french hotel room


Graffiti artist Tilt gives a french hotel room a makeover. “Graffiti artist Tilt has been given complete creative control of a hotel room in the Au Vieux Panier in Marseille, and this is the result. Along with a team of two other artists, Tilt divided the room straight down the middle, bed sheets and all, painting everything on one side in vibrant tags and leaving the other side completely white. The design is part of an ongoing initiative by the hotel to keep every room fresh and exciting all year round by working with a team of architects, artists, and graphic designers.”

“[…] his room was literally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams.”

Literally? Are you sure, Watson? I mean, I’m sure your husband was popular and all, but that’s just ridiculous. Because this is what I’m picturing:

According to a footnote in my edition: Carol P. Woods calculates that to fill the average French hotel room to “ankle-deep” would require 10,741 crumpled telegrams and she muses that Holmes’s illness was caused not entirely by the exertions put forth in the Netherlands-Sumatra case but also by the telegram-crumpling itself, which would have required slightly over 179 hours of opening, reading, crumpling, and tossing.


John Watson: misusing the word ‘literally’ for hyperbolic effect 130 years before it was cool.

Fic: Blame It on the Gin

@shipperqueen93 prompted: “Rumbelle: wake up in bed together after a long night of drinking. They have no idea who the other person is.”

I know this scenario has been done before so I’ve put a slightly different spin on it.

Rated: T


Blame It on the Gin

When Belle woke, she was aware of two things, and these two things blocked out any other kind of coherent thought from her head.

Firstly, her head felt like it was going to explode.

Secondly, her bladder felt like it was going to explode.

Stumbling out of bed and making her way in the direction of the bathroom, Belle became vaguely aware of a third thing, which was that she was fully dressed apart from conspicuously absent panties and tights, which she came across on the floor beside the bed. Not bothering to pick them up, she attended to far more pressing matters, still wondering why she would remove her underwear and not any of the rest of her clothing before collapsing into bed.

It had been an interesting day. Weddings always had a tendency to be interesting events for Belle, especially when they weren’t weddings in which she had to play an important part. Belle had been a bridesmaid so many times that she was beginning to think that perhaps the old adage of ‘always the bridesmaid and never the bride’ actually rang true, and she had bitterly given up all hope of her ever finding someone to actually walk down the aisle with herself.

Still, at this particular wedding, she had not been a bridesmaid, so she had been free to indulge in as much of the open bar as she liked. In fact, she had not even been technically invited to this wedding. She had been dragged along by Ariel as a plus one, because Ariel, having recently come out of a relationship, couldn’t bear the thought of turning up to her Aunt Ursula’s wedding without some kind of moral support to get her through all the questions from nosy relatives. As it had turned out, after Ursula and Ella had gone off to enjoy wedded bliss in private, Ariel had spent the majority of the evening party with her face firmly attached to one of Ella’s godsons. (Belle thought his name was Eric but she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that he was wearing a navy uniform, and Ariel was a sucker for a man in uniform.) Thus, Belle was left to muddle through the rest of the evening alone.

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Our perfect family (closed rp with @host-king-tamaki)


What a wonderful time to be alive. Haruhi had never been happier with her newly wedded husband Tamaki. It all flew by like a dream. Graduation, moving in together, engagement and yesterday’s crazy wedding all the way in France. It was perfect, and Haruhi herself had changed. She was ofcourse still the confident, stubborn and calm young lady, but by spending time with Tamaki she had began accepting help from others and not hide her troubles and fears. Tamaki taught her many things, which all gave her a more positive view on their future together.

All of this had let up to the present, where Haruhi was sleeping naked in Tamaki’s arms. Their wedding night was the most tender and romantic night they ever had together after such a busy day. She snored softly, unaware of the light already seeping through the curtains of their typical, French hotel room. The brunette merely turned away from it, cuddling closer against the blond with a soft snort in disapproval. She wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.