#top interior design magazines

[gsmagazine-blog]

The Reasons To Read Once A While Interior Design Magazine In 2024

Introduction: If you are looking for home interior changes in 2024, then you must check for Best Magazine for Interior Design. Yes! A good read is enough to get a trendy idea about home. Below are significant reasons to enjoy the read.

Helps Knowing Trendy Ideas: Yes! With good interior articles, blogs, and online magazines, you can get help with knowing trendy ideas. It will promote your home luxury to be new and well-fabricated.

Knows Professional Skills And Hacks: You can check on top-picked interviews by professional interior designers. Those professional skills and hacks will give you a smarter approach to enhance your home look. It will get way better to buy and change the old interior of a space to have the newest charm.

The Content Is Well Categorized: The content mentioned in magazines will work as help for newbies and unprofessional to change home and office space. Reading about different interior design categories will help you know upcoming trends.

Understand The New Designing Concepts: No one can afford expensive interior art decor, so magazines can help you in this way. Yes! It can get you an idea which is useful over an alternative conception that is even affordable.

The Final Verdict: You can look for the Best Magazine for Interior Design that will give you a reflective way to improve your home spaces. The interior designing magazine will benefit from less brainstorming but an alternative help to enhance space appearance.

[labellenouvelle]

FANCY REVOLVING HARDWARE STORE BIN

Early 1900s fancy revolving hardware store bin , on brass pedestal with a nice brass eagle finial . Center body metal with remains of original green paint.  A great piece to display smalls.  Great for a retail shop for store / display and sell. 

Item No. E5680

Dimensions: 24″ tall x 12″ diameter

SOLD

504.581.3733 / t

info@labellenouvelle.com

[evan-collins90]

Additional images and a plan(!) of 'The Oz Disco’, on the top floor of the Hotel St. Francis, SF (1980)

A ‘forested disco fantasy’, composed of vertical mirrors, twinkling disco lights, faux rock formations, and various flora & fauna. 

Designed by Joszi Meskan of Barbara Dorn Associates

Scanned from the October 1979 issue of Interior Design Magazine

[bloodyknucklesforme]

No name (taking suggestions) for this yet but yeah @syoddeye got me into Nikolai so... here's this. It's way longer than I originally planned but here we are. There will be more at some point but my fingers were just itching to write this out rn so unedited as well...

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind i guess,

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must of seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in a car to a client's.

Marcus hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse with an automatic front door.

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The front room was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box.

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. The door inside clicked. You went inside.

It was nice. Expensive but not tacky like other homes you've been too. The kind of furniture you'd seen in interior design magazines and auctions, solid wood things made by designers with names you could never properly pronounce. There were soviet era antiques scattered about as decor. The first floor was open with a kitchen and dining area to the side and the rest of the room being a living area. There were stairs to the side leading up to where you guessed was the bedroom.

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand.

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ash tray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago.

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one. He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you all night. Make it worth it."

He leaned back, grabbing a remote and turning on the tv. A hockey game roared on the tv.

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?"

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair.

"Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off.

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine.

His bedroom was dark. Wine colored walls with thick, velvet blackout curtains covering the windows. The bed was large with silk sheets and a down comforter.

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scrapping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain.

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

The snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. "There we go, Kotenok."

He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your crevix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting roughly. Your face dragged against the sheets.

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name.

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out.

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned, shuddering hard. "Cum on my cock or shut up."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you up. Your back rested against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling.

"Say my name," He barked.

"Kolya...please...Kolya. I..."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it."

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to hold you up any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles.

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the hilt, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth."

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected.

You woke up sore, dried cum and bite marks covering your body.

"You shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the door and locking it from the outside.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kind of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place.

There was towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table.

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of tea still steaming and full.

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls.

"Good girl." He pulled his hand and away and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll ask for you again."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much.

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off. For the first time more scared to leave than to stay.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

[MacCready Idolizes You]

➼ Word Count » 0.4k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Summary » Headcanons based on how MacCready treats you once Idolized.

MacCready pulls you into the biggest hug after you help get the serum for him. He's so incredibly grateful and might even start crying into your shoulder if you hug him back.

The entire event has made him consider giving Duncan a middle name based on you, but he won't tell you that. Nevertheless, fully expect to take on the role of his Godfather/mother cause you've already been given it, whether you wanted to or not.

He likes to take borrow some of the magazines and comics you've collected. A lot of the time you'll find him just sitting in the corner flipping through them.

MacCready actually really likes to help the settlers with their farm. Every night he'll come over to your house and drop off some vegetables for you.

Likes to see how many gunners either of you can snipe within a certain time period. It's a therapeutic game for him.

He loves hiking across the Commonwealth with caravans and would gladly bring you along to camp and joke around with as you defended the traders.

MacCready loves going to pubs with you, even if neither of you ends up drinking. There’s just something so refreshing about sitting in a booth at the Dugout Inn and telling each other stories of your past.

Throws his hat on top of your head a lot.

He relies a lot on you to keep him in check on whether he’s being a good person or not. He feels like he's in the clear whenever you allow him around Shaun.

When you both feel ready, he’ll ask if he can bury the little toy soldier he gave Lucy with something sentimental of your spouse’s to really give them both the proper burial they deserved.

He’ll end up being your roommate whether you wanted him to or not. He can’t help but feel comfortable around you and in your home, so he just kinda moves in.

Just cause y’all are closer doesn’t mean he’s stopped being your hired bodyguard. Just keep it in mind anytime someone starts an argument with you.

He'll make a very sorry attempt at decorating whenever you dismiss him to a settlement. He tries his best, he's just horrible at interior design.

Very physically affectionate. He likes to throw his arm around you or even just simply pat your back whenever the two of you survived something dangerous.

Honestly, though, MacCready's just happy to have found a close bond like he remembered having at Little Lamplight. It means a lot that you've put up with him for this long and, at this point, there's nothing you could do to get rid of him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 6

Warnings: namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Hottie wakes you up with a hot chocolate. The scent alone is enough to rouse you. Your mother always said you were a bloodhound.

You put on some cool DIY tutorials you found, explaining to her how you want to convert your old vanity, but first you need a lot of glitter. She seems interested but she's more concerned about the glitter being everywhere. You don't see what's so wrong with that but she suggests sealing it with resin. Well, it's all just plans until you get the materials.

You hear your mom and dad get up and notice how Hottie quiets down. She glances at the door, almost looking guilty. You smile and hop up from the bed.

"All cool, my parents are pretty chill," you say, "I'll just go tell them you're here."

"Is that okay?" She asks.

"Sure, I'll be right back."

You leave the door slightly ajar and go downstairs. You smell and hear the coffee machine brewing as you enter the kitchen. Your mom rubs her eyes as your dad leans on the island.

"Morning," you chirp, "hope you don't mind I brought a friend back last night."

"Oh, is it Kam?" Your mom asks.

"No, my new friend. I told you about her."

"Hmm, well, it's good you're making other friends," your dad hums, "hopefully better ones."

"She's awesome!"

"Are you sticking around, hon? The new couch is being delivered tonight so we have someone coming to get the old one around noon. Your dad and I have some running around to do."

"Oh, sure, is it okay if my friend hangs out til then?"

"As long as you're not up to your usual shenanigans," your dad girds playfully, "shouldn't be a problem."

"Great," you clap your hands.

Your dad growls and your mom groans as she turns to watch the coffee percolate.

"Where did she get the energy?" You father bemoans, "it certainly wasn't from us."

You giggle and leave them, rushing back upstairs to find Hottie with her purse on her shoulder. You nearly run smack into her as you enter your room.

"Hey, are you leaving?"

"I don't wanna intrude--"

"No, it's cool, really. They don't care. And they're going out for the day. We just needa wait here for the couch guys."

"Couch guys?" She echoes.

"Yeah, pleaseeee, stay," you whine, "it'll be so boring without you."

She sighs and gives a soft smile, "alright, I guess I haven't even finished my coffee."

🍪

You and Hottie sit out on the back deck, getting some sun as you wait. She fiddles with her phone, scowling as she often does at the small screen, as you cut up old magazines and fill a scrap book full of ideas. You like to put your fantasies together even if you know they won't ever be true. Besides, your mother never does anything with her old issues.

"You should try pinterest," she suggests over the top of her phone as she lays on her stomach, legs bent up behind her.

"Oh, I have an account!" You announce proudly, "I can send you the link!"

"Sure," she accepts with a smile, "so, you in school for something..."

"I wanted to do interior design. Mom said no. She doesn't see a career in that. So I'm taking Psych."

"Psychology? Wow, that's interesting."

"I guess. Oh, I was thinking about this study we read. They did an experiment where they had people with scars interview for jobs. And then they went over with the interviewer and interviewee how they thought it went and it talked all about how the people with scars factored in their appearance a lot more than the interviewer... I don't know, it just popped up in my head."

"Ah," she squints, "no reason for that, I'm sure."

Before you can respond, you hear the doorbell through the screen door. You get up, promising to be right back as Hottie rolls over. You head inside and tramp through the house in your flip flops. The doorbell rings again.

"I'm coming," you sing as you get to the door and pull it open, "hel--lo."

You stare dumbfounded at the man on your porch. August has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, his scar turning white as his eyes flare.

"You again," he growls.

You raise your chin defiantly and muster your inner Hottie.

"Um, excuse me, but... you need to go. I'm the bouncer here and--"

His brows furrow and he crosses his arms, making himself seem even bigger. You bat your lashes and cringe. You're not really convincing.

"I'm here for a couch," he glowers at your meanly.

"Really?"

"Mmm," he growls, "this is 387 Willow, isn't it?"

"Yes, but... don't you work at the club--"

"It's extra money. Now do you want your couch gone or do you wanna keep yammering at me?"

"Sorry, I..." You push the door back and retreat inside, "do you need help?"

"Not yours," he turns back and whistles, "Bodecker, get over here."

You glance past him and see another familiar face. It's the other bouncer, the one with the round belly. He comes up the steps and smirks at you.

"Ah, what are the odds?"

"Yes, what are the odds?" August sneers, "how exactly did you find this pick up?"

"Hey, it's money," the other man says, "so, where's the couch?"

[ginsengkitten]

Nightfall: Chapter 1

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

The morning light filtered through the canopy of tree tops, sprinkling rays through the trees. The sounds of leaves and bark crunching under the tread of their hiking boots piercing the peaceful silence of the woods.   A young family trekked optimistically on their summer break. Getting the kids accustomed to the parents preconceived love of hiking that they shared far before ever having kids. It was the kind of trip they had both imagined for their little family ever since their first was born. Billy was a natural outdoorsy kid, Maggie, however was full of animosity towards it and would rather be playing Barbies. Even toting one of her dolls with her wherever they went. Still she admired the foliage, collecting her own bouquet of wildflowers along the way. The innocence of a young child embracing the still of nature and what the earth has to offer just by being.

Maggie encouraged that curiosity by wandering from the trail after straggling behind Billy, fortunately, Billy noticed and alerted their dad. "Dad, Maggie's running off again." To which he rolled his eyes at his daughter's silly habit and proceeded to track her down. Maggie hadn't gotten far, and when the dad had found her, he found her to be mesmerized, standing still in her spot.

"Mags how many times do we have to tell you not to-" he began to scold until his eyes met what hers did, resulting in him also frozen in horror. Maggie had stumbled upon what can only described as a horror scene. A deer lie in a small grove, dead and completely mutilated. Its poor body, unnaturally contorted into a heap of twisted, mangled flesh. The fur, skinned from its body. Flies made feast upon the bloody remnants.

"Daddy, what happened?" Maggie asked in fear. Unfortunately, daddy didn't have an answer. His fatherly knowledge reduced to the same childlike fear as hers as he grabbed her and ran, only to turn around and be met with whatever beast had tore the deer apart. The beast releasing a harrowing growl.

-

"Sources are calling it a total family annihilation; Investigators continue to work with the California department of wildlife and game wardens to determine what animal may be causing these gruesome killings, but have not released any further details to the public.

Police have urged the public to stay within city limits and avoid camping and other outdoor recreation until the animal is apprehended and put down. Local government officials are in talks of implementing a city curfew if the animal is not caught soon."

You listened half heartedly to the news as you pinned another music poster on your wall of your new apartment. Mind you the apartment itself was not new, in-fact very decrepit. A cigarette perched in the side of your lips as you concentrated. A 'vintage' Rolling Stones poster. You stood back and admired the new addition, one more thing to make this dingy place feel like a home.

Your roommate Vickey walked in from the kitchen, handing you a coffee. "Stones huh? Always a classic, I can't complain." She grinned. Vickey was the only person you knew in the entire state of California. You had answered her ad in the paper about looking for a roommate. You had finally gotten a job as a music journalist assistant for a local magazine print. It was small but just enough to get by and get your foot in. Music was your passion, and music journalism at that.

Vickey was a goth punk with black choppy hair, a blunt attitude and big in the rock scene; especially in LA, so the arrangement was working out swimmingly. She took a genuine interest in your work and would supportingly read all your writings and offer insider knowledge about shows. The two of you quickly becoming close friends.

"Another animal attack happened yesterday." Vickey said sipping her coffee. "Pretty crazy shit." . You sort of glaze over that statement, still focused on your interior design pursuit. "An entire family, shredded."

"Yeah that's crazy.." you say tranced on your new poster.

The TV reporter continues:

"In related news, a local church group has began petitioning the state of California for a total recall of all metal and rock music from its shelves, claiming the genres are the primary contributor to LA's recent uptick in crime, violence, and potentially a connection to the recent killings, they say."

Your neck snaps to the tv at this. Vickey scoffs. "Here we go again with these fuckin prudes and their protests." She flops on the couch and starts rolling a joint. "Is this a common occurrence then?" You ask, sort of laughing. Vickey doesn't break from her intense focus on her joint rolling; "The day the churches stop blaming everything on the rock scene is the day the last whore stops working the sunset strip. Shits been happening for generations pretty much. You just gotta ignore it." She grumbles.

"Right. Huh.." you mumble to yourself.

"You know- this could be a good story for the print." You blurt out. Vickey looks up, ushering her joint to you, but you decline by wiggling your cigarette in your lips. "Nah. This shits been covered a million times dude. Those uptight nuns have nothing new to spew anyways." She replies. "No no not for the church, Vickey, but the scene." You countered her. Her expression changed now more intrigued. "Oh? How so?". You pace around gently in thought. "From the rock scenes perspective on it. We ask them what THEY think about it all. Like the musicians and shit." Vickey chuckles and coughs out a cloud of smoke, "I dunno I don't think any local band is gonna give you the time of day unless you got drugs or can give good hea- well, actually..." She gets lost in thought for a moment. "I think I might know a couple musicians that MIGHT be willing to say a few words on the matter. -" you jump slightly with a mute excitement. "BUT- I can't guarantee you'll get anything of real substance from them.." she tries to ease your hopes down on her half offer but your excitement is apparent. "Vickey seriously?! That would mean the world to me. Who is it? When can I see them?!" Vickey smiles at your innocent enthusiasm to go willingly into the guttural den of rock.

"It's a local band called Guns N Roses. They're playing down at the troubadour tomorrow night. I'll see if I can get you in."

[sashaisready]

Chapter Ten - Do you want to take this elsewhere, Doll?

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

Warning: Beginning of smut 😎

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

He sets off out of the alley and you pause for a second before following him back to the club entrance, not really sure where this is going. He gestures to the bouncers who let you both in and he strolls back through to the bar area.

"Bucky, how is this quiet-" you protest but he just grabs your hand and leads you around the bar.

You flinch at the contact, making a mental note to remember later how your hand felt in his.

He leads you to a door and ushers you towards a flight of stairs. You drop in line behind him, your curiosity taking over. There's another door at the top which he unlocks with a fob and props open for you.

You step inside, it's a chic office with a huge mustard couch, as well as a small bar in the corner alongside the large writing desk. The walls are a brilliant white. Everything is modern and expensive looking, lots of high end wood and fancy furnishings. It looks like a picture from an interior design magazine.

He closes the door and looks at you expectantly, wriggling his fingers in a 'Ta da!' gesture. It's a lovely room, but you're not really sure what your meant to be looking at.

"I mean it's nice but..." you begin.

"And what can you hear?" he asks.

You pause. "Nothing...? Oh wait...wow, nothing!" You realise there is not a single sound coming from the thriving nightclub below.

He nods. "Yep...completely sound proofed up here. Perfect if you want some peace".

You listen out for any suggestion of a sound from below but he's right, the only noises are your footsteps as you walk through the room.

"It's so quiet" you gasp. "You could murder someone up here and-"

You freeze for a second, realising your mistake and who you're talking to. You turn to him, the colour draining from your face.

He just shrugs and awkwardly grimaces.

"Well...If you don't want anyone to hear anything" he sighs with a loaded inflection.

Your mouth hangs open in shock and your eyes dart around the space, looking at it with horror now you have new context – panicking as you wonder what might have happened where you're standing. A chill runs down your spine.

Bucky begins to snort with laughter. You flip around to look at him with your brows furrowed.

"Fuck, I'm kidding!" he laughs warmly. "It's only soundproofed so I can get some work done when the club's open...You've seen too many movies".

"Jesus, Bucky!" you squeal, slugging him on the shoulder. "You're such a dick".

You laugh reluctantly, relieved that he's only playing with you.

You flop onto the enormous couch, savouring the comfort.

"Thank-you for this, I just need a minute".

"Take as long as you like, Doll" he says kindly, taking a seat next to you.

You shoot up suddenly and look at him, remembering what he was doing before you ran out.

"Oh, wait – don't you need to get back to your girlfriend?"

Bucky frowns. "Who?"

"You know, that pretty girl you were with downstairs".

He scoffs. "She's not my girlfriend. She just attached herself to me in the VIP area like a limpet. I don't even know her name, why do you think I didn't introduce her to you?"

You snort laughing. "Fuck, you're such a pig" you giggle.

He grins smugly. "So I've been told".

You roll your eyes, playfully swatting at him. He smiles back, moving closer to you so that your legs are touching. You manage to stifle a gasp.

"So you thought she was pretty, huh?" he asks teasingly.

You nod. "Jesus Christ, yeah. Stunning. But all your girls are, aren't they?" you smirk back at him.

His eyes are suddenly alight with mischief.

"And how would you know that?" he purrs.

"You're not the only one who can read up on people..."

He cocks his head as he watches you intently. 

"So...what, you didn't want to be one of them?" His voice is lower now, less playful, more serious now your previous conversation has come up.

You rub your lips together, unsure of how much to admit to him. Everything just got a bit heavier. You pause for a moment, considering what to say. You're quickly sinking under the weight of his gaze.

"Well...I didn't think I could be one of them" you finally admit. Your voice is small, shy.

"What?" he asks, his face is suddenly stern.

"C'mon Bucky. Let's be real. I don't look like any of those girls" you shrug. "I was never going to fit in at Gambino's with thousand dollar wine bottles and cuts of steak costing more than my rent. I'm more...a beer and burgers kinda girl, you know? I didn't want to embarrass you..." you shrug.

He jumps up from the couch. "What??" he practically barks, his face twisted in anger.

"What?" you ask incredulously, surprised by his reaction.

"THAT'S why you turned me down??" he practically snarls.

You raise your eyebrows at him. "Well...yeah".

He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling in disbelief. "You're kidding me right??"

You chew your bottom lip. "....no?" You said hesitatingly, not sure what answer he's looking for.

Bucky stamps his foot and claps his hands victoriously.

"Fuck! I knew I wasn't going insane at the bakery" he whips out his phone. "I need to tell Steve this and rub it in his face" he says childishly as begins to furiously type on his screen.

This goes on for a few moments, his focus on you now entirely lost.

You glare at him with confusion, unsure of what you're meant to be doing. You're a bit annoyed that this is his reaction after you were open with him, putting yourself out there and admitting your insecurities. Now, what, he's texting his friends?? You slowly rise to your feet and awkwardly head for the door, thinking you should probably leave him to it.

"Nope" he says authoritatively. Without looking up from his phone he points aggressively to the couch.

"Sit your ass back down, I'm not done with you yet".

You obey him and plop yourself back onto the couch again immediately, responding to the assertiveness in his tone almost instinctively, seeing a tiny glimpse of his boss persona.

He finally finishes on his phone and slides it into his jacket inside pocket. His eyes lock onto you once more.

"Okay, so where we were? Oh, right. What the fuck is the matter with you?" He asks inquisitively.

"Excuse me?" You respond coolly, scowling at him.

"Am I getting this right - you turned me down for a date because you were uncomfortable with the restaurant choice and got yourself worked up looking at photos of me and other women?" He scolds, folding his arms across his chest.

"...uh. Yes".

"Right. So you did want to go out with me? And you were flirting with me in the bakery, right?"

You blush, feeling embarrassed at this interrogation and exposure of your feelings.

"...yes" you reply meekly.

He nods. "Okay. So I'll ask you again, what the fuck is the matter with you?"

You glare at him and clench your jaw. "I'm not going to sit here being spoken to like this"

You get up to leave and furiously head towards the door but he blocks your path.

"Dolldolldoll - I'm sorry" he stammers, grinning at you fiendishly.

"Don't be like that. I don't mean to give you a hard time. I just didn't see this coming. Here's me thinking you just didn't want to go out with me, that I'd misread all of the signals. That's why I haven't been back to the bakery – I assumed you thought I was a creepy jerkoff".

You avert your gaze. "No...but maybe I do now."

Your tone is stroppy, sullen. You're embarrassed that he finds this all so amusing.

He cups your chin in his hand and your breath hitches. He gently tilts your face up with his gloved fingers, leaning in close. You look up at him anxiously, very aware of the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

"Doll..." he says, much softer now. "All you had to do was tell me. We didn't have to go to Gambino's. I just wanted to take you somewhere nice. But I'd never want you to feel uncomfortable. We could've gone anywhere. Hell, I would've taken you to Burger King if that's what you wanted".

You beam at him. "Really?"

"Really." He grins back.

"But all those women, Bucky. I don't look like them. I just don't know if I'm enough for you-"

But you don't finish your sentence because he cuts you off with a sudden kiss. He pulls your face to his, nibbling on your lower lip for a moment before his tongue is in your mouth. You press back into him, your hands entwined in his hair as your tongue welcomes him greedily. You're practically panting as his arms lock you in his embrace. Your entire body seems to fizz as you drop the bottle of water you've been clutching. It's electric, better than you could have ever imagined.

He pulls away and locks your face between his hands, holding you so close that he's practically eye to eye with you.

"You really think I'd do that if I didn't find you attractive enough, Doll?" He tells you between heavy breaths.

"If I didn't think you were gorgeous? If I hadn't been losing my mind thinking about what's under your overalls every time I'm in the bak-"

It's your turn to cut him off now. You push him down onto the sofa, straddling him as you return to your place on his mouth, kissing him desperately, hungrily - as if it could be snatched away from you at any moment.

He kisses back just as urgently, his hands running up your back and over your hips. You can feel the metal arm now. His gloves are still on but you can feel the weight of it, feel the difference between it and his other hand as his fingers slide up the back of your dress.

You weren't even aware that you'd begun to rock back and forth, your crotch rubbing against his suit trousers as you desperately seek friction.

He moans softly into your mouth, it cuts through your lust haze and goes straight to your core. Your only thought is that you want to hear him make more of those noises. And you want to be the one causing them. Teasing them out piece by piece as if uncovering buried treasure.

He manages to peel you off him for a moment, gasping for breath as he looks at you.

"Do you want to take this elsewhere, Doll?" He pants. "I mean I'm happy to keep going here but I'm aware one of my men might come knocking at any moment - and I don't think I'm going to be able to stop if we go any further..."

You ponder his question as he begins to smatter butterfly kisses up your neck and down to your chest. You mewl at the feeling. On the one hand you want to go home with him - do this properly with the care it deserves and not risk interruption by one of Bucky's goons should something need his attention in the club...

...But you know you're already dripping. You're practically aching for him, desperate to feel him. You whine in frustration at having to stop, your libido clouding your judgement.

Bucky grins, his ego imploding at your clear desire for him. You've barely touched one another and you're already foggy with lust.

"Can we go to your place?" You ask quietly.

He nods and smiles at you, tapping your back with his fingers to signal for you to get off his lap. You do, getting to your feet and giving yourself a shake to break out of your cloud of arousal. Bucky grunts and adjusts his obvious erection as he stands up. 

You go to pick up the water bottle you dropped but he just waves it away and grabs your hand - leading you back down the stairs.

[keystonepublishing]

Of Letters They Are Made by Jonathan Edelstein

Ever since I started fanbinding, this short story has been on my to-turn-into-a-book list for months.

I can only hope I have done the story justice!

To those who have been with this blog for a while, you may have seen Jonathan Edelstein as a recurring writer whose short stories I like to bind. This is another one of his works: Of Letters They Are Made.

Set in an alternate earth in the city of Samarkand (or as it was called before by it's older name, Marakanda) the short story has a unique vibe that lends it a melancholic quality. So when I started this project, I wanted to do something different than the usual binds.

What resulted was the first sewn board binding I ever made!

Turns out, a lot of the bookbinding process was a lot easier if the covers acted like signatures. Easier to flip through too! The downside is that the covers aren't protecting the top and bottom edges as much, so I'll see if I can experiment with binding bigger covers in proportion to the textblock soon.

I also decided to make a change to the half-title. After looking at (and thinking of) several magazine designs, I decided to try making the half-title look like a magazine cover. So I searched for some Central Asian city walls, changed the colors, and plopped it in! Result: words aren't popping-up as much as I'd like - gotta bold them in the future.

As you can see, there's a lot of blue themes in this bind. Of Letters They Are Made has a specific vibe that can't really be expressed in a generic fantasy or historical picture. So I opted to use actual Samarkand monuments and tilework for both the covers and interior ornamentation.

And since the old city is really blue in imagery, I decided to use blue endpapers and blue colors for chapter headings, numbers, and opening words. It took some time to balance out the interior minimalism vs. the colorful vibrancy of the covers and specific pages, but I think the end result is a good balance.

And as always, I added-in a comments section so the responses and discussions between the readers and author are also preserved from digital dust.

All in all, it took 2 weeks to make this bind. I'm already thinking of making some changes to the author copy of this book, but as it is I am happy this work is now complete!

[heritagebrowser]

The most famous art nouveau style shop interior must be the shop of Nicholas Fouquet

L

Because of the particularly remarkable decorations of the Fouquet jewelry store, reconstituted and presented within the collections of the Carnavalet museum, you are immediately immersed in the Art Nouveau style, born in Belgium and further developed in France (and later also other distinct european regions), which will dominate the architecture, the decorative arts then the plastic arts (paintings, sculpture) until the First World War. A style characterized by curved and elegant lines; floral, plant or animal motifs inspired by nature; slender and idealized female silhouettes with extra long, flowing and evanescent hair. A style that will also put color back at the heart of arts and architecture.

To create the decorations for his jewelry store, presented here at the Carnavalet museum, Georges Fouquet (1862-1957) called on the Czech Alfons Mucha (1860-1939), an essential and emblematic illustrator of Art Nouveau from the end of the 19th century . Mucha was born on July 24, 1860 in Moravia, a region today partly encompassed by Czechia. After passing through Prague, Vienna and Munich, he arrived in Paris in 1887 to study art. At the same time, he gradually became known by producing magazines, illustrating catalogs or creating sublime advertising posters. His portraits of the famous actress Sarah Bernhardt, like those of many women in a vaporous and typically Art Nouveau style, made him famous. So much so that he was officially rewarded for his talents at the Paris Universal Exhibition in 1900, notably thanks to a collection of jewelry that he designed.

This is how, in 1901, Georges Fouquet invited Mucha to design the decor for his new jewelry store located at 6 rue Royale, between Place de la Concorde and La Madeleine. The artist created a modern and functional boutique (Art Nouveau is in fact a quest for both aesthetics and functionality), designed as a work of art in its own right. Mosaics, furniture, display cases, stained glass windows, lighting, door handles... everything in the decorations and volumes is of naturalistic inspiration, with a lot of curves, plant and floral motifs, or even animal motifs (the bronze peacocks behind and in the (counter tops are beautiful). A central figure in Mucha's work, the elegant woman is present here too, but mainly in front of the store or in small touches inside. Dreamlike, magical and almost phantasmagorical, the powerful settings imagined by Alfons Mucha will surprise, fascinate and seduce his contemporaries. Dismantled in 1923, most of the shop's decor was given to the Carnavalet museum by Georges Fouquet in 1941. But only in the 1980's the shop interior was reconstructed in the museum.

[kazuahhh]

For ayen <3 made a lil smt for one of my babygirls :)

not proof read so beware of typos !!

@yieieieieieien sana kiligin ka ulit

looking at the time, it reads 5:16, you scurried along to get ready for your date with your boyfriend, a top-notch worldwide soccer star, meguru bachira. dating him wasn't easy, the cameras and the medias are your biggest enemy. he's always on the week's news and magazines, despite that, he never let them get to you. rather, he always shields you out from the outside world, hence as to why the both of you are still headstrong.

you got out of the shower, after that, you dried your hair and curled it on the ends. you just wore light makeup, deciding on a pink denim skirt that's somewhat flowy and reaches mid-thighs, along with a coquette-like design top, with leg warmers and a pair of maryjanes. few minutes passed by and you heard the doorbell rang.

indicating that bachira is here to pick you up. you sprayed on some perfume and opened the door. welcoming in the sight of him dressed in a comfy loose jeans and a plain white shirt, along with a pairing Celine teddy jacket in textured wool, of course, a designer's.

he greeted in the sight of you, completely taken away, you look so pretty, so cute, all dolled up just for him. "look so pretty f' me, baby," he grins, giving you a chaste kiss. "and you, as well, bachi." letting out a giggle, you quickly enveloped him in a hug, taking in his vanilla scent, finding comfort in his embrace. he quickly wrapped both of his arms around you, bending his head down to nuzzle it in your neck. taking in your scent aswell.

"always so good f' me, yeah? you'll always be my princess, love you sooo much," he pressed a few kiss in your neck. "of course, bachi, will always be yours," you cupped his cheeks, giving him a kiss on the lips. but he managed to catch your neck before you could pull away. pressing you in for a deep kiss. you let out a gasp and he took the chance to slip his tongue in your mouth, licking and sucking on your tongue. he pulled away when he noticed you're running out of breathe, giving one last kiss.

"c'mon princess, wouldn't wanna get late for the shows," he walked you over to the passenger seat of his McLauren, he opened the car door for you, tucking in your seat belt, pressing in a kiss on your cheeks before going over to the driver's side. you took in the interior of the car, it's nice and neat, well kept. he started the engine and the atmosphere was comfortably silent, his other hand on your thighs and the other on the driving wheel. making him look extra attractive.

"what's up, baby? am i that interesting?" you quickly looked away a tint of pink in your cheeks, caught in the action of checking him out. "w-what are you on?" giggling slightly to yourself, finding the little interaction between the both of you cute and wholesome. "you know you could've just said you wanted kisses baby," he grins, looking at you, stopping at the red light sign. he leaned over to give you a sloppy kiss, pressing his lips on the corner of both of your lips. both of your cheeks, on the nose, and on the forehead. "satisfied now? angel got what she wanted," you let out a hum in satisfaction, you know no words were needed.

a while later, the both of you have arrived at the mall (arcade). "bachi! bachi! look! i wanna try that one!" you squealed, dragging him by his hand. "hold on 'yen, let me exchange the money first, then, we can try out whatever you want to? alright? be a good girl." "okay. but be fast," you demanded. "alright, pretty princess." he ruffled your hair and run over the counter.

it wasn't long before he got back. "let's go now, yeah?" "HELL YEAH!" you cheered. the both of you went to the claw machine, failing to get one for yourself, bachira had to meddle himself in. winning the bunny plushie plus sized you've been eyeing. another claw machine, and another. a smile garnering the both of your lips from ear to ear.

after that, bachira got out of his way to put the won stuffed toys at the arcade.

[labellenouvelle]

LOUIS XVI CONSOLE

A French wall console table in the LOUIS XVI style , with a rare faux marble top painted finish on top of rea marble stone ( Huhh ?? ) but looks actually good. With two drawers to store your stuff.  A great piece for your entrance parlor or narrow hallway.

Item No. E5671-5

Dimensions: 32.5″ long x 14″ deep x 29.5″ high

SOLD

504.581.3733 / t

info@labellenouvelle.com  /e

[evan-collins90]

McDonald's Embarcadero Center (1975) - designed by the firm, Environmental Planning & Research

"The recently opened McDonald's in San Francisco's Embarcadero Center is a complete departure from the usual gold-arches-suburban-drive-in image usually associated with one of America's most popular chains of fast-food restaurants.

Although the design solution provides an entirely new look for the restaurant, it still meets McDonald's specified requirements of non-movable furnishings, fast turnover, flexible seating patterns and pre-established seating/circulation/equipment relationships. In addition, it stayed within the given budget and was completed at a cost of $22.00 a square foot, excluding kitchen.

A total environment was created using specially treated elm wood in a single color tone for walls, floor, ceiling and seating benches. Color accents come from green plants and burnt orange table tops.

Seating for 155 is provided by free-standing benches or wall banquettes which run continuously around the dining area forming seating clusters to accommodate from one to ten people. Tables rest on floor-attached pedestals, and the benches have fully tiled bases making floor maintenance easier. The burnt orange table tops are of a resin material which is heat resistant and easy to clean. To conceal McDonald's standard 24-inch square trash receptacles (18 in all), the designers created architectural forms which also serve as planters.

Of special interest is the ceiling and lighting treatment which is an integral part of the overall design and reflects the restaurant's seating patterns. It also provides variations in light levels; helps absorb sound; and houses heavy mechanical equipment."

Scanned from the Sept. 1975 issue of Interior Design Magazine

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Twelve

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): suggestive language, mild language

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: don't like this chapter much, it feels too short. But nonetheless, here it is. I was thinking of writing an epilogue, if that's something you guys want?

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˖⁺‧₊˚ ask box ˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Getaways

Your eyes snapped open at the speed of light, peering down at your half-clothed self as the mattress creaked from your jerky movements. It wasn’t the sudden epiphany of ruining your relationship with Simon that ripped you from slumber, it was the clambering coming from downstairs—during the hours of broad daylight.

The sound of scraping against the floorboards, some stomping footsteps, and an abrupt closing of a door. The familiar squeak of the front door when the hinges came to a close, actually.

Perhaps it was your conflicted jumping to the worst conclusion; that Simon was packing his luggage and leaving, but given the run you’ve been on for almost a year, the anxieties weren’t in vain. What if the scraping was him dragging his duffel, the stomping his way of waking you, and the slam of the door meaning he was already gone?

Your feet found the floor, plunging yourself off the bed, puttering down the staircase with a dumbfounded stare. What if he really was gone? Why did it matter so much?

Simon wasn’t gone, however. Not packed and ready to leave, either. He was… in the dining room collapsing some extra cardboard boxes. And the dining room—it was completely gutted from all the memories, everything you expressed your distaste for the previous day.

The gash in the table that made you queasy; there was no table to gander at anymore. The china cabinet that reminded you of cutlery hurtled at you; in a dump somewhere. All material evidence of your past with Cal had been scrubbed clean of the place—only your scars held proof of its existence. With the gutted dining room in your sights, you didn’t take offense to the erasure. It was both freeing for yourself and endearing where Simon was concerned.

He wasn’t leaving you—Simon remembered every dislike you voiced yesterday and took care of the problem. He listened to you and still had respect for you, even after a spontaneous hookup. It wasn’t the outcome you were expecting, nor an act of civility you were used to; especially from a man.

“Simon…” You whispered, gaze dancing around the blank canvas in front of you.

His brows furrowed in concern, now wearing his mask again despite you seeing him in full the night before. He set down the box in his hands slowly, now fearing he shouldn’t have moved everything out without your permission.

You turned around to look at the wall, it being as blank as the rest of them. “You didn’t need to do this.” In your mind, you were picturing what to do with the space, now that Simon had completed the hardest step for you—getting rid of the memories.

He let out a sigh of relief, seeing that you were merely shocked, not bitter. Pleased, even, which by now was making its way to the top of his priority list. Months ago, he probably would’ve left after the messy hookup, maybe even after eliminating Cal.

Oh, how things change when you spend next to a year with someone, and only that someone.

“I wanted to order some of the pieces you circled,” he motioned towards the open interior design magazine left on the side table, filled with annotations of what you did and didn’t want for your home. 

“Figured that was up to you, though. And none of them had same-day delivery.” His attempt at nonchalance was almost humorous if you weren’t so revered by him right now. Sure, he could’ve gone as far as renovating the whole space, but you needed options. After so long left without them, you deserved to make your own decisions, and he knew that.

You nodded along with his words, but you were still in awe. “I understand, Simon. We can eat on the couch like we have been.” It was unnerving, only because it was a foreign feeling; the whole mutual respect aspect of a building relationship. A questionable one, but a relationship, nonetheless.

He looked like he wanted to chuckle, but didn’t, of course. His mind was still buzzing about the next step in all this since it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. Funds weren’t a concern of his, not after years of contracts and financial restraint.

So, what was it? Was it the vulnerability required when you feel deeply for someone? Was it his fear of ending up like his father, Cal, or the mounds of awful men he’s been face-to-face with? Was it losing you after all the hard work to keep you safe? He, himself, didn’t know either. But that spiral of endless questions meant he cared.

A tense silence filled the air again, only for once it wasn’t from unresolved feelings. This time, it was the rush of air on your bare legs. You peered down at yourself, how you were still in yesterday's shirt and panties, and nothing else. “I… should get some pants on. Construction hazard.” Not that Simon would complain if you didn’t, though his wandering eyes did all the speaking for him.

For once, conversations weren’t tainted by seriousness or past demons. Even if it was just this once, small advancements toward healing meant everything. To you, to him—well, probably more to him than he would ever admit.

—

Instead of you working tirelessly to renovate, Simon had been the one taking the brunt of it today. He ripped up the carpet you told him you hated, and he could feel the relief when the stains of your past were thrown out one by one. Room by room, the house that was always Cal’s first—it was your house now. In truth, you spent more of your day watching Simon work than you did actually assisting him, but you’d never tell.

The air had gotten colder with autumn approaching, leaving nights cool, dry, and barren. Though, Simon preferred his smoke breaks when the air was cold, as opposed to suffering in the summer’s humidity.

When you returned from a water break, ready to turn in for the night, he was doing just that. You saw the puff of smoke being exhaled as you peered down at the deck from the upstairs bedroom, and next to it the still shadow of Simon’s frame resting against the house. If you said another word about renovation, you might just go insane. Besides, nightfall was the best time to spill your guts—no matter how many times you wake up the next day filled with regret and a huge loss of dignity.

You found one of his spare jackets, draping it over your shoulders instead of putting it on. The screen door slid open and shut, then your feet shuffled against the deck, placing yourself beside him on the porch swing.

He didn’t turn his head, gaze deep into the dim backyard that desperately needed work. His cigarette hung lazily between his lips, mask pulled just above the tip of his nose. “I could say those will kill you, but we’ve had bigger problems.” You sighed and rested your hands on your thighs, fingers stinging from the cold.

How he stayed outside for so long without an attempt at warming himself, nor any concern for his pale skin turning pink—it was any wonder he didn’t get mild frostbite. Simon scoffed at your humor, taking another drag of the cig, before he removed it from his lips, “you have that right.”

The sentence was simple and short, despite all the other things he wanted to say. But you two were past the point of words, that much was obvious.

Finally, the thoughts that have been gnawing at you all day reached their max volume. “We should go somewhere,” you shrugged away the shivers, hugging the jacket tighter around your frame. Worst case scenario, he refuses. To say you were past the point of needing approval, that was an understatement. You were free to spend your days traveling place-to-place, not only from your sum of funds but the removal of your restraint.

You no longer needed to hold yourself back, keep yourself tucked away in the corner. The desire to spend some of that new life with him; it meant something.

“You should go somewhere. Get out of this damn city and don’t look back until you’re ready.” He spoke into the bitter air, his deep exhale visible in front of him. It seemed he misunderstood your offer entirely, or that the worst-case scenario had become a reality.

“No,” you began, turning to face him as the swing rocked slowly, “we should get out of this damn city for a while. I know you hate it, Simon, I can see it every time you look out the window.”

His lips sealed into a line, before he simultaneously took in the information and another drag, expelling smoke and a reply a few seconds following. “Why the hell would you want me to come with you? I’m not exactly much in terms of company, sweetheart.” Simon’s self-depreciation was potent enough to make you insane.

You outstretched a hand and motioned towards the landscape around you, and lastly the house behind you, “because I have all this stuff in my name that I didn’t ask for. Need to get out of here for however long, and then I can settle here.”

“House is the least of what that bastard owes you,” Simon muttered under his breath, a slight tinge of disheartenment on the tip of his tongue, but not towards you. That inability to see what you were truly worth, what type of life you were entitled to; was going to drive him nuts. However, the prospect of getting out of here, with you? He would be a fool to pass it up, no matter how content he was with monotony.

Now wasn’t the time to bicker, otherwise your offer would’ve fallen short only a minute after being proposed.

You tracked his hand as he snuffed out the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, now playing with it between his index and thumb. “I need to go somewhere where I can actually relax, see a bit of nature maybe. Figured you wouldn’t want me to go without at least offering.”

Simon snickers again, only it's to himself this time. “You don’t need to pander to my needs. I’m fine.”

He flicked the cigarette into the trash can, then continued. “If you wanna go somewhere, then go. Don’t let me stop you.”

You let out a defeated sigh when your offer was met with his routine stubbornness. “Just think about it at least, Simon. If the answer is no, then you can stay here and do… whatever it is you do until I’m back.” You retorted, speaking with slight snarkiness to counterstrike his cynicism. He cocked a brow, wrapping an arm around the backrest of the porch swing, his gaze dancing over you from top to bottom in observation.

“I didn’t say no, did I?”

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery @ramadiiiisme @tooruen @cran-berry-vodka

[imaginedreamwrite]

A Permanent Claim: Part 2

The twin beds set against the wall were made in perfection, a task that you speculated was taken on by the maids Pari said Curtis had hired to look after the twin mess.

The dark grey blankets were pulled taut against the bed with lighter pillows placed at the top of the mattress with a stuffed bear on one bed and an alligator on the other.

The closet doors that were placed across from each bed were closed, the frosted glass giving you a limited view of their clothes inside, although you could depict the black and white soccer ball sitting on the floor by the door hinges.

The room was clean and well organized though it hadn’t looked like a typical little boys’ room, there was a distinctive lack of toys or games, the walls were decorated with generic canvas pictures but nothing that would have related to their personalities. It seemed as if their room was ripped from the pages of some interior design magazine, copied and pasted into the house. There was little here that was conducive to Theo and James, or it had appeared that way to you.

“I’ll show you the nanny suite.” Pari directed you out of the room, closing the door behind the two of you before she stepped further into the hall, the extension of the crisp and clean aesthetic of the boy’s rooms continuing into the hall.

The carpet beneath your feet was soft, and you found yourself curling your toes into the material briefly before you followed Pari down the hall toward the next set of doors on the right side of the long hallway.

Pari had given you the rundown on the twins’ schedule, the latest time they could stay up and when Curtis wanted them up in the morning. She had explained that they were going to be entering kindergarten after summer break and the private school Curtis was sending them to would take them out of the house three days a week until Christmas, and then after they would go four days a week.

It was a lot of information given to you within a brief time until she stepped in front of one door, opening it briefly to give you a brief look at the boys bathroom they shared. The bathtub and shower combo seemed to have more life and personality than their room, a few toys set in a faux wicker basket by the corner of the bathtub, and a set of matching towels hanging on the rack were synonymous with the double vanities.

A set of toothbrushes was hanging off two holders above the sink, one themed to a superhero and the other was designed with dinosaurs in mind, both giving you more of an idea of what the twins liked than their bedroom.

It was puzzling, a wonderment why there was nothing more for the boys in their bedroom. You put the thought in the back of your mind while you followed Pari down to the next door, a nanny suite that was going to be yours when you officially started the next day.

Tonight she was going to stay to make sure the twins had settled until they had gotten relatively used to the idea of having another new nanny around, and that would in turn give you time to pack some clothes before you would be on your own.

It was her deciding factor or something about you that she liked, to give you the job after the few short hours that you had been here talking with her and to her. The process of showing you around was one more indication that you were going to be given the job, one more step toward you being hired for the job that paid exceptionally well.

However, you were curious about the high turnaround, curious enough that you had almost asked Pari whether it was the twins that drove the nanny away in some kind of Hollywood feeling scheme or if it was the man you were working for that had done the job.

“It’s got everything you’ll need.” Pari directed you into the nanny suite and you had stepped through with speculation, your eyebrows furrowing as your lips had become pursed.

The nanny suite was larger than you expected and was rather captivating with clean crisp white walls, and an intricate chandelier hanging in the middle of the room.

The headboard was made of light grey material that was textured with cloth buttons that added extra detail. The bed itself was larger than the one you had in your apartment, and it was pushed against the feature wall with a nightstand on the right-hand side and a sitting chair on the other side. Across from the bed was an electric fireplace and mantle, the dark wood contrasting the white trim that ran throughout the room.

To the far left was a set of double doors that led to a small private balcony that was enclosed by a white railing. The room was designed with the same sleekness as the rest of the house, perfect to a near fault, and yet this nanny suite still had more character than the twins rooms. It was bothering you, it was getting under your skin like an itch that couldn’t have possibly been sated until you let the question be aired and given life.

“Pari, the twins room-“ You looked back at her, your eyes meeting hers and your mouth shutting closed when she had drawn in a breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose with annoyance.

The corner of her lips was pressed tightly together and the scowl on her face had told you everything you needed to know.

“I know.” Those two words told you enough. “Curtis hired some interior decorator because he didn’t give a shit about what the house looked like, he’s got enough to deal with. The nannies and housekeepers come and they see the state of this place and do everything they can to keep it this way.”

“High-turnaround-“

“Not just for nannies.” Pari drew her hand away from her face and down to her hip, glancing you over again with a far less stoic expression. “Housekeepers too.”

Your suspicions of the twin being hellions that sent the nannies off were partially right, and you couldn’t have blamed them. The twins were not allowed by the other nannies to have anything in their rooms because of the clutter, and it had made the boys double down on their mission to get rid of anyone ‘allergic to fun’.

They didn’t get to express themselves, they didn’t get to enjoy being messy like kids naturally were, or even have their favourite toys in their bedrooms to play with. It was almost as if they were being forced into this state of cleanliness that wasn’t achievable for them.

“They’re kids, they should be allowed to be kids.” You mumbled under your breath, taking another glance around the room before you and Pari stepped into the hallway again.

As the door clicked behind you, your hand settled on the doorknob while Pari made her way to the winding staircase, leaving you lagging for a few moments.

“Theo, James-“ A crash had come from the lower level and your feet carried you before you had time to think, following Pari toward the kitchen and the source of the sound.

“Sorry, aunty.” One of the twin’s bottom lips was trembling, his blue eyes watering and his chest heaving with the effort to hold in his tears.

Between the twins was a broken glass and orange juice, the mixture thankfully not hitting either of their feet. Theo, or so you thought, had huffed and gritted his teeth, almost as if he was trying to present himself as a stoic figure.

“James-“ you started to speak to the twins, first addressing the twin who wasn’t near tears.

“Theo.” Pari corrected you, taking a wide berth around the glass and juice, and stepping toward a small utility closet near the edge of the kitchen.

“It was an accident, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to.” You stepped the other way, slowly grabbing hold of James’ arm, and gently leading him away from the glass. “I’m going to clean it up, don’t step in the glass or you’ll cut your feet.”

“I was thirsty.” James pulled at your sleeve, his eyes brimming with tears. “I wanted a drink.”

“I know, it’s not your fault.” You lift him from the floor and set him on the table, sitting him on the edge before you lifted his left foot and then his right, looking for any cuts. “It was an accident.”

You drew your fingers along the bottom of his feet feeling for any nicks that you couldn’t see, biting down on the inside of your cheek when he laughed through some tears and jerked his foot. After checking both feet, you lifted him from the table and carried him further away from the mess and set him down where he wouldn’t be hurt or caught in the mess.

“Do you still want something to drink?” You crouched before him, watching him as he raised his arm and wiped away his tears with his sleeve, sniffling and nodding. “Orange juice?”

“We didn’t mean to,” Theo spoke with the same defiance, the same presentable little tough guy act he was trying to put on, almost as if he was afraid you or Pari would give them trouble. “It slipped-“

“It’s okay, Theo.” You were careful to step around the rest of the glass, carefully padding around the island toward the fridge as you stared at the rows of cupboards.

“To the left of the fridge,” Pari spoke without having to look up from the floor, “orange juice is on the right side of the fridge.”

You followed her instruction, first grabbing a glass and then the juice. You set both on the counter before closing the doors and unscrewing the cap, idly listening to the sound of James and Theo’s whispers behind you while you filled their glass.

Once it was halfway full, you grabbed the glass and turned. You nearly jumped out of your skin when they appeared closer than you anticipated, squeaking in surprise at their giggles and soft laughter.

“Funny.” You held the glass out to James, watching him and Theo guzzle down the sweet mixture before they handed it back to you. “Is that better?”

“Theo, James…go put your toys away. Pizza will be here soon.” Pari sent the directive and as quickly as the boys were here, they were gone.

They scattered from the kitchen with a few excited claims that they would beat each other to the playroom, leaving you and Pari alone. You set the glass in the sink and shifted your weight from one foot to the other while silence passed between you both.

“Crustaceans?” Pari drew your attention to herself as she stepped around the island and dumped the remaining glass shards into the garbage under the sink. “You’re allergic to crustaceans?”

“Oh.” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other before you cleared your throat and nodded. “Yeah, I don’t eat crustaceans but I can eat fish.”

“I don’t eat beef,” Pari relayed some personal preferences about herself just as you had, “It’s not an allergy, but a religious practice.”

“Beef?”

“I can eat chicken, lamb, and goat but not beef.” She looked you over as she spoke and then smiled, cracking a genuine and warm grin. “You’re going to do great with them. You’re exactly what they need.”

“Thank you-“

“-Curtis too.” She spoke over you while you fell silent. “He’s going to love you.”

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Chapter Eighteen (Part 2)

There are no family photos on the walls of this house, which is entirely different to my home. My mother framed everything, because I was the only child, and therefore everything I did and every milestone I achieved was wonderful and amazing. There’s a photo of me, eight and smiling on the day of my first communion that has pride of place on the mantelpiece next to my parents wedding photos, as though my first reception of the body of Christ (a wafer) was as important as their vow to each other. I was cute back then, but it’s easy to track my progression from cute child to awkward teenager by simply following the path of photos on the wall above the television, where I am immortalised forever in my school uniform, picture day after picture day, year after year until they mercifully stopped taking them at the end of primary school and I was free to duck away and hide my braces and acne from any and all cameras.

There are no such records in the Turner house. There are no notches on the door frames that measured the growth of the children, no ancient crayon drawings still stuck to the fridge, or, for the extra special ones, framed on the wall where visitors can see them. There’s no sad, punctured football in the back garden, or Ribena stain on the carpet, and I can’t see what’s inside the cupboard under the stairs, but I guarantee there’s no outsized roller skates or fad toy from Christmas 2002 stuffed in there either. This house is like somebody opened an interior design magazine and bought everything on the page.

Jude climbs on a chair to reach a box, way up high on the very top of a bookcase.  He settles next to me on the sofa and lifts the lid without any of the reverence or intentionality I feel it deserves, and hauls out a handful of photographs. 

“There are before me.” He says, and I don’t care about those ones. His mother is very beautiful, and when she’s young even more so, but Collette Turner is of about as much interest to me as I am to her. When he hands them to me I just leave them on the coffee table and poke my fingers around in the box with him until we find the ones from November 1991. 

“There I am.” He says, and rightly so, there he is. A tiny baby screaming in his mother’s arms as she, looking like a child herself stares bemusedly down at the pink, squirming thing in her arms. “Apparently all I did was make noise.” He says. “Nothing has changed there. I also wasn’t cute.”

“You weren’t.” I agree, but I like the photo anyway. Even in these first minutes of his life there’s something furious and uncompromising about him, all clenched fists and red face. He’s so tiny. My heart swells for him. 

“I did get cute though.” He says, putting another photo into my hands of him at maybe two years old, wearing nothing but a nappy and a pair of cowboy boots. He’s standing on wobbly little legs on some dirt path, while sandstone pillars and jagged rock formations soar up into the sky behind him. It’s the kind of landscape that you only see in cartoons. 

“Did you see the road runner when you were there?” I deadpan. 

He smirks. “That’s Bryce Canyon. My great aunt brought me along on a trip with her kids. I think I was two.” He flips it over to where Sept. ‘93 is scrawled in blue biro. “Almost two. Her kids were in college at that point. I think there’s photos of us all.” He has a quick shuffle through the stack and withdraws several more from Utah, mostly of him being held, or cuddled or kissed on his chubby cheeks by four twenty somethings who look like extras from Seinfeld. Looking at their faces, their patterned jumpers, their floppy haircuts brings back a sense-memory of what it felt like to exist in the nineties. That pervasive smell of cigarettes and the old, brown plastic ashtray on my uncle’s table. The cuffs of light wash jeans and the creases in my cousin’s white sneakers as I tied and untied his shoelaces beneath the kitchen table, and Paul Simon’s Obvious Child, and our old TV that spit out white noise and wobbled until someone banged it with their fist to set it right again. I feel as affectionate towards those snippets of memory as I do about this tiny, cowboy boot wearing Jude, perched high on his cousin’s shoulders.

“Is that your great aunt?” I wonder, pointing to a ruddy cheeked woman in her early forties that crouches down with her arms around him at the base of a sandstone pillar. 

“Yes, Maureen.” he’s mentioned her before in passing. I know that her husband was in the military, and that they lived all over the world for years. When he retired they settled in New Mexico, and she and her family were in the picture a lot when Jude was a child.

“When’s the last time you saw her?” 

“When I was fifteen, but it’s not always easy to find the time anymore. She calls me every Christmas and on my birthday, and sometimes she sends me gifts.” He brushes his thumb thoughtfully over the photo. “You know, I miss her. She was kind of like my other-mother for a while.”

“Maybe you should go and visit again.”

“Yeah, I’d really like to.” He digs through the box and pulls out a more recent one of them both from 2007. They’re standing in her kitchen with their arms around each other, and she’s short and round, and he’s so tall and gangly with a wooden beaded necklace on, and they both have the biggest smiles. “Maybe I’ll go in the autumn.”

“Definitely! I think that’d be amazing.”

“It’s just weird because it’s hard to know where I’m going to be then, you know? Now that I’m graduating from college I’ll have to, like, look for a job.” He says it like it’s a dirty word, and there is the tiniest twinge of anxiety in my belly.

“Something will work out.” I say passively. I’ve tried not to think about what’s going to happen after college, and whether or not he’ll decide to move back to Ireland again once he finishes his final project. We’ve just avoided the conversation, even though sometimes during our long talks we bring us right up to the knife’s edge of it before we stealthily change the subject, but I soon have to acknowledge the elephant in the room, and it’s that we don’t know where he’ll be in six months. We don’t know what things might look like between us, and neither of us knows yet what he wants. 

“Yeah, definitely.” He says hopefully, and I take the photo of him and Maureen so that I can take a closer look. 

“2007.” I murmur. “You were so dreamy. I wish you’d seen what I looked like in 2007, it’d be like a jump scare.”

He chuckles. “No way, Evie.”

“I had cystic acne and braces,” I confess. “I was so ugly.”

“You haven’t even brushed up against ugly in your entire life. And I had braces once too, believe it or not.”

“Oh I’d believe it.” I feast myself on the view of his immaculate teeth. “Did your dad do that?”

“He did, and funny you should mention him, because he’ll probably be home soon. Do you want to endure an awkward, socially inept conversation with him or do you want me to take you home?”

“Oof, tough choice.” 

Jude takes all of the photos from my lap and from the table and taps them gently into formation before stacking them back into the box where they’ll no doubt sit there unbothered for another few months or years, dusty and forgotten atop the bookcase. 

“Let’s get moving.” 

Jude’s car idles outside my apartment for half an hour, because every time I try to get out I look over my shoulder at him and feel compelled to kiss him goodbye, just one more time. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re a great kisser.” I say as his lips slide from my mouth to the curve of my jaw, and his fingers caress the nape of my neck. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Back of my hand.” He murmurs. “Glad you’ve noticed, I’ve actually never kissed a girl before.”

“Oh shut up.” I snicker. 

“You know, if you think I’m good with my mouth you should see what else I can do with it.”

I breathe out a laugh, and my body shivers so intensely from head to toe that I have to twist out of his grip. This is full-on dirty talk. I don’t know how to do that. I should probably give him a slow, seductive smile and say something like “Well why don’t you come upstairs and show me?” But I obviously don’t. I say “Oh.” and then laugh way too loudly which completely dissolves the sexual vibe and he goes from looking flirtatious to amused. “What?”

“I mean, you can come in if you like, I know I owe you one but full disclosure I haven’t shaved in days.”

“Are you trying to lure me in with handjobs and hairy legs?”

“Feeling enticed?”

“You bet.”

I lean back against the passenger door and wrap my arms around myself. “Well, whatever you want to do is fine.”

His expression is funny as he takes me in, my body language, the metre of space I’ve managed to carve between us, and his eyebrow twitches sceptically. “I don’t want things that you don’t. You know that?”

I nod. 

“When you want me to come in, I’ll come in, but you don’t have to do things for me just because you think you owe me.”

“I will want to.” I say. “Just later.”

“Well lucky for you I’m busy the next while. I’m in the last weeks of my thesis and I really need to buckle down, so if we’re fooling around it will probably not do wonders for my concentration.”

I pout. “But I’ll still see you?”

“Of course, I’ll always make time for you.” He pulls me into him by my wrists and kisses me one last time, and I’m starting to  wonder how I’ll ever be expected to kiss another man again when he pulls away from me. “It’s time for you to get out of my car. I’m wasting diesel.” He teasingly shoves me away and I scramble for the handle and scurry out onto dark streets wet with rain as he springs forward to smack my arse.  

“Later, alligator.” He says, and I shut the door behind me with a thunk. 

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