#and a little painting I bought at the artisan store | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

threecirclingbuzzards · 1 year

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Love the patch clothing! I just bought a denim jacket myself and am looking forward to decking it out. Do you have tips or resources in how to get started? Much appreciated :)

I've only been doing this a year and a half so I am far from the perfect source of information, but here's what I've gathered over that time:

This post has a lot of really good information for painting and sewing patches. I use fabric paint from Michael's over acrylic because it holds better, but also maybe because it was a "gift" from a friend and idk if he paid the actual price for those. They also changed their brand so I can't speak to the quality of the new stuff, I just know I like Imagin8 and Tulip fabric paints from them. The colours you want to mix white or test on small scrap fabric before making a design. When painting, I sketch with pencil or get a stencil reference. Another way of painting here.

Stitching onto a jacket you can follow the first post, take sewing thread, cut a length, put through the needle, tie the end around itself [make a loop holding both ends together, put it through the other side] stitch from the inside of the jacket to start to hide that knot, pull directly away from the patch on the outside, stitch back through the patch from the bottom. If both fabrics were clear it would be a sawtooth shape you'd see.

Most scrap fabric will do fine to paint on, and I like to hem the edges to prevent fraying of my painted or printed patches but you don't have to and I didn't used to/don't always still, it's just a little stronger. and is good for thinner or loosely woven fabric like those that feel like denim.

[for info on how to hem and general sewing tips, check craft blogs, I am very devil may care with my sewing and have stabbed myself a lot. For stitch spacing use a ruler or other guide. I use my fingers it's not recommended.]

I also suggest, depending on where you're located, checking etsy or other independent storefronts online for some local/semi-local shops for screenprinted punk patches to see if anything catches your eye, but especially look for embroidered patches if you want any decent embroidery. Some are also from quite a distance but have a good shipment cost, but I try to buy local to avoid it being air mail. For punk style screen printed patches in America on Etsy that I can vouch for, I can name ZombieRufio, DeadGiants, RainbowDistribution, and DrunksWithaPress.

Punk With A Camera have some good screenprints if you're from North America, I know the bassist of my favourite local band has the "soup for my family" patch from there, and I'm planning to get it myself as well sometime soon. Bandcamp also sometimes has punk artists list their patches in their merch tab.

Other places I've gotten pins and patches is:

Scout Shops if you're again in North America, or Britain I think also has some, but that's a grab bag and usually just shapes like the dog my friend has or the raccoon I have.

Local festivals/shows, a lot of events in parks and such as community events with local artisan sellers have some cool pins and patches on occasion, I got my genderqueer pin from that. and of course local bands occasionally have pins and patches at their merch tables during and after local shows. For me, Local is the city next to mine with any actual punk venues for local shows [I think we have five places that punks play at currently in that bigger city.] but for you it could be your city, or a bit further. Look around on social media for your area. My gf found the bar I met a bunch of local punks at searching for cool places to eat in that city.

Finally, but not super useful, got a bunch from my uncle and grandfather on my mom's side in a big box from Scouting trades, so I have a big bag of miscellaneous patches from places they went to, and some just classic plain vintage patches, which definitely gave me a leg up. Stores catering to alternative fashion sometimes have old pins or patches but that's very location dependant.

For my studs, I had an Amazon gift card from a family member and bought it through there, but I can't advise doing that generally. Not really a fan of Amazon obviously. My cone spikes were a gift from my girlfriend who I believe did something similar, used an Amazon gift card. I know that other people have better places to order spikes from online if you're American, but I'm not sure how relevant that would be to you. Spikes I say be smart, do some research, be careful of being overcharged. Most of my jackets started without and just had safety pins from a drug store and scrap metal from wherever I found it and that looked really cool too.

Finally, I liked to build up my jackets in "stages" where I collect a few patches and then sew them all on close in time to one another, as it allowed me to plan the layout better, and make the final result look better to my eyes.

Now with all that very very long wall of text out of the way this is me expressly asking you to PLEASE reach out if you have any other questions, I love talking about this. Also if you post any progress pictures on Tumblr, you are required to tag me now. I want to see them.

Thank you to @genderfluid-and-confuzled for prompting the two posts I link at the top btw, He's awesome and has been the source of a lot of great conversation regarding jackets for me. My pieces wouldn't exist without you, comrade.

#diy punk #diy fashion #punk #diy #patch jacket #asks #my jacket #punk rock #punk jacket

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vampenzo · 3 years

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𝚃𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙼𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝚈 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙸 𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙴 . . .

LORENZO VICARIO | VAMPIRE | ALVARO RICO

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 birth name: — gabriel lorenzo de vicario, fifth duke of bivona. nickname(s): — enzo. gender: — cis-male. | he / him. dob: — october 31st, 1647. | scorpio. age: — eternally 26. | biologically 374. orientation: — homosexual. | homoromantic. place of birth: — valencia, spain. current location: — new york, new york, usa. species: — vampire. education: — undisclosed ( high school ). | columbia university ( undergraduate ). | harvard university ( graduate ). occupation: — winemaker ( culliford brand ). | shop owner ( sip by sip ).

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 ( + ): — adaptable. methodical. ( – ): — malicious. vindictive. moral alignment: — lawful evil. mbti: — entj, the commander. hogwarts house: — slytherin.

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

father: — sebastian felipe de vicario, fourth duke of bivona.

relationship: — formerly estranged ( deceased ) .

mother: — catalina isadora de vicario, fifth marchioness of villena.

relationship: — formerly close ( deceased ).

eldest sister: — carmen pilar de vicario, second duchess of bivona.

relationship: — formerly estranged ( deceased ).

older sister: — cayetana maria de vicario, third duchess of bivona.

relationship: — formerly close ( deceased ).

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓

grew up in a noble family and as such was afforded the best teachers money could buy back in the 17th century. as he got to a certain age he noticed his attraction to one of the knights that was roughly around the same age as him. the two were close, in fact enzo would request to have the knight to be part of his protection squad. the two would frequently meet up to talk, paint, train, or any combination of the three. after months of spending time with one another enzo grew bold and kissed his closest friend, which was special to both of them. unfortunately for them carmen saw the encounter and told their father during breakfast the next morning. the knight was killed in front of the family by his father and enzo was punished to his quarters while his father tried to decide his fate. before any further punishment could be given enzo slipped into the night.

eventually enzo found himself on a ship that was headed to france to give supplies to the spanish soldiers that were fighting in a war, but it did not make it far as it was boarded by pirates. seizing an opportunity he joined the pirates as it was either that or death. he found himself well aligned with this life as it offered him the freedom he sought. eventually he became the first mate of the ship and often devised successful plans for the captain and the crew. they eventually sailed to the new world but were ambushed by spanish war ships, and were captured.

they were taken to spain where they were held captive until their trials. the night before he were to be executed a woman who seemingly commanded the men around her approached lorenzo and told him that she was watching his career and felt as if he deserves to get a second chance. she then explained what she was and offered him a vial of her blood for him to drink so he could cheat death, but also what the next steps were to be if he does drink it. the day of his execution he drank the vial as planned and was killed for his crimes of piracy. later that day he awoken to find the bodies of his former crewmates on him and they were being carted somewhere, but he didn’t want to find out where they were headed so he escaped from the wagon and slipped into the night.

he eventually completed his transition into become a vampire and met up with the woman who turned him. she had a witch enchant a ring for him that would allow him to walk in the sun. he then rounded up a new crew and stole a ship to set sail, doing what he did best, pillaging the ships in the open waters. as time went on he reinvented himself and took on the alias john swann, an englishman, who sailed exclusively in the indian ocean. he met another pirate by the name of robert culliford and the two felt a strong attraction to one another, which led to them eventually dating. it was lucrative for both of their crews when they worked together and together they amassed great wealth. the two eventually made a life for themselves, having a home together, but things eventually come to an end.

they had this life for a year before it got old to lorenzo. robert urged him to follow him back to the red seas and the indian ocean, but he declined. with the vast riches he earned through the years, he did not need to go on anymore adventures and his crew felt the same. he paid for them to go wherever they wanted and they usually chose to head to america or their home country. eventually the british army found them on their little island town and instead of emprisioning them they were royally pardon and free to do whatever they want with their lives. the two lovers parted ways, with lorenzo headed to the caribbean and richard getting the short stick and was detained after enzo left.

with that life behind him enzo continued his eternal life with him seeing his fair share of war, famine, and death but still he persevered throughout the centuries. he would help people in need during this time, but he also resorted to doing things that only really served him. he made sure he never stayed in the same place without at least fifty years in between and in this time he would often have different personas. towards the 1960s he found out about the vampire clan and eventually joined their ranks. since he was in their good graces he asked them to crafted him an identity as lorenzo vicario. they chose his birth year to be 1994 and when the time was right he was presented with the proper documentations. he applied to columbia univerity where he got his business degree after four long years, then onwards to harvard for his masters in business, these years he spent in college was rewarding since he actually earned these accomplishments of his own accord without having to compel or hack his way in.

he already had a business in mind and decided to get into the lucrative world of winemaking. he bought a vineyard in burgundy valley that specializes more in grapes that will produce pinot noir and chardonnay. he eventually started production of his brand culliford, named after his pirate lover that he learned died weeks after they last saw each other. his business was basically on autopilot so he decided to start another business in the cutthroat city of new york city. it took a while but eventually he was able to buy property and named it sip by sip, making it a place that offers mostly european varieties, artisanal beer, spirits, and bubbly, as well as his own personal brand. he is eager to see what life has in store for him now that he’s setting himself up with roots.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

sire. it would be great to have his sire back in his life. i would say that they did come across each other at least once every century. it should be noted that his sire is a woman. ( 0 / 1 )

familial. perhaps one of his siblings was turned into a vampire at some point? probably not going to happen, but thought it would be great to have a ghost from his past pop up again. ( 0 / 1 )

hookups. self-explanatory. in the case of more than one person takes this connection slot, the hookups don’t know of the other people enzo is hooking up with unless explicitly told by him. ( 0 / 3 )

child of the wild. a muse that was turned by enzo at some point. ( 0 / 1 )

#lorenzo;headcanon

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the-bjd-community-confess · 5 years

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@ People thinking recast BJDs = Fake/factory Blythe dolls

Hi everyone, I’ve been in the Blythe hobby for 15+ yrs and the BJD hobby for 13+ yrs and I’m here to clear up common misconceptions I often see that come across from other doll communities.

Fake & factory Blythe dolls aren’t considered negatively like recasts are in the BJD community for numerous reasons which I’ll get into.

“Factory” Blythe dolls, (made of authentic Takara-released doll parts), first appeared in a few Taobao shops around 2012- after the factory Takara was using started leaking damaged or B grade parts that would have otherwise been thrown in landfill as production waste. Some factory workers started smuggling the parts destined for landfill out and assembling them to create complete Blythe dolls to sell online. The charm was that they were a mix of random & sometimes rare Takara released doll parts, making for some unique combinations. Being a lot cheaper than- and similar quality as- officially released dolls lead to collectors & customizers using factory dolls as an alternative to riskily experimenting carving & painting the expensive official releases.

After a year or two of the factory dolls leaking, Takara moved its production location so the supply of parts ended and the sale of “true factory” Blythe dolls came to a complete halt. Around the same time “factory” dolls started disappearing from the market, complete bootleg Blythe dolls made of very cheap materials on Bratz-style bodies had began appearing. They were very noticeable as fake dolls- being almost dollar-store quality; thin hair, and slightly off face mold, loose bodies, poor paint etc.

Over time the random bootleg toy factory producing them up-scaled production to meet the growing demand for a cheaper Blythe alternative, increasing the quality over the coming years until they reached a point where the fake dolls were extremely similar in quality to the authentic Takara dolls. The shops selling the higher-quality fakes cottoned onto the popularity of the term “Factory Blythe” that used to be sold on Taobao and started selling the fake Blythe dolls as “Factory Blythe” in the title and description.

The current “factory” Blythe dolls are not made of authentic parts, but are fake dolls manufactured to be as close to the real thing as possible using different molds and materials. The huge influx of fake dolls being sold as “factory” on Taobao and Aliexpress blurred the line between the two, leading newcomers to the Blythe hobby not fully understanding the difference between fake and factory. Most of these current “fake factory” dolls have paint colors, hair colors/ textures, skin colors, body types that Takara has never produced and wouldn’t be possible to source from a Takara factory. Some of them are assembled to look similar to authentic releases, however fine details in the face molds, eye mechanisms, material textures & qualities are different enough to discern it as being a copy

SO, WHY DOESN’T THE BLYTHE COMMUNITY MIND FAKE DOLLS?

It’s because there isn’t the direct small-scale artisanal involvement with Blythe as there is with crafting a BJD. Blythe was first marketed as a mass produced playline toy in 1972 by Kenner. Then in 2001 reintroduced by Hasbro, (who bought out all rights to Kenner products), allowing Takara to begin production of what is now the Neo-Blythe doll. At one point another company, Ashton Drake was given the licence to produce Blythe dolls too. This is mostly why the fake Blythe dolls aren’t regarded as an issue. Because Blythe in her raw state is not a niche art doll, she’s a licensed mass produced toy, passed around and produced by different large companies over the years. It is entirely akin to buying any other barbie knock-off, monster high clone. The appeal is the accessibility, wide range of color options, and quality being so similar to an authentic Blythe- for a quarter of the price. Not to mention the ease of customization without taking a rare Takara doll away from it’s original appearance or risking damaging a hard to find doll.

Okay WOW this turned into an essay, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this entire thing documented in one go. Hopefully this will make peoples decisions easier.

TLDR; *CURRENT Factory Blythes / Fake Blythes are the exact same thing & are produced by Chinese non-Takara toy factories. Factory Blythe dolls made of the authentic “stolen” Neo Blythe parts completely stopped being available around 2013/14. Most Blythe collectors own a mixture of real & fake dolls. Blythe in her raw form is not an art doll, shes a mass-produced playline toy turned-collector doll by the Blythe community. Blythe exists as a character licensed and produced by many companies and factories over the decades. Every Blythe doll; Hasbro, Takara, Kenner, Ashton Drake, Factory or Fake, is a Blythe.*

I hope this shed a little light on Blythe history for BJD people, and why the Blythe community enjoys and welcomes all Blythe dolls.

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #TrueBJDConfessions #TrueBJDRecasts #Other Dolls

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outroshooky · 6 years

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a morning’s vignette (five o’clock) | kth

⇢ genre: oneshot (artist!au) (fluff, a touch of angst)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 2.2k

⇢ a/n: written for the one and only @lolnxcole. love you, tapioca dearest!!

It’s 5:13am, and Kim Taehyung finds himself sitting cross-legged outside his neighbor’s house, the scattered dew from the grass staining his jeans as he hunches over a moleskine journal and sketches furiously.

It’s early, too early for the rest of society to awaken on this lovely Monday morning, but deep in the heart of summer, and thus the world is illuminated in hues of scarlet and tangerine, the sky streaked with merigold and cider and coral in a celestial masterpiece worthy of the likes of Monet. He notes how the glow frames the houses around him, the fences and trees and stirrings of this residential block, and no matter where he looks, it takes his breath away. It reminds him of Rembrandt, he thinks; the supernal mastery of light and shadow will never cease to stun him.

As much as color defines how he sees the world around him, he misses how subtly it influences others’ perception of him. His tawny bangs are tucked neatly under a backwards snapback, splatters of vermillion dart their way up his forearms to meet chartreuse and periwinkle, inky lines curl around the toes of his worn canvas low-tops. His oversized shirt is soft white cotton, but it might as well be a canvas all unto its own. There’s a mauve stain in the faint shape of Australia on the left sleeve, mahogany and medallion like archipelagos and atolls, and Taehyung smiles at the memory of the continent’s formation.

The velvet tones of Chet Baker pour in through his tangled earbuds, the sound a little tinny in one ear. The damn cord got stretched, thanks to Jeongguk- ironically, on the same day they’d bought the new paints that are so carefully balanced on an upside-down milk crate in front of him now. He’s lost in his work, in perfectly capturing the hints of mulberry in the peach expanse- so lost, in fact, that he jolts, accidentally smearing sangria across the opposite page when you clear your throat loudly.

He topples backward in surprise, falling on his elbows, and the first thing Taehyung sees is a pair of neon sneakers, one of which is tapping the dirt impatiently. His gaze travels up your calves to your torso, noting pitch leggings, an oversized sable sweatshirt, and a palpable amount of self-restraint you exercise to control the bright salmon that flushes your cheeks. It reminds him of the scattered pink stipples that dust his knuckles, and he has to bite back a signature Taehyung™ smile at this.

“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing on my lawn at five in the morning?”

He takes out an earbud and gazes up at you, carefully dabbing at the misstroke with a shred of paper towel and the ease of a practiced professional. “Who are you, and why are you awake at five in the morning?”

You cross your arms, your tongue pressed into your cheek at the surprisingly dulcet baritone emanating from the stranger. “Sorry, but you’re the one technically trespassing, buddy. Answer the question.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Your crabapple trees looked nice with the sunrise behind them. I’m an artist. It’s self explanatory.”

“Normal artists don’t sit on my lawn and draw my crabapple trees.”

“They don’t?” He carefully sets his sketchbook on the crate, stands, and extends his hand. “Kim Taehyung. Foreign exchange student, fine arts. it’s a pleasure.”

You raise an eyebrow apprehensively and take his hand. “Pleasure.” He shakes firmly. “I was running, by the way. I run before work.”

He laughs, and something in your chest leaps in response. “So you run this early in the morning, but you don’t see how beautiful the sunrise is every day?” One of your shoulders rises and falls.

“I don’t draw.” Your statement is firm and concise.

Taehyung’s brows furrow at this like it’s something he’s never heard before, and he rolls a filbert brush between his fingers like a patron’s cigarette. “That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate art.”

“It’s nice, I guess.” You check your watch and whirl in place, suddenly impatient. “I’m late.” You’re halfway down the gravel driveway before you notice him still standing, wide-eyed, in the middle of your front lawn.

“You have an hour.”

There are three elements to one of Taehyung’s most simple pleasures in life. Firstly, he prefers cappuccinos to Americanos, and he insists on having a cappuccino every other day at four-fifteen in the afternoon- to him, the perfect time for a midday pick-me-up. Secondly, he must be sitting at the back left corner table inside of Helen’s, the café frequented by artisans and businessmen alike at all hours of the day. Third, he must have his sketchbook with him, plus or minus his watercolor set. These three elements, when combined, give rise to a pastime he loves perhaps nearly as much as sunrises and paints and low-fi hip-hop Spotify playlists.

People-watching.

The thought of you had preoccupied his mind for hours, and graphite marked his fingers like ash as he selected a woodless 2B and outlined the sole of your shoes. If it’s one thing Taehyung is known for, it’s his portrayals of life in all of its simplicity, and perhaps that’s why he always preferred Bruegel the Elder to Bruegel the Younger. He sits in this shop for hours, plaid sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and sketches.

He draws sweaty, overworked waitresses and new mothers with infants and the youthful innocence of children, palms pressed flush to the glass of the pastry display. He draws the table and his battered book and the slender hands that grip the pencil unceasingly. He draws succulent lemon tarts and glistening cinnamon rolls and the emptied sugar packets scattered across the plate in front of him. But today, he does not draw his waitresses and hands and cinnamon rolls. Today, he muses, is different.

Today, his mind refuses to budge from neon sneakers and feminine curves and the quirk of your eyebrow. No matter what he tries to put on paper, your features emerge from the tip of his pencil, and after a while he gives in and covers an entire page, front and back, in you.

Taehyung has the mind of an artist, and the little details are his specialty. He observes with immaculate precision the curve of your lip and the angles of your shoulders; he captures your posture and immortalizes it in 4H, in HB, in the soft paper-on-paper brushing of his tortillion. Never has he been so fixated on developing dozens of mental snapshots into black-and-white Polaroids, marked by pens and pencils and neutral tone paper. He scrawls line after line, embedding you into forever by his own pure talent, and he is nearly breathless by the time the bell atop the door jingles, and he realizes it’s closing time.

He has filled four new pages.

Today, he muses, is different.

It becomes a rhythm.

By 5:09am, Taehyung finds himself standing on the sidewalk in front of his host family’s ranch. He looks up and down the street, selects a colonial or gambrel or maybe the new construction under, well, construction, sits on the curb, and opens his sketchbook.

He sees you every morning, of course. You see him, and when he looks up to follow your usual morning route, you stifle the thought that the increased beat of your heart has nothing to do with your strenuous exercise, and instead focus doubly harder on the quickened rhythm of your sneakers slapping the concrete.

It is a day like any other when you pause in front of him, taking an abrupt left instead of continuing straight, and he’s looking up at you with his boxy smile before you have time to catch your breath.

You shift, suddenly uncomfortable, and rock back on your heels. “You can draw, by the way.” Fuck. “On my lawn, I mean. You can draw on my lawn. You have an hour.”

His eyes are deep and all-encompassing, and you swear you can see countless galaxies swirl when his grin grows ever wider. It pangs somewhere deep inside, brings memories of children’s fingers and apple red and denim blue-

You turn on one heel and begin to run.

The rhythm shifts, but not unpleasantly.

He’s surprised at how well he can adapt to the minor adjustment, and he comes to welcome it.

By 5:09am, Taehyung finds himself standing on sweet dewy grass instead of hard concrete. He looks up and down, selects a bush or tree or angle of the roof, folds his legs under himself, and opens his sketchbook.

He’s gone by the time you get back, of course. An hour and thirteen minutes on the dot and you are standing on your front stoop with nothing but curling blades of green to memorialize his presence by. There’s an odd pang in your chest now- one that you hadn’t anticipated, one that drowns out the staccato drumbeat, and the harder you push yourself, the harder it is to focus on keeping tempo.

Some days, you stop for a breath, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as he rubs and smears carbon across the page. On these days, you may exchange a word, a sentence, as much as you can bear before you turn and run like you have every day since you first bought this house eight months ago. You’re no longer sure if you’re running to somewhere, or running from someone.

It is a day like any other when you take a sharp right and a left, and he doesn’t hear you when you approach him from behind. Louis Armstrong leaks into the filmy morning air, and the music is so fittingly Taehyung that you hesitate, and the meter of your heart skips a beat when you look over his shoulder at his sketchbook.

Familiar faces sing to you from two-tone paper, faces from the grocery store and the coffee shop and the laundromat. The pimpled cashier slouches, swiping a bag of potato chips with one hand on the pinpad. A toddler’s pigtails bounce as she skips, strawberry lollipop in hand, around the counter. The surly, suited executive nudges a coin into the pewter machine, frowning when his wash refuses to cycle. A woman runs, arms and legs like pistons as sweat drips into her eyes, and her sneakers are accentuated with dabs of tiger orange and canary gold.

Ruby and burgundy pop alongside boysenberry and heather; apricot blazes the sky, peeking over the eave of the roof. Juniper leaves and amber bark scratch their empyrean, and lace is speckled by sepia where dirt stains the siding. Alabaster is the shine on your front window, and hazelwood is your fence where parchment has chipped away.

Your breath is exhaled in a shocked rush of air, and he misses it over the muted tones of brass and piano.

“You know, I lied to you before, Taehyung.”

Your hands twist in front of you as he whips around and nearly falls backward, yanking his earbuds out, eyes dilated with surprise and apprehension.

“I used to draw every day of my life.” You are quiet but audible, and you watch the surprise and apprehension drain as wonder, curiosity, and finally, tenderness cascade like waves across his face. “I drew and drew and that’s all I did as a child is draw. I wanted to become an artist. One of the best, in fact. I wanted them to remember me like one speaks of Da Vinci or Vermeer or Masaccio.” Your laugh is empty of joy. “It’s funny how I thought one could ever reach that high.”

“Who says you can’t?” You are fixated on the way he murmurs, how the honeyed baritone instantly grabs your attention, and you nearly falter.

“My parents.” Your nails dig into your skin, and you wince at the memory harder than the pain itself. “They wanted me to become an accountant. Do I look like an accountant to you? No.” The shudder of your next inhale is unintentional. “They threw out my pencils. They burned my sketchbooks. They told me to focus on the future and not on the ambitions of a child, and the day after I graduated college, I ran.”

The last of your walls falls away, and the last of the tension drains from your shoulders as you stand before him, sweaty, defeated, wholly unmasked. “I’m still running.”

When Taehyung stands and your name falls from his lips, the empathy in his voice hits like a punch, and when his arms come to wrap around you, you let him hold you together, because for your own sake, you can’t anymore.

His thumb strokes your cheek, wiping the tears away, the tears that you hadn’t realized were falling freely. When his finger taps your nose, you open your eyes, and are met by stars and novae and nebulae in deep obsidian. The gesture is so wholly and utterly Taehyung, and the click of the metronome ticks a few beats faster when he tilts his head and cups your face in his sangria and juniper and alabaster-dusted hands.

“I see the sunrise every morning,” you whisper as he brushes moisture from your skin. “but I can’t bring myself to appreciate it.”

He hushes you gently, softly. “Let me show you how.”

And he presses his lips to yours.

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thesecretattic · 3 years

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Like I said, as a kid I had big dreams, I would fawn over brands like Villeroy & Boch, Frette & Lladro… for their beautiful showpieces in fine porcelain/chinaware and quaint crockery. They are far too expensive though, for anyone’s purchasing power mainly because of their excellent craftsmanship and highly skilled artisans. They do have a very unique policy for online orders on Tata Cliq (Luxury) It clearly cites that they can’t be held responsible for any damage which might occur during transit and if you don’t receive your item in a proper condition then you can buy another piece, they won’t be liable to give you any replacement, the most they can offer is a 33% discount Or… you can simply tape it up and keep it 🤷🏻‍♀️ There are several other stores which do sell decor items in Fine Porcelain they are all Korean and Chinese imports and they might lack the same level of “intricate” detailing or finesse but I’ll prefer them any day and considering the fact that they are manufactured in bulk, in hundreds & thousands of pieces such minor imperfections or variations are natural… they could be hand painted or moulded which takes an equal amount of effort. The least expensive option would be Resin, these showpieces are also very fancy (and adorable) or else Porcelain is great for special occasions or gifting… I remember I had ordered a Country Style Salt & Pepper shaker set particularly with Cows 🐄 on the front label (from this “other” store) and they accidentally sent me Sheep. When my mother called them up they said they had no return policy or reverse pickup so they’ll be sending the Cow ones and we can keep these as well… my mom was like, “My daughter is very sincere when it comes to all this, she won’t keep it as a gift or she’ll just ask me to keep it and I still have to remodel my kitchen so I have no space, we can send it back” the owner said, “No my team will send the cows right away and you give the sheep set to the little girl, she’ll be happy” Lol sometimes I do sound like a “kid” and I was explaining the whole confusion from behind like the colour & logo difference. I’ve kept both in my showcase, I’ve been buying from here since long, they also keep festive offers, I’ve pinned them in case you would want to browse… I had ordered this Porcelain showpiece for my Birthday 🥳 as a gift cuz I only had a few items like these in my collection (I keep everything in my transparent showcase) and they look so beautiful when I switch on the lights… https://www.instagram.com/reel/CZrkyQ8A8Tj/?utm_medium=copy_link Click on the link for the whole video…

So some are really big, for Countertops around 38-45 cm in length… this Victorian Family was for 14500/- and it looked a lot like Lladro’s (they start at approx. 15k in India and go upto a lakh) like I said it might lack some finishing but it’s just as exquisite as any other porcelain article, this was already sold out and my budget was a little less…

I was in love with this Doll & the Shepherd, she had a white apron & several lambs, Art whether rasterised or sculpted is always very poetic and symbolic… the latter denoted Gentleness, Innocence and Purity, this Victorian Figurine was for 9500/- or so and she was 38 cm long, I wanted it for my Birthday but it was again exceeding my budget and you need to take a lot of care cuz these things are extremely fragile

The first one was for 1800/- second one was for 2200/- The first one is currently out of stock, it was very classy, I love her delicate twirl… it got sold out along with some other figurine and the one which I bought (I had already made my choice by then)

I got this because it was similar to the Shepherd girl, the one with the lambs… (it was for 7500/- or so) this was under 5k 4600/- to be precise, her whole attire is a bit more vintage & it’s again a lot like Lladro, they use a similar palette… it symbolises tenderness, innocence and love (thanks to the rabbits and the young girl) I love her bonnet and apron, the size is around 17cm (breadth) and 24 cm (height) it will almost touch the roof of my cabinet/showcase but nonetheless it will go inside comfortably, I had added only one glass shelf in the centre for collecting such items… I really miss those good ol’ days when people would gift and collect such things as gestures of goodwill… they all look so whimsical and fancy I wonder why they’ve stopped keeping showpieces at local gift shops, now you get a lot of tacky stuff at places like Archie’s and they’ve shut down Hallmark from everywhere… Anyway you can buy a lot of beautiful gifts from here, DM me for the store name or else I’ve already pinned them, I don’t want to publicly share all my secret hunts… you can inbox me and I’ll revert back with their name & address/link… I feel like these things are so timeless, they can be cherished for years, they make really great heirloom pieces

Love,

Czar 𝒵ℒ.

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wallpapernifty · 4 years

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Why You Should Not Go To Flower Garden Painting | Flower Garden Painting

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electricalwiresupplyhugt073-blog · 5 years

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The Definitive Guide for Hardware Shop

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vietnamtour-blog · 5 years

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What to buy in Vietnam: 10 Souvenirs and Gifts to Bring Home (Part 1)

Wondering what to buy in Vietnam as souvenirs or gifts for your family? Locals here tell us that picking on or two of these items is a definite must-do in Vietnam – they are so exotic yet practical. Let’s keep your memories with this list of best souvenirs to buy in Vietnam. This first part will include local specialties like local brands of clothes, jewelry, bags, either fair-trade textiles or handmade ones. The second part will focus more on the edible and ornamental side: Vietnamese cuisine and those little cute souvenirs. As we put ourselves in the shoes of travelers, our criteria to choose souvenirs and gifts are: unique, Vietnam-themed, practical, good quality, and lightweight to carry home!

1. Pearls & jewelry from clam

As a tropical country with over 3000 km of coastline, Vietnam owns several coastal areas with warm temperatures, calm water – the perfect environmental conditions for pearl-bearing oysters. Experts say that Vietnam is home to some of the finest Akoya pearls with the rare blue color. For other oysters from the Pinctada family, the high nacre thickness results in a natural, creamish color and a special, high-quality luster. Three provinces with concentrated production areas are Quang Ninh (Ha Long Bay), Kien Giang (Phu Quoc), and Khanh Hoa (Nha Trang). Where to buy: Ha Long Bay:

My Ngoc Tourist Center, Don Dien, Ha Khau Ward, Tel +84(0)203.3511519

Halong Pearl Farm I, Bo Hon Island, Halong bay, Tel +84(0)203.3511519

Halong Pearl Farm II, Vung Vieng, Halong bay, Tel +84(0)203.3511519

Phu Quoc: Ngoc Hien Pearl Farm, Duong To, Phu Quoc, Tel: +84 933 221 221, +84 776 820 999

2. Shoes

In case you didn’t know, Vietnam is a top exporter of shoes and clothes in the world. You can easily find pieces of good quality and reasonable prices from domestic brands and those international brands with a lot of promotions. Fake or high copy of international brands are a problem, so it is wiser and cost-effective to buy local brands. Our most famous ones are Bitis (sports and casual footwear), JUNO (women footwear). Let’s spare your suitcase for these babes! [VIDEO] https://youtu.be/TQKSu-zGYTI Bitis – 2018 The Evolution Where to buy: Bitis: Hanoi (68 Hai Ba Trung street or 8 Hang Dau street). List of outlets Juno: Hanoi (46 Hang Da street, Hoan Kiem). List of outlets Detailed guide: SHOES AND CLOTHES IN VIETNAM

3. Silk products

Photo: hanoimoi.com.vn Silk was regarded as one of the finest handicraft products in Indochina. Luxurious touch, eco-friendly and good for health, silk can be great gifts for your beloved ones. In Vietnam, silk products are available in most stores around the city center in Hanoi, Hoi An, and Ho Chi Minh city. Everything from scarves to áo dàis to dressing gowns, with a rainbow selections of silk, can be bought with reasonable prices. If you are into the silk industry and have time, take a tour to the origin of silk like Van Phuc village (Hanoi) or Bao Loc village (Lam Dong). Or else, these are our suggestions for authentic Vietnamese silk shopping with best value for money! Where to buy: Hanoi:

Ngoc Diep Silk, 9 Bao Khanh Alley (a local hidden gem with very good price)

Hang Gai street (silk street for a variety of items)

Hoi An:

Hoi An Silk Village, 28 Nguyen Tat Thanh Street, Tan An, Hoi An (best for a silk interactive tour)

Saigon

Nhasilk, 149 De Tham Street, District 1, HCMC (best for scarves and ties)

Toan Thinh Silk 25 Cach mang Thang Tam Street, District 1, HCMC

4. Áo dài

The áo dài is a national symbol of traditional Vietnamese beauty, femininity and sophistication, especially in Hanoi. This elegant tunic consists of long sleeves, stand collar and side seam slits up to the waist and is usually worn with palazzo-style pants. Vietnamese women can be seen wearing áo dàis on a daily basis in Hanoi, but it is most popular at weddings and around Tet holiday (Vietnamese New Year). The dress shirt and pants combo start at $25 per set. Where get your ao dai tailored:

Hanoi: Thuy An Silk, 208 Hang Bong Street

Hoi An: A Dong Silk, 40 Le Loi Street, Hoi An

Where to buy inexpensive ao dai:

Hanoi: Luong Van Can Street, Hoan Kiem, Hanoi

Da Nang: Han market, 119 Tran Phu Street, Hai Chau, Da Nang

5. Conical hats

Source: Backpackers Vietnam Conical hats are the most recognisable and classic symbol of the Vietnamese silhouette. The handwoven, palm leaf hat is rich with history, cultural sentiment and designed to protect people from the rain and sun. These are worn by people of both sexes and all ages although you’ll see it is most favoured by those prone to working outside in markets, rice paddies and on the water. You can easily find this hat as a souvenir at any tourist attractions. Price range: around $2.

6. Clothes

Save your If you decide to buy local brands clothing in Vietnam, you’ll find clothes of high quality at very good prices. Local brands, VNXK shop (VNXK means made-to-export clothes) are where you should head to. In Hanoi, go to Bò Sữa by Boo to shop for your teenage daughters and sons, as this brand is very much youthful. For a wider range of choice, head for any M2 or Vietbrother stores – you can find yourself and family pieces of value for money. Don’t worry about the price, these shops are for locals. Yet, be prepared that Vietnamese size is much smaller and European. Affordable options Clothing for youngster and children: Bo Sua by Boo (18 Dien Bien Phu Street, Hanoi or 308 Ba Trieu Street, Hanoi), Clothing for all family members: M2, Vietbrother (22 and 6 Dien Bien Phu Street, Hanoi), Canifa (29 Ba Trieu Street, Hanoi) Price range: $10 – $30 Middle-range options Clothing for all family members: May 10 (2nd Floor, 156 Ba Trieu Street, Hoan Kiem, Hanoi) Clothing for men: An Phuoc (3 Hang Bai, Hoan Kiem, Hanoi), Viettien (25 Ba Trieu, Hoan Kiem, Hanoi) Clothing for women: NEM (156 Ba Trieu Street, Hoan Kiem, Hanoi) , Ivy Moda (34 Ba Trieu, Hoan Kiem, Hanoi) Price range: An item starts from $25 to $100 Detailed guide: SHOPPING FOR CLOTHES IN VIETNAM

7. Products of ethnic minorities

Textiles in Ban Lac mountain market, Mai Chau. Photo: vietnam.travel Tribal textiles are prized possessions for tourists in Vietnam as the opportunity to see and buy such uniquely exquisite, hand-stitched craftsmanship is a rare luxury to those visiting from the West. Vietnam has a rich variety of hill tribe ethnicities (especially in the north) that relatively still makes their living the same way today as they have done for hundreds of years. Buying authentic textiles from recognized dealers helps to keep their way of life and artistic skills alive. Fabrics typically start from $15.

8. Eco-friendly Vietnamese handicraft

Authentic Vietnamese handicrafts are much environment-friendly. Look at our raincoat!

Photo: tuanbaovannghetphcm.vn That’s just for fun. Yet there is a trend to bring a modern touch to traditional designs. Born in traditional handicraft villages, these products are made of natural materials like bamboo, rattan and rice straw by local artisans. Better, they have been modernized for practical reasons and modern aesthetic. You can have a wide range of products, of different shapes and styles for you to choose from. A single purchase in these ethical shops like MadeTerra, Vuver accessories, or Craft Link, you can directly impact the community of its maker in Vietnam. A rattan bag starts from $12.

A modern touch added to traditional designs

9. Thai Duong herbal shampoo

Thai Duong is a famous Vietnamese product line for hair care and beauty products. From cosmetics to toothpaste, this brand uses mostly ingredients from natural herbs with antioxidants and healing properties. One of their best sellers is the Duoc Lieu shampoo, with the haircare recipes passed down from mothers to daughters for centuries. The antioxidant properties in herbs and essential oils will detoxify your hair, while boosting strength and replenishing moisture. It helps to bring out healthy hair, lasting refreshing feeling, with forest-like aroma, and best suited for people having hair loss or baling.

Best gifts for: Female friends, a sister or your mother Where to buy: Supermarket or pharmacy Price: From US2$ Website: www.saothaiduong.com.vn

Their international eco-friendly version, the Nature Queen, is in growing interest of US and EU market.

10. Artwork and print

Walking along Hanoi’s Old Quarter or Saigon’s Dong Khoi Street, you will notice a large number of art shops selling paintings on canvas or paper. If you love to keep memories of your trip to Vietnam, just walk in and pick up one of Vietnamese propaganda posters or usually remake artwork at very reasonable prices varying between $2 and $30. Yet, if you are an art connoisseur who want a more serious look at Vietnamese contemporary art, upscale galleries around Hanoi and Saigon are where your should head to.

Photo: silverkris.com Hanoi: Mai Gallery, 113 Hang Bong street, Hoan Kiem, Hanoi, +84 24 3938 0568 Nguyen Art Gallery 31A Van Mieu street, Dong Da District, Ha Noi, +84 24 3747 6001 Museum Shop and Coffee Gallery, 66 Nguyen Thai Hoc, Hanoi Apricot Gallery, 40B Hang Bong street, +84 24 3828 8965 Art Vietnam Gallery, No. 2, Alley 66, Yen Lac Street, Hanoi, + 84 24 3862 3184, [email protected] Thang Long Art Gallery, 41 Hang Gai street, Hanoi Craft Link, 43 – 51 Van Mieu Street, Hanoi, Tel: +84 24 37336101 (This one is an NPO support traditional artisans) So, that is the first 10 fantastic souvenirs and gifts from Vietnam. Stay tuned for our next episode of handy, exotic and delicious Vietnam gifts! Should you need further information, please contact our travel consultants at [email protected].

Source: https://blog.evivatour.com/what-to-buy-in-vietnam-10-souvenirs-and-gifts-to-bring-home-part-1/

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arplis · 5 years

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Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/attractive-jewelry-organizer-target

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umichenginabroad · 5 years

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GHDI Presents: Weekend of Friends and the Quest for a Fitted Sheet

May 20, 2019 at 6:39 PM

Room GF44, Getfund Hostel, Kumasi, Ghana

We might be in Africa, but that doesn’t mean we can’t bring Michigan summer lake vibes to big city Africa.

Last weekend, the gang (Alex, Sophie from Holland, and Bismark from Ghana) took a trip to Lake Bosumtwe, which is a natural lake about two hours south of Kumasi. The OG plan was to take an Uber to a central place in town, pick up a tro-tro (more on this in a second) to the closet town, and then take a taxi directly to our guesthouse by the lake. In talking with the Uber driver, we bargained for him to just take us all the way to the guesthouse so that made our plans much less complicated!

I don’t think I’ve talked about tro-tro’s before, and they’re a critical part of Ghana’s driving ecosystem (and really kinda cool). Tro-tro’s are what Ghana has instead of local city busses. Picture a big 10-15 passenger van, like your average Ford Sprinter but beat up like it was bought in 1990, and now picture it packed full of people. There’s always a driver, an assistant, and the passengers. The driver has to focus on the road, and the assistant is the guy sitting by the sliding side door, yelling at people where the bus is going, leaning out the window to see if anyone on the sidewalk wants to get on, and collects money from the passengers, all while the driver is going full speed. They have a route that they’re on, or really just a destination, and that destination can change depending on what the driver and assistant are feeling like that day or where they think the people want to go. Now imagine that the road is FILLED with these tro-tro’s. There are sometimes so many that it’s chaotic to hear someone walking next to you over the honking and the yelling of destinations. We took a tro-tro when we had Afia’s son as a guide and translator so he knew that we needed a tro-tro to ”Santasi” and that’s how that works. The rate is hella cheap. We’re talking like $0.40 for all the way across the city kind of cheap. Definitely want to get more confident in using them because I love the chaotic system.

The road from Kumasi to Lake Bosumtwe is the worst road I have ever been on. Full stop. We complain about Michigan roads but the roads all across Kumasi are horrendous. Drivers swerve all over the road to avoid potholes and there are actually ravines in the middle of the road due to the heavy rains eroding the dirt. Slamming the brakes to a turtle crawl is a common occurrence just to try (and fail) to maintain the car in good shape. There is a section of the road we took this weekend where they’re widening the road, so there’s a ton of dust and dirt being kicked up from all the cars that drive on it, obscuring vision to maybe a car length in front of you. Now I would say I’m a pretty good driver, and relatively calm when others are driving in poor conditions, but when Ghanaian drivers are going almost full speed down a dirt road, swerving left and right to avoid pot holes, unable to see oncoming traffic, and no lanes to manage where cars are supposed to be, that’s an experience nothing can really prepare you for. I’m glad I wasn’t driving, and I’m glad I’m still here to write about the tale (I’m sure my mom is happy about that too).

The guesthouse at the lake was absolutely gorgeous, and they have kept the area very natural and relaxing for the maximum of 14 guests it can accommodate. We met a group of five other international students from Germany, Switzerland, and another girl from the Netherlands, and they were really cool to hang out with while we were there! We all had similar minds to relax, do a little tanning, do a lot of reading and listening to music, and enjoy the life away from the city. The guesthouse we stayed at was called The Green Ranch, and had some amazing vegetarian food (I was a skeptic but pleasantly surprised by the pasta) and free water (!). We may have splurged a bit on a horse-riding experience and a few too many beers but it was a really cool experience! Most of the pictures from this post are of the guesthouse or the lake view.

May 23, 2019 at 11:04 PM

The hostel room had a few items left in it, but the sheets were too small for the bed so couldn’t wrap them around the mattress, very frustrating. I made it my mission to pick up a fitted sheet for my bed. The first option was the local grocery store where we picked up our towels the first week; but, they only had (rather expensive) sheet sets for queen and king beds, and I’m not paying enough money to get a queen bed in the hostel. We wait another day.

On Monday, I met up with a couple of the locals here to watch the finale of Game of Thrones! I had spent my free trial of a VPN to stream the previous episode but I was glad to know the cult of GoT exists even in Kumasi. Also on Monday, a new exchange student from Germany, Alvin, arrived to KATH! His room is right across from Alex and I’s and he was quick to join the gang.

On Tuesday, we had another friend come into Kumasi! Nai’a is the third student doing almost the same work as Alex and I, with observations and needs finding within the Emergency Department, she just has a different timeline. She was in the prep class with Alex and I for the winter semester so we know her pretty well. The plan was to head into the market to pick up a few things for everyone and show the famous Kejetia market to Alvin and Nai’a for the first time, but the afternoon monsoons thwarted that plan pretty quick because we weren’t interested in getting soaked to our bones. I’ll have to wait another day to find my fitted sheet.

Wednesday the weather was mildly better, although it was dark enough, and because it’s rained for like the past 5 days straight at this point, we just expected it to storm right around the time we get out of work. Sometimes that’s how it be. We decided to risk it anyway because who knows when it’ll clear up. We spent a little time waiting out what ended up being just a drizzle in a small snack shop, but then finally made our way into the throngs of the market with Alex, Nai’a, Sophie, and Alvin. I am happy to report that my shopping was finally completed. The items of interest? Hangers, shower soap, a shower scrub, a second hankerchief, and finally, a blue fitted sheet for my twin bed.

Thursday we decided to check out the nearby cultural center! Sophie had done some preliminary exploration during the morning earlier that week so she knew the cool stores to show us. The cultural center was choc-full of artisan crafts and creators, it was a really cool area. I was trying to decide whether it was an area just for tourists (I mean the name was cultural center) or if it was simply a good location for craftsmen of bronze or pottery or weavers and sewers and artists. The artwork that was available from some of these creators are simply incredible and I can definitely see myself leaving with some, we’ll see how much money I have left towards the end of the experience to gauge how much of the traditional symbols and paintings I bring back as gifts.

Another weeklong project was to try and communicate with our tailor from last week to drop off the finished shirts! We finally met up with him on Thursday to exchange the goods and I’m really happy with how mine turned out! See below for pictures of the tailored shirts I had made.

This weekend we’re taking a longer trip south to Cape Coast! We have a hostel that’s right on the beach and Cape Coast is known for it’s beaches and old slave castles we are hoping to get a tour of to learn more about this history of the area. There’s also Kakum National Park, which is only about 45 minutes away and the only remaining rainforest in West Africa, so that’s pretty neat. Stay tuned for more fun times and travels!

Thanks for hanging with me,

Scott

———

Scott Vanden Heuvel

Mechanical Engineering

GHDI Immersion Experience, Kumasi, Ghana

#umichenginabroad #ScottVandenHeuvel #IPEghana #IPEsummer19

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seriouslyhooked · 8 years

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Souvenirs (A CS AU) Part 9/14

A Modern CS AU where Emma has grown up in Maine her whole life and runs a store with Ruby and MM. Killian Jones is the new guy in town, who just bought the local bar. Only Emma and Killian have met before and now she can’t help but wonder if their past has influenced his plans for the future. Includes tons of fluff and a happily ever after. Rated M.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

A/N: This chapter, Emma and Killian are moving her stuff into his house. Emma notes how well their stuff already meshes, but there are a few rooms where she thinks they could use some changes. Killian’s response? Going on an impromptu paint and furniture-shopping trip. Because why not just have domestic fluff bonanza? We deserve it. Anyway thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy!

God I love this house, Emma thought a few months later as she placed a box down in the kitchen filled with odds and ends that she’d brought from her old apartment. Right behind her was Killian, lugging in the huge artisan mixer that she’d insisted on bringing too. And this man, I really love this man.

Emma had never done this, never taken the plunge of sharing a place with a guy. As a foster kid, all she had ever wanted was a place to call home where she wasn’t surrounded by swarms of people. So when she grew up, she was a little territorial over what was hers, and that included her space. She didn’t really do the roommate thing, never wanted to mesh her things with someone else’s, so to move in with someone, that was probably going to be a lot to handle. Only it didn’t feel that way. Standing in Killian’s house in the early afternoon of a beautiful Saturday felt right and starting to blend her belongings in with his was exhilarating instead of terrifying.

“Are we really doing this right now?” Killian smiled at her question and came around the island to take her into his arms.

“We really, are, Swan.”

He looked almost predatory with the heat in his eyes and Emma thought she was in real trouble of getting sidetracked from the move in the name of pleasure. Not that she’d mind at all, but Killian had gone so far as to higher a team of movers who were less than five minutes behind them. Optimistic as she was recently, she doubted anything truly satisfying could happen in five minutes.

“You love that you’re my first time, don’t you.” She watched his body tense a bit and knew her word choice had turned him on that much more, and then he nodded, bridging the gap between her for a searing kiss.

“You’re first and last.”

The gravel in his voice had Emma inching in closer, trying to get the friction of Killian’s hard body against her. She was succumbing to his raw sex appeal as she always did, and though moments ago she’d been saying it was impossible, Emma now couldn’t seem to care about the potential interruption anymore.

“First and last,” Emma confirmed. She was just about to pull him down for more when the moving truck groaned to a stop outside. With the moment broken, Killian traced his thumb over her bottom lip and looked at her now with a mix of lust and love, her favorite cocktail of emotions.

“We’ll pick this up later.”

“This had better be the fastest move in history.”

Killian laughed heartily at that and took her hand in his, as they let in the movers and directed them with the bits and pieces of furniture that were making the trip from Emma’s house. They’d done their fair share of planning already, and so the move was manageable. Nothing too horrendous, but after a few hours of organizing, Emma still felt like something was slightly off. There were just certain rooms that didn’t fit as well as she’d hoped, or maybe needed a completely different look.

“Everything okay, love?”

“It’s just gonna take some time, I think. To make it really ours.” He looked at her, clearly confused. “Well, I just mean, like there’s some rooms that we might want to consider restyling in a way that would make the things that we both have and love flow better together.”

“So like repainting and getting some new furniture?” Emma smiled, relieved that he understood.

“Exactly!”

“Why would we have to wait for that? Come on love, the day is young, let’s make this house our home today.” Emma let him pull her hand to the door, shocked at his statement.

“You want to get it all done today?” Killian nodded. “There’s no way, we can’t do that. The painting alone for three - no four – rooms would take us at least a week.”

“Ah, but we are more than just us, aren’t we Swan?”

Killian pulled out his phone as they made their way to the porch and down the steps. He opened the door of the car for Emma and then walked around to start it and head out. As he did, he spoke to Graham about procuring some of his workers for the next two days. He’d pay double for some basic painting and though Emma thought he was crazy, she also loved how dedicated he was to seeing her happy and comfortable.

“We’re off to get the colors right now.” Killian looked at Emma to check that was okay and she nodded, secretly delighted that he was so invested in this.

“Great, thanks mate, see you then.” Killian hung up the phone and turned his attention and his grin towards Emma.

“Graham will meet us at the hardware store in an hour and he and his guys can get any necessary work done by end of day tomorrow. Whatever you want, Emma.”

“You have no preferences?” He shook his head.

“Only that you choose whatever strikes your fancy, and that your selections make you feel comfortable in our home.”

“But it’s ours. You should contribute too.” He smirked at that.

“I will, Emma, but I also know that you’ll go out into the world thinking of this place as ours. You know me by now, and I trust your instincts implicitly.” He extended his right hand and she took it willingly, moving closer to rest her head on his shoulder for a moment.

This was really one of the greatest gifts he could give her, because as an artist, and someone whose whole life was considering what worked and what didn’t work aesthetically for her, having things not exactly so would cause some friction in her mind. The fact that Killian knew that, and that he seemed to understand meant the world and she was so grateful for the fact that he would take the day and go with her to make these choices. Emma was struck again by just how wonderful life was now that she had him back.

“I love you.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss gently.

“As I love you, Swan.”

…………

Storybrooke Hardware was a place that Emma knew very well. As an independent kind of person, she’d often opted to handle any projects that came along in her home and her shop herself. Emma was the kind of person who would repaint the rooms in her apartment at least once a year, just to keep things fresh and exciting. Couple that with the fact that Leroy, the owner, had gone out of his way to keep finer metal working tools in stock for her specifically, and she was as close to a regular here as one could be.

When she entered today, with Killian in tow, it had not gone unnoticed, and they hadn’t set ten feet into the store when Leroy called out to her.

“So you finally brought the boyfriend. Good for you, kid. Just don’t let him break anything.” Killian looked slightly aghast at the comment, and when Leroy left their immediate proximity he commented to Emma.

“First of all, strange that he calls you ‘kid.’ Surely he’s not that old. And second, Leroy has fast become a fixture in my bar, but suddenly I’m just the boyfriend. This is a strange town you’ve chosen for us, Swan.” Emma laughed at that, because really, how could she argue with that? Storybrooke was unique and a little bizarre for sure, but she loved it, and she could tell that Killian was quickly growing just as fond of it as she was.

They moved through the aisles until finally making it to the paints, and Emma felt the rush of excitement that came every time she got to infuse her style into something. Part of her was a little saddened by the fact that they wouldn’t be doing the actual painting, but then she remembered the stink of the fumes and how though she always had fun, she also always had a headache by days end. This time she could avoid that, which was certainly something to appreciate. She and Killian discussed different ideas, tossing out their own opinions, which almost always lined up, but Emma noticed that his presence opened a lot of interruptions from the other shoppers. Usually when she was here, people left her alone, this time however, it was like every single patron of the little store had to have a conversation.

“You kids are just so cute.” Mrs. Keebler’s comment was not the first of its kind, though Emma did appreciate the old woman’s kindness. That being said, how did one respond to that?

“Thank you, I think I’ll keep him.” She joked and Mrs. Keebler laughed.

“See that you do, dear. I heard from Milly McDonald that Graham Huntsman and his crew have been hired for some last minute work thanks to your beau here. This is a very romantic gesture. You are a very lucky girl.” With that, she left Emma with Killian who was grinning like an idiot.

“Hear that, Swan? You’re a very lucky girl to have me as your beau.”

“You know, I’m aware of that, but it would be nice to hear some of these old ladies saying that you’re the lucky one.” Killian wrapped his arms around her.

“I think it simply goes without saying that there is no man on earth blessed with as much as I am in having your love, Emma.”

And just like that she melted, besides the paint cans and the wooden stirrers. Killian had that kind of power over her, sure and precise and unthreatening. The words, as cheesy as they could have been construed, sparked that last bit of inspiration.

“Hold that thought.” Emma moved behind him to the swatches she’d just been pouring over and selected three gradations of brown until finally finding the right one.

“Pirate’s Promise.” She flashed the lighter shade at him and he smiled.

“It’s a lovely color, Emma, I grant you, but what could possibly have prompted that from what I said.” She shrugged and smiled.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do, love.” He moved closer, placing a hand on her hip and she warmed at his touch.

“Sometimes you just talk like a pirate.”

“My professions of love pass my lips and you hear, ‘argh matey?’” She laughed, running a hand over his chest.

“No, I was thinking more Westley from the Princess Bride, devilishly handsome, hopelessly in love with a feisty blonde. Ringing a bell at all?” Killian pulled her in for a kiss so hot, there was no way it should have happened in a hardware store, but regardless of place, Emma was lost in it, aching for closeness and needing the feel of him all over her.

“Our story is so much better, love. I promise.” Emma sighed at that, she dug her fingers into the cotton of his shirt, wishing terribly that they were back home so she could show him just how much she loved his words.

“Mr. Jones, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Graham sent me over to pick up the paints you’ve chosen.” Emma looked over at the college-aged boy who was clearly a bit embarrassed to have to do this and laughter bubbled in her chest.

“Right then, here they are.” Killian gently took the three swatches from Emma and handed them over telling him which went in each room. With just a slight bow, the boy left them alone once more.

“Now, Swan. I believe we have a few more stops to make don’t we?” He offered his arm and she gladly took it, following him out of the store and off on the next domestic adventure.

…………

This had easily become one of Emma’s favorite days, filled with laughter and cute moments, but this might actually the cake. She was standing in the middle of the furniture gallery, surrounded by a sea of sofas, as Killian was being informed what Netflix and chill was by the young man trying to sell them the right couch.

“You know, man, sometimes you put on the movie but what you really wanted was…” Killian looked confused and the expression on his face was so adorable, that Emma had to cover her mouth to keep from giggling.

“To chill?” Killian’s response had the sales guy looking relieved.

“Exactly, man. But like it’s a euphemism.”

“For what?” Emma pulled Killian down closer to her and whispered in his ear.

“Sex, Killian. Substitute the chill for sex.”

“Oh, right, well.”

Killian was scratching behind his ear with a little bit of bashfulness and Emma took pity on him despite her overwhelming desire to laugh, telling the sales rep what there color scheme was and the dimensions they were looking for. She kept it light and professional, no more euphemisms, but when she looked at Killian for his opinion on every couch, he kept quiet as a fire burned brighter in his gaze.

“You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” Killian shook his head.

“No, love. Now the question has become less about what goes with the overall look and what would be the best one to take you on.” Emma flushed a deep red at the statement.

“Of course, so what are the criteria? Strength, comfort and size?”

“Aye, love. When it comes to more than those three things, I’m operating at a loss.”

“Here, this one has all that. Tell me what you think?” Emma took a seat, instantly falling in love with this sofa and really wanting him to say yes. He sat down beside her, pulling her close and whispering in her ear.

“I can see many a night spent here, watching Netflix, and having very little chill between us.” Emma cleared her throat and tore her gaze from his burning blue eyes, looking at the associate.

“We’ll take this one.” The guy walked off to make a note of it and add that to the other inventory they’d selected and Emma felt Killian’s arms around her tighten just a bit, but she stood up, not wanting them to get sidetracked.

“Let’s go look at the last room, just make sure there isn’t anything else we want.” Killian’s responding smirk had Emma pressing her legs together, and she was damn sure that he could read her like a book in this moment, but he went along with her suggestion.

In the final room, Emma saw deeper, richer woods than had been in the earlier galleries, and a craftsmanship that made every piece seem homemade instead of off an assembly line. While their home’s personal style didn’t require all unique pieces, this smaller room was striking, and from a design standpoint, she could definitely appreciate the work and effort that would go in to each and every piece. Emma took a stroll around the room, admiring the work, but turned to find that Killian was not beside her, instead, he had stayed back towards the entrance near a beautifully ornate rocking chair. Emma went back to ask him about it.

“You want to try it out?” Emma asked and Killian shook his head.

“No, love, I want you to try it out.” Emma’s brow rose in surprise but she did just that, loving the feel of the hard wood that was crafted beautifully into a comfortable chair. It rocked just enough, the action smooth and sure, and Emma smiled, enjoying the feeling.

“I never really thought to have a rocking chair. Always assumed that was more a golden years thing.” But her teasing didn’t light up his features the way she expected. He seemed so serious, so full of emotion that she had to reach out her hand and take his.

“Talk to me: are we liking this, are we not liking it? What’s going on inside your head right now?” Emma watched as Killian shifted uneasily before coming out with it.

“My mother had one of these, to get Liam and I back to sleep after a rough night, or calm us in a moment of sadness. I always pictured having one for my kids as well.” Emma smiled at that, not knowing such a connection to the chair herself, but understanding how just the action of rocking could have such impact.

“So it’s a happy feeling, but you still look so… strange right now.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s just hit me that I’ll never need this unless I can have it with you, Emma. You’re the only woman in the world I could ever imagine raising a family with, the only one I love enough to want these happy memories. I prefer to be honest with you love, I don’t say this to scare you, but every fiber of my being is crying out to buy this so that someday, if you’ll let me, we can use it for our kids.”

Emma rose from the seat and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him and making sure he was looking right at her, so that he could see she meant every word of what she was about to say.

“I love kids, and I want them too. Only with you, because you’re the only person I could ever trust enough to not let me mess it up. So we’re getting this chair, and even if it goes unused for a long time, that’s okay. It’ll be the representation of that dream that we both have, okay?”

He nodded and she pulled him down for a kiss, truly not giving the slightest care that they were in the middle of the gallery. It was hot and real and true, and when they finally pulled back, Emma flagged down their attendant, told him they’d take it, and hastily led Killian out of the store. After a day of brimming emotions, she was desperately in the mood to practice for this newfound dream of theirs.

Post-Note: Hope that you guys liked this installment! Cute couple moments in a hardware store and then picking out furniture are exactly what I want for Captain Swan. Unfortunately, they specialize in fighting off magical foe, so we will likely never see that on the show, but heck, that’s what fics are for right?

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs au #cs modern au #emma swan #killian jones #souvenirs #souvenirs cs au #souvenirs 9 #cs fluff #domestic cs #seriouslyhooked repost

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riobamba-ecuador-2017-blog · 8 years

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Weekend 2 - Cuenca

Cuenca es una ciudad que está ubicada en el sur del país. Es un sitio de Unesco world heritage. Hay muchos ex-pats que viven aquí ahora. De riobamba a Cuenca, el bus dura 7 horas por todos los paros. Salimos a las 730 de riobamba (hemos ido al jueves para verificar las horas de salida y la chica nos dijo que el bus iba a salir a las 730). Pero cuando llegamos a la terminal el viernes, el hombre nos dijo que el bus iba a salir a las 7. Así que había un momento de pánico. Después de 7 horas en bus, llegamos a Cuenca! Teníamos mucho hambre. Así que fuimos al hostel yakumama para dejar las maletas y después fuimos a comer al café moliendo. Es un café colombiano y los dueños eran fantásticos (muy amables). También la comida fue muy rica y deliciosa. Después fuimos a caminar por El Centro de la cuidad. Vimos muchas iglesias y la plaza principal. Fuimos a comprar algunas frutas del mercado. Habían un montón de tiendas pequeñas dentro de un edificio grande. Después tomamos un poquito de vino en el hostel y después fuimos al lounge del hostel donde conocimos a una chica de Inglaterra. Ella había viajado 5 meses en Ecuador y quería encontrar a un hombre para casarse con el. Era un poquita loca! Después comimos la merienda en un restaurante de Italia. Solo habían 4 mesas! La comida era tan deliciosa pero no pudimos terminarla. Terminamos la merienda a las 1115! Tan tarde para comer. La próxima mañana nos levantamos y desayunamos al hostel (un desayuno gratis con café, fruta y pan). Después fuimos al centro para subir un bus de dos pisos para girar la ciudad. Habían dos rutas de la ciudad: una por la Norte y una por el sur. Primero fuimos al norte. Fuimos las única personas en el bus!! Que suerte. La guía hablo en español sobre la historia de la ciudad. Algunas de las iglesias fueron construidas en el siglo 15. Aunque hay muchas casa aquí en Ecuador que están mal construidas o necesitan reparadas, las iglesias eran bonitas. Al medio de la gira, fuimos al museo del sombrero de Panamá. Estuvo muy interesante. La guía nos enseñó sobre el proceso de hacer un sombrero y todas las detalles. También pudimos comprar sombreros de estilos diferentes. Recibimos un pedacito de chocolate de ****. Fue increíble. Después, fuimos a almorzar. El dueño del restaurante es el sobrino de Jorge Duchicela - el director de cachamsi!! Que coincidencia!! La comida era muy rica también y podía comprar café ecuatoriano allí. En la tarde, hicimos la segunda ruta por bus. Fuimos al sur donde pudimos ver el mirador puri que tuvo una iglesia muy alta en la montaña y también pudimos ver toda la ciudad. Con suerte, no llovió. Por la noche, notamos que todas las tiendas en la ciudad estaban cerradas! Dez y yo fuimos a comprar algo dulce. Tuvimos que caminar un montón de cuadras jaja pero al final encontramos una panadería muy barata. Cuando regresamos al hostel, yo vi in restaurante chileano que vendió empanadas. Así que tuvimos que comprar dos. Tuvimos tanto hambre que comimos todo, y después fuimos a comer una empanada más. El domingo, fuimos al río para verlo. Después desayunos en un restaurante muy moderno. Yo pedí un omelet de champiñones y espinaca con tostado y un café latte. Fue fantástico!! Tratamos de irnos portal artesanal donde venden cosas artesanales. Pero no abrió hasta las 10 (y la verdad eran las 1015). Y no compre nada adentro (quería una pintura). Fue un fin de semana muy divertido y pudimos ver muchos lugares hermosos!

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Cuena is a city located in the south of Ecuador. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site. There are a ton of ex-pats that live here now. From Riobamba to Cuenca, the bus takes about 7 hours because of all the stops it makes alongside the road. We left at 730am on Friday (we had gone on Wednesday to verify the bus schedule as the times are all different due to the holidays. The girl working was super unfriendly and told us the bus leaves at 730). However, when we arrived to the terminal on Friday, we were told the bus was leaving at 7 and we were missing one of our travel mates, Laura. Luckily she arrived before the bus left (and it ended up being 730 anyway those stinkers). We finally arrived to Cuenca at 230pm with a lot of hunger. We went to our hostel (Hostel Yakumama – a really nice place with friendly people!) to drop off our suitcases and went to eat at Café Moliendo, which is a Colombian restaurant run by some amazing people. The food cost 4$ and we got a tostada tortilla with beans, spicy meat, cheese, chips and fresh avocado. It was fantastic. Paired with a Colombian café, we were set! (My host family always uses instant coffee and that stuff ain’t real). Afterwards, we walked around the city center where the principal plaza and churches are. We bought some fruits from the market. That night, we met a girl from England. She has been living in Ecuador for 5 months and is basically looking for an Ecuadorian man to marry, she was a little crazy haha. That night we ate dinner at an Italian restaurant that legit only had 4 tables in the place. It was fantastic food, though we didn’t finish eating til 1115 at night!!

The next morning we woke up and ate breakfast in the hostel. Afterwards we went on a city bus tour that had two routes: north and south. We did the north route first. We were the only people on the bus!! We asked the girl to give us the tour in Spanish, and she spoke very clearly and a little slower for us. She narrated the history of the various churches in the city center, some of which were built in the 15th century. Although a lot of Ecuadorian buildings appear to be in disrepair, the churches are pristine and well kept. In the middle of the tour, we stopped at the Museum of the Sombrero de Panama. Such an interesting museum where they walked us through the production of these sombreros – it was cool to learn. The hats are originally from Ecuador, and are so named Panama hats as the workers wore them during construction of the Panama Canal. The hats take anywhere from 2-8 months to construct, depending on how fine the fibers are. The paja plant is used to make them. At the end of the tour, we were able to try on and buy various hats ranging from 30USD to 2000USD. Afterwards, we went to eat lunch. The owner of the restaurant was the nephew of the director of our program: Dr. Jorge Duchicela!! It was such a neat happenstance. In the afternoon we did the south route of the city and went to the mirador del turi where we could look out over the entire city. We got so lucky and it didn’t rain all day. We got back that afternoon around 3 and noticed that a ton of the city shops were closing. We went to a market and thenreturned back to the hostel. We were so hungry though and nothing appeared open. Dez and I went in search of a panaderia (like a bakery) for a snack to tide us over. We bought 6 pastries for 3$ and while walking back saw a Chilean empanada store and bought two. After the four of us scarfed that down, we went back and each got our own empanada for dinner.

Sunday, we went to the river to see it. We then ate breakfast at a very modern café. I ordered an omelet with mushrooms and spinach with aji (spicy salsa) and café latte. So stinking good. We tried to go to this artisan place where they sell crafts afterward but it wasn’t open so I couldn’t find/buy the painting I was searching for. All in all, a solid weekend in such a beautiful city! Highly recommend.

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fuquinay-blog · 8 years

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Ode to My Kitchen or Kitchen Bitchin’

My kitchen’s seen better days—about 8,500 of them. Every day is worse than the last, even with the newish refrigerator.

Of 204 12-inch floor tiles, at least two dozen are cracked, chipped, or otherwise broken. A few sharp edges stick up. The teal laminate on the countertop, fabricated and installed by a friend as an early wedding gift in 1993, has pulled up from the plywood beneath it; it’s stained and discolored from years of draining dishes on a dish towel. (The dishtowels look even lovelier.) The porcelain Kohler sink, which cracked down to the iron about 15 years ago when a hot pot was placed in it, is rusted around the edge, and the faucet, repaired in June as a short-term solution, has been dripping steadily into the cabinet below it since October. (An old pot does its best to catch the water, and what it misses, a cookie sheet does its best to catch; the result is a rotting, water-stained base cabinet and some clumped Clorox.) The door to that cabinet has fallen off for the last time and sits by the trash can. The thin molding around the glass cabinets has been hammered back over the years to keep the glass from falling out; that repair lasts less long each time.

The stove, which was not new when we brought it here from our last house in 1993, came from Montgomery Ward, a department store that closed its doors for the last time in 2001. It was a good stove when we bought it. Now, the burners don’t light half the time, the grates and other metal pieces are rusty, the caps have fallen out of the handles (leaving sharp edges to catch on your clothing or skin), and, most important, cakes take longer to bake, banana bread is mushy inside, and my cookies puff up.

A year and a half ago, the dishwasher became irreparably broken. It’s a KitchenAid Custom by Hobart. Whirlpool bought out Hobart in 1986, which makes this no younger than 30 years old. (I think there’s year-old water in the bottom, but I’m afraid to look.) The microwave, from the ‘90s, makes plates scalding hot while keeping food frigid.

The furniture, nice hand-me-downs from my mom, hasn’t fared better. The kitchen chairs have lost their feet padding and scrape loudly across the tile. The screeching noise makes everyone’s nipples hard for 10 seconds. The artisan-etched glass tabletop sits on a small base of carved dolphins. It’s lovely, but if you lean on the table, the glass pops up.

The light over the sink hasn’t worked in a decade. One light in the track lighting needs to be nudged back on every day.

I forgot to mention the paint above the back door, which has bubbled and peeled to the bare plaster. The door’s teal paint has been scratched white by anxious dog claws. When did we paint this room? Was it 2004?

It’s clear to everyone who visits what has been dubbed “the Miller Kitchen” for its mini-Sunday morning concerts posted to Facebook that we need a new kitchen. Yet my husband feels that we absolutely do not, that we could replace a few things: the sink, the faucet, the broken floor tiles, the light over the sink. We could put new doors on the 23-year-old Ikea particle board cabinets. We could have the stove fixed again. And we could just leave the KitchenAid dishwasher where it is because we don’t need a dishwasher. We could paint.

But a new kitchen? That’s “obscene,” he told me. There’s a homeless family living under a tarp at the park.

What this means is that I will be renovating the kitchen alone. That I have emptied nearly all of the cabinets and drawers myself, throwing out the broken duplicates of junk, discarding ripped, coffee-browned dish towels, trashing foods with expiration dates from a previous decade, packing up old dishes and silverware for Goodwill, creating a space in the dining room to make coffee and heat up foods and spread condiments on sandwiches, all the while my husband asks me where the such-and-such is and wonders how he can feed himself amid such chaos.

Not being part of the renovation means he gets to complain in perpetuity about the choices I’ve made: the stove, for instance, which will not have a broiler because stoves don’t have those anymore, and it’s my fault, because if we just kept the stove that totally worked somewhat…. Even though I’ve selected a stove with a double oven, thinking of our needs as a family and his needs as a protester, and even though I’ve chosen a slide-in stove so that we can avoid the drips down the sides, where our mouse becomes well fed, I’ve fucked up because the stove is $2,500, and who the hell pays $2,500 for a stove? That’s obscene. (Doing nothing for the homeless family under the tarp is obscene.)

He will be able to complain about the new silverware, with raised dots that will irritate his fingers. What was wrong with the other stuff, with the two forks missing and the extra spoons from other sets, gotten for free for spending money at the grocery store? When our refrigerator went, it was my idea to replace it with a new model, which features what my husband calls a cadaver drawer. Sure, it’s a heavy, unwieldy thing that has barely enough room for our Costco hauls of meat, but the only fridge that wasn’t like this or side-by-side was one $800 white refrigerator with a top freezer at the scratch-and-dent shop. I exaggerate, he tells me. There were more options than that one.

He will be able to complain about the new chairs, whichever ones I get, because he won’t contribute to the decision-making by sitting in them before we buy. Every chair that comes in the house is uncomfortable, the last one always sorely missed for its superior cushioning or back support. The latest, which came here under protest and never quite fit under the table, are now beloved, though they were awful when the ladder-back black ones were here.

The stainless sink, which promises not to break the glasses that tumble over occasionally, is inferior to the rusty one. The faucet will be too tall and will splash water. The paint will be an ugly color. The light fixtures will be silly. The floor won’t be as easy to sweep. The drawers will be configured poorly, will be less roomy, and how will we put things exactly where they were?

Of course, the appliances and furniture and cabinets and flooring and paint color and fixtures will not be the problem at all. They’ll be gleaming and clean and glorious. The hallelujah chorus will sing to us from the kitchen even as we sleep above it. The tinkling of fairy dust will accompany our footfalls. Our royal hineys will feel pampered in the new throne-like seats. The acoustics will still allow us to sing, even if the songs themselves are just a little bit happier—or the singer is.

The real problem is change. And I can understand that. I live with two people who dislike change of any kind, and I am always moving their cheese.

This kitchen renovation project will be the biggest cheese we have ever moved. How will I keep it from stinking? For the next six weeks, while the refrigerator is in the dining room and there’s a hole where the sink once was and the boxes are piled six high with plates and silverware and cookbooks and dish towels and the coffee maker is in the dining room beside the microwave and toaster and a cutting board and we are using disposables, how will I block out the grunts of inconvenience, which are sure to lead to a perpetual dissatisfaction with every kitchen decision, including how much salt was added to the split pea soup?

And with that, I lug the last of the boxes—the one with the baking powder and rice flour—to the basement, the sting of daggers pricking my shoulders as I descend the stairs.

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fictionary-tales · 4 years

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Excerpts from House Huntress

Here’s a place where we could live together: an apartment in the city, up some concrete steps with a discolored wrought iron railing that’s more likely to impale someone than do any kind of saving and the palms of my hands have the scars to prove it. Yours do not. The building is brick-red, or rain-stained-concrete gray, and the door, though the ivory paint is peeling in places, has a brass knocker and an eye hole for testing whether it’s worth ever opening again once we’re inside. There are some tiny planter boxes you made with your brother – the oldest one who can do things like that, whose name I never remember – and maybe I said I’d grow vegetables but I forget all about that when I see flowers, so instead of half-dead tomatoes we’ve got half-dead snapdragons and African daisies that I am clumsily trying to save after weeks of mistreatment.

There’s a kitchen just big enough to turn around in, everything that came in it already off-white or fake wood overlay, and the countertops are scattered with unorganized half-used glass jars of rosemary, thyme, basil, paprika, and old husks of garlic cloves that were rubbed clean and then forgotten. The cupboards rattle with too many coffee mugs, thrift-store finds that will never match one another and they rattle and clink against each other when you’re trying to select a particular one. The cutlery matches in that it doesn’t, so many knives and forks taken home from assorted twenty-four-hour diners to make up for the ones I keep losing and the ones you accidentally throw away with the leftovers. The fridge has at least two different kinds of non-dairy milk in it at all times, and no meat. It buzzes and groans.

Over the half-wall of the kitchen counter we have cobbled together the furniture we retained from past lives. What was once second-hand is now third-fourth-fifth-hand; at least the stuff that I bring is. You bring the overstuffed powder blue couch I love and this is its first time being co-owned by anyone, or even this far away from the nearest dirt road. Nashville is a cool city the way Austin is a cool city: an oasis of metropolitan tolerance in a desert of fucking bigots. In time the couch will be stained with candle wax and wine and what’s left behind any time you push my skirt up to discover I’ve forgotten to do laundry and so I’ve run out of underwear again. There’s books of poetry by Dickinson and Lowell on a coffee table scratched from cups, bottles, keys, lighters. There’s two poorly done paintings on the wall above the couch, portraits of two girls: one yellow-haired and the other a brunette, dressed in some early twentieth-century pink or blue gowns complete with parasol and over-the-shoulder coquettishness. A palette of faded blues and yellows and greens, the girls have the hollow black eyes of distant dreams. We found them on vacation together and had to save them.

The bedroom is small and the bed is smaller, dressed in lilac and crisp white. There’s a certain throw pillow in the center of other throw pillows that holds a secret, a zipper in the folds of its hemming to keep it. The nightstand beside my side of the bed I found next to the dumpster at my old place and it’s filled with bracelets, multicolored rings, knotted nests of necklaces, and weed in unlabeled bottles. The nightstand on your side of the bed has been in your family for three generations and I don’t know what’s in it. The bathroom smells like your perfume, like a pre-scented sample on a perfume ad insert that comes in any women’s fashion magazine. When I turn the shower on, old love-messages written on the mirror with your finger re-appear like magic.

…

Here is a place we could stay together: an antebellum house in the countryside, maybe close to your family. Close enough that you can walk a dirt path through the dry grass that’s tall as your hips. It’s a path lined with day-glo orange and gold poppies, and purple nettle flowers that sting to touch. You visit your father, your brothers, whenever you want. The middle brother who you’re so worried over all the time despite his being older than you, Angus, he comes over regularly to sit in our cool parlor decorated with see-through white linen curtains where he drinks bourbon and talks about Edna St. Vincent Millay and W. H. Auden and grumblingly refuses to show you or anyone else any of his own recent poetry.

The house is smaller than the one you were raised in, and bigger than any house I’ve ever called home or even been inside for very long. It’s an adjustment for both of us. Outside there are columns that sit beneath the second-story balcony. When we bought the place it was all whitewashed, but since then most of it has been painted a muted pink and I’ve planted ivy and bougainvillea that creeps up the columns in deep greens and explodes across the sides of the house in shades of magenta that refuse to die, despite me not knowing what I’m doing. Errant cats wander the property with dusty brown paws that leave prints across the white planks of the front porch and on the seat of a swing. Light streams in through windows half as tall as I am and onto end tables and decorative shelving to reveal intricate doilies and gold-rimmed porcelain candy bowls, ancient copies of books thick enough to kill a man with if used properly, and glass vases filled with bouquets of wild flowers we both pick for each other on any given weekend.

The ceilings are so high that I can hear you singing to yourself in the kitchen from the other side of the house; your smoky lounge-singer voice that you typically only show off for family Christmas carols now bounces off of support beams to reach me wherever I am. Our guitar in the corner stays tuned and clean and in the evenings I play and you sing, or the other way around, or we take turns. In the kitchen, brass pots and pans hang from above, over a restored-vintage stove, along with hanging bundles of drying herbs: rosemary, sage, basil, lavender. Storage containers of descending size with painted-on sunflowers contain flour, sugar, and rice separated by variety. The freezer is stuffed with mason jars equally stuffed with jam: blackberry, marionberry, raspberry, orange marmalade, strawberry, blueberry, fig. There is one hook for multiple aprons, there is a multitude of decorative dish towels which are separate and different from the actual dish towels and this is true even when used interchangeably like I do on accident (to your chagrin). Coffee grounds and cat hair and the plastic ties from long-gone loaves of sliced bread fall between the gaps in the counter and the stove.

The stairs will never stop creaking. The second floor has endless guest rooms for friends and family to stay in, the kind of family who will never be introduced to your own, the kind that will wake up early and make breakfast for us to say thanks, and then they say it again with their lips and their eyes and their embrace on the way out the door. Our bed is big, queen-sized, with a white iron frame that twists and turns like it grew that way from nature, and the sheets have tiny blue flowers on them the color of your eyes. We cover rings in the wood on the nightstand with squares of pale green linen. Batteries roll around back and forth against silicone inside the drawers, and we’re careful not to be too loud for the neighbors’ sakes, but that is half the fun. On weekends and days when I can’t get out of bed, you close the curtains to the sun, crawl under the covers with me, and we spend all day trying to come up with a good reason to get up.

…

Here is a place where we could grow old together: somewhere forgotten by the sea, away from the dry heat of summer. A house that is wider than it is tall, with new paint and an old garden that we make new again. Everything I plant turns to green. There is sand stuck into the fibers of the welcome mat, and smooth stones that we have collected and arranged into spirals and borders for garden beds keep everything from touching that we do not want touching. The door has more glass than wood on the front, multi-colored and mosaic so when the sun shines through it makes patterns on the floor for our feet to dance in. There is a backyard with a fence so high no one can see into it, except for the sunflowers which stretch up and up and up and over.

Inside there are bare wooden floors that we cover here and there with rugs collected from our worldly travels, purchased from artisans with a smile and many thanks. The furniture we use is purchased in a similar fashion; it is made of sturdy pine and oak, built to last, and stain resistant, with covers and cushions the colors of the ocean outside. The bookshelves hold volumes of poetic verse written by Keats, the fragmented desires of Sappho, biographies on Frida Kahlo, and lamentations of Sylvia Plath. At night the sounds of the waves can be let in or shut out through the many windows, and when it rains the whole house sounds off with the plunking of drops on glass like the pickings of my guitar.

The bay window in the kitchen over the sink holds flowers waiting to be pressed or dried or just picked in haste and then forgotten: violets, little daisies, hydrangea, and lots and lots of lavender. The counter tops are wooden, like you could cut right on them, and there are knife marks to prove it here and there in collections. There’s a china-blue bowl of oranges with only two left. Bulbs of garlic hang in a basket by the sink. An errant smell of sage and sea salt sinks into all our food, and the flecks of soil on the tile near the backdoor can never fully be swept out for good. To drink we make lemonade of all kinds: blackberry, strawberry, raspberry, mint, or water infused with cucumber and lemon, or hot tea with names like Rasperry Zinger and Orange Spice, and Sleepytime for late nights. A glass jar of honey sits on the counter next to the stove and it is always oozing. There is a table for two tucked into the corner, with bare wooden chairs we picked up from antique sales. They don’t match, but it’s hard to tell.

In the bathroom the shower has walls of tall frosted glass and connects to a bath tub deep and wide, soap scum fitting into the corners of the walls and in the grout of the tile. The rim of the tub is littered with half-empty bottles: baby pink, sea-foam green, and pearly white. It is so good for washing the salt from your hair.

There is no guest bedroom. Our bed is four-poster, with lavish fabrics draped around the beams, all indigo and white and cornflower blue. There are so many pillows of similar colors that it takes a concentrated effort to remove them before bed each night and replace them again in the gray mornings that follow. And sometimes we don’t replace them, and sometimes we do. The drawers of the nightstand beside it are stocked and arranged in an arsenal of silicone sexuality that we never worry someone might stumble upon. We are as loud as we like.

In the winter when the wind howls, there’s a blackened fireplace that we bring back to life. It crackles and spits while we turn against one another under the covers. A hamper in one corner is overflowing at all times. There’s a dresser that is taller than it is wide, almost to the ceiling, filled with scarves and summer dresses and sweaters; and, in between the socks and stockings in one of the smaller drawers, a collection of love poetry I’d forgotten I’d written to you. Your vanity holds pearls and perfumes, necklaces on silver hooks like branches worked to resemble a dead tree, and the mirror is pristine and round the way all mirrors ought to be. Sometimes in the evenings before bed, you let me brush your hair in front of it even though you think it’s silly. You sit on that little white wooden bench in front, with me standing behind you so you watch me in the mirror working the brush through your beach-blown curls. You don’t ever have to tell me when I’m hurting you because I already know.

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