#octagonal coffee table

[treskoff]

Beach Style Living Room - Living Room Mid-sized beach style formal and enclosed dark wood floor and brown floor living room photo with blue walls, a corner fireplace and a plaster fireplace

[frenchtables]

The Timeless Elegance of French Parquetry Dining Tables

When it comes to home décor, the dining table often serves as the centrepiece of social gatherings, family dinners, and holiday celebrations. French parquetry dining tables are a timeless combination of elegance, workmanship, and beauty, and they are available in a wide variety of forms. Let's explore what makes these tables unique and why they can be the ideal accent piece for your house.

A Glimpse into History

Derived from the French word "parqueterie," French parquetry is a term used to describe a geometric mosaic of wood pieces used for decorative purposes. This elaborate art genre was made popular during Louis XIV's reign in the 17th century. The technique was first applied to flooring in palaces and large estates, and it quickly made its way into furniture design, producing pieces that were both visually pleasing and useful.

The Craftsmanship

A high degree of skill and attention to detail is required in the tedious process of creating a dining table with French parquetry. Artists choose various wood species with great care, frequently utilising walnut, oak, and cherry to produce designs with contrast. Following careful cutting, these woods are assembled like a puzzle to create elaborate geometric patterns like chevrons and herringbones.

The process involves several stages:

Selection of Wood: Choosing high-quality, contrasting woods to enhance the visual appeal.

Cutting and Shaping: Cutting the wood into precise, interlocking pieces.

Assembly: Meticulously fitting the pieces together to form a seamless design.

Finishing: Sanding, staining, and varnishing the table to protect the wood and enhance its natural beauty.

Unique Patterns and Designs

The range of patterns and motifs seen in French parquetry dining tables is one of their most alluring features. Because each table is handmade, it displays the artist's imagination as well as the organic beauty of the wood. 

Common patterns include:

Herringbone: A classic design where rectangular pieces are laid out in a zigzag pattern.

Chevron: Similar to herringbone but with the ends of the wood pieces cut at an angle to create a continuous zigzag pattern.

Versailles: Named after the famous palace, this pattern features squares and rectangles arranged in a complex, symmetrical design.

These patterns not only enhance the aesthetic appeal of the table but also add a sense of depth and texture to the dining space.

Integrating French Parquetry into Modern Homes

Despite their historical origins, French parquetry dining tables are incredibly versatile and can complement a wide range of interior styles, from traditional to contemporary. Here are a few tips on how to incorporate a parquetry table into your home:

Traditional Elegance: Pair your parquetry table with antique chairs and classic tableware to create a sophisticated, timeless dining room.

Modern Contrast: Use the intricate design of the parquetry table as a focal point in a minimalist room with sleek, modern furniture and neutral colours.

Rustic Charm: Combine the table with rustic elements like wrought iron chairs, natural textiles, and vintage accessories for a cozy, farmhouse feel.

Care and Maintenance

To ensure your French parquetry dining table remains a beautiful centrepiece for years to come, proper care and maintenance are essential. Here are some tips:

Avoid Direct Sunlight: Prolonged exposure to sunlight can fade the wood. Position your table away from direct sunlight or use curtains to filter the light.

Regular Cleaning: Dust the table regularly with a soft, dry cloth. For deeper cleaning, use a damp cloth followed by a dry one to prevent moisture damage.

Use Coasters and Mats: Protect the table from scratches and spills by using coasters, placemats, and tablecloths during meals.

Polish Periodically: Use a high-quality furniture polish to maintain the shine and protect the wood. Avoid silicone-based polishes, as they can damage the finish over time.

Conclusion

A dining table with French parquetry is a work of art that symbolises centuries of tradition, workmanship, and beauty. It is more than just a piece of furniture. A parquetry table offers a special fusion of beauty and usefulness, whether you want to upgrade a conventional dining room or add a touch of refinement to a modern area. Purchasing such a table not only enhances the look of your home but also makes it a magnificent focal point for special events and get-togethers.

[90days-90reasons]

Living Room Formal

Large trendy formal and enclosed carpeted living room photo with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and no tv

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x afab!reader. you're holed up at home with a broken leg and blitzø has surprised you by coming by to keep you company. you feel depressed and completely bored stuck in the apartment, so he decides to take your mind off it. for totally noble, selfless reasons, of course. featuring: oral sex (female receiving), masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, and horse drawings of questionable skill. 2.3k. anon request. I hope you're feeling better!

Fucking gravity.

You were a complete badass, both in Hell and on Earth – you’d spent a good long while now building up that particular reputation through your work with I.M.P, and no one was ever going to argue with that. At least, no one smart.

So, if someone could explain to you just how in the ever-loving fuck you’d managed to trip down a flight of stairs and break your goddamned fibula, that would be great. Because right now, you feel like an idiot. A hobbled, immobile idiot.

The cast wrapped snugly around your leg is bulky and irritates your skin, and Blitzø glances up from his place on the floor when you groan, an eyebrow raised. You’re sitting on your couch while a movie you’re only half paying attention to plays in front of you, your injured foot propped up on the coffee table, a pillow tucked under your heel. The other imp is sitting cross-legged between the couch and coffee table in front of you, a marker in hand. He has been happily doodling away at your cast for a while now, his forked tongue poking out as he concentrates on his latest addition to the plaster.

His tongue slips back between his lips as he registers the discomfort in your expression. “You good?”

You sigh. “My leg itches.”

“Which one?”

You give him a pointed look. “Take a wild guess.”

He snorts a laugh, abandoning whatever he’s scribbling – probably his latest (and as always, greatest) horse design – and tosses the marker on the table beside him. The plaster is already covered with his drawings; scribbles of horses all labelled with names like Bumblebee and Octagon, his name in bubble letters and badly designed graffiti, Loona giving everybody the finger. There was even one that looked like the two of you side by side, the lines jerky over the uneven expanse of the cast.

“Where?”

You lean forward long enough to tap your finger over a drawing of a horse that was christened ‘Crayon’, a couple of inches below the top of the cast. You exhale softly in relief as he slips the spade of his tail down into your cast and rubs it over your itch, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch.

“Oh, that’s godly…”

“’Bout fuckin’ time someone else said that about me.”

You chuckle, smirking at the ceiling. “Idiot.”

“Oh, c’mon.” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “You weren’t exactly fuckin’ shy about callin’ me a ‘god’ the other night…”

“Is that what I was doing?” you reply, even as you feel your cheeks warm. “Maybe I was praying for you to stop.”

“Yeah? And the shakin’ thighs and beggin’ for more?”

“…I’m an incredible actress.”

Blitzø scoffs and leans his arm on the sofa beside you, resting his temple against his hand. He gives you an appraising look as he withdraws his tail, letting the tip of it skim over your knee and over the top of your thigh as he does. You raise a brow at his expression.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, a devious grin curling his lips. “’s jus’ kinda fun seein’ you all helpless like this.”

“You think so?” you say, faux-brightly before letting the fake smile drop and flipping him off. He snickers. You were actually grateful, if not still surprised, that he was here. He turned up a few hours ago and let himself into the apartment – despite him not actually having a key – apparently fine with skipping work in order to keep you company and alleviate some of the boredom. He’d brought shakes and greasy diner food with him, and had been doodling away on your cast for the last hour, as content and as boyish as you’d ever seen him. It was endearing, really, if not still completely weird.

“Just give me my meds, would you?”

“What, you can’t reach ‘em?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you scowl at him. Blitzø grins, but straightens so he can collect your painkillers and your milkshake from the table. You swallow the pills down with the last dregs of the shake, sucking down the mix of chalky pills and chocolate foam noisily.

Blitzø takes the cup from you and sets back on the table, and you wince as he leans his elbows on your leg, his chin resting in his hands mockingly.

“Do you mind?”

“Not really.” he shrugs, his tail switching back and forth behind him in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Asshole.”

“You love it.” You roll your eyes despite your smile, and his widens. He removes one hand from under his chin, tip-toeing two of his fingers teasingly up along your cast and past it, from your ankle to the bare skin of your knee and higher as he speaks. “Y’know what I really love about you bein’ all busted up like this?”

“Vivid imagery?”

Blitzø gives you a sharp, wicked grin, ducking under your leg to plant himself between your thighs. He takes hold of your knees, pressing them wider, leaning in closer to you tauntingly. “You can’t go anywhere.”

A shiver rolls up your spine at the sudden huskiness to his voice, and you flush. Still, you try to push yourself further back onto the couch, away from him. “Blitz, I’m all sweaty and—”

“Not yet, baby, but you’re about to be,” he shoots back without hesitation, his claws squeezing the flesh of your thighs. “C’mon, bitch. You know I can make you feel so good…”

Your breath catches, a soft whimper slipping out of you before you can stop it. His smirk twitches wider, his tail switching back and forth predatorily behind him. He’s watching you with heavily-lidded eyes, and his expression burns into you, excites you in a way that makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to quench it. But his claws are too tight on your legs, and you can’t do it. He feels your muscles tense though, and he growls, low and hungry under his breath.

Blitzø slides his hands further up your thighs slowly, delighting in the way your breathing grows unsteady in response. The sleep shorts you’re wearing are threadbare cotton, and it takes so little once he hooks a claw into the leg of one for the threads start to tear.

“Say you want it, slut,” he urges roughly, eyes still burning into yours. “Say you want me.”

You bite your lip and nod, and that’s all Blitzø needs before he’s leaning up to catch your lips with his in a rough, hungry kiss. His tongue meets yours, his breath hot and sharp as it mingles with yours, and you sigh into the kiss, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. You can feel his smirk still playing on his features, feel his hands take hold of the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There’s the sharp sound of fabric tearing and then his hand is cupping your cunt.

You whimper into his mouth as he slides a finger up between your labia and finds you clit. He kisses you again, his fangs catching your bottom lip before he pulls back. Blitzø waggles his eyebrows at you cockily before he lowers himself back onto his knees between your thighs.

“Look at you, all wet already,” he growls before his mouth is on your clit and you moan, bucking up as best you can without moving your injured leg. Blitzø hums a laugh into your cunt, the vibrations a heady teasing against your clit, and he wraps an arm around your thigh. He hooks your injured leg up over his shoulder, and you grab blindly at the back of the couch with one hand as he smooths his claws up the outside of your thigh. He tugs you further towards the edge of the couch, opening you up further to his tongue. “Fuck, always taste so fuckin’ good…”

He doesn’t know subtlety, and he doesn’t work you up slowly to the sensation of his tongue against your clit. No, Blitzø practically attacks your cunt with his mouth, a groan rolling through him and into your pussy in a way that makes your eyes roll back. When he slips finger up into you, you moan aloud, wrapping a hand around his horn and bracing the other on the couch so you can grind against his tongue.

“Shit, Blitz, fuck…” you can feel yourself already soaking, dripping onto the cushion beneath you whenever he pulls away to tease you with biting kisses to your thighs and hips. He sucks a possessive mark into your hipbone, lathing his tongue over the same spot just as he pushes another finger up into you. “Holy fuck!”

He snickers, flicking his forked tongue tauntingly over your clit again, eyes on your face. “Careful, whore, you’re gettin’ close to callin’ me a ‘god’ again.”

“I’m…” you pant, brow creasing as you screw your eyes shut as though it can help you focus on your words instead of the way he curves his fingers inside you. “…rehearsing. Big role coming up.”

You jerk as he sinks his teeth into your thigh. “Only thing fuckin’ cummin’ here is you.”

“Satan, that’s lame, Blit—” you break off with a loud, keening moan as Blitzø sucks your clit into his mouth and tortures it with his tongue, your eyes rolling back and your hand tightening so much on the couch cushion beneath you that you hear the threads pop. The heat inside you expands, tingling through your limbs and making your back arch, and Blitzø reaches up to grope at your chest, palming your breast through your t-shirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, fuuuuuck…”

That heat clenches inside you and releases and you cum, hips lifting off the couch, your cast balanced against his back. Blitzø moans into your cunt as you soak his face, lapping at your clit relentlessly. He slows only enough to let you catch your breath, keeping you burning on that breathless precipice, too stimulated to come back down, but not enough to keep the orgasm rolling through you.

He releases your breast and you hear his zipper lower. Blitzø groans against you as he wraps a fist around the base of his cock, stroking himself with the same pace he finger-fucks you with. He’s muttering the filthiest sweet nothings into your pussy, each touch of his tongue against your clit sending sparks through you that make your body jerk.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. “Blitz… please…”

“Fuck, that’s it, bitch,” he moans, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy to roll over your clit, his fist quickening around his erection. “Fuckin’ beg me for it, c’mon…”

“Please, baby…” you whine obediently, too far gone to care about how he’ll lord it over you as soon as you’re done. He pushes his tongue into your quivering cunt, eager, hungry for every part of you he can taste. You’re boneless against the couch except for the disjointed jerks of your hips into his face, your body chasing another release even as it finds it too overwhelming to continue. “Please, Blitz… fucking, God, please…”

He presses his fingers down on your clit just as he quickens them further and you cum again, eyes rolling back and your vision going white. Blitzø groans loudly, leaning back on his heels to watch your cunt throb and pulse, his fingers still moving over it ruthlessly. His eyes flicker up from your pussy to your face and he cums too, shouting a string of curses you don’t really understand through the endorphin-fueled haze leaking through your brain.

“Shiiiit…” he lets his head fall against your thigh, and you giggle breathlessly, punch-drunk. His shoulders shudder as he catches his breath, then his head snaps back up as though he were completely unaffected.

He rests his chin on your thigh, raising an eyebrow at you with a small smirk. “Feel better?”

You run a hand through your hair, and Blitzø watches the movement lift your breasts under your shirt. “About being stuck on the couch, or do you think your tongue somehow heals broken bones?”

“Bitch, my tongue is a fuckin’ miracle and you know it,” he shoots back, grinning against your leg as you laugh.

“I do feel more relaxed…” you admit.

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

“…But now the couch is all wet.”

His grin widens lasciviously. “Fuck yeah, it is.”

“Blitz.”

He rolls his eyes, unhooking your injured leg from his shoulder and setting your foot back on the coffee table with surprising care. He stands, making a show of tucking himself back into his jeans, winking at you when he doesn’t do them back up. “Alright, alright. Unclench that ass, sugartits, I’m on it.”

You raise a brow. “You are?”

“Yup.” he says, clapping his hands together before grabbing your crutches from where they’re propped against the coffee table. “You’re gonna take a bath, I’m gonna scrub your cum outta the couch—’

“Ew, Blitz!”

“—and then,” he continues pointedly. “You’re gonna go get all comfy in bed.”

You feel a smile twitch at the edge of your lips, surprised by your thoughtfulness. “Really?”

“Yup.” he says, popping the ‘p’. “And then we’re gonna see just how well you suck dick lyin’ down.”

You snort a laugh, shaking your head. “There it is!”

He grins widely, holding a hand out to help you up off the couch. “Fuckin’ right. Now get your ass up before I decide to make your crippled ass run this fuckin’ bath bullshit by yourself.”

[scifits3ccblog]

TS3 Honeycomb Finds

I saw a WCIF at MTS and put together this list of CC I know about. I tried to think of anything hexagon AND octagon-shaped (sue me, pickings are slim).

Windows

Store Hexagon Window (x)

Store Octagonal Wilderness Window (x)

Store Window to Prosperity (x)

Wall Art / Lighting

Store Simon's Signs (x)

UNI EP Wall Decor as Basegame Wall Light

Marta Euphoria Spa Mirrors

Valentine Honeycomb Mirrors at TSR

RPB dreams Mirror at TSR

SIMc Jacques Mirror at TSR

Steffor Jonas Mirror (Direct DL)

Store Imperial Dragon Lute (x)

Surfaces/Storage

TS3 Store Honeycomb Bookshelf (x)

Hexagonal Wall Shelf at TSR

Vitrine Spirit Shelf by Kyrah (SFS Reupload)

Twinsimming Bowl-a-Rama Shelf

ATS3 Morocco Coffee Table

TW3 Ornate Table by me

Clio Alessia Table (SFS Reupload)

TS2 to TS3 Moonsims Morocco Coffee Table by me

Marta TS4 to TS3 Courtyard Oasis Table

Pilar Octagono Set (SFS Reupload)

Steffor Glass Hexagon Table (SFS Reupload)

Marta Mechtasims Living Diamond Table

SnakeLegs Sanpo Stand by me

Random Decor

Steffor Wall Towel (Wayback Machine)

You-lust Hexagonal Terrarium (SFS reupload)

Marta TS4 to TS4 Courtyard Oasis Plant

Other CC

The Hive lot at MTS

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I just don’t understand how Meghan has such bad taste in clothing, accessories, home decor etc. it’s so bland and meh and not anything to aspire to

Because it’s performance and devoid of personality. She’s dressing like this and decorating like this because it’s what you do in lifestyles of the rich and famous.

She had much better taste and style when she lived in Toronto, because she had embraced that she was a basic girl and lived it fully. If she went back to that version of herself, even if that too was an act, she’d probably be better received. At least her photos would be better lit.

It’s also a copykate, in a way. Kate decorated KP using a lot of neutrals in the public spaces but the private spaces are much more colorful. From this June 2017 story, which came as part of the PR wave when the Cambridges were moving back to London full-time:

At Kensington Palace, [Ben Pentreath] helped Kate settle on a neutral palette for her drawing room, combining gold framed artwork and ornate antiques with cream lamps, fluffy cushions and floor-length curtains. Candles, flowers, plants and plenty of picture frames are dotted around the room to provide that homely feel. The centre focus are the two sofas and chairs in neutral tones that sit around a cushioned octagonal coffee table. Gilt detailing and tapestry rugs are also prominent. The effect Ben has created is one of complete style and elegance, which is also mirrored in Kate's country mansion in Norfolk. While parts of the house, including Prince George's nursery and the drawing room, are traditional and classic, other areas reflect Ben's bold approach. For instance, Kate had the dining room painted jewel green.

Since Meghan is all “whatever Kate can do I can do better” and adopted a very similar aesthetic to her home that does feel like a SHEIN KP 1A, I do wonder if maybe Meghan only ever was in the public spaces at KP - ie, the spaces intentionally decorated with an eye for public audiences and cameras - and never saw any of the more colorful personal style or design, and that’s why Meghan’s aesthetic feels so hollow - because it’s missing personality.

[atevanfool]

Expanding Chapter 9 - Apology

| Rating: T | Words: 4,038 | CW: One or two uses of homophobic language | On Ao3 |

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |

Branson

The weeks of his suspension fly by. Though still a little surprised, Branson is coming to accept that Evan and Tommy don’t want to treat him like a prisoner. Although he’s banned from going out with friends - not that he exactly has any now since, at the very least, Easton and Heidi have taken Smith’s side - they continue allowing him to volunteer at the shelter. His required service hours are fulfilled, as Sergeant Grant reminds him each time they speak on the phone, but Branson insists on staying on as a volunteer, unable to let his animals go.

During the day, he does his school work wherever either man is working out of, or occasionally he hides away in his room. Things have changed in there a lot since his first months here. About two weeks ago, he found the bravery necessary to ask if he could paint the walls and they nearly cried with happiness, avidly agreeing.

Over the next week they made so many trips to the hardware store he was afraid he was losing his mind, but eventually they got it done. The wall behind his bed is now painted a solid dark green. Tommy said he should try making it a bit more lively, maybe, so he’d gone online and found some massive gold colored decals in the shape of palm fronds that the three of them strategically placed over the wall. Branson was weary at first, thinking it might be too much, but he’s in love with it now. A little smile appears on his lips any time he walks into the room. The other walls they painted a slightly less ostentatious golden yellow hue.

Of course they insisted on new bedding as well, and a new floor rug. Nothing matched anymore and despite not being fashionistas, their words not his, their family will have a fit if they don’t at least try. So, he picks out a comforter set that matches the wall and some lighter yellow pillowcases. Evan picked out two pistachio green throw pillows just so he’d added something. Branson adores it. Together they’d chosen an octagonal rug that’s various shades of green in different squareish shapes, none of them the same dimensions.

Then there’s the shelves. Tommy helped him add shelves around the entire perimeter of his walls, at least three tall, without explaining why. He’s placed about eight or so small hanging wall boxes at the head of his bed unevenly, but with intention. Within a few days, Branson was walking into his room to find various toy cars placed with care. Most of the shadowboxes were filled, and Branson zoomed in on one identical to the one his grandparents had first given him immediately. The first time he cried; bawled like a baby, making so much noise that Evan had come running and burst into tears himself. Branson wrapped himself like a koala around his foster dad and just let out all the pain he’d been holding in while the older man rocked him like a child.

Branson is a child, he spends a lot of time reminding himself of that, and he deserves to be treated like one. He deserves to be hugged and loved when things get too much.

Three weeks into the suspension, he’s sitting on one of the couches in the sitting room, one foot propped up on the coffee table, much to Evan’s chagrin, reading a book. Branson’s found that he actually enjoys reading when given the chance to choose the subject. He’s drawn to mostly nonfiction stories about people overcoming adversities to do great things. His most recent favorite is 127 Hours. Something about the man’s struggle just… Strikes a chord within him, urging him to not stray from the path he’s now on. As he turns the page, theirs a nearly imperceptible knock at the front door. Frowning, Branson notes the page that he’s on and struggles to his feet, body a little numb from sitting for too long. Shuffling to the entryway, he pulls open the door and blinks.

Standing outside, one arm rubbing the opposite bicep as she staunchly avoids eye contact, is a familiar face. “Nikki.” Branson’s voice catches. He hasn’t missed any of the others, not in the slightest, but he’s missed Nikki. He knows she wasn’t siding with Smith. There was never a chance she would, but she’s been avoiding him since that day. His heart swells seeing her; her usual cloud of red hair is longer than usual, hanging below her chin and is neatly straightened. Her green eyes seem brighter, lacking the tinge of red Branson is used to because of all the weed she smoked. She’s still too thin, but Nikki’s skin looks clear, and has more life to it. Although she’s still wearing the small chain across the bridge of her nose, she looks like she’s reinvented herself, and Branson feels a sense of pride for her. “Wow. You… you look amazing.” Her cheeks pinken and a tiny smile forms.

“T-thanks um… I-I’m really s-sorry to bother you, I know y-you’re probably pissed at me but…” She takes a deep breath, finally bringing her gaze up to his. “I’d really like to talk. If that’s okay.”

His mouth hangs open, unsure how to answer. Within seconds she’s stepping back, clearly uncomfortable and wanting to run like a mouse caught a hungry snake's gaze. Realizing, he shakes himself out of the surprise and answers, “Yeah, no, of course. C’mon in. Evan is home but I don’t think he’ll mind.” I hope. He’s not supposed to be hanging out with friends but he’ll understand this one instance.

She looks around her, seemingly nervous. Since Branson’s lived here, he’s never had a friend inside. Partly because the people he surrounded himself with were unabashed homophobic pricks, himself included, and partly because it’s the type of home you can’t do anything in. It’s too clean. Too prim. Too proper. “Seriously, c’mon in.” He steps away from the door to give her space. Eventually she puts one foot in front of the other and enters. Closing the door behind her he says, “Take your shoes off. They don’t like ‘em in the house.” He wiggles his socked toes to show he isn’t lying. It brings that tiny smile back and it makes him grin, too.

Slipping off her baby pink flats, Branson guides Nikki back into the sitting room. She keeps looking around in wonder, eyes lingering on the bike hanging on the wall as well as Evan and Tommy’s wedding photos. His first few weeks here, those pictures had discomforted him, made his stomach uneasy because two men showing open affection wasn’t something that they could - should - do. Now they make him feel all fluttery and exuberant on the inside. “Cute, right?” He asks, trying for nonchalant but sounding nervous anyway. He’s always had a feeling that Nikki never meant most of what she said around Easton, Heidi, and Smith. The soft look she turns on him basically confirms it.

“Yeah. They seem… sweet. Can you really call two beefy beefcake firemen sweet?” Branson snorts. Gently taking her arm, which she’s finally quit rubbing at, he guides her to the plush armchair across from the loveseat and urges her to sit.

“I don’t think there are any rules against it, I guess? Don’t let their pictures fool you. They’re nice enough, but they’re firecrackers at heart. Especially Tommy.” She’s studying his face now, and he shuffles uneasily. What’s she looking for exactly? “Um.” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Can I get you something to drink? We have water, some different kinds of soda, and apple juice I think? Though maybe that’s for Jee and Daniel… A glass probably wouldn’t hurt.”

“Water would be great.” He says nothing more, simply turns to the kitchen and scurries off. Once he has a glass of water for her and a can of Coke for himself - a luxury he’s still having trouble getting used to - he sits back down on the loveseat across from her and waits. His knee bounces with anxiety over what this can possibly be about. She’s still studying him, head cocking slightly to the side. When she finally speaks, she sounds mystified. “You’ve changed.” That was it.

Popping the tab on his soda, he takes a swig so large he almost gags himself, coughing as the bubbles travel down the wrong pipe. After a moment, he manages to wheeze, “Yeah. And it’s-” Cough, “-for the better.” Nikki doesn’t even attempt to disagree. She nods and takes the tiniest sip of water.

Setting the glass down on the coaster Branson slid in front of her, she sighs and leans back. All her anxiety seems to have leeched from her body, though the set of her shoulders is still tense as though she’s expecting a blow. Branson can’t even begin to fathom hitting someone, let alone her. “Branson. I’m so sorry. For everything.” His eyebrows shoot to his hairline, mouth dropping open once again. “If you keep letting your mouth flap like that you’re gonna catch flies. At least, that’s what nanna always tells me.” He snaps it shut. “You haven’t deserved anything that’s happened to you.”

Cutting her off he says, “I made all those choices myself. It’s not your fault.”

She shakes her head, lips turning down into a frown. “Maybe. But I know that you did a lot of stuff because you felt pressured to do it. Don’t try to deny it.” He’s opened his mouth to speak again but she cuts him off before he gets a word in. Slumping further into the seat, she rests her head back and stares up at the ceiling. “I was the one who introduced you and Smith. I was already a lost cause by then, and I think I just wanted to drag one more person down with me.”

“Don’t say shit like that. You’re not a lost cause, Nikki. Maybe you’re not the smartest kid in the class, but you’ve got so much else to offer.” Branson defends her like it’s his own character being questioned. “Without you, who knows where I would be right now?” He pauses and then snickers, a note of bitterness attached. “I mean, I guess I’d be friendless and alone which isn’t much different than I am right now. I just wouldn’t have as many colorful stories to tell.”

God, she’s still frowning. “Don’t joke about it, Brans.” Her eyes lower, though she keeps her head lulled back “You got arrested because your ‘best friend’-” she makes air quotes, “talked you into going to a party none of us had any business being at. Then you got so high that you got coerced into drinking which we all know you’re strictly against.” She closes her pretty green eyes and nibbles at her bottom lip.

Just then, there’s footsteps and Branson looks up to see Evan coming down the hall in a cardigan nearly the same color as Nikki’s shoes. It’s his day off and he’s been holed up in his and Tommy’s room playing video games almost since he got up. When Evan reaches the sitting room he pauses, frowns, and lets his eyes flicker between the two teens. Eventually he cocks one eyebrow and crosses his arm, assuming his dad stance. It suits him, even if he is about to scold his wayward son. “Who’s this, Branson? You know you’re not supposed to have any guests over right now.”

Before he can answer, Nikki hops to her feet and walks right up to Evan and holds her hand out. “Hi, Mr. Buckley-Kinard. I’m Nikki Portman. Sorry for stopping over unannounced. I didn’t realize that he wasn’t allowed friends over at the moment. I just… I really needed to apologize to him.” Her eyes glass over with real tears and she sniffles, hand still hanging. As soon as his foster dad sees those tears he cracks.

In the gentlest voice Branson’s ever heard from him he soothes, “Hey, Nikki. Call me Buck.” He takes her hand and pumps it twice before letting go. She wraps her arms around herself in a hug and sniffles. “I’m not gonna tell you that it’s okay, since Branson knows his punishment for the suspension, but I think I can make an exception this one time. Once he’s back in school he’ll be more free to have friends over, so… Just keep this visit short, alright?” He reaches out and ruffles her hair just a bit until she can’t help but swat his hand away. Turning to him, voice a bit harder, “Ten minutes, Branson.”

“Yes sir.” He nods. They’ve been unbelievably lenient with him, more so than he probably deserves, so he’ll do anything to stay in their good graces. Evan nods and then steps around Nikki, shooting Branson another look he can’t quite decipher. It looks knowing, and he guesses he can maybe understand why but he’s never even hinted at… that… before so… Yeah. Color him confused.

Once Evan is out of sight, Nikki comes back to the chair, still lightly sniffling, no crocodile tears here. “He’s just so… Nice.” She mumbles, trying to flatten her straightened hair back into place. Once seated, she pulls her legs up and crosses them on the seat, resting her elbows on her knees. “Which, I’m sorry about all the shit I said about them. Every time I said something against queer people I wanted to hurt myself. I don’t have anything against any of them, you know that right?” Branson’s brows furrow just a little because honestly, no. He had no idea. The way she had joined in he assumed that she felt just as strongly about it as the others. Nikki sighs. “I have a few cousins that are gay, or some flavor of the rainbow more precisely, and my mom came out as a lesbian a few years ago. You’ve never met my parents, so it’s not like you could’ve known. To be fair, she’s a conservative lesbian so like… A walking contradiction, but a member of the alphabet mafia nonetheless.”

“How could you say stuff like what we were saying?” Branson asks, not judging but curious. “Like, I grew up in a place where being a fa-... Where being gay was a familial death sentence. It makes more sense for me to hate the gays.”

She shrugs her petite soldiers. “I mean, why do you think you never met my parents? We’re not exactly on besties terms. I’ve spent the last five years doing everything I can to piss her off because she’d rather be off fucking random women and getting drunk than parenting.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Which is why I’m so fucking glad to see you in a house where they actually care about you. And the fact that they’re not trying to control you like you’re a doll for them to mold into whatever they want? It’s wild, Branson. You’ve been here like… Four months… and everything about you is just… Brighter. You look like you want to live now, like you want to look forward to the future. And I hate that we tried to get that taken from you. Which is why I’m here to apologize.”

It’s Branson’s turn to shrug, face turning very slightly red. “Again, Nikki. I made the choice to do most of those things of my own free will. You guys were kind of just the catalyst. I think.” Emotions swell in his chest and heat suddenly pricks the corner of his eyes. “I didn’t think that they were for real, Nikki. You think you were a lost cause? All I wanted was to age out of the system and hopefully end up in prison just so I didn’t end up on the streets. When they applied to foster me, I thought they were going to want things from me, things I’d never give because being a faggot was wrong. When that didn’t happen, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I kept waiting for them to lose their shit on me and either send me back to the group home like everyone else or beat me until I was lifeless. Nikki, I don’t know what I did to deserve them. I’ve been so horrible to them since I got here.” A tear trickles down his cheek, and then another, and then he’s crying. A second later, familiar arms wrap around him and Nikki is pulling him into her chest, resting her chin on his head. She doesn’t speak, just lets him get it all out until he’s no more than sniffling.

When she pulls away, she uses her thumbs to wipe away the tear tracks before grabbing him by the chin and pulling him forward to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. There’s no intentions behind it, she’s not asking for anything more, and warmth spreads from the spot, filling Branson until he feels like crying again.  “Anyway, I think our ten minutes is up so I better get going before your dad gets mad.” As she turns towards the door she pleads, “Text me, okay? I don’t want us to lose touch. You mean too much to me.” He nods as he watches her go, listening to the front door open and then latch closed. That was emotionally taxing and he hates it.

Flopping back into the couch, he puts his arms over his eyes, inhales deeply, and then lets it out, letting his mind wander because there’s no way he’s focusing on anything important any time soon.

x-x-x

Evan

Hours later, Evan stands at the kitchen sink washing the pots and pans from dinner. As he’s scrubbing a particularly caked on piece of food, footsteps approach from behind. Turning, he notes Branson standing in the archway, grabbing his arm much like his friend had been doing earlier. “Hey, Branson. What’s up?” Evan asks, continuing to lazily scrub.

“Um… I was wondering if we could… If we could maybe talk.” He sounds nervous.

“Sure, kid. Of course.” Frowning, Evan sets the lid back into the side of the sink filled with soapy water and turns his full attention on the teen. “Don’t stand in the door. Come sit down.” Leaning into the counter, he takes on a relaxed posture, crossing his feet at the ankles and crossing his arms over his chest. He licks at his bottom lip before beginning to nibble at it. “What’s up?”

Branson shuffles to the kitchen table and sits, picking up one of the fidgets. He’s quiet for so long Evan thinks he’s changed his mind. Finally he mutters, “It’s about um… It’s about Nikki.”

“Oh.” That’s not exactly what he’s expecting. Please don’t let it be about the talk. I’m not ready for that. But he needs to open the door to it if it’s necessary. “Are you two dating? I know she’s been over a few times before. If you guys are doing stuff, you need to be safe about it. Use condoms. Every time.”

Branson’s face flames red. “No!” He denies vehemently. “We’re… We’re not dating or… or hooking up. I um… I don’t want to hook up with her.”

Evan’s eyebrows raise. “O-okay.” He holds out the word. “So you’re just friends? Is there a different sort of talk we should be having?” He lets the implication stand without elaborating. With Branson’s history, it’s unlikely he’ll be able to admit it openly if he is queer.

Branson’s brow scrunches. “No. I’m not gay if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t want to fuck dudes.” He takes a really, really long, deep breath before saying in a rush, “I think I’m broken because I don’t want fuck anyone. Ever. I just want us to be friends. Close friends.”

Okay well, this is a shock. “So you think you might be asexual?” Branson cocks his head to the side and stares blankly at Evan. “Or maybe not. Do you know what asexuality is?”

Shaking his head he says, “Isn’t that like… How worms reproduce?”

Evan snorts. “Yes, there are certain entities that produce asexually. But do you know what it means to be asexual in terms of someone’s sexuality?” Branson shakes his head again, fluffy black hair bouncing. His brown eyes are studying Evan hard, as though waiting for him to declare that he is, in fact, broken. Well, too bad, so sad for him. “You’re not broken, Branson. Asexuality is when you don’t feel a drive to engage sexually with other people. And it’s a spectrum. Are you grossed out by the thought of having sex with someone?” Another head shake. “Well then, you’re probably either sex neutral or even sex positive if you’re on the far side of the spectrum. But you could also be demisexual, which is another can of worms I’m not gonna deep dive into.”

The fidget spinner is getting a workout between Branson's slim fingers. “But wanting to have sex is like… a base instinct for people. It’s how we reproduce.”

Rolling his eyes, Evan snorts, “Honestly we could stand to have more asexual people in the world. And just because you don’t want to have sex doesn’t mean you can’t or won’t. Maybe you’ll meet a partner that loves sex, and it’s something you’ll do for them because they enjoy it or you’ll find out you love doing it, too, you just need someone to get the engine revving.” Evan hopes his face isn’t turning the color of his birthmark because this conversation seems even worse than the birds and the bees.

“I don’t think I can feel love either.” He blurts.

“So you think you’re aromantic. Still doesn’t make you broken. Branson, there’s nothing wrong with you. And there’s no timeline for when you need to do or experience things. Maybe you don’t have the drive now but you’ll find it later in life. Or maybe you’ll one day find yourself head over heels for someone you least expected.”

“Like you fell for Tommy?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I didn’t wake up one morning thinking that I’d kiss a boy for the first time at thirty-three years old, and then never kiss another girl the rest of my life. It was a happy happenstance, but it happened organically and unexpectedly. Don’t close the door on yourself because you haven’t found someone who checks the boxes you do have. Maybe you’ll never be romantically or sexually involved with someone, but you’ll find a fulfilling relationship regardless.”

“So…” He sucks in a sharp breath, sounding small as he says, “I’m not broken?”

“Of course not, kid. Has Nikki been pressuring you to be more?” Evan can’t help the way his voice hardens a bit, papa bear instincts rearing their head.

“No, of course not. It just feels like… I should like her, ya know? She’s my best friend, and we’re always touching each other, or doing couple things without being a couple. If she is into me that way, I don’t want to lead her on.”

Shrugging Evan states, “Then maybe it’s time to have that conversation. Not for at least another week since you’re still incredibly grounded, but once you can see her face to face. She seems like a nice kid and since Smith is no longer in the picture,” Branson winces, “you need a friend.” Branson nods. “Alright. I need to finish up dishes, okay? If you have any more questions just ask me, okay? I don’t really know all that much about asexuality but I’m willing to learn.” With that being said, Evan untangles himself and turns back to the sink, picking up the lid that’s been soaking a few minutes now. As he uses one of the green scouring pads, the stubborn piece of food flakes off easy peasy.

Thinking that Branson’s already left the room, he almost drops the glass lid when he hears Branson tell him, “Thanks… dad.” Silence follows and Evan is struck motionless, heart growing three times just like the Grinch. Tears fill his eyes and he barely even notices the lid slipping from his fingers, sending soapy water across his stomach and the tile floor.

Branson called him dad.

[mydearlybeloathed]

Can we get a pert 3 of hindsight/foresight? They were just too perfect to not ask

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: finals approach at new rome university, but the restful break turns out to be the opposite after a little... realization.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: leo valdez x erischild!fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

𝐚/𝐧: ask and ye shall recieve! someday im def going to go back and edit the first two parts, maybe add onto the first one, but for right now here's what comes after foresight!

The baristas at the local coffeeshop had grown used your presence, and took to ignoring your frantic study sessions spent in the corner of the little shop. You hadn’t had to stand to order more coffee in weeks—they felt your stare and happily brought you more, leaving you to your notes.

You were so grateful for their encouragement as finals closed in, although Reyna couldn’t say the same.

She closed in like a hawk on a studious little mouse, disapproval written all over her face as she came up to your table and pushed your mug away from your reaching hand. You straightened up and shot her a glare, already knowing exactly who dared to disturb you. 

“Reyna,” you grunted, as if you were facing some long-term enemy. She rolled her eyes and sat down acrosf from you.

“Y/N.” She parted the sea of notes to better face you. “You know I respect you.”

“Ah, yes, here’s the but.”

Reyna emphasized, “But you’re worrying several of your friends—me included.”

You attempted to avert your eyes by fiddling with your pencil. “I need to keep studying.”

“Then change your scenery. Drink some water. Or, dare I say it, take a break.” In all her coolness, Reyna was pleading with you now, genuinely concerned with how exhausted you were.

“You know I can’t,” you murmured as you met her gaze head on. “I need to pass, or this was all for nothing.”

If you couldn’t pass finals, then all the grit and bearing would be for nothing. All your doubts would be right. You couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much sleep it cost. New Rome University was your last chance at making something of yourself, and by the gods you would not let it slip through.

“Thank you for your concern,” you said sincerely. “But I’ll be fine. Just need to get through next week.”

She pressed her tongue to her cheek whilst you proceeded to ignore her and go back to studying. Reyna was never one to give up so easily, especially not with your health on the line. Luckily, she had one more card up her sleeve.

“Leo said the same thing, you know.” Your eyes darted up from your notes, and Reyna knew she had you in her trap. “Honestly, he looked worse off than you. I didn’t know somebody could have eyebags as bad as his. Of course, he was chugging energy drinks, not coffee.”

Your hands stilled at your sides, thoughtful now. A few more moments passed like that, with Reyna fighting off a smirk and you rolling the image of a suffering Leo around your mind. “Where is he?”

“Somewhere in his dorm,” she replied, standing. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to a distraction. Not if its you.”

Somewhere between realizing her trick and wodnering just what she meant by that, you started packing up your things, much to the baristas’ shock. Reyna shock them a smirk as she slipped outside.

Minutes later you were trudging through New Rome, eyes on the ground as you took the practices route to the University, right up to the familiar boys dormitory built up on the far side of campus. You shoved open the doors and came face to face with a few students hanging around the lobby. Venus kids, if you remembered right.

“You seen Leo?” you asked, noting how your tone was deeper than usual. Maybe you did need sleep.

One of the girls among them hummed. “I think I saw him out on the patio.”

Thanking them quickly, you beelined back out the door, rounding the building and laying eyes on the marble octagon situated in the distance, surrounded by cool green grass. And on the picnic table at its center was a boy hunched over a series of books, just as you had been in the coffeeshop.

You slung your backpack to one shoulder as you approached, hopping up onto the marble and grinning when Leo startled. He blinked up at you, trying so very hard to seem awake, but you saw right through it. 

“You look like shit,” you teased as you slid into the seat across from him, tossing your bag aside.

He scoffed with a roll of his eyes even as he forced down a yawn. “Yeah, yeah. Back at you.”

You tilted your head, still smiling, and lazily reached to tug his books away. Leo huffed and tried to claw them back, letting them slip in the end. You caught his eye then. “Wanna head inside? We can watch a movie.”

Leo sat back and passed a hand over his curls. “Did Reyna send you?”

“She all but kicked me out of the coffeeshop,” you mused. 

“Out of Ambrosas?” he exclaimed, brows vaulted. “How will you ever survive?”

You took a moment to examine the many red bull cans scattered around. “Says the man who’s heart is bound to explode.”

“Touche.” Leo tried to return to his books, but he took a look around and felt his eyes crossing from overuse. “What movie?”

“The Hobbit?” you offered. Leo lit up slightly, his hands itching to toss all his things in his bag. 

“... Okay, but just the first one.”

As expected, you didn’t stop at just the first one, and as the credits rolled on the third movie, you glanced over at the window of Leo’s dorm to find the moon strung up in the sky. The pair of you were alone, wrapped up in blankets atop Leo’s bed. His roommate, some Apollo legacy called Sam, ahd taken one stpe inside before he scoffed and headed right back out. It was very weird.

It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that you and Leo were not only bundled in blankets, but also wrapped around one another, his head rested on your collarbone as his arms hugged your middle. 

On that thought…

You peered down at him, swiping away some of his curls to find his eyes fallen shut, soft breathes leaving him. A smile graced your lips as you settled further down under the covers. His roommate’s behavior really was odd, but at least it left you and Leo alone.

In his room.

In his bed.

Together.

The thought left you all warm and you found yourself curling around him as the threat of sleep grew larger by the second. Sam was just being weird, you dismissed.

Just a minute had gone by when Leo rustled slightly, his hand grazing your skin as your shirt rode up and—oh.

Oh.

That’s probably why Sam left in a hurry. Heat creeped up your face and it had nothing to do with the human heater at your side. But why would Sam ever think that? You and Leo were only just friends, nothing more, nothing less than good ol’ buddies—

Your face was flaming at this point. Oh. Oh no no no. 

Leo sleeped soundly and awoke pleasantly, ready to begin a day of studying hopefully by your side, only to find you ducking your head into the covers of his bed with a prolonged groan. You flopped around a bit longer, avoiding his eye and touch, and mumbled something about getting breakfast. He followed you out of bed, watching as you stumbled for his bathroom where you kept a spare toothbrush handy.

“Weird,” he murmured, not noticing how you squeaked when he shut the bathroom door behind him and joined you at the sink.

You were clinging to sanity. This was just what you needed. Finals just a week away, and you still had feelings for Leo Valdez! Running hand over your face, you glanced up to find him offering you your toothbrush, his own stuck out of his mouth. You took it wordlessly, ignoring how wonderfully cute he was.

You needed to make some calls, preferably before you combusted into flames.

[erikiara80]

El, Sarah and Shirley Jane Temple

Becky and Terry's aunt Shirley thinks that their house is haunted (**) and when El meets Axel, he calls her Shirley Temple.

Axel: Aw... Shirley Temple lost her sister. So sad. [...] If I have to ask again, Shirley, you'll start losing things. Starting with those pretty little locks.

Shirley Temple's full name was Shirley Jane Temple, and when she was a kid, she was famous for her golden locks. El does have locks, she's been associated with blonde girls/sisters since S1, and the child Terry sees in the Rainbow Room is blonde. But she doesn't have locks. I know, I know, maybe it's not important. But I keep thinking that there is a girl with golden locks who "haunted" Hopper, like a ghost. A girl who is connected to the lab, Eleven and Will. Maybe, Shirley Temple is a subtle reference to her.

Sarah (or the actual Jane?)

"After Sarah, I saw her, too" (other references to ghosts)

I'm still working on this theory to see if it makes sense, but the connection between Hopper and Terry is undeniable. We still don't know the whole truth, and I think this scene is more relevant than we think.

Sarah died in the lab.

In 2x07, this bald man says to El "You're dead! We're all dead!"

There's also this graffiti: ICU. Someone said that it could be a hint that Vecna is spying El (I see you). And Shippingfangirl013 pointed out that it could also mean Intensive Care Unit.

It reminds me of the I see you -> but do you see me? in the bathroom, in the scene of Chrissy's vision (of her mother), and the hand with nail polish, similar to the mysterious hand El sees in her memory.

One of the guards in Terry's memory resembles Hopper, and Becky resembles Diane. This seems intentional.

Becky says twice, with a smirk, that Hopper and Terry would've gotten along.

There are octagon tables in Terry's and Hopper's houses, and we see them when Becky is talking about MK Ultra and LSD, and when Hopper has just woken up after being drugged and is searching the house for microphones.

Octagons on Jane's blanket

The octagon fountain

This octagon in the russian prison. Joyce says that she lost Hopper for eight months, and in 2x04 Flo tells Hopper that Joyce called him eight times.

So, Hopper and Terry are both connected to number 8. Kali, who has the power to make people see or not see what she chooses. Basically, what drugs and mind control do. ("LSD mind control experiments -Powell in 1x03. "Elaborate experimentations in perusal of mind control" - newspaper article in 1x08) There's clearly something wrong, because Hopper never mentioned that Sarah died in the lab, but in S3 he says that he came back to Hawkins after her death, because he was running away from those sad memories. That proves that he doesn't know that Sarah died in Hawkins. He forgot (was drugged)

Kali mentions El's policeman a few times, she interrupts and scares El when she's listening to Hopper's message, and S2 literally starts with Kali being chased by the police.

It's also interesting that it's Hopper who mentions the lab turning parents' brains into mush, in the season in which the agents drug him and threat to kill him and make it look like overdose. Cigarettes are another big hint that Hopper and, imo, Joyce have been drugged. Almost every time we see someone with a cigarette, the scene is connected to Hopper, Joyce and their kids, the lab or Billy, the "new Will". I'm thinking about one scene in particular, I'll make a post about it.

Anyway, there are other hints at Hopper and Terry's connection. The clowns and the elephant in Jane's crib, and the clowns and elephants on Sarah's pajamas (and Will was afraid of clowns)

The russian elephant gas masks we see in 3x01, after the keys activate the Machine. At the end of the season, Hopper and Joyce take the keys.

Elephant Ears behind them, when they're looking for their children.

And the Elephant, the torture device the Russian use on Hopper.

This post is already long, but there are also mentions of coffee, donuts and police chases on Terry's TV and in her message, when she changes the channels. And mentions of kids' breathing that are always about Sarah, Will and El.

(**) Speaking of aunts, I'm also thinking about Joyce's crazy aunt, Darlene, and this weird line, when Becky asks Hopper and Joyce if they want to talk to her sister, and Hopper says: "If Terry Ives is your sister, then yeah, we do".

Why the if? Are they implying that Becky is not really Terry's sister? What does it mean? So much to think about!

[lizard-reads-the-world]

Book Review - Home is Not a Country by Safia Elhillo (🇸🇩 Sudan)

[image 1: book cover, photographic - a young Black woman's face, serene, is surround by various types of orange flowers - lilies, daisy-like wildflowers, butterflies; image 2: a map showing Sudan in northeast Africa, south of Egypt; image 3: Sudanese women gather for coffee - four women in saffron and red dresses with head coverings sit around a low octagonal table set with traditional coffee - source: wikimedia]

Home is Not a Country

Author: Safia Elhillo

YA World Challenge read for 🇸🇩 Sudan

Review

Before leaving for the ER a few weeks ago, I threw a bunch of books and audiobooks on library hold so I could read on my phone. I didn't get to this one during my stay, but I listened to it over the next couple of weeks.

First, I have decided that poetry/novels in verse must be listened to on audio especially if the author narrates (which they often do). Elhillo narrates beautifully and gives the book oceans of depth.

Nima is a teen caught between countries. Living in America, she doesn't feel accepted. She is also disconnected from the trauma that gives the previous generation a complicated relationship with their home country. She becomes a "nostalgia monster", as her friend Haitham calls her, listening to the old Arabic songs on cassettes from her mother's generation, searching for culture to belong to. Resentful of an imagined perfect life, she personifies Yasmeen - the name she was almost given - into someone to be jealous of... until something happens.

This novel starts out as a poetic narrative of a second-generation immigrant, slowly evolving in a magical realism adventure with a twist! With themes of belonging and being careful what you wish for, Nima is a relatable and imperfect heroine. This was an enjoyable and thoughtful read.

★  ★  ★ ★   4 stars

Other reps: #muslim #immigrant

Genres: #poetry #contemporary #magical realism

[frenchtables]

Elevate Your Space with Exquisite Sideboards and Cabinets

Are you tired of settling for generic sideboards and cabinets that don't truly reflect your taste and style? Look no further! French Tables presents an exclusive opportunity to own stunning custom-designed sideboards and cabinets that are the epitome of luxury and sophistication.

Craftsmanship and Quality

Our sideboards and cabinets are meticulously crafted and finished using the highest quality materials and finishes. Each piece is a true work of art, handcrafted to perfection by our skilled artisans. We strive for excellence in every detail, ensuring that your furniture not only adds functionality but also becomes a statement piece in your space.

Fully Custom Made

We pride ourselves on creating furniture that is tailored to your unique preferences. With us, you have the freedom to customize dimensions, designs, colours, and finishes according to your taste and requirements. We understand the importance of individuality, and our team of experts will work closely with you to bring your vision to life.

Custom Drawer and Door Configurations

Efficiency meets elegance with our customizable drawer and door configurations. Whether you need extra storage space or specific compartments for your belongings, we can create the perfect solution to suit your needs. Your custom furniture will not only be visually stunning but also highly functional.

About French Tables

As a leading luxury interior design studio in Sydney, we offer a complete range of professional design services alongside our custom-made furniture designs. Under the guidance of Mark Alexander, a highly respected and talented designer, furniture craftsman, and artist, we deliver unparalleled excellence in every project.

Contact Us

Don't settle for the ordinary when you can have the extraordinary! Elevate your space and indulge in the beauty of bespoke furniture. Contact us today to discuss your dream design and let's create a masterpiece together.

Mark Alexander Design Artistry is the go-to destination for anyone looking to enhance their home with sophisticated, custom-made furniture that reflects their personal style and taste.

[decorations-and-diys]

Factors while buying modern coffee tables

Some individuals choose to appear of a coffee table and the initial thing you could possibly prefer a large coffee table as being a visible influence a great coffee table should have at the very least 2 yards about this website either sides eliminating the actual stand. A number of suggest that the coffee table really should not be over sixty percent of the duration of your own sofa.

Modern-day coffee tables are area of the modern-day furniture activity affected by modernism. All homeowners need to make certain that their home looks fantastic and also this means purchasing furniture that can choose their design along with very own particular fashion. And if you are trying to find different and exclusive tables you might have very many differing types to select from. They are available in many different styles and also shapes and forms.

Generally modern coffee tables could and they are today made from many different resources. Because of this you no longer get a magnificently furnished place which is spoilt by simply a well used pianos radiata coffee table without persona and is a new conversing level for the wrong factors. One of the uncommonly very first what you require at times to consider ahead of a bit shopping for coffee table furniture is the particular design in the specially remainder of a room. As has been a small virtually any almost various other furniture pieces, your table type requires sometimes combining within your basic adorning style.

It doesn't matter how practically beautiful true the coffee table is actually, when not the astounding right design you will likely end up being unhappy as soon as you create that from time to time in your often family area. Coffee tables can also be referred to as cocktail platforms in order that should be a big concept right there! These types of reduced platforms are meant to stand in front on the sofa and are built to carry the products, meals and more importantly, your remote controls. Elevation which you select is dependent a whole lot about what you plan to make use of that.

Modern coffee tables which can be surprisingly low, can make it tough to eat. It is an excellent place for a specific thing equivalent in shape along with the size of each and every caffeine table is predicted to acquire the bedroom. In addition to getting just about the most functionally crucial furnishing goods, coffee tables can be found in different forms, measurements, hues, and also materials, making them the defined design component. A coffee table may be categorized on the basis of materials, forms, table-top kinds, hues, end, and value.

Materials in which coffee tables are manufactured from differs from Metal, Bamboo, Cedar, Cherry, Stainless, Imitation Natural leather, Polyurethane foam, Glass, Corian, Straightener, Laminate, Leather, Pebble, MDF, Material, Oak, Wicker, Resin, Natural fiber, Steel, Gemstone, Teak wood, Upholstered, Timber along with Wrought Iron. Styles with the coffee tables can differ through Curled, Diamond Cut-out, Free-form, Octagonal in shape, Square, Rectangular, Circular, Sq. Along with other unique as well as creative styles. Colors and finishes can be found with lots available depending on particular person's preferences, financial constraints and tastes. Nonetheless, it is hard to choose the right choice to suit your needs since there are many types on the market and you will not alert to the information they will use.

[rugsforeverusa]

Handwoven Beauty: Octagon Jute Rug

An octagon rug is not something you see every day, and that’s what makes it special! Its unique geometric shape adds an eye-catching element to your space, whether it’s placed in the center of a room, under a coffee table, or in an entryway.

Are you ready to elevate your space with a stunning handwoven octagon jute rug? and bring home a piece of artisanal craftsmanship today!

LIMITED-TIME OFFER! Extra 20% off for 2+ items Use Coupon Code: FOREVER28RUGS

[williambrown1234]

The Perfect Match: Garden Furniture and Gazebos for a Stylish Backyard

Creating a stylish and comfortable backyard requires thoughtful planning, and one of the best ways to achieve this is by pairing the right garden furniture with a beautiful gazebo. Whether you want a cozy retreat for relaxation or an elegant space for entertaining guests, a gazebo octagonal design can be a perfect addition. These structures add charm and functionality, providing shade and shelter while enhancing the overall aesthetic of your outdoor space. A grey gazebo in particular, offers a sophisticated and modern look that blends effortlessly with different garden furniture styles. You can transform your backyard into a luxurious oasis by selecting the right combination of seating, tables, and décor. This article will explore how to match garden furniture and gazebos for the perfect backyard setting.

Choosing the Right Gazebo for Your Outdoor Space

The Elegance of a Gazebo Octagonal Design

A gazebo octagonal shape is a timeless choice that brings beauty and practicality to a backyard. Unlike standard rectangular or square structures, an octagonal gazebo offers a more balanced and visually appealing design. The eight-sided structure provides a panoramic view of the landscape, making it an inviting focal point for your outdoor retreat. Additionally, the unique shape of an octagonal gazebo allows for flexible furniture arrangements. Whether you prefer a dining set, lounge chairs, or a combination of both, the symmetrical layout makes creating a harmonious and stylish seating area easy. The open design also allows natural light to filter in, creating a bright and airy ambiance.

Why a Grey Gazebo is a Stylish Choice

A grey gazebo is a fantastic option for homeowners looking to add a modern and elegant touch to their backyard. Grey is a neutral color that pairs well with various outdoor furniture styles, from rustic wooden pieces to contemporary metal or wicker designs. This versatility makes updating and refreshing your outdoor décor easy over time without worrying about clashing colors. In addition to its stylish appeal, a grey gazebo offers practical benefits. It provides ample shade during sunny days and a comfortable shelter during light rain, allowing you to enjoy your backyard year-round. Whether you use it for outdoor dining, lounging, or even as a garden workspace, a grey gazebo enhances both function and beauty.

Selecting the Perfect Garden Furniture for Your Gazebo

Matching Furniture with a Gazebo Octagonal in Shape

When selecting garden furniture for an gazebo octagonal, it is important to consider the available space and layout. Since octagonal gazebos have a symmetrical shape, circular or oval tables work well as centerpieces. Round tables create a natural flow within the space, making it easy for guests to move around comfortably. For seating options, curved benches or chairs arranged along the gazebo’s edges help maintain an open and spacious feel. If you prefer a cozy setup, adding cushioned lounge chairs with a small coffee table in the center can create an inviting, relaxing atmosphere. To enhance comfort, opt for weather-resistant cushions and pillows that complement the gazebo’s color scheme.

Coordinating a Grey Gazebo with Stylish Outdoor Furniture

A grey gazebo provides a sophisticated backdrop for outdoor furniture, making it easy to experiment with different styles and colors. Pair your grey gazebo with black or white metal furniture featuring sleek, clean lines for a modern look. If you prefer a more natural aesthetic, wooden furniture in warm tones, such as teak or cedar, can create a beautiful contrast against the grey structure. To add a pop of color, incorporate vibrant outdoor cushions, rugs, and accessories. Shades of blue, green, or even mustard yellow can bring warmth and personality to the space. Mixing textures like wicker chairs with a glass-top table can also add depth and interest to your outdoor setup.

Enhancing the Ambiance with Decorative Elements

Creating a Cozy Atmosphere with Lighting

Proper lighting can transform your gazebo into a magical retreat, perfect for evening gatherings or quiet nights under the stars. String lights draped around the gazebo’s roof add a soft and romantic glow, while lanterns or LED candles on tables provide additional warmth. Consider hanging a statement chandelier in the center of your gazebo for a more dramatic effect. Solar-powered lights are another great option, offering an eco-friendly way to illuminate your outdoor space without wiring. With the proper lighting, your grey gazebo can become the ultimate relaxation spot at any time of the day.

Adding Greenery and Decorative Touches

Incorporating plants and greenery around your gazebo enhances its natural beauty and creates a refreshing environment. Hanging flower baskets, potted plants, or climbing vines can add a touch of charm while blending seamlessly with the garden landscape. To personalize your space further, decorative elements such as outdoor rugs, throw pillows, and curtains can add a layer of comfort and style. Opt for weather-resistant fabrics that can withstand outdoor conditions while providing a cozy feel. Whether you prefer a minimalist or bohemian-inspired look, the right décor choices can make your gazebo feel like an extension of your indoor living space.

Making the Most of Your Garden Furniture and Gazebos

Creating Functional Zones in Your Backyard

When designing your backyard layout, consider how you can divide the space into different functional areas. An octagonal gazebo can serve as a dedicated dining or lounging area, while the surrounding space can be used for additional seating, a fire pit, or a small garden. Positioning your grey gazebo strategically within your yard can help define the flow of your outdoor space. Placing it near a pool, deck, or patio can enhance accessibility and make entertaining more convenient. By integrating garden furniture and gazebos seamlessly, you can create a well-balanced and inviting backyard retreat.

Maintaining Your Outdoor Space for Long-Term Enjoyment

Regular maintenance is essential to keeping garden furniture and gazebos looking their best. Wooden furniture should be treated with a protective sealant to prevent weather damage, while metal furniture may require occasional rust protection. Cushions and fabrics should be cleaned periodically to maintain their freshness and vibrancy. Cleaning the structure with mild soap and water for your grey gazebo can help preserve its appearance. If you have a fabric canopy, ensure it is properly secured and stored during harsh weather conditions. With proper care, your outdoor space will remain stylish and functional for years.

Conclusion

Pairing garden furniture and gazebos is the key to creating a stylish and comfortable backyard retreat. A gazebo octagonal design adds elegance and functionality, while a grey gazebo offers a modern and versatile look that complements various furniture styles. By carefully selecting seating, décor, and lighting, you can transform your outdoor space into a beautiful and inviting oasis. Whether you prefer a contemporary, rustic, or classic design, the right combination of garden furniture and gazebos allows you to enjoy your backyard to the fullest. With thoughtful planning and maintenance, your stylish outdoor retreat will become the perfect setting for relaxation, entertaining, and making lasting memories.