiness on the other side of the glass, the view of Dean in her backyard, while attending to her household chore. A few final touches and Dean would be done with the assembly. Crouched down and bent at the knees, Dean added some utensil hooks to the side of the grill. Unknowing, he was giving her all of that gorgeous, serious profile of his to study. Sunshine streaked through his hair and flamed the fiery orange-red tips incognito most of the time. She wiped away the cleaner slipping over her view. 

The grill had been an impromptu purchase on her end the weekend before. She and Dean had gone to, of all places, a home improvement store together. He had noticed a couple things around her house that needed fixing. But he wanted to run the ideas past her and some options before he went ahead and did anything. It was very domestic and thoughtful of him. It brought a huge grin to her face. 

He’d snuck a peck on her cheek when they were alone in the garden and patio center, talking about the drop in price of some seasonal stuff. His eyes lit up at a behemoth gas grill. He whistled and spouted off the stats: three burners, one on the side, plus a sear station burner to boot. The sucker could deliver 60,000 BTUs, which according to Dean, was awesome. Those meaty, handy fingers of his glided over the stainless steel top. Julie heated up.

It was decided that since Julie was throwing Brigida a surprise birthday party that following weekend and the October weather was pleasant enough, why not buy a grill and make it an outdoor affair. Most of the guests would end up outside anyway. Would Dean be keen on manning the meat for her? Julie tossed the unintentional innuendo out and had the six foot plus Adonis blushing in the middle of the display floor.

Satisfied with the streak free glass, Julie went out to check on Dean’s status. He leaned up from his work position and smiled. “All good. She’s ready for action. Just lit her up.”

Julie nodded, sighing in relief. “Cutting it close.” A couple hours from now the guests would arrive. And Brigida would definitely be on time, if not earlier, an hour after that.

“Yeah. But, it only took me threatening three store clerks at nine am this morning. Pulled a working igniter out of the floor model to get this baby up and running.” He waved both hands in the air with a flourish. “Now, we’re golden. No more nose crinkles. The meat’s marinating in your fridge.” He cocked a thumb over to Wes and Samuel’s house. “They’ve got the booze covered and some side dishes.”

“You need me to dash out for anything else before I finish up my food and the cookies to go along with the ice cream cake?”

He shook his head and drew her in by the waist, their bodies snug. “You trust me with all that fire power?”

Her hand rubbed over his vintage AC/DC t-shirt right under the collar. Sweat stippled his brow from the running around and grill tweaking. The mix of it with his sharp, clean soap scent got her warm and tingly. God, how does he make sexy so effortless? “You can handle it. I’m no Prometheus. You should worry more about my mom trying to take over the grill once she gets here.”

“Hey, it’s her birthday. If she wants the tongs and spatula, I’ll hand them over and be her sous chef.”

Julie smiled. “She’d probably love that.”

He grinned and bent down to dust her bottom lip with his mouth. “How many we gotta feed again?”

She rattled off the memorized total. “Twenty-two, not including us. Fifteen adults, three kids, two teenagers, and two dogs.”

Dean tipped his head. “Piece of cake.”

Julie smirked. “Not pie?”

His fingers flirted over the denim covering her ass. “Saving your pie for later.” He leaned down again for a deeper kiss.

Julie’s backyard had never seen such activity. Lawn chairs scattered over the freshly mowed lawn. Stacey and Carl’s two older children, Evan, 10, and Rory, 7, played cornhole in the driveway. Brigida had latched onto their youngest boy, two year old Dylan, right after everyone had given her a Happy Birthday surprise welcome. Karen’s boyfriend, Carter, the New York Mergers and Acquisitions lawyer, Wes, and Carl kept Dean company by the grill. He seared chicken, flipped hot dogs, checked and rechecked the pork ribs, sipped his beer, and took doneness requests for the beef burgers. 

Samuel chatted under the covered patio with Karen, Stacey, Cat and her partner Sheila, along with the handful of Brigida’s Little Italy neighbors that had made the short trek out of the city to celebrate. Karen’s teenage boys hid most of the time, busy on their phones under the shade of the carport. Julie attempted to involve Karen’s oldest, Khaleel - a sullen 16 who more than likely wanted to be anywhere else - asking if he would man the playlist blaring out of the portable bluetooth speaker. The younger by two years, Kevin, emerged from his cocoon to explain TikTok to Dean. The explanation only furrowed the cook’s brow even more.

Julie caught Dean’s this-is-for-the-guests smile settle into the I’m-actually-kinda-glad-to-see-you version when Cas and Jack finally showed up. Cas had picked up some weekend shifts to make ends meet. Jack was still working his side job as much as he could, balancing school, to save up for his trip to Texas over Winter Break. He was going to MIRL with this fantasy girl if it was the last thing he ever did. At least, that was the confession he had told Julie as the four hung out for a movie and pizza over Dean’s a month back.

Cas took his usual post at Dean’s right side by the grill. Julie glanced over every so often at the comical duo. Somewhere between Abbott and Costello and Martin and Lewis. Dean monitored his friend’s interactions with the new group of men. If Cas needed to pull back on the conversation a bit or shift to another topic, Dean cued him with a slight shake of a head or cough. Cas held his beer in a fierce grip and mimicked Dean when he took a sip. God, there is so much codependency there. What they hell did they go through together? Dean gave Jack a pair of tongs and had him man the second round of dogs. Jack smiled from ear to ear like a teenager getting the keys to the car after passing his driver’s license. And, he’s like a second dad to that kid.    

As was always the case in hosting, and determined to not have her mom lift a finger, Julie barely had time to relax or eat for the first hour of the party. She made sure the other food got served when Dean plattered and presented grilled meats. The two of them used a lot of hand gestures and miming to coordinate everything. Dean would every so often switch things up and make Julie blush with a few obscene ones.   

Once Dean had been schooled by Cat on Salt and Pepa’s breeds - a Samoyed and Belgian Sheepdog, respectively - he had them eating out of and drooling into his hands for scraps. Cas and Jack procured a frisbee from the outdoor toys and tossed it back and forth with the kids. The dogs played monkey in the middle.

Dean called out to Julie once everyone else was situated and eating. “Jules! Got a medium-well burger with your name on it, ready in a minute.” He winked over. She set the last of the latest round of drinks in front of guests and gave him a thumbs up.

Stacey cooed. “Knows just how you like your meat, does he?”

The old college friends did their share of giggling and cackling. Julie pointed a finger from Samuel to Stacey. “No more of your red wine for this one.” 

Carl tapped his wife’s knee. “Take it easy, sweetie.” Stacey gave her husband a slobbery raspberry on the cheek.

“That is a sweet ride.” Carter pointed to Baby in Dean’s driveway as her owner snuck behind Julie. He presented a cheeseburger on a perfectly toasted bun. Julie smiled at the lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles - all her favorites - already on top. The charred meat and fixings smelled divine. Her stomach grumbled. A side glance noted her mom’s own smiling face. Brigida stared over at the both of them while talking to the two older couples.

“Well, you can take a look under the hood later if you want, Carter. Rebuilt her more times than I can count.” He whispered in Julie’s ear. “Eat something before you pass out.”

She grinned, wanting to tease that he sounded like Brigida, but thought better of it. Stacey and the crew were watching their interactions like hungry vultures, ready to pounce on anything too tasty to tease about.

“So, Dean, if the ladies have another girls’ night, maybe we can get us a poker game over at my house.” Carl interjected.

Sheila chimed in, “Only if I can join.”

Julie overheard Cas whisper to Dean in confusion. “Wouldn’t Sheila be a part of girls’ night?”

Dean muttered back, “Not if she has better taste in music than the rest of them.”

Carter shook his head. “Oh, God, you wiped me out last time we played poker Sheila.”

Dean cocked a brow and gave Sheila a lopsided grin. “Some actual competition. Sounds like we gotta make that happen soon.”

Sheila tipped her beer to Dean and gave his frame a thorough inspection.

“My poker skills would benefit from someone new to play with, as well.” Cas nodded to Sheila. “I know all of Dean’s tells at this point. It’s getting rather boring.”

Sheila patted the empty seat next to her. “You might be my new best friend, then, Cas.”

Cas smiled and puffed out his chest.

Dean whispered to Julie, “Should I break the news that he hasn’t a shot in hell?”

Karen helped Julie with some of the kitchen cleanup before dessert. It was really a ruse for alone time and girl talk.

“How was it?” Karen asked in a hushed tone, in case anyone snuck in. She’d known about Julie going on birth control again. Had actually been the one to give her the idea in the first place.

“Which time?” Julie smiled. “We’ve been at it every night since the middle of this week when I surprised him.” She added. “Sometimes two or three times.”

“Jesus. Two or three? Carter’s five years younger than me and two times in one night has never… never happened. Three?” Karen fanned herself over the sink and running water. “How are you handling all that man, Jules?” Her brown eyes widened while she rinsed plates to drop in the dishwasher. 

Julie answered by holding her hands apart to approximate Dean’s length.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Karen’s voice raised. She slapped a palm over her mouth at the outburst. Water and suds flew everywhere.

Julie crossed a finger over her chest, blinking at the water that splashed her face. “When have I lied under oath?” 

“Be careful or you’re going to get a UTI.” She added in a whisper, “From all that fucking.”

Julie laughed. “I booked a follow up with my gyno as soon as I got the prescription. I see her next week.” She whispered back. “Kar, it was amazing, mind blowing before this. But now, it’s like…” Julie trailed off, daydreaming about her lover in the backyard. Her insides sore, throbbing with the memory of him; a deep and beautiful stoking she couldn’t wait to experience again. 

“I think Carter and Carl have crushes on him.” Karen shook her head. “Carter might come in his pants if he gets that car tour.”

“Don’t tell Cat, but I think Sheila might be crushing, too.” Julie giggled.

“We heard that!” Stacey and Cat screamed in unison. Karen and Julie screamed back in shock. Cat, a bit tipsy herself this afternoon, sported a toothy grin. From Julie’s vantage, she was lighter than usual, airy even. One of her arms draped over Stacey’s shoulders as the duo sashayed into the kitchen.

“Only speaking the truth.” Karen raised a hand as the other still clutched her chest at the friendly fright.

Stacey waved a hand. “I get dibs on Dean when Jules is done with him.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Not planning on it anytime soon, Stace.”

Cat opened her mouth. Her eyes caught the threat Julie’s eyes beamed with an intentional telepathy. Cat snapped her jaw shut before the other ladies noticed.

“Not fair to keep all the juicy details to yourself.” Stacey whined, sliding out from Cat’s grip and into one of the kitchen chairs. She slumped over the table, elbow propped, cradling her chin in a manicured hand. “Some of us have needs.” She sighed.

Cat leaned against a counter, eyes glazed behind her glasses. “I think Brigida’s had one too many.”

Julie was happy for the segway but not pleased with the content. She settled her own glasses against the bridge of her nose in a nervous tick. “Really? A saw her with a glass of wine. But, she usually only has a little.”

“I think Wes and Samuel made her a special birthday cocktail.”

“Ugh.” She wiped both hands down across her face. “Love ‘em but those men and their alcohol.”

Stacey did her best pigeon impression again. “Do you love ‘em as much as Dean?”

A very deep throat clearing had all four ladies turn their head to the hallway. Dean stood there carrying a huge empty platter covered in meat bits and juices. “Am I interrupting something?” Julie blushed at the proud grin on his face. He skimmed past Stacey’s seated frame. Stacey was eye level with the denim hugging his ass and licked her lips. He excused himself again and slid around Cat, lifting the platter over Julie’s head winding past, to end up near Karen by the sink. “This is a nasty one. Let me take care of this, Karen.” He offered.

She shook her head. “Hand it over. Least we can do after you did such a stellar job at the grill. You got Kevin to eat a burger that doesn’t come in a fast food bag.”

“That is high praise. Thanks.” He smiled and gave Julie a once over before asking, “Anything else have to go out?”

“You think I should grab the ice cream cake out of the basement fridge?”

“It might be a good idea soon.” Dean shrugged. “Everyone’s either winding down or is pretty hammered.” He glanced over at Stacey.

Julie nodded and pointed at the counter behind him. “Would you take that tray out with the dessert plates and all the other necessities? Pretty please?”

He winked. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Stacey groaned. “Ugh. Could you two reel in the cuteness?”

Julie ignored the request. “Thank you. Cat.” She turned to ask her friend. “Wanna help me with the cake?” 

“Um, sure.” Cat hesitated.

When they got down to the basement, Julie listened to ensure Dean’s heavy steps had made their way out the sliding door and Stacey and Karen were busy talking in the kitchen.

“I’m not the best person to ask to carry a cake upstairs.” Cat mumbled.

“You can spot me.” Her hand rested on the fridge handle. “Speaking of looking out for me…”

“I know. I haven’t reached out much since that last conversation we had.” Cat shrugged. “You sounded happy that night, with him. I figured I should mind my own business for once and stop investigating.”

“Thank you, Cat.” Julie smiled.

“He seems decent, Julie. A good guy, even. Simple. Easy.” Cat waved a hand. “I don’t mean either of those things as a negative.”

Julie laughed. “I know. But, trust me, he’s anything but simple or easy to figure out.” She tilted her head. “I’ve been thinking... would you send me over a couple of those books you found?”

Cat pursed her lips. “I’ll think about it.”

It was ten o’clock by the time Dean and Julie finished with a majority of the clean up from the party. The last dishwasher load had been started, all the guests had gone home, and Brigida was fussing in the kitchen. Dean looked like a very uncomfortable giant next to the birthday lady.

“I don’t need-ah to stay.” Brigida insisted. “Dean-ah can take me home.” Her Italian accent was a lot heavier laced with alcohol.

“No, Dean can’t. None of us should be driving, Ma. We’ve all had a bit too much to drink. You have your extra meds here in your room. You’re going to take them, drink lots of water, and go to bed.”

She waved her hands. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

Julie rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Brigida, we just threw a party for you. How could you think you’re in the way?” Dean asked with true sincerity in his voice.

“Dean-ah.” She clutched his forearm. “I don’t want-ah you to run home. And, I know-ah this one won’t leave me in the house alone-ah. Thinkin’ I won’t be able to walk twenty steps without falling over and knocking myself out-ah.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, I’m pretty tired. Long day.”  

“Ma, Dean can stay over if he wants to.” Julie widened her eyes to encourage Dean to play along.

“Ye-yeah. Sure. We’re both exhausted.” He faked a long yawn and stretched out an arm. “Sooo tired. Gonna conk out as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

Brigida grinned. “You are a bad liar.” She tapped his tummy. “Fine. I’ll get myself ready for bed.” She raised both arms at Julie. “Appy?”

“Very happy.” Julie smiled. “Need me to help you with anything?”

“No.” Brigida motioned for Dean to bend down. She gave him a very long mama bear hug and then squeezed a cheek. “Thank you.”

Julie’s heart warmed at the interaction.

His facial features squirmed under Brigida’s vice grip. “Welcome.”

When she retracted her fingers, she announced, “I’ll be up early cleanin’ and makin’ breakfast.” She shuffled out of the kitchen. Her loud voice rang out in the hallway. “Don’t come down here naked in the morning, Dean-ah. Not-ah unless you got plans for me.”

Dean snorted as Julie yelled. “Ma!” 

Dean shook his head. “She’s even more of a pistol drunk.” He wrapped arms around Julie when they were alone. “I’ll hang out until she’s in her room and sleeping. I don’t think it’ll take long. Help you clean up some more. Then, I’ll duck out.” His kiss was soft and warm.

Julie hummed. “You heard her. She’s making you breakfast.” She shrugged. “You can stay.”

Dean smiled. “Sweetheart, if I stay, we won’t be sleeping.”

“Good.”

They took turns in the upstairs bathroom. Dean first, as usual, since Julie took longer with her nighttime skin routine. Cleanser, applied to her face in gentle circular motions, wiped away the makeup and sweat from the day. Cool water splashed against her skin. Splashes of moments from the party entered her mind. Her mom’s absolute shock and then subsequent soft crying at the surprise. Stacey wrangled the girl power squad together for a group selfie. It would post onto the social medias before Stacey got well and fully sloshed. Cas pulled her to the side to give her a genuine, heartfelt thank you for the invitation. Jack assisted with the dish clearing without even having to be asked. Mom’s ancient, pudgy neighbor, Lydia, who didn’t move once from her seat under the patio, tugged at Julie’s wrist to tell her she needed to do a better job holding onto this man than the last one. 

She patted away most of the wetness with a face towel. This man. She opened the medicine cabinet to put away some items and grab the moisturizer. Everything she disliked about her face on bright display under the bathroom lighting. The pads of her fingers danced over the circles under her eyes and some of the wrinkles forming around her mouth. All those old Italian women and their snarky little comments. Wondering what Dean’s doing with me. Even with all of his secrets and all that she still didn’t know, she still felt that tug of insecurity. Not being good enough. His imperfections, the cracks appearing over the months of infatuation and obsession with this man, were making themselves known. But they were all things she could handle and cast aside at the end of the day. Because all it took was that one second of his eyes locking with hers in that way. That very Dean way. Craving it in that moment, she hurried and worked the cream into her skin.

She entered the dark bedroom. The only illumination was from the television, the volume low and muffled. White light from the screen flashed like lightning over Dean, laid out on the still made bed. 

He had slipped on the grey and blue plaid pajama bottoms Julie bought him. She picked them up as an afterthought one Sunday shopping when he’d started staying over a couple times a week. He came across them, folded and waiting, on the unspoken but understood side of Julie’s bed that was now his. A lopsided grin had been given as thanks.

There was a reason I didn’t buy him a shirt. A remote in hand rested on his tummy and that luscious bare chest. He cradled his head atop two pillows with his other palm; his biceps curled, primed, and ready for action. Legs crossed at the ankles and his foot swayed with an ancy rhythm. The image of him stretched out imprinted in her brain under the bright pops of light as if someone were taking lots of polaroids of this magnificent specimen.  

He turned to her, smiled, then whispered, “Wanna watch something?” The remote was used as a pointing device toward the floor. “I can’t tell if that’s a chainsaw or your mom snoring.”

Julie nodded. “I told you, you can hear everything in this house.”

“Maybe soundproofing needs to be another project.” He frowned. “This is going to be torture.”

She giggled low and soft, hands on her hips, cinching in her oversized nightshirt. “Why?”

His fingers skirted over the comforter creeping in her direction. “Cause I want to make you moan like the other night.” 

That very Dean way. The sexy stare made her smile drop. “Thought you were tired.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He gave her a chin nod.

Julie sighed and eased onto the bed, aware of every creak and squeak. “Karen was right.”

“‘Bout what?” He opened an arm. His embrace clutched her to his warm chest.

She snuggled in. “You’re going to give me blushing bride syndrome.”

“A blushing what now?”

His lips pressed to hers cut off an immediate response. She nibbled on his chin when he released. “Too much sex. You know, can cause issues down there.”

He pulled back to study her face. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting you.”

“Not asking you to.” She pressed into him.

Mischief lined his lips. “Maybe I should take it easy on you. Give you a break. Since we have to be quiet and all.” He flashed the all-knowing, hot shit grin that stopped her heart. “I mean, we know you can’t keep that dirty little mouth of yours shut when mine’s all over you... or inside you.” His voice was husky and gritty, breathing near her ear. 

“Oh, really?” She whispered her retort. “Who was the one panting and groaning last night about how hard he was going to come?”

Dean latched onto one of her knees. The pull dragged a thigh to rest over his hip. His warm hand traveled and danced along her skin. It snuck under the night shirt; pushed it high up past her waist. Fingers clutched at the top of her bare ass and kneaded. He shifted into her more and wedged their bodies tight. “Nah. You couldn’t have heard that. You were too busy screaming my name over and over.”

A jarring motor-like sound drifted up from Brigida’s bedroom for only a second. They froze in place. Dean chuckled. Tangled together, Julie rested a finger on his mouth. “Shhh.” She pressed into the softness of his perfect pout with more force and threw in a nose crinkle for good measure.

“I wasn’t going to say anything…” His lips struggled to release the words under her finger. Julie had learned early on upon their meeting that Dean enjoyed teasing out a variety of reactions from her.

She sighed and relented the tiny attempt at restraint. “What?”

“When you were in the bathroom earlier and I got a good listen of it all. Actually had something to compare it to.” He paused. “You snore like your mom.” His grin spread slow and wide, lips pursed tight.

Julie’s eyes widened on defense. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” He nodded, still grinning, lifting his brow for emphasis. “Get so loud.” A slight, controlled circling of those strong hips began. The motion matched the sensual rhythm of his verbal descriptions. “You start off so nice and quiet. Then it’s up. And up. And up. Like a freight train in here some nights, sweetheart.”

A few more seconds of silence followed. “Shit.” That was the only admission Julie would allow, listening to his description of her inherited sleeping habits while succumbing to the wondrous feel of his body lighting her up. “Don’t compare me to my mother while doing that, Dean.”

Dean laughed and gave her another chin nod in victory. “Still. Proves my point. Can’t help yourself. Way louder and noisier than I could ever be.” 

Julie nuzzled close, finding the tunnel under his arm. Firm strokes down the slope of his back relished in the heat vibrating through his body. She ran a thumb back and forth over that plump pillow of a bottom lip. “You were the one that almost broke my headboard. Remember? Talk about noise.” And talk about fucking hot. “White knuckling it to get some leverage, slamming it into the wall.” His mouth parted and a hunger filled his gaze. She grinned at the erection hardening more in the pajamas against her patch of curls. “While you were slamming into me.”

He caught her thumb with a clench of teeth. His tongue flirted along the pad before he sucked at it with a low moan. His lips released it when he whispered back. “That was a memorable fuck, sweetheart. You under me. Letting me ride you so hard. Wish I could pound you like that for days. Wreck us both.”

“Jesus, Dean.” Julie moaned, rocking soft against his clothed cock.  “There wouldn’t be anything left of me.”

The hand left her ass, skirted under the shirt. Those meaty fingers landed on the curve of her breast and massaged into bliss. “But what a way to go.” He groaned, then peeled away enough to dip down and mouth a nipple through the shirt. “Shit, got me so hard.” He spoke between licks and sucks. “I wanna fuck you. All. The. Time.” The warmth and wet of his mouth soaked through to the taut nub. “All I could think about today was getting you alone. Here. Like this.” He nudged at the material with his nose to expose the dark, pebbly flesh to the air and his mouth. “Sliding inside you again. Nothin’ but me and you.” He suckled at her tit. When he came up for air and met her gaze, he whispered in that smoke and honey tone. “It feels like home inside you, Jules.”

Dean’s eyes lit up with another flash from the television. Glassy, eager and laser focused with intent. He always downplayed his ability to convey and verbalize feelings. But that confession, those six words - It feels like home inside you - made her whole body shiver. Like the night they’d first had sex. You feel so safe. It had been four little words back then. Not THOSE three little words. But it was pretty damn close.

“I think we should give ourselves a challenge.” The seriousness faded from his face, replaced with that impish grin. “A quiet, well contained, controlled fucking.”

Julie giggled, her body still buzzing from his actions and words. Her hands answered, pulling the pajamas down past his ass. He lifted up from the mattress an inch to assist with the disrobing. The fabric bunched around his knees.

He groaned when she tugged at his cock, free and rigid. She curled toes and peeled the material down far enough so he could shake his feet out the rest of the way. “Turn around, baby.” His voice held an authoritative tone. “Everything. Off.”

In the process of her slow and quiet one-eighty flip she rid herself of the nightshirt. The cool air in the room prickled at hot skin. He moaned at the sight. “That’s not being quiet.” She tisked.

He lassoed her in with a bear hug, onto her side, this time her back sealed along his chest. A haphazard pull at the band released the ponytail. His fingers brushed away strands. Searing lips attacked the exposed flesh of her neck. “Are you gonna be good for me?”

She stifled a moan and nodded.

“Hm.” Fingers slid into the folds, finding the wetness. “Very good so far.” He pushed farther in and searched. Circled her entrance. “All this for me already?” He groaned in her ear. “Goddamn, I wanna get my mouth on that. But we know you really can’t contain yourself when my face is between your legs.” Those fingers ended up at his mouth. She could smell her excitement, inches away. The sound of his lips sucking and his moans stoked her need. “Maybe a challenge for the morning.” He thought aloud.

His body, large and eclipsing, leaned up, shifting. His cock slid between the cheeks of Julie’s ass like a heat seeking missile. She let out a pitiful whine and bit her lip. They hadn’t even talked about that as an option. But every time his cock got tantalizingly close the thought had crossed her mind. She’d never wanted to try, not even with Steve. But Dean. Dean made her want to experience everything.

The sex with Dean had been many things over the past months: fun, playful, sweet, luxuriating, romantic, fast, rough, hard, naughty, and tons of dirty talk. Yet, none of that fifty shades stuff or roleplaying she had anticipated. Almost vanilla sex in comparison from what her mind could conjure up. 

Almost, but never vanilla. Not with Dean. It was that French Vanilla ice cream that you’d get at a family owned creamery worth a two hour drive. One made by an artisan, churned by hand. One bursting with flecks of vanilla bean hitting all the taste buds. It was rich, creamy, indulgent, velvety, cool, lolling about on your tongue, savoring the flavor in the moment, crystalizing a memory for wonderful recollections.  

Still, there was a palpable restraint by Dean, holding back, in terms of physical limits even if never in vocal declarations. Sometimes she thought she could feel the inner shift in Dean. It could be an imperceptible tell if their bodies weren’t so connected; a retraction of his muscles under that worn skin and the myriad of scars she would cling to in mounting desperation of the most amazing kind. He never out and out stated it. Dean never would. But she felt like the pilot in this jet when it came down to it. He was her trusty co-pilot, offering suggestions but always adhering to the final decision, charting her course, making sure she stayed on track, allowing her control. Allowing her safety. 

“No one’s gonna be quiet if we give that a try tonight.” Dean read her mind, again keeping her on track with the original plan. He scooted down, cupping her figure with his. “Any other night, sweetheart, you let me know.” He dotted her back with kisses and wedged a knee between her legs. The motion splayed her bottom half, spreading her. His palm crooked under her knee, bent it just so. “But, this way.” The cock tip pressed at the entrance. “I think we can both get what we need and not wake sleeping beauty.” He licked little patches along her shoulder blade. “What’s that thing you always say?”

Jesus, why is he teasing me now? “When?” She huffed out.

“When you come over and decide to clean up my kitchen.”

“No muss, no fuss?”

He rumbled into her back and began the slide. Inside. “Yeah. That’s it. No Muss. No Fuss.” His large palm grabbed at her breast, latched onto it, thumbed the nipple. She could feel the strength of his hips guiding the wondrous length and girth of his cock. He bottomed into her and stopped. She wanted to feel how tight his ass was clenched in that moment. Sought it out with a hand and squeezed. “Hm.” He approved of the action. “How does that feel, sweetheart?” His voice, low, deep.

“You feel so good inside me Dean. You feel good everywhere.” She moaned when the controlled pistoning switched on. 

“Hm. So, the quiet part is gonna be impossible for you, huh?”

She moaned again, softer, she thought. “This is me being quiet.”

“Baby?” He moaned out the question.

“Yeah?”

“Would you be alright if I helped keep you quiet?”

A fire lit up in her belly. “Yeah.”

He groaned. An arm threaded between her rocking body and the mattress. His hand slid up her chest, over her neck, her jaw. Settled over her mouth. “If it’s too much.” He panted. “If I get too carried away, you tap. Okay?”

She tapped his ass cheek to confirm she understood. Listened to his inhales and exhales. His thumb wedged between her upper lip and the underside of her nose. Two massive fingers clamped over her mouth. The other two had a firm grip under her chin, ensuring her lips stayed closed. All while he pumped in and out of her from behind, slow and purposeful.

“Feel so fucking good.” He whispered. His mouth pecked at her back, shoulder, her side, her arm, anywhere it could reach. “Four nights into your ‘I’m on the pill’ surprise.” He panted out his confession. “I’m sure I’m going to come down eventually, Jules. If that gives you some hope. About this blushing bride thing.” A soft growl left his mouth. “I mean, I’m no Superman.” She moaned into his hand when his pace and thrusts picked up. He was still very much in control and not rocking the bed like she knew he could. “But, I am Batman.” His chuckle vibrated into her back.

He shifted, circled, found that spot in her and focused all his energy. More muffled moans erupted from Julie.

“Shhh, sweetheart.” He used more of his palm against her mouth now, pressed harder against the flesh. “Be good for me.”

The subtle restraint was electric, increasing her pleasure tenfold. The sounds of her slick and his rutting inside her only made her more wet.

“I gotta feel you cum.” He begged. His other hand glided over the top of her thigh, rested against the mattress and palmed her pussy. “I’m gonna work you quick, baby. Okay?”

She nodded as much as she could with the hold of his hand.

He parted the folds, found her swollen clit and took no mercy. It was hard, fast. Explosions of light began popping into her brain. Her body jerked with slight tremors. It wouldn’t be long. “Yeah, that’s it. I love it when you come undone. Cum all over my cock.” Dean whispered.

His voice tipped her into the orgasm. She moaned, tightened, while he continued to pump.

“Yeah, right behind you, Julie. Yeah. Fuck.” And, he was, chasing her with his own orgasm. The pulsing of his cock, the spilling of him inside, warm, mingling with her wet he’d produced. His pants and groans against her back. His weight on her body, hand still cupping her mouth. “Man. I give us an A for effort. But, I wasn’t much better than you in the sound department. I might need a damn muzzle.”

Julie smiled into his palm.

“Sorry, baby.” He removed his hand from her mouth. “Should have tapped me. You okay?”

She nodded into the comforter. “Oh, yeah.” Eased onto her back. “Definitely. Can we do more of that?”

He laughed, staring with those beautiful eyes, crinkles extending the gleeful expression on his face. That very Dean way. “Sure.” He shrugged. “Just maybe not tonight?” He kissed her lips, then flashed her an exhausted smile. “I really am pretty beat. Been one helluva long day.”

Julie nodded. “Me too.” She tapped his forearm. “Bathroom again for me and then sleep.”

“Don’t be long.” He collapsed onto his back and closed his eyes.

She smiled, closing the bathroom door. He’d be asleep by the time she slipped back into bed. The sounds of his snores would cover a variety of animals from a grunting pig to a snarling lion. But she wouldn’t tease him in the morning about it. She promised to give him a pass.

Part 2

Series Page

[notbang]

Whitefeather crew sans caffeine

“That’ll be ten dollars,” AJ says cheerfully, and Nathaniel nearly hands over his credit card before he can process the total.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, frowning. “Ten dollars? I only asked for a coffee.”

“Uh-huh,” AJ confirms. He leans over the counter to indicate the price board with a sunny smile. “New pricing came into effect this morning.”

Nathaniel raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I bought a coffee here yesterday and it was three dollars. That’s over a sixty percent increase. What the hell kind of profit margin is that?”

“Don’t look at me. I don’t make the prices, just the pretzels.”

He can see Rebecca hovering in the back, her focus intently fixed on the dough she’s pummelling into the countertop in front of her with slightly too much force to be convincingly casual, her gaze too determined not to lift for her to not be listening in.

Nathaniel’s eyes narrow. “I think I’d like a word with your manager.”

AJ’s eyebrows quirk upwards and he makes a quiet oohing noise that is entirely too salacious to be appropriate for a cashier-customer exchange, but it’s a testament to how much West Covina—and the inhabitants of it that Rebecca chooses to surround herself with in particular—has gotten to him that Nathaniel barely batts an eye.

She’s still playing it coy when she makes her way over at AJ’s entertained insistence, brushing her hands together and creating a cloud of white flour around her that has him wrinkling his nose.

He’s having none of her innocent airs, though. “I know you and I didn’t exactly part on the best terms, but I thought we were past all the dr—”

“You think I’m overcharging you for a cup of coffee because we broke up?” Rebecca scoffs, pulling off her apron and tossing it down between them. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. That price is on the board for everyone—you’re not special. I’m charging you ten dollars for coffee because I understand how supply and demand works, as well as the direct correlation between productivity and caffeine at a law firm. So either pay your ten dollars—plus sales tax—” She widens her eyes and makes a shooing motion towards the elevator. “—or carry on.”

He straightens up, effectively unruffled. “Oh, so now you’re collecting sales tax? On hot beverages?” He jabs a finger at the drink in question and smirks at her as if he’s won. “This coffee is to go.”

“You’re not leaving the building with it,” Rebecca contests, crossing her arms over her chest, matter-of-fact. “Ergo, you’re consuming it on the premises.”

“Come on, that’s a stretch, even for you. Besides, it’s in a takeaway cup.”

She snatches the disposable cup off the counter and tips it unceremoniously into a white porcelain mug, placing it back down in front of him with far more force than is remotely necessary and a challenging jut of her chin. “You can drop it back on your way out. After you settle your bill.”

Evidently she thinks the conversation is over, the way she spins lightly on her heel and moves away to busy herself with straightening the items in the display case, but he’s not so easily dissuaded. He mirrors her movement from the other side of the glass, earning himself an eye-roll and an exasperated sigh as she bends over to get at the trays in the front.

“The security guard bought a coffee just before me,” he says. “He didn’t pay ten dollars.”

“Leonard’s a regular. He gets a discount.”

Nathaniel pulls a face. “He’s been here, what, a month? You barely know him. We worked together for a year.”

It’s a laughably inadequate summary of their history, and she can’t help but respond with dripping sarcasm. “And despite that heartwarming professional connection we share, approximately how many pretzels have you purchased in support of my small business endeavours since we opened? Oh, that’s right—none.”

“You know I don’t eat carbs,” he sneers.

Rebecca straightens back up, letting the door of the case fall shut with a clunk. “You do realise I know how much money you have, right? The what—seven dollars?—that you’re disputing right now is barely a drop in the ocean of your oversized bank account. You could pay to have coffee flown in from Italy by private jet, if you wanted to. Nobody is forcing you to buy it here.”

It doesn’t matter that she has a point—the standoff has already been entered into, and he has a horrible inability to back down when it comes her. The amused creases at the corners of her eyes and the infinitesimal twitching of her lips tells him she knows it, and the stubbornness only hardens in his gut.

“This is profiteering,” he tells her. “This is price gouging. It’s illegal, you know, to drive up the price of a commodity in a state of emergency.”

Rebecca tips her head back in a biting peal of sardonic laughter. “You think your office coffee machine being broken is a state of emergency? Send George or Maya out for a new one if you’re so desperate.”

His mouth twists, head tilting up and away. “It’s getting replaced next week,” he bites out at her. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“What’s the matter?” she asks innocently, pouting, deliberately doe-eyed. “Daddy take away your pocket money?”

Bristling, he reaches into his wallet and grunts when he finds nothing smaller than a twenty. “Keep the change,” he says, slamming it onto the countertop and snatching up his cooling cup of coffee.

“You’re not supposed to tip the proprietor of an establishment,” she pitches across the counter to yell at his retreating back, but only receives a rude hand gesture over his shoulder in response as he disappears into the elevator.

“Not a word,” she tells AJ when he comes to stand beside her, lips curling along with the tea towel in his hands as she aggressively jams the money into the cash register.

*

“Here we are—a hot cup of joe for a hot dame to dip her bill in, on the house.”

Paula accepts her freshly filled and steaming Office Bitch mug with gratitude, settling back in her chair. “Thanks, Cookie. You are a life saver.”

Rebecca makes a dismissive don’t-mention-it motion and continues to wipe down the bench with broad, circular swipes, dropping her donned accent. “How are office operations going sans caffeine, anyway? Who’s showing signs of cracking?”

“Well, let’s just say you do not want to be around Darryl when he’s detoxing—especially now he’s a sleepless single parent—because it somehow sets him vibrating at an even higher frequency than normal. Mrs H has one of those portable espresso machines locked in her desk drawer that she’s patrolling like the National Guard and I think Tim only half understands how thermoses work? Jim was making nice with a secretary from the second floor in an attempt to gain access to their coffee pot, but they figured out what he was up to and had him thrown out.” Paula takes a deep pull of her drink. “I am so lucky to be in with the owner of this place. God bless nepotism.”

Beaming back at her, Rebecca slides a pretzel onto a plate—one of the pink ones, overloaded with marshmallow fluff—and sets it down in front of her best friend.

“Ugh, I’m so glad I don’t work there any more,” she groans, scrunching up the dishcloth and lining it up to the sink like a basketball. In an unusual fluke of coordination, she lands it in one, giving a triumphant fist pump before collapsing in the chair opposite Paula. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m like, totally bummed we don’t share a break room anymore—but Nathaniel and his daddy issues were exhausting enough before involuntary withdrawal got thrown into the mix.” She tears off a piece from the pretzel, the pink fluff sticky against her fingers. “Have you guys worked out who the culprit was, anyway?”

“Mm, no,” Paula manages to get out around her own mouthful of pastry, shaking her head. She swallows with an audible gulp. “But my money’s on Tim. He makes things malfunction just by looking at them and thinking stupid Canadian thoughts in his stupid oversized Canadian head.”

Their catch up is temporarily interrupted when someone stops by from the newspaper on the first floor for a chipotle and cheese, adjusting their choice of beverage to a cola slushy when they eye the hot drinks column of the amended price board with thinly veiled confusion.

“Hon, is this price hike actually going to make you any extra dough? Pun absolutely intended,” Paula asks once they’ve left, pausing to give herself a self-congratulatory grin. “Isn’t it going to lose you business, pushing it up that high?”

“We don’t actually sell that much coffee,” Rebecca says, with a shrug. “I mean, we don’t actually sell much of anything, to be completely honest, but the pretzel to coffee profit ratio is definitely skewed in the pretzel’s favour. I’m kind of just enjoying being an agent of chaos. Not to mention I get to see that one angry vein dilate up the side of Nathaniel’s forehead, so I’m gaining more than I’m likely to lose in this case.”

“Well okay then,” Paula concedes, swilling the last of her drink and pushing reluctantly to her feet when she notes the time. “I do hope this whole Nathaniel-versus-Bert-and-Plimpton-Senior wraps up soon, though. Quibbles over expenditures aside, the place has kind of been a giant mess since you left. I know I’ve been a little bummed since Brendan’s left home, but I did not sign up to parent an entire office of barely functioning man children in his wake.”

*

It’s another day later when AJ sidles into back room and makes a coughing noise that is far from subtle, eyes flicking in the direction of the front counter. “Someone here to see you,” he sing-songs, the smirk evident in the sound of his voice as he nudges her out of the way and takes over on twisting duty.

Nathaniel straightens and sets the white mug down in front of him when he sees her. Freshly washed—an unmistakable peace offering.

He clears his throat. “Hi. I’d like to make a standing order.”

She glances up from her disinterested studying of her notepad in surprise. “What? What do you mean?”

After a second of fidgeting Nathaniel presses the tip of his pointer finger down against the counter, his fingernail cycling from red through to white under the pressure. “From now until next Friday, I would like to order one coffee per person on the Mountaintop payroll, twice daily. 9am and 2pm. Preferably delivered, but if your assistant—”

“Employee,” she corrects with an eye-roll.

“—employee has trouble dealing with that many cups, I can send George to assist.” He finally looks at her, spreading his hands in a no-nonsense gesture. “Just plain black coffee, nothing fancy. And they can sort out their own creamer.”

“I thought the budget was too tight for coffee this quarter,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him.

He pushes his credit card across. “This won’t be going on the expense account.” Clearing his throat again and as dispassionately as he can muster, he presses, “So? Do we have a deal?”

It’s no small request—both in size and in terms of his pride—and she can’t help but be wary of his sudden change of heart.

“We only have one coffee machine,” she says after considering for a moment. “So it’s going to take awhile, if you want them all at once. I’m just saying. Thirty three coffees—”

“Thirty two, on Tuesdays,” he cuts in.

“Right. No Brad. And Paula—”

“—has class on Thursday afternoons. I know. We can fine tune the semantics.”

She bites her lip and shifts all her weight to one leg. “What I’m saying is, that’s a lot of coffees to be ready at one time.”

“Are you saying you can’t fill the order?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I just want you to… appreciate the work involved.”

“Hmm.”

He brings his hand up under his face to examine his fingernails, running the tip of his thumb over each bump of a blunt edge in an obvious attempt to feign nonchalance.

“We don’t do discounts,” she blurts out, dragging his attention back to her.

“Pardon?”

“For bulk orders,” she explains. “We don’t do discounts, because it makes things harder, not easier, having to—”

“I’m not interested in one,” Nathaniel interrupts. “The price that’s on the board. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She jerks her chin up at him. “Well, good. Because that’s what you’re getting. And… good.”

They both flinch a little at the harsh tearing noise her piece of paper makes when she rips it agitatedly off her pad.

There’s no previously established protocol in place for taking preorders—she struggles enough to get them in real time, let alone in advance—and she’s keenly aware of the show she’s putting on, scratching down miscellaneous details in a meaningless arrangement across the page that she’s only pretending is important.

She pauses and eyes him sidewise.“Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?”

“Purely in the interest of productivity,” he says, impassive. Then, after a beat, “And I… wanted to support a local business.”

Rebecca studies him for a moment, exuding a suspicion that gradually relaxes out of her shoulders as she stares. She knows a Gesture when she sees one, and math and money has never been her strong point but she’s not stupid—what he’s asking for could pay for a new machine several times over. Which means he’s not only doing something nice, he’s doing something nice in layers, and it only makes it all the more confusing.

“Of course,” she says, ducking her head with an unexpected, curious sense of shyness. “How noble of you.” She scribbles something else down and slides it towards him for his perusal. “We don’t really have an ordering system, here, so you’re just going to have to trust in my semi-legible handwriting.”

He skims the summary she’s written, finds it satisfactory, and signs.

“You know, if you wanted to invest, you could have just said so,” she says as she takes back the pad.

Nathaniel scoffs at that, his gaze sliding over the decor with exaggerated disdain. “In this place? Please. I still have standards. You’ll be lucky if you don’t go belly up in a year.”

It surprises them both, her short burst of laughter.

“That is… probably true.”

Their lips both twitch as they fight twin grins.

“But with you working upstairs?” Rebecca goes on to mock, hand flattened over her chest. “Not a chance. You know, with this order alone, this month we might just break even.”

Smile dissipating almost as soon as it took shape, Nathaniel’s brief flare of joviality shifts to sincerity.

He hesitates, working his jaw back and forth a few times, debating whether or not he actually wants to speak and eventually settling on letting out a heavy breath. “I wanted to tell you this place is beneath you,” he begins, then holds up his hand when she opens her mouth to protest. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t. Because you seem…” He trails off, evidently unable to find the right word. Starts again. “Even if I don’t understand what… all this is, I want you to know that I hope you find what you’re looking for.” The nod he tacks on is firm, matter-of-fact. “I mean that, Rebecca. I do.”

He reaches over to squeeze her lightly on the arm, and she’s still so taken aback by every word that just came out of his mouth that she doesn’t have time to think about the pleasant warmth that starts to radiate outwards from where he’s touched her. Before she can bring herself to say anything back, he’s gone.

*

She hand delivers the first cup herself, an hour and a half before she helps AJ make a start on the others, sure to leave the wooden stirrer poking up and out the side.

It’s only after she leaves that he notices the loyalty card she’s tucked into the carry tray, right next to where she’s marked the sleeve Nathaniel.

mini fic prompt meme.

[cleverwordsandotherstuffilike]

*The term “bank teller” originated in the wake of the 1929 stock market crash, when banks began hiring low-paid workers to “tell” throngs of frantic depositors that their money was gone. * The city of Slaughter, Texas (population: 11,284), has never had a homicide occur within its boundaries. * Rubbing Tabasco on one’s upper lip before bedtime is an effective temporary cure for sleep apnea. * Moths are unable to fly during an earthquake. * Ingesting small doses of ink over an extended period of time will change your eye color slightly. * Scientists estimate that sleep lost due to daylight saving time reduces the average lifespan by nearly two full months. * No NCAA basketball team from a school located in its state’s capital has ever won the national championship. * Shortly before his execution, Timothy McVeigh constructed a scale model of the Lincoln Memorial with soda crackers. * Strains of bacteria similar to E. coli have been found in spent printer cartridges – but only in the cyan ones. Scientists have no explanation. * The Australian aborigine language has over 30 words for “dust.” * Fewer divorces occur in families in which the children wake their parents before 6 a.m. on Saturdays. * For over a decade, the number of drive-by shootings has been directly proportional to increased gas prices. * Two-thirds of all the world’s coriander comes from a single valley in Italy. * Baking soda and vinegar will make your scrambled eggs fluffier. * Ancient Egyptians used molted cobra skins as condoms. * The National Weather Service will pay $30 for the rights to any original photograph of lightning. * Nearly three percent of the ice in Antarctic glaciers is penguin urine. * In the weightlessness of space a frozen pea will explode if it comes in contact with Pepsi. * Smearing a small amount of dog feces on an insect bite will relieve the itching and swelling. * The Boeing 747 is capable of flying upside-down if it weren’t for the fact that the wings would shear off when trying to roll it over. * The trucking company Elvis Presley worked at as a young man was owned by Frank Sinatra. * The only golf course on the island  of Tonga has 15 holes, and there’s no penalty if a monkey steals your golf ball. * SCUBA divers cannot pass gas at depths of 33 feet or below. * Catfish are the only animals that naturally have an ODD number of whiskers. * Polar bears can eat as many as 86 penguins in a single sitting. * The Air Force’s F-117 fighter uses aerodynamics discovered during research into how bumblebees fly. * Silly Putty was “discovered” as the residue left behind after the first latex condoms were produced. It’s not widely publicized for obvious reasons. * The volume of water that the Giant Sequoia tree consumes in a 24-hour period contains enough suspended minerals to pave 17.3 feet of a 4-lane concrete freeway. * King Henry VIII slept with a gigantic axe. * Because printed materials are being replaced by CD-ROM, microfiche and the Internet, libraries that previously sank into their foundations under the weight of their books are now in danger of collapsing in extremely high winds. * Touch-tone telephone keypads were originally planned to have buttons for Police and Fire Departments, but they were replaced with * and # when the project was cancelled in favour of developing the 911 system. * Human saliva has a boiling point three times that of regular water. * Calvin, of the “Calvin and Hobbes” comic strip, was patterned after President Calvin Coolidge, who had a pet tiger as a boy. * Watching an hour-long soap opera burns more calories than watching a three-hour baseball game. * You can actually sharpen the blades on a pencil sharpener by wrapping your pencils in aluminum foil before inserting them. * Urine from male cape water buffaloes is so flammable that some tribes use it for lantern fuel. * Due to the angle at which the optic nerve enters the brain, staring at a blue surface during sex greatly increases the intensity of orgasms. * Never hold your nose and cover your mouth when sneezing, as it can blow out your eyeballs. * Due to the natural “momentum” of the ocean, saltwater fish cannot swim backwards. * Because of the curvature of the Earth, it is nearly three miles farther to fly from Amarillo, Texas to Louisville, Kentucky than it is to return from Louisville to Amarillo. * The original inspiration for Barbie dolls comes from dolls developed by German propagandists in the late 1930s to impress young girls with the ideal notions of Aryan features. The proportions for Barbie were actually based on those of Eva Braun. * The Venezuelan brown bat can detect and dodge individual raindrops in mid-flight, arriving safely back at his cave completely dry. * The Mongolian pony is the only animal other than an elephant capable of fending off an attack by a healthy adult tiger. * Because of their unusual shape, Hershey’s Kisses contain more calories per ounce than the same amount of chocolate in other forms. * If you tar and feather a 2x4 and place it in your yard, it will ward off bats. * The largest home in the United States, North Carolina’s Biltmore House, was originally intended to be the official residence of a new monarchy to be established when the South rose again. * Nobody born in Kentucky has ever been elected to Congress. * In an effort to improve the nutritional value of its “Shamrock shakes,” McDonald’s colors them with broccoli extract. * Winston Churchill was born with a third nipple, which he removed himself with nail-clippers at the age of 14. * If you place a fresh Viagra tablet in a houseplant’s soil every six months, the plant will not wilt. * The noun “sled” originates from the name of a 18th-century mountaineer from Finland, Schletz Linden, whose body was used by his climbing partner to slide down a mountain during a winter storm after he froze to death. * If a cricket were the size of Mount Rushmore, it could jump to the moon. * The increase in the amount of metals mined and brought to the surface of the earth in order to manufacture SUVs has caused higher tides in the Northern Hemisphere. * Children conceived on airplanes never suffer from motion sickness. * Blue water in a toilet bowl causes males to urinate 7 percent more. * The Yanomami tribesmen of the Amazon basin can track game birds by the slight difference in warmth their shadows create on the forest floor as they fly by, for up to an hour after the birds have departed. * Rapid deforestation has decreased the friction of the surface of the Earth, causing it to spin infinitesimally faster and thereby cool the air, combating global warming. * The flush toilet was invented in Flushing,  NY. * On occasions when the sun is shining brightly on falling snowflakes, they contain enough ionic charge to stun insects. Observation of this phenomenon inspired the invention of the bug zapper. * Over the last two decades, more Americans died of heart attacks while watching horror movies in movie theatres than died while sky-diving. * Every common food product, with the exception of fish and veal, contains some traces of peanut enzymes. * The number of words in the Bible divided by the number of verses equals exactly 666. * An 18th-century law still on the books in Vermont makes it illegal for a woman to lick a stamp in a public place. * Constipation kills nearly twice as many people as diarrhea, mainly because the former mostly afflicts the old and weak while the latter mostly affects young, strong children. * It is physically impossible to urinate and give blood at the same time. * If you fill a standard 750ml wine bottle with live hornets, their angry buzzing will resonate at precisely the right frequency to shatter the glass. * During his famous “Blue Period,” Pablo Picasso invented the substance that eventually became known as Play-Doh. * Every year in the fall, Niagara   Falls is shut down for maintenance for 24 hours. The flow is diverted using a massive series of pipes and spigots built for this purpose in 1837.

Are these important facts true? They are from the internet so I think they must be.

[livingcorner]

Cold-Weather Condos Get Winter Gardens

Many buyers dream of a luxury condo floating high above the city. But those views come with a downside: Precious outdoor space often goes unused.

At that height, balconies are often too windy or dangerous, and in cities like New York, Toronto and London, even opening a window in the cooler months can be a blustery proposition.

You're reading: Cold-Weather Condos Get Winter Gardens

So luxury developers are trying an option that they tout as both lush and cozy: the winter garden. Enclosed by glass on three sides, and often designed as an alcove off the living room or bedroom, these spaces can feature fireplaces, radiant-floor heating and sliding glass doors to maximize the breeze, weather permitting. For developers, the amenity can bump up asking prices, because winter gardens add interior square footage to a unit.

More:Hot Amenities in 2017 Run the Gamut from Tween Lounges to Automated Parking

When living on the 15th or 20th story of a building, “people can’t always use the balcony,” says Piers Clanford, managing director of Berkeley Homes, a London-based developer. Goodman’s Fields in London’s Aldgate neighborhood will be his company’s first project to feature winter gardens. These are designed as an alcove off the living room or bedroom areas and measure about 70 square feet. Sliding glass panels open up to the outside. So far, about 300 units in the seven-tower development have been completed. More than 75% of the 1,019 units have been sold, with prices ranging from about $800,000 for a studio to $6 million for a penthouse, Mr. Clanford says.

Read more: Herb Garden Design – Different Types Of Herb Gardens

Another Berkeley Homes project is 250 City Road, a two-tower development with multiple low-rises in London’s Islington neighborhood. It will also have the feature when it is completed in 2022, he says. “The winter gardens proved pretty popular,” says Mr. Clanford.

Developers are modernizing a concept once popular with European nobility and upper-class North American homeowners, says Larry Hodgson, a Quebec City-based writer who specializes in gardens. The heated, glass-enclosed gardens were attached to the side of some of the largest homes and used to grow rare, exotic plants, such as orchids, he says. “They would definitely become a quiet corner where you could have a bit of a drink in the evening surrounded by exotic plants,” Mr. Hodgson says. With delicate glasswork, the winter gardens were costly to build, heat and maintain, he adds.

More:What Millennials Want: Homes Designed for Connection and Convenience

Sam Mizrahi, a Toronto developer who was inspired by similar concepts across Europe. His company, Mizrahi Developments, is currently building 128 Hazelton, boutique condo building in Toronto’s midtown. When the building is completed in 2019, winter gardens will be located off the living room or bedrooms and accessed through sliding glass doors. Once inside, additional sliding glass doors will open up onto a railing or an outdoor balcony. When these doors are open, “you can have incredibly fresh, brisk air” without disrupting the temperature in the home, Mr. Mizrahi says.

Buyers can choose the placement of their winter garden and are encouraged to customize the spaces with self-irrigating planters and fireplaces, says Mr. Mizrahi. The 128 Hazelton project, where prices range from $1.14 million to $11.5 million, has presold all 18 units.

Mizrahi Developments has another building in the works in Toronto that is scheduled for completion in 2021, he says. Called The One, this 80-story tower will have 416 units, most with a winter garden. Preliminary prices range from about $575,000 for a studio to $22.9 million for a 9,000-square-foot penthouse.

Even on warmer days, balconies on upper floors can be too windy for use, says Gianpiero Pugliese, the architect who worked with Mizrahi Development on 128 Hazelton. Interior winter gardens can be roomier and easier to build out than outdoor terraces, which are more complex to construct because they’re exposed to the outdoors, adds Mr. Pugliese, principal of the Toronto firm Audax.

In his own condo in Toronto’s Little Italy neighborhood, Mr. Pugliese carved out a corner of his living space into a winter garden room. Two walls of oversize windows surround a 225-square-foot space that borders the living room and feels almost like an enclosed terrace, he says. He added outdoor furniture, a double-sided fireplace (for extra heat when windows are open) and durable porcelain-tile flooring.

Read more: The Garden City Movement genealogy project

More:Luxury Real Estate Goes to the Dogs (and Chinchillas)

Some developers tout balconies with some features of a winter garden. At the Dollar Bay development in London’s Canary Wharf neighborhood, the balconies have mechanical louvers that can be lowered to enclose the space, allowing homeowners to enjoy the outdoors when the weather is nice, says Jon Hall, sales director for Mount Anvil, the developer of Dollar Bay, where units range from $670,500 to $4.27 million. The enclosed spaces range from 125 to 250 square feet and can be accessed from the living areas and bedrooms.

A rendering of the two-story winter garden, above, in a penthouse unit at London’s Dollar Bay development, scheduled to open later this year.

ILLUSTRATION: DOLLAR BAY/MOUNT ANVIL

In a high-rise, the winter garden overlooking the city lights feels otherworldly, says Peter Low, 54, founder of a data-services firm. He purchased a three-bedroom unit with two winter gardens in Cashmere House, a tower that is part of the Goodman’s Fields development that was completed in 2015. The winter gardens jut out from two of the unit’s three bedrooms. Each has a set of sliding doors that open to the outside with a rail for protection, like a Juliet balcony. “It’s suspended out, so it feels like you’re in space,” says Mr. Low who moved into the full-floor unit a year ago with his wife, Irina. He declined to give the price, but three-bedroom units in the development start at $1.7 million, according to the developer.

The unit’s two winter gardens were a top selling point for the Lows, who outfitted leisure spaces to fit their diverging tastes. His is designed with a 1962 G Plan swivel chair and footstool so he can comfortably listen to music or play guitar. Hers has a love seat and marble table for her laptop and is often used as part of a dressing area. The couple also uses the winter garden spaces for entertaining, he adds. “We have the benefits of having a view from the balcony without having to suffer the British weather,” he says.

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Garden

source https://livingcorner.com.au/cold-weather-condos-get-winter-gardens/

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Little Bath Mat Without Suction Cups

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Arplis - News source http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Arplis-News/~3/klwlsOjpt5g/little-bath-mat-without-suction-cups

[siderealscribblings]

Never Home (or How Lila Rossi Tased Chat Noir)

A (somewhat) late addition for Week 2 of TOTLS Month. Balcony scenes may not be canon (yet) but here’s a Lilanoir remix of a Marichat staple!

From the moment Lila step foot into her apartment, she knew that she wasn’t alone.

This was largely because she had come home to an empty apartment every day for the last several months, and having grown so used to the empty feeling associated with it, she knew something was just a little off. There was an indescribable presence lingering in the air as she made her way into the kitchen, setting a bag of groceries down and reaching for the small, electric taser she kept in her purse at all times. Her parents would have never let her live alone without protection, and though she had never had the opportunity to use it, she had seen enough horror movies at one in the morning to know how to turn it on whenever the floorboards creaked awkwardly.

Powering the taser on, she made a great show of pretending to be oblivious to the intruder’s presence, stretching lazily as she turned on an Italian news station and made her way from room to room, making a quiet sweep of the small apartment as she went. Humming a tune under her breath, she made sure the bathroom and her wardrobe room were clear before heading into her bedroom, stepping out onto the balcony and breathing in the cool evening air.

After a moment, she turned around, heading back inside with a small sigh, about to slip out of her school clothes when a pair of glowing green eyes caught her attention.

The intruder froze, hand clutched around a can of water that was trickling into the potted plant next to Lila’s desk. It was too dark to see anything but the intruder’s eyes, and Lila wasn’t exactly in the mood to give strange men in her home the benefit of the doubt. As the bandit opened his mouth to say something, Lila’s survival instinct kicked in, prompting her to lunge at the assailant, taser crackling as she launched herself at the intruder like jungle cat. The man dropped the watering can with a clanging splash as Lila threw him to the ground, taser pressed against his neck as she realized she had just threw one of Paris’ resident superheroes to the floor of her apartment.

And not even the one she didn’t like.

“What…the hell are you doing here?!” Lila spluttered.

“Your…fichus…was…dying,” Chat panted.

“Did Ladybug ask you to come here?”

Chat didn’t quite know what was harder to believe; the fact that Lila Rossi had tased him, or the fact that she was now preparing something that he could only describe as heavenly.

“Huh?” Chat asked, shaking his head as Lila fixed him with a deadpan glance. “Oh…n-no, Ladybug doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Mmhmm,” Lila said, turning back to the veal steak unconvinced. “You’re not here to get me back in her good graces?”

“I think that ship has sailed, hasn’t it?” Chat chuckled.

“Sailed, sunk, and sitting at the bottom of the ocean,” Lila muttered, tipping the cutlets onto a pair of plates with a pair of small green salads. Chat blinked at her as she plopped the plate down in front of him, glancing between the cutlet and an amused looking Lila as she looked at him. “Something wrong?”

“No I just…” Chat scratched the back of his head. “Do you usually feed people who break into your house?”

“Color me curious,” Lila said as she regarded her unconventional dinner guest. “I’m interested to know why Chat Noir seems to be so interested in the wellbeing of my house plants, and this seems to be the best way to get you to stay in one place long enough for me to squeeze the story out of you.”  

“Aren’t your parents going to be upset that their daughter is entertaining random strangers in the middle of the night?” Chat asked, poking the cutlet curiously before taking a bite, eyes practically dilating as she swore she heard him purr with delight.

“I don’t live with my parents,” Lila said simply, cutting a chunk off her veal and placing it in her mouth with a thoughtful crunch before squeezing a little lemon over the top.

“…oh,” Chat said simply. “I just thought…w-well, I heard you moved to France so I assumed-”

“Mama’s work keeps her fairly busy,” Lila said with a small shrug. “She has to be in the Milan office most days, so it’s easier for her to just stay in Italy.”

“And you’re okay living here by yourself?” Lila’s fork paused between her plate and her mouth for the faintest moment.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Lila said, leaning across the table with a small smile. “Do you check in on all the former akuma victims like this, or am I just that special?”

“Oh, n-no it’s not that you’re special or…I-I mean you’re special, clearly, but I didn’t…” Chat stammered, fiddling with his food as Lila’s smile became toothy. “I just…your apartment balcony is the perfect landing spot for me to kick off of to land on the building next door and I…may or may not land on it when I’m running home.”

“Wait, that bumping in the middle of the night is you?” Lila asked. “I thought I just had a raccoon trying to get in my window…”

“So I…kinda noticed your plant didn’t look happy,” Chat said, scratching his cheek. “And I may have bought a watering can to…thank you for letting me use your balcony as a springboard.”

“Seriously?” Lila snorted, leaning back in her chair. “You really went out of your way, every day, to water a plant that isn’t yours just to thank me for something I didn’t do?”

Chat shot her a lopsided, somewhat bashful smirk. “I’m a superhero; what can I say?”

“A real knight in shining armor, aren’t you?” Lila chuckled. “Savior of damsel-plants in distress from girls who kill everything they touch.”

“As someone who’s helped slay an actual dragon, I have to say you’re something of a disappointment,” Chat Noir laughed, taking another bite of his meat. “Though your Lightning Bolt attack packed quite a whallop.”

“Mama wouldn’t let me live in a house by myself without protection,” Lila said, narrowing her eyes at Chat. “And I seem to remember knocking someone flat on their tail not an hour ago. I’d say that’s fairly amazing, wouldn’t you?”

“You certainly don’t need a costume to be amazing,” Chat said, causing Lila to frown and glance up at the boy who appeared lost in a world of cotoletta. There was something strangely familiar about him, but Lila couldn’t quite place it, and the fact that she almost realized something about him was maddening.

“…aren’t your parents expecting you for dinner?” Lila asked, raising an eyebrow.

“…Dad’s working late tonight,” Chat said simply, burying a small flash of disappointment with another bite of his meal.

“Too busy for dinner?” Lila asked.

“He’s…got a lot on his plate,” Chat shrugged as Lila chewed thoughtfully.

“Yeah…I understand what you mean,” Lila said softly, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “So…do you plan on continuing to use my balcony as your personal springboard?”

“Unless I want to circumvent this part of town completely,” Chat said. “Which I’d rather not have to do.”

“Because you enjoy spying me changing through my window?”

“What?! No, I-” Chat trailed off as he caught sight of Lila’s smile. “…you’re messing me, aren’t you?”

“You catch on quick, gattino,” Lila said, mopping up the last of her veal juice with the spinach and strawberry salad. “Though I’m wondering if I shouldn’t be charging rent for the use of my balcony.”

“I’m sure whatever price you want, I could pay,” Chat chuckled.

“I’m not hard up for money,” Lila said, chewing on her lower lip. “I would appreciate your usual gardening services…provided your home life doesn’t demand your attention.”

“No real worry of that,” Chat said with a bitter laugh, extending his gloved hand across the table. “Do we have a deal then? You’ll keep renting me your balcony?”

“So long as you swing by every few days,” Lila said, thumb raking over the back of his gloved knuckles. “I’m not exactly a gardener, you know.”

“Clearly; I thought your plant was fake when I first saw it.”

“I still have charge in my taser, you know.”

“Now’s probably a good time to tell you I can’t really feel pain in this thing,” Chat said with a small flex.

“So that means you weren’t even stunned when I threw you to the ground?” Lila said, piling her plate on top of Chat’s as he carried them into the kitchen. “Good to know.”

“Hey, your hip toss is impressive, girl,” Chat chuckled.

“Do you compliment all your girlfriends on their hips, or is it just me?” Lila said, leaning on the counter.

“I don’t have any girlfriends,” Chat said, packing the plates in the dishwasher.

“Certainly not for lack of trying,” Lila said, cocking her head to one side with a smirk. “I’m sure if you looked elsewhere for love, you’d find no shortage of willing young ladies.”

“Do you say that to all the guys you bring home?” Chat said, leaning across the counter with an identically toothy smile.

“Just the ones who break in and water my plants,” Lila said, eyes tracing the curve of his mask for a moment. Seizing an impulse, she reached up, fingers sliding along his mask as she tried to find some seam she could use to pull it off. Surprisingly, Chat didn’t move, stiffening under her touch but still smiling as she pulled away.

“Disappointed?”

“A touch,” Lila said. “Who wouldn’t want to be party to one of the biggest secrets in Paris?”

“As lovely as the meal was, it wasn’t quite secret-identity reveal good,” Chat said, meandering towards the glass door leading out to the balcony.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to get my Julia Child on,” Lila said, following him out into the balmy French evening. “Or break out the cat nip.”

“That’s a misconception,” Chat said, leaning on the edge of the balcony. “Now, if you managed to get me a cookie-”

“I’ll leave some out for you then,” Lila said, leaning on the balcony as the sun set in the distance. She glanced across at him, watching the way the wind rustled his hair as he took a deep breath, turning to her with a toothy smile.

“Thanks for dinner…and not calling the police,” Chat said sheepishly.

“Thank you for the unsolicited landscaping,” Lila said, brushing some hair out of her face as the wind began to pick up. “Though I wonder how your partner is going to feel about your new side job.”

“Ladybug can feel however she wants,” Chat said with wink and a small salute. “But there’s nothing wrong helping out a friend, is there?”

For the first time all night, Lila was at a loss for words, and before she could recover, Chat was off, kicking hard off her balcony and up onto building next to hers. He landed in a low crouch, shooting her a wave over his shoulder before running off into the deepening night. She watched him go for a long moment, his black figure trailing over the rooftops for a few moments before arcing right, continuing to run in a completely different direction, almost as though the stop at her place had been considerably out of his way.

“Oh, so I’m just a stop on your way home, am I?” Lila said, smile playing at her lips as she turned and walked back into her apartment. “Alright, gattino, if that’s how you want to play it...”

[alexcalven01]

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[verrottweil]

like fuel to the fire

Monkey D. Luffy has been assigned to be Rob Lucci's intern at Kobe port's customs. What follows is Lucci's slow descent into /feelings/.

Chapter 1

Read on AO3.

.

Eight minutes before the alarm on his phone goes off, Lucci stirs awake and snaps his eyes open. The Maersk Elgin’s docking at five thirty and he needs to be at the harbor’s Rokko terminal at least half an hour beforehand to prepare the inspection. It’s pitch black in his bedroom aside from the streetlight falling in from the window. He sits upright, stretches his arms out above him, gets the crick out of his neck and throws the sheets off his legs, almost knocking the white roll pillow off the foot-end.

Lucci switches the lamp on his nightstand on. He squints bleary-eyed against the yellowish-white glare, hauling a hand through his unruly mop of hair and scratching the base of his neck, fingertips reaching past the neckline of the tank top he sleeps in.

His bedroom is sparsely furnished due to a lack of space. Lucci lives in a two-story building down some small, crowded neighborhood about a twenty-minute drive away from port where he works as a customs officer; but there’s a hospital nearby, and a park with a basketball court that’s always deserted in the evenings. He grabs his phone, gets out of bed and heads on down to the kitchen. Blinking the last sleep from his eyes, Lucci looks disheveled in just a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top.

Summers are hot and humid even at night, and aside from the constant hum of the air-conditioner and the shuffle of his bare feet, it’s dead-quiet inside the house.

With the sound of the coffee machine on the background chasing away the silence, Lucci rounds the kitchen counter, opens his fridge and grabs a glass jar of jam and bagged pastries. There’s a detailed drawing of a rabbit on the paper bag: the local bakery’s logo. After a quick breakfast, he drinks his strong cup of coffee in peace, scrolling down the news on his phone, sweeps the crumbs off his plate into the paper bag, gets up and slides the glass door open to the patio. Outside, the temperature’s bearable and the air’s not too clammy yet.

There’s a decently-sized dovecote mounted against the wall, made from pinewood. A pigeon’s low and steady cooing can be heard from the inside.

Lucci softly knocks on the wood and when he hears the rustle of feathers, he starts to strew the crumbs over the ledge, clicking his tongue to draw the pigeon out. The bird’s name is Hattori. Over five years ago, Lucci found the pigeon as a helpless, young squab in a broken nest on the ground and decided to raise it by himself.

The sound of cicadas dooms up from his neighbor’s backyard behind the garden wall, but he barely pays heed to the noise. He checks if there’s still enough water in the bottle holder to last Hattori for the day.

Back inside the house, Lucci continues his morning routine. With the grace of a large cat on the prowl, he silently trudges up the steps of the staircase and makes a beeline for the bathroom, which interior is much like the rest of the house: modern, monochrome and sleek. He does a hundred pushups on the bathroom floor and takes a quick, cold shower.

After toweling himself dry and combing his unruly, wet mane, Lucci attentively studies his reflection in the rectangular mirror above the washing table, searching for stubborn hairs in his brows and goatee, set of tweezers in hand, and brushes his teeth.

He unceremoniously dumps the wet towel and his sweaty underwear into the laundry hamper, the wicker lid falling back shut with a curt bang. Quickly steps into a pair of designer boxer-briefs and pulls them up over his ass, so the white elastic band spelling out Emporio fits snug around his hipbones. ‘Dress to impress’ has been a motto Lucci adhered to since his early teens.

Most of his wardrobe consists of designer suits, quality clothing, patent leather dress shoes and fancy loafers, but in his opinion, an expensive taste’s well worth the price. It’s something he acquired from his uncle.

Lucci was orphaned at a young age and since he didn’t have any relatives who were financially able to raise him back in Italy, he got sent off to Tokyo, where his uncle worked at the embassy. Money was never an issue, but him being a foreigner was, sometimes. He stands shirtless in front of his closet, pensively rubbing his chin as his gaze goes from one coating hanger to the next, trying to decide on what shirt to wear.

Under the bright bedroom lights, the blackish purple color of the crossed-out squares tattooed on his arms is overexposed, boldly standing out against his slightly-tanned skin.

When he’s fully dressed and put his hair up in a ponytail to get it out of his neck, Lucci deliberately leaves the first two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, spritzes some of his favorite cologne against the column of his throat and pops the collar. It’s still so early but he feels surprisingly awake. Must’ve been the coffee. He just needs to get his lunchbox from the fridge, with the leftovers from yesterday’s dinner, and grab his phone from the counter and his briefcase, then he can slip on his shoes and head off to work.

Driving down to the harbor in the dark feels like being in a movie. Streetlight falls through the front window of his car in neat intervals. Lucci likes the contemplative quiet of the city during nighttime. It’s a stark contrast with the bustling port just beyond its borders.

Spandam’s waiting for him at the beginning of the terminal, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his blazer and his tie whipping around his neck. There’s a strong wind that sprays the smell of seawater into their faces. Dockworkers are scrambling around them, readying the terminal for the ship’s arrival, and in the background, over the sound of the waves crashing against the walkway, the wheels of a movable crane bulldozer over the concrete. Lucci furrows his brows when he sees his superior isn’t waiting for him alone.

One of the foremen he recognizes to be Franky is standing next to him, talking excitedly to a young man barely out of his teens. Lucci’s never seen the boy around here before.

“Ah, Lucci, there you are,” Spandam beckons him over impatiently when he’s close enough, obviously tired of being ignored by his company. “Remember that, ahem, assignment we talked about last week?” All he gets in response is an unimpressed, stone-cold expression. Spandam bristles and continues irritably, “About the internship, yes? Pah, well, this is your internee. Monkey D. Garp’s grandson—”

Before Spandam manages to wedge another word in, the boy pipes up loudly, “Oi, I can introduce myself!”

“My name’s Luffy,” he says over Franky’s roaring laughter, turning towards Lucci with a big grin on his face. “Nice to meet you!” His words aren’t accompanied by the customary bow or handshake, but there’s enthusiasm visible in his loose-limbed, almost lanky posture. “And I know more people who work here than just my gramps.”

Lucci wonders how much it would affect his perfect record if he turns around and walks away now. This boy’s going to be a headache, of that he’s sure.

“Like me,” Franky agrees gleefully, pointing at himself with a satisfied smile curled on his lips. “Hah, Luffy’s been around the docks since he’s been a kid, always getting into trouble—” Lucci snaps his head up at the word, looking sharply at the foreman as he says this, while Luffy happily nods along in confirmation.

“Did you know Shanks had to dive into the water to get ‘em out once? Garp was so pissed.”

Done with the conversation, Spandam loudly scrapes his throat, and when that doesn’t get their attention, he exclaims rather loudly, “Yes, yes, but Garp’s grandson – “My name’s Luffy!” – will be upholding a certain standard now, and who better to coach him than our very best, mmmh?”

Scratching the side of his head, Franky looks somewhat dubiously at Spandam and mutters, “They’ll be evenly matched if you ask me.”

Spandam huffs in return and replies stiffly, “But I didn’t.” Jabbing his forefinger at Lucci, he continues, “He’ll be under your supervision. Show him what we do around here, ease him into it with some easy tasks and please don’t give Garp a reason to complain about us. Last thing I need is the coast guard nagging at me!”

“I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior,” Lucci responds coolly, before turning away and walking further down the terminal. He pauses and casts a glance over his shoulder at Luffy. “Are you coming or not?”

Luffy wasn’t really paying much attention to the conversation going on around him; he was watching wide-eyed how the dockworkers install the movable cranes along the walkway and drive their container handlers around. When Lucci addresses him, he tilts his head in surprise. Giddy at the thought of getting on one of those huge container ships, he bounces after him, moving on the balls of his feet. Lucci heaves a deep sigh.

When the Maersk Elgin docks, the cranes are neatly lined up along the terminal walkway with plenty of space in between to stockpile the containers. They’re standing near the far end for the inspection.

“—And since the ship comes from Shanghai, we have clearance to open around fifteen percent of the cargo even if the documentation checks out.” Lucci stops talking when he notices the boy hasn’t listened to a single word he said.

The lights from the ship reflect a blinking red and blue in Luffy’s big, expressive eyes as he stares unabashedly, mouth slightly open and rocking back on forth on the tips of his toes.

Leaning in, Lucci says with a cold smirk, “You could at least pretend to listen.”

He blinks, suddenly coming back to the conversation and chuckles sheepishly, bringing a hand to the back of his head. “Shishishi, but that would’ve been even ruder,” Luffy remarks as if that would get him out of trouble.

Seizing up the height of the ship’s hull, he then prompts, “So when are we going aboard?!”

“We’re not,” Lucci deadpans, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. Some hairs come loose from his ponytail when the sea breeze picks up again. At Luffy’s pouty expression, he merely scoffs and says, “If you would’ve payed attention, you’d know that we inspect the containers off board. We check two or three right here and the others at the shelter.”

“Aw…” Luffy mumbles, and judging by the high, innocent tone of his voice, most of what Lucci said went over his head anyway. “But we can go inside the containers, right?”

Lucci closes his eyes briefly and takes a steadying breath, borrowing on his patience to get him through this conversation. It’s not that he’s bad with people; his no-nonsense demeanor and appearance usually pave the way to smooth social interactions. His mind’s susceptible to intrusive thoughts when he has to deal with people too long however, and those thoughts usually turn to violence.

Shortly after moving to Kobe, Lucci became a member of a Muay Thai club. It’s one of the few martial arts disciplines that promises the intense workout he needs.

His uncle made him do all sorts of fighting sports during his teens to get him out of his hair. Lucci learned to love the thrill of a good fight. He’s even gotten suspended a couple of times because he’d gotten carried away and beat his opponent to a bloody pulp on the mats. There’s something particularly satisfying about blood drying in the creases of his knuckles.

“Oi, can we go into the containers or not?” Luffy pipes up again impatiently, apparently not so keen on being ignored himself.

Lucci stares the boy down, nonplussed by the demanding tone in his voice and the gleam in his eyes, and studies his appearance for a moment. There’s a thin, long scar under his left eye. Even in the relative darkness, the whitish tissue sticks out against his suntanned skin. His shirt’s too big around his shoulders, store-bought, and rumpled, hanging half-out of his pants. Luffy furrows his brows together and returns Lucci’s stare defiantly.

In the background, the rumble of the cranes and of the containers being placed down on the concrete resounds over the shouts of the dockworkers.

“Yes,” Lucci eventually says, smirking coldly again. “You can go inside. Be careful nobody gets the idea in their head to reseal the container though. You might run out of air.” Softly he mutters under his breath, “And that’d be a real pity.”

“Why would anyone close the container? You’ll be there to make sure everything’s alright, right?” Luffy responds easily with a carefree grin on his face, and he crosses his arms behind his head, looking off at the ship again.

Taken aback by the boy’s response, Lucci doesn’t reply right away, absentmindedly scrutinizing his profile for a moment. He then bristles and clicks his tongue in annoyance. Some dockworkers are busy offloading a container for inspection a couple of feet away from them; the reflective strips on their safety vests glinting silver in the slivers of light. Lucci unclenches his fists and walks on over, expecting the boy to keep up.

“Oh!” Luffy yells excitedly when he sees one of the dockworkers with a crowbar. “Can I open it?!”

Startled, the dockworker almost drops the crowbar and fumbles to keep a tight grip. He looks from his colleagues to Lucci to the boy and then back to Lucci, instinctively knowing he’s the one who really calls the shots. Rolling his eyes, he reminds him snidely, “You’re supposed to be on your best behavior.”

Luffy rubs his chin pensively, nods to himself and then turns to the dockworker with the crowbar, looking at him earnestly. “Can I please open it?” He asks politely.

It’s going to be a long day, Lucci thinks as he watches how the astounded dockworker hands the crowbar over to the boy and helps him open the container. He’s going to pay a visit to Spandam’s office once they’re done with the inspection. Agreeing to coach an intern is one thing, but Lucci has no intention to become a glorified babysitter. With a hoarse creak, the container door slowly swings open under the force of the crowbar; Luffy starts to laugh loudly and his entire face lights up in triumph.

Lucci just barely resists the urge to dunk him into the sea.

.

[lenakrruger]

Recipes for Realtors: Stewed prunes, oxtails and oranges

I was rearranging my pantry shelf, and it’s a rare thing to find things in tins, but I came across a large container of preserved prunes. And I decided it was time to use them again. This is a quick and easy sauce to make and it keeps well in a glass-covered container in the fridge for several days.

Remove the prunes using a strainer or a slotted spoon and put the liquid into a saucepan. Measure the liquid and add half as much granulated sugar and a cup of Offley Ruby Port.

[banner]

Bring it to a gentle simmer and reduce by a third. Stir well with a wooden spoon to incorporate the sugar. Mash the moisture-filled prunes or pulse coarsely. Add a pinch of salt.

Stir the mashed prunes into the reduced sauce pot, on simmer. Squeeze the juice of a fresh sweet orange into the pot and add orange segments from another whole orange, cut from between the membranes.

You could add the zest of a fresh orange or mince a few rinds from your candied citrus sugar jar to finish the sauce, just when ready to serve.

Alternate: You might consider adding a large dollop of sour cream to the port sauce; if you do, do not reheat. The sauce will separate. Just gently fold in the sour cream at the last minute and serve.

Remove the cooked oxtails from their cooking pot (see below), using a spider spoon, and cover with the port prune sauce on a serving platter. Gourmet at its best.

This sauce can also be used over top of pan-fried pork loin medallions (you can substitute veal medallions) or over centre-cut grilled thick pork chops. It’s a wonderful accompaniment to roasted whole unstuffed rock Cornish hens that have been roasted with my kumquat marmalade spread over the birds in the last few minutes of roasting. Or, use this prune port sauce with pan-fried duck breast, served medium rare, or over my turkey roll recipe at this link.

Paired with a citrus panna cotta or citrus zabaglione, made with minced rind from your pantry citrus sugar jar, you could even serve dessert in a matching puddle of your main course port prune sauce (save a bit before you add the oxtails). You might top a martini glass of the pudding with a dollop of Port Chantilly Crème (the kind used as filling for my Bird’s Nest Pavlova recipe). Or, top an espresso with a tiny spoon of the ruby port cream.

Suggested pairing: Offley Ruby Port. Let it breathe. Serve at a cool room temperature from a narrow neck decanter or directly from its bottle, chilled just a bit.

Another idea: Drizzle the prune port sauce on my grilled goat cheese spinach sandwich recipe you can find here. Scroll down to comments for Grilled Goat Cheese Spinach Sandwich Special (and so much more …)

Or, enjoy the sauce on an open face grilled brown bread slice, topped with thinly sliced roasted turkey and crispy bacon. Very yummy, either way. Note: if you have found a place to buy English bloomer bread that is very popular in U.K., it grills wonderfully. It’s also perfect to serve with scrambled eggs and smoked salmon at breakfast.

Asbach oxtails

In a heavy, coated, cast-iron pot, sauté oxtails in hot butter until brown. Add salt, pepper, Italian seasoning and a sprig of dry, fresh thyme. When cooked, add a little chopped parsley.

Add the following to the pot, then cover: Sweat a large Spanish onion, chopped medium fine; three celery sticks, chopped small but coarse; three carrots, large, cut in pennies on the diagonal.

Add one quart (four cups) of homemade chicken stock and bring to a boil. Turn the heat down. Simmer two hours. During the last half hour of cooking, add a quarter cup of Asbach brandy. Reduce. Sauce will thicken slightly.

You can serve the oxtails dish at this stage. Or, you can remove the oxtails so they don’t continue cooking (don’t overcook the meat) and add half and half cream. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat (don’t cover the pot) and reduce just slightly.

Serve over whipped, mashed potatoes, wide egg noodles or Basmati rice. Also good with crepes. Fill the crepes with the oxtails and serve the crepes in a reduced puddle of the natural sauce or the cream sauce, with the veggies on the plate pushed to the side.

If you have never eaten oxtails, you are missing out on a wonderful dish; but bear in mind, this is exceptionally rich and will be a great surprise for guests, too.

A different approach: Using either method, right at the end, add a tin of whole tomatoes and liquid; break up the tomatoes just a little.

Then, if you would rather have oxtail tomato soup, add another quart of homemade chicken stock. Bring to a boil, turn down heat and serve. When ready to serve, top each individual serving with a few shavings of frozen Asbach butter from your always at-the-ready freezer supply. Do not stir. Just let the compound butter melt.

More amazing oxtails: Hungarian oxtail goulash

Prepare as above: Let the meat fall off the bones; pull apart the meat using two forks. Reduce the sauce a little on low heat.

Check seasoning. Adjust salt, pepper and add a heaping tablespoon of Hungarian sweet paprika (not the smoky version, unless that is your personal preference). Gently fold in, just before serving, a large scoop of firm full fat sour cream. Do not reheat after adding the sour cream. Keep the cooking pan hot, covered until serving.

Serve the Hungarian oxtail goulash in a large family-style presentation in a large deep platter, along with a bed of my homemade sauerkraut. This works well as a side dish with plain breaded Wiener schnitzel or breaded chicken cutlets or pork cutlets and a generous serving of homemade egg noodles or spaetzle.

A word about food storage spaces

If you live near a grocery store or market, go in off-hours when checkout lines are less likely to be busy. And go more often. Most people never have enough refrigerator space no matter how big the fridge is, and kitchen cabinet space is often at a premium.

The luxury of having a separate pantry is just that. Unless you have one set, dedicated cabinet for food storage items, it’s better to shop frequently. It’s never a long walk to the basement and a worthwhile investment to put dedicated shelving in place for things best kept in a cool dark place.

Many Italian-built homes have a cantina. It’s not a real cantina unless it has an open air-exchange hole (as a listing rep be careful how you identify that space; you could find yourself paying to modify it). But nonetheless it is a cold room. But be careful about condensation accumulating. Keep an eye open for mould. That is never acceptable.

Back in the pre-war days, and even sometimes after, one could find dedicated giant storage bins in house basements, under a removable basement window, allowing those who grew their own potatoes and root vegetables a means of putting a slide in place and loading wagon-loads of veggies onto slides that delivered the homegrown wonders right to the storage bins, where they provided family food all through the off-seasons. Bins were made from bug-free woods, never from shipping skids that might carry uninvited guests in transit.

Some people who didn’t have open-slat wooden basement bins used open hemp sacks for storage. The coal or wood-fired furnace was often in the basement, so that kept any dampness at bay. In Canada, many basement areas had earthen floors.

Although the European immigrants brought their wonderful recipes from overseas with them, some foodstuffs really are international. Made with a local twist. Here is a good example.

Stale bread Austrian-style dumplings 

This is another wartime and post-wartime dish. Today we are still in a war – against food pricing and waste.

Bread is bread wherever you go or wherever you live. For these wonderful bread dumplings, you can use almost any bread. It just so happens the dumplings are still a staple in Northern Italy and Austria. And a particular favourite, too, among travellers to the region.

Don’t waste those easily dried out baguettes or rolls that become rock hard, almost impossible to bring back to life: French, Italian or Portuguese. Put the dried-out bread in a large plastic bag, lay a clean lightweight tea towel over it, and using your meat pounder hammer, smash the dried bread into large pieces.

Place the bread chunks into a large glass bowl. Just barely cover with half and half cream. The bread will expand as it absorbs the liquid. Let the bread sit for a few hours. You don’t want the bread soggy. Just moist.

Regular readers might notice I rarely use milk in my recipes. I don’t drink milk and haven’t since I was preschool when I was forced to drink milk that was “off”. I could never bring myself to drink it again, although very occasionally I would succumb to a hot chocolate or a milkshake. To me, ever after, milk tastes like whatever the cow had eaten, so I simply avoided it completely. Milk is full of natural sugars. Cream is not. Fat, yes. Sugar, no.

Now for these dumplings some people use flour as a binder. For an exception, perhaps use almonds or hazelnuts that have been ground to a powder flour-like texture. For six cups of soaked moistened bread, use about three-quarters cup of ground nuts (or flour). Whisk a large fresh egg and mix into the moistened bread. Sprinkle with minced fresh parsley and fresh lemon thyme. Grate a little fresh nutmeg into the mix and a little salt and pepper.

Now for the special touch: add a half cup of my special minced spinach mix from your fridge or thawed overnight freezer storage. But use spinach to which you have added chopped crispy bacon (not store-bought bacon bits).

To see my spinach special recipe scroll down to the sandwich comments here.

The dumplings need to be a generous size, about the size of a cup. Roll scoops of the bread mixture in your dry floured hands to form a ball shape. Dredge in seasoned flour. Cover on a tray with a clean tea towel.

Gently poach the bread dumplings in a large uncovered pot of simmering homemade chicken broth, perhaps for six minutes. Using a spider spoon, gently move the dumplings around in the broth. Do not overcook them.

Pull the dumplings apart into two pieces using two forks and sprinkle with Parmesan and serve alongside my Tiroler mushroom and cheese-filled Wiener schnitzel and spaetzle with a side of my special red cabbage or homemade sauerkraut. The dumplings are also a wonderful side with my sacrilegious Shiraz veal or with my delicious oxtail goulash.

This is a hungry-man meal for sure.

Any leftover dumplings can be sliced about a half-inch thick the next day and reheated quickly in sizzling butter and served with sugared carrots and blanched sweet peas or minty mushy peas.

Alternate: Mince white button mushrooms and minced onion, equal parts. Just sauté once over lightly in sizzling butter, cool slightly and add a little to the moist bread mix. With or without the spinach mix.

Another alternate: Coarsely chop cooked lobster claw meat and mix into the bread dumpling mix. You can keep on hand a flash frozen tin of lobster for this purpose (thaw and squeeze out the liquid; freeze the liquid and save for another recipe) or buy ready-cooked lobster claw packages. Add a little minced fresh tarragon. Poach the dumplings in chicken stock or homemade fish stock.

When ready to serve, spritz with homemade lobster oil or melt a lobster compound butter puck from your stored log and pour over each melt-in-your-mouth seafood dumpling.

Serve the large dumplings as a side, with a tiny drizzle of Petite Maison white truffle Dijon, with a generous bowl of thick Canadian seafood chowder or lobster bisque.

Plums up! Or figgy dumplings. 

Prepare the bread dumplings using cognac marinated plums or black mission figs, finely chopped (squeeze out excess liquid) and drizzle each dumpling with a little Chantilly Cream and offer a starter as a unique large amuse bouche.

There’s nothing difficult about preparing your meals in a gourmet fashion as a home cook. As my readers know, nothing goes to waste in my kitchen. And busy Realtors have to eat, so cooking at home actually saves time because you have an opportunity to multi-task. It’s simply a matter of being organized – mis en place. Just like at the office.

© “From Lady Ralston’s Kitchen: A Canadian Contessa Cooks” Turning everyday meal making into a Gourmet Experience

The post Recipes for Realtors: Stewed prunes, oxtails and oranges appeared first on REM | Real Estate Magazine.

Recipes for Realtors: Stewed prunes, oxtails and oranges published first on https://grandeurparkcondo.tumblr.com/

[felishasheats]

Recipes for Realtors: Stewed prunes, oxtails and oranges

I was rearranging my pantry shelf, and it’s a rare thing to find things in tins, but I came across a large container of preserved prunes. And I decided it was time to use them again. This is a quick and easy sauce to make and it keeps well in a glass-covered container in the fridge for several days.

Remove the prunes using a strainer or a slotted spoon and put the liquid into a saucepan. Measure the liquid and add half as much granulated sugar and a cup of Offley Ruby Port.

[banner]

Bring it to a gentle simmer and reduce by a third. Stir well with a wooden spoon to incorporate the sugar. Mash the moisture-filled prunes or pulse coarsely. Add a pinch of salt.

Stir the mashed prunes into the reduced sauce pot, on simmer. Squeeze the juice of a fresh sweet orange into the pot and add orange segments from another whole orange, cut from between the membranes.

You could add the zest of a fresh orange or mince a few rinds from your candied citrus sugar jar to finish the sauce, just when ready to serve.

Alternate: You might consider adding a large dollop of sour cream to the port sauce; if you do, do not reheat. The sauce will separate. Just gently fold in the sour cream at the last minute and serve.

Remove the cooked oxtails from their cooking pot (see below), using a spider spoon, and cover with the port prune sauce on a serving platter. Gourmet at its best.

This sauce can also be used over top of pan-fried pork loin medallions (you can substitute veal medallions) or over centre-cut grilled thick pork chops. It’s a wonderful accompaniment to roasted whole unstuffed rock Cornish hens that have been roasted with my kumquat marmalade spread over the birds in the last few minutes of roasting. Or, use this prune port sauce with pan-fried duck breast, served medium rare, or over my turkey roll recipe at this link.

Paired with a citrus panna cotta or citrus zabaglione, made with minced rind from your pantry citrus sugar jar, you could even serve dessert in a matching puddle of your main course port prune sauce (save a bit before you add the oxtails). You might top a martini glass of the pudding with a dollop of Port Chantilly Crème (the kind used as filling for my Bird’s Nest Pavlova recipe). Or, top an espresso with a tiny spoon of the ruby port cream.

Suggested pairing: Offley Ruby Port. Let it breathe. Serve at a cool room temperature from a narrow neck decanter or directly from its bottle, chilled just a bit.

Another idea: Drizzle the prune port sauce on my grilled goat cheese spinach sandwich recipe you can find here. Scroll down to comments for Grilled Goat Cheese Spinach Sandwich Special (and so much more …)

Or, enjoy the sauce on an open face grilled brown bread slice, topped with thinly sliced roasted turkey and crispy bacon. Very yummy, either way. Note: if you have found a place to buy English bloomer bread that is very popular in U.K., it grills wonderfully. It’s also perfect to serve with scrambled eggs and smoked salmon at breakfast.

Asbach oxtails

In a heavy, coated, cast-iron pot, sauté oxtails in hot butter until brown. Add salt, pepper, Italian seasoning and a sprig of dry, fresh thyme. When cooked, add a little chopped parsley.

Add the following to the pot, then cover: Sweat a large Spanish onion, chopped medium fine; three celery sticks, chopped small but coarse; three carrots, large, cut in pennies on the diagonal.

Add one quart (four cups) of homemade chicken stock and bring to a boil. Turn the heat down. Simmer two hours. During the last half hour of cooking, add a quarter cup of Asbach brandy. Reduce. Sauce will thicken slightly.

You can serve the oxtails dish at this stage. Or, you can remove the oxtails so they don’t continue cooking (don’t overcook the meat) and add half and half cream. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat (don’t cover the pot) and reduce just slightly.

Serve over whipped, mashed potatoes, wide egg noodles or Basmati rice. Also good with crepes. Fill the crepes with the oxtails and serve the crepes in a reduced puddle of the natural sauce or the cream sauce, with the veggies on the plate pushed to the side.

If you have never eaten oxtails, you are missing out on a wonderful dish; but bear in mind, this is exceptionally rich and will be a great surprise for guests, too.

A different approach: Using either method, right at the end, add a tin of whole tomatoes and liquid; break up the tomatoes just a little.

Then, if you would rather have oxtail tomato soup, add another quart of homemade chicken stock. Bring to a boil, turn down heat and serve. When ready to serve, top each individual serving with a few shavings of frozen Asbach butter from your always at-the-ready freezer supply. Do not stir. Just let the compound butter melt.

More amazing oxtails: Hungarian oxtail goulash

Prepare as above: Let the meat fall off the bones; pull apart the meat using two forks. Reduce the sauce a little on low heat.

Check seasoning. Adjust salt, pepper and add a heaping tablespoon of Hungarian sweet paprika (not the smoky version, unless that is your personal preference). Gently fold in, just before serving, a large scoop of firm full fat sour cream. Do not reheat after adding the sour cream. Keep the cooking pan hot, covered until serving.

Serve the Hungarian oxtail goulash in a large family-style presentation in a large deep platter, along with a bed of my homemade sauerkraut. This works well as a side dish with plain breaded Wiener schnitzel or breaded chicken cutlets or pork cutlets and a generous serving of homemade egg noodles or spaetzle.

A word about food storage spaces

If you live near a grocery store or market, go in off-hours when checkout lines are less likely to be busy. And go more often. Most people never have enough refrigerator space no matter how big the fridge is, and kitchen cabinet space is often at a premium.

The luxury of having a separate pantry is just that. Unless you have one set, dedicated cabinet for food storage items, it’s better to shop frequently. It’s never a long walk to the basement and a worthwhile investment to put dedicated shelving in place for things best kept in a cool dark place.

Many Italian-built homes have a cantina. It’s not a real cantina unless it has an open air-exchange hole (as a listing rep be careful how you identify that space; you could find yourself paying to modify it). But nonetheless it is a cold room. But be careful about condensation accumulating. Keep an eye open for mould. That is never acceptable.

Back in the pre-war days, and even sometimes after, one could find dedicated giant storage bins in house basements, under a removable basement window, allowing those who grew their own potatoes and root vegetables a means of putting a slide in place and loading wagon-loads of veggies onto slides that delivered the homegrown wonders right to the storage bins, where they provided family food all through the off-seasons. Bins were made from bug-free woods, never from shipping skids that might carry uninvited guests in transit.

Some people who didn’t have open-slat wooden basement bins used open hemp sacks for storage. The coal or wood-fired furnace was often in the basement, so that kept any dampness at bay. In Canada, many basement areas had earthen floors.

Although the European immigrants brought their wonderful recipes from overseas with them, some foodstuffs really are international. Made with a local twist. Here is a good example.

Stale bread Austrian-style dumplings 

This is another wartime and post-wartime dish. Today we are still in a war – against food pricing and waste.

Bread is bread wherever you go or wherever you live. For these wonderful bread dumplings, you can use almost any bread. It just so happens the dumplings are still a staple in Northern Italy and Austria. And a particular favourite, too, among travellers to the region.

Don’t waste those easily dried out baguettes or rolls that become rock hard, almost impossible to bring back to life: French, Italian or Portuguese. Put the dried-out bread in a large plastic bag, lay a clean lightweight tea towel over it, and using your meat pounder hammer, smash the dried bread into large pieces.

Place the bread chunks into a large glass bowl. Just barely cover with half and half cream. The bread will expand as it absorbs the liquid. Let the bread sit for a few hours. You don’t want the bread soggy. Just moist.

Regular readers might notice I rarely use milk in my recipes. I don’t drink milk and haven’t since I was preschool when I was forced to drink milk that was “off”. I could never bring myself to drink it again, although very occasionally I would succumb to a hot chocolate or a milkshake. To me, ever after, milk tastes like whatever the cow had eaten, so I simply avoided it completely. Milk is full of natural sugars. Cream is not. Fat, yes. Sugar, no.

Now for these dumplings some people use flour as a binder. For an exception, perhaps use almonds or hazelnuts that have been ground to a powder flour-like texture. For six cups of soaked moistened bread, use about three-quarters cup of ground nuts (or flour). Whisk a large fresh egg and mix into the moistened bread. Sprinkle with minced fresh parsley and fresh lemon thyme. Grate a little fresh nutmeg into the mix and a little salt and pepper.

Now for the special touch: add a half cup of my special minced spinach mix from your fridge or thawed overnight freezer storage. But use spinach to which you have added chopped crispy bacon (not store-bought bacon bits).

To see my spinach special recipe scroll down to the sandwich comments here.

The dumplings need to be a generous size, about the size of a cup. Roll scoops of the bread mixture in your dry floured hands to form a ball shape. Dredge in seasoned flour. Cover on a tray with a clean tea towel.

Gently poach the bread dumplings in a large uncovered pot of simmering homemade chicken broth, perhaps for six minutes. Using a spider spoon, gently move the dumplings around in the broth. Do not overcook them.

Pull the dumplings apart into two pieces using two forks and sprinkle with Parmesan and serve alongside my Tiroler mushroom and cheese-filled Wiener schnitzel and spaetzle with a side of my special red cabbage or homemade sauerkraut. The dumplings are also a wonderful side with my sacrilegious Shiraz veal or with my delicious oxtail goulash.

This is a hungry-man meal for sure.

Any leftover dumplings can be sliced about a half-inch thick the next day and reheated quickly in sizzling butter and served with sugared carrots and blanched sweet peas or minty mushy peas.

Alternate: Mince white button mushrooms and minced onion, equal parts. Just sauté once over lightly in sizzling butter, cool slightly and add a little to the moist bread mix. With or without the spinach mix.

Another alternate: Coarsely chop cooked lobster claw meat and mix into the bread dumpling mix. You can keep on hand a flash frozen tin of lobster for this purpose (thaw and squeeze out the liquid; freeze the liquid and save for another recipe) or buy ready-cooked lobster claw packages. Add a little minced fresh tarragon. Poach the dumplings in chicken stock or homemade fish stock.

When ready to serve, spritz with homemade lobster oil or melt a lobster compound butter puck from your stored log and pour over each melt-in-your-mouth seafood dumpling.

Serve the large dumplings as a side, with a tiny drizzle of Petite Maison white truffle Dijon, with a generous bowl of thick Canadian seafood chowder or lobster bisque.

Plums up! Or figgy dumplings. 

Prepare the bread dumplings using cognac marinated plums or black mission figs, finely chopped (squeeze out excess liquid) and drizzle each dumpling with a little Chantilly Cream and offer a starter as a unique large amuse bouche.

There’s nothing difficult about preparing your meals in a gourmet fashion as a home cook. As my readers know, nothing goes to waste in my kitchen. And busy Realtors have to eat, so cooking at home actually saves time because you have an opportunity to multi-task. It’s simply a matter of being organized – mis en place. Just like at the office.

© “From Lady Ralston’s Kitchen: A Canadian Contessa Cooks” Turning everyday meal making into a Gourmet Experience

The post Recipes for Realtors: Stewed prunes, oxtails and oranges appeared first on REM | Real Estate Magazine.

Recipes for Realtors: Stewed prunes, oxtails and oranges published first on https://oicrealestate.tumblr.com/

[chasecampen]

It’s Prime Season for Real Estate Launches

Luxury real estate markets around the world are entering a prime season for launching new development sales. Here is a look at some of the most interesting projects expected to hit the Los Angeles market in coming months.

The Liddel

10777 Wilshire Blvd - Westwood

The Liddel, a boutique collection of 56 residences on Wilshire Boulevard, is now on the market for sale through The Agency. Construction is expected to be completed this month, with a grand opening in April. Located on the Wilshire Corridor, also known as The Golden Mile, The Liddel is at the heart of a two-mile stretch of luxury condominium buildings that run from Westwood Village to the west side of the Los Angeles Country Club, adjacent to Beverly Hills, Holmby Hills and Bel Air. The very best of L.A.’s Westside, including acclaimed dining and shopping as well as culture and entertainment, are a short walk or ride away.

The residences are designed by interior architect Jamie Bush, with a clean, open canvas that balances contemporary lines, flexible floor plans and generous living spaces. The Liddel presents a variety of floor plans. One-bedroom residences are designed with great rooms that transition to private terraces, and two- and three-bedroom units provide master bedroom suites with spacious dressing rooms and spa-style bathrooms. The sixth floor has eight residences known as The Terraces, and one floor above, eight penthouse units feature one-bedroom, two-bedroom plus den, and three-bedroom floor plans—featuring up to 2,700 square feet of living space. Select residences boast private rooftop terraces with breathtaking views of the hills of Bel Air and the city beyond. Residences incorporate wide-plank white oak floors and organic materials.

Number of units: 56 Price range: $1.228 million up to more than $4 million Developer/Interior Designer: Palisades/Jamie Bush Apartment Sizes: One- to three-bedroom residences ranging from 1,030 to 2,700 square feet Amenities: Entry salon connected to a spacious outdoor terrace; club lounge with fireplace, bar and sliding glass door linked to a garden space; a wine room, which can be used for private tastings and events as well as for wine storage; a den; fitness studio; full-time valet and concierge services. Atop The Liddel, there will be a rooftop terrace with fireplace, lounge areas and barbecues Website: theliddel.com

Vica 

3400 Sunset Blvd - Silver Lake

Los Angeles-based developer Barth Partners, together with Ireland’s Barry Leddy Developments, is unveiling Vica, a mixed-use real estate offering on Sunset Boulevard in Silver Lake. The first new condominium development in Silver Lake in a decade, Vica will feature 31 high-end residences.

Vica is prominently located amidst some of the city’s most eclectic coffee shops, contemporary eateries, and independent boutiques. It is situated within moments of Sunset Junction, Silver Lake Boulevard, the Micheltorena Stairs and the Silver Lake Reservoir while close to all that Hollywood, West Hollywood and Downtown have to offer.

The building’s lively ground-floor retail will be purposely designed with locals in mind. Vica is exclusively marketed and sold by The Agency Development Group. Sales will start in May/June.

Number of units: 31 Price range: Starting in $500,000s up to about $2 million Developer/Architect/Interior Designer: Barth Partners and Barry Leddy Developments/Killefer Flammang Architects/Laurel Durland and the Loraline Design team Apartment sizes: One-, two- and three-bedroom residences ranging in size from just under 1,000 square feet to more than 2,000 square feet. Five sprawling penthouses will feature an interior staircase that leads up to a private rooftop terrace Amenities: Vica’s amenities include a meditation garden for residents; a state-of-the-art fitness studio; The Lounge at Vica, where residents can connect or relax; and a pool and spa observation deck. The 3,000-square-foot, ground-floor retail space will be an additional amenity for residents and the community at large Website: VicaSilverLake.com

Metropolis Penthouses

889 Francisco St - Downtown Los Angeles

Metropolis, a new collection of residential towers, sky parks and pools, dining, and upscale hotel in the heart of Downtown Los Angeles, is launching its penthouse collection in early May.

They will be the only dual-level penthouses in all of Downtown Los Angeles. Metropolis is situated between the sports and entertainment center, L.A. Live, and the cultural scene along Grand Avenue, offering close access to the iconic sports teams of the Clippers, Lakers, Kings and Dodgers as well as cultural destinations like the Walt Disney Concert Hall, The Music Center, Museum of Contemporary Art, and the city's new Broad Museum.

The two-story penthouses will have floor-to-ceiling vistas and views that extend westward to the coast and east up to the Hollywood sign. Open-floor plans will be ideal for entertaining, with the living room and kitchen on the first floor and second-floor bedrooms and master suites above.

Although no two floor plans are exactly alike, a French white-oak staircase with custom millwork connects the two stories in each residence. Sleek Poggenpohl wood cabinetry makes the kitchens stand out among open-plan living and dining areas on the entertaining level. Upstairs bedrooms feature ethereal Athens Silver Cream marble.

Number of units: 8 penthouses Prices: The penthouses will range from $3.5 million to $6.9 million. Apartment sizes: 1,735-square-foot two-bedrooms to 3,534-square-foot three-bedrooms Developer/Architect: Greenland/Gensler Amenities: Clubhouse, spa and fitness center, skyparks, retail, fine dining, upscale hotel Website: metropolispenthouses.com

The Harland 

702 Doheny Drive - West Hollywood

Ideally located in West Hollywood, The Harland is a one-of-a-kind collaboration between R&A Architecture + Design and Marmol Radziner with a design rooted in California Modernism. The Harland will emphasize indoor-outdoor living with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that open onto expansive private outdoor terraces and patios.

Individually designed, each of the 37 well-appointed condominium residences and townhomes exhibits a refined mid-century modern aesthetic. Luxe minimalist kitchens, envisioned by Marmol Radziner and handcrafted by Poliform in Italy, are appointed with custom walnut cabinetry, integrated Miele appliances and Calacatta-honed marble countertops and backsplash.

The richly curated collection of amenities offers a well-appointed selection of social, lifestyle and wellness offerings. The detailed gathering spaces, with direct access to the idyllic open-air courtyard, are designed to act as an extension of the residences themselves.

The sales gallery is scheduled to launch in April, with Douglas Elliman Development Marketing handling the exclusive sales and marketing.

Number of units: 37 Price range: Not yet finalized Developers/Architect/Interior Designer: DM Development and Faring Capital/ R&A Architecture + Design/Marmol Radziner Apartment sizes: Penthouses from 1,788 to 2,510 square feet; flats from 1,503 to 2,567 square feet; townhomes from 2,559 to 3,135 square feet; penthouses and upper townhome units offer expansive rooftop terraces with built-in outdoor kitchen with sink and barbecue. Amenities: Open-air courtyard, entertainment lounge with Carrara marble and brass-detailed bar and walnut pool table, private dining room and exhibition kitchen, screening room, state-of-the-art fitness center with adjoining yoga studio, and bowling alley. Website: theharlandwesthollywood.com

Residences at The West Hollywood EDITION

9040 Sunset Blvd - West Hollywood

This new West Hollywood project at the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Doheney Drive will feature 20 one- to four-bedroom residences ranging from 1,649 to 6,475 square feet with panoramic views across Los Angeles. The Residences at The West Hollywood EDITION are being developed by Witkoff with New Valley, designed by John Pawson, and with concepts and creative direction by Ian Schrager. Positioned atop the EDITION Hotel, the Residences have private residential entry and exclusive amenity spaces.

The building has a dedicated residents-only entrance, circular driveway and private pool area. Sales launched earlier this year with Douglas Elliman Development Marketing as the exclusive marketing and sales agency.

With ceiling heights over 10-feet, 5-inches, and oversized art walls, the interiors showcase Mr. Pawson’s signature restrained elegance and meticulous attention to detail. Design elements include extra-wide plank, hand-selected oiled oak floors, sleek Molteni kitchens with custom teak millwork, freestanding concrete tubs in the master bathrooms, and custom hardware and lighting throughout. To integrate indoor and outdoor living, custom-designed automated sliding glass walls open to large private terraces, showcasing panoramas that span across the Hollywood Hills, West Hollywood, Century City, and the Downtown L.A. skyline, all the way to the coastline. Completion is expected at the end of this year.

Number of units: 20 Price range: From $5.15 million Developer/Architect and Interior Designer: Witkoff and New Valley LLC/John Pawson‎ Apartment sizes: The one- to four-bedroom residences range from 1,649 to 6,415 square feet Amenities: Resident-only spaces include a private lobby and a secluded landscaped rooftop pool and terrace. There is also a sleek hotel rooftop bar, terrace and lounge set behind window walls for dramatic city views, a lobby-level restaurant with trellis-shaded garden seating, a fitness center and full-service spa Website: wehoeditionresidences.com

Original content by Bill Cary, courtesy of Mansion Global.

[robertkstone]

2020 Redspace REDS First Look: Chris Bangle On His New Automotive Project

It’s possible that wine made from the bold and structured Dolceto grape in the town of Clavesana in Italy’s Piemonte region has hallucinogenic qualities. I say this because I was offered a glass of this magic elixir almost immediately upon my late-afternoon arrival at the L.A. Auto Show stand of Beijing-based CHTC’s nascent Redspace brand. The China Hi-Tech Group Corporation is poised to add automobile manufacture to its resume of weaving machines, heavy trucks and busses, and textile manufacture, among other things. I’d arrived struggling to imagine how I’d begin an interview about what seemed like the ugliest, most peculiar four-wheeled device of the new millennium. By the time I’d finished the generous pour, the car’s often-controversial designer Chris Bangle was wrapping up his PowerPoint presentation, and by golly the whacky Redspace REDS mobile coffee machine began to look cool to me. Yep. It’s hallucinogenic wine.

I started my interview noting that I’d just bumped into sister publication Automobile’s design guru Robert Cumberford—never one to stifle a criticism—and that his reaction to this new electric urban vehicle’s overtly jarring design was almost entirely positive. “Give me the pitch you gave him,” I suggested.

This is no 3-D fantasy doodle or middle-finger-poke-in-the-eye of the car-design establishment. It’s a working prototype of a vehicle that will be put into production, probably within the next two years, though it’s not one that you’ll ever see plying the wide-open byways of Yankee Doodleland. Bangle simply wanted its global launch to happen on a more international stage than the Beijing or Shanghai shows are today, and where better than the show staged in the town where he received his design education? (OK, maybe there’s some eye poking.)

He starts his pitch with a little model of a Fiat 500, from which he can remove what would be a 19.7-inch section, sliding the front and rear halves together. “This is how much shorter our car is, and it seats four big adults comfortably.” Specifications are scarce, but we’re told the length is just a bit greater than a Smart Fortwo’s, and the width is nearly identical. But it’s considerably taller, and the sides are absolutely planar and vertical, so there’s no “tumblehome” confining headspace. All passengers sit quite upright, with their hips much farther above the floor than in most subcompacts. The front seats are spaced just far enough apart to accommodate the right rear passenger’s legs between them, and they’re both skewed about as much right as the rear seats are left so that the left rear passenger’s legs fit between the door and the driver seat. This also allows the front passenger’s seat to be slid back without cramping the rear passenger, and it puts the driver inside of the front wheel arches, thereby maximizing legroom for all occupants.

Because Asians—especially young ones—apparently crave a “fourth space,” distinct from their home, office, and communal gathering places such as Starbucks, and because most cars stay parked 90 percent of the time, the interior is conceived to be that fourth gathering space when not in motion. The surplus space on the rear bench to the right of the right rear passenger can accommodate a fifth unbelted occupant when parked. To get social, the driver flips the steering wheel up and swivels the seat around (which can be done with the doors shut, thanks to the surplus space to the left and right of it). It’s that need to flip the steering wheel up that drove the idea of the reverse-raked windshield—reverse-raking the rear adds headroom and some symmetry. The wacky windshield and backlite also reduce glare and sun load.

Bangle’s Italy-based consultancy had a holistic, homogeneous design incorporating these weird glass angles all worked up with scale modeling underway just days before the scheduled design review with CHTC brass. That’s when Bangle ordered his team to tear it up and start over. He reckons the attempt to generate a cohesive, homogeneous design is what killed the quirky, wide, googly-eyed 1999 Fiat Multipla, which ended up trying to fit into a niche but failing—it was neither a CUV, a minivan, nor an urban car. It was just weird. Then its 2004 redesign was simply boring.

In his effort to replace homogeneity with graphic spontaneity, Bangle fell back on another of his pet projects—cartooning. Check out his fun children’s “inanimato” animation series about Arky Arch—a triumphal arch that comes to life for adventures with fellow objects that humans perceive as inanimate. In “Episode 0,” Bangle explains how his mother instilled in him a notion of inanimate objects like plates and dishes having feelings and how this notion has informed his 30-plus year career designing cars and other things.

In Bangle’s world, the interior space he designed “decided to be a car” even though it didn’t look like one in his homogeneous design. Toward that end, he designed a side graphic that quite clearly depicts a childish or cartoonlike drawing of a compact hatchback car, with normally canted A- and C-pillars. Look at the white areas in a pure side view, and the car shape leaps out at you. The incongruous beltlines of the front and rear windows are graphic tricks, but the upward angled front door beltline provides a comfortable front passenger armrest angle. The downward-sloping rear window beltline supposedly imparts a sense of envelopment and security while preserving decent visibility.

Other cool features: In “fourth space” parked mode, a table can be lowered out of the ceiling on cables. Because it’s shaped a bit like Africa, the team labeled it as such and illustrated other continents on the headliner, with all labels written backward “as if being viewed from inside one’s own world” (or globe). The user interface involves a normal touchscreen, but plastic shields guide fingers to the areas of greatest interest, making it easier to operate without looking than a normal touchscreen is. The right “dial” shield flips open for cleaning the screen, and the left one slides away for accessing deeper menu items. And the display screen rises farther out of the dash to become a 17.0-inch screen to view video content when parked.

The doors open electrically. Press a button, and they index out and back, with the upper track extending out from the bodywork providing added shelter from the rain. Raise the rear hatch, and a “tailgate” can be lowered to sit on. A half-moon-shaped window in the front of the roof offers a view of the traffic lights, and four “wings,”—one each above the windshield and backlite plus two outboard of each A-pillar—help manage airflow. Bangle asserts that these aero aids help reduce drag and wind noise considerably, though overall aero efficiency was clearly not a top priority for this lower-speed urban car. The roof, which is longer than a BMW i3’s, is covered in solar cells, and the front passenger has a foot-massage feature operated by remote control!

Technical details were in short supply, but as suggested by the name REDS—Revolutionary Electric Dream Space—an electric motor powers the rear axle. With wheels at the corners and 185/60R16 tires, we’re told it handles better than its oversized phonebooth looks would suggest, but for now its power and the battery’s capacity are unknown. We are told it is fully capable of slightly exceeding China’s maximum highway speed limit of 120 km/h (75 mph). The body is comprised of a simple structure of aluminum extrusions joined by cast aluminum nodes.

Despite its small footprint, the high feature content will mean the REDS should sell at a premium price point. Will its unconventionality lure young, often car-averse Chinese buyers? Or will the Redspace sales people need to ply them with Clavesana Dolcetto wine and Bangle PowerPoint presentations to close the deal? Those of us in the West might never know.

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