transformer furniture

toyboyfan  asked:

What are your thoughts on the Enchantress from the Live action Beauty and the Beast movie?

that shady lady cursed an orphan and his entire staff to a painful existence where they slowly transformed into furniture for not letting her stay in his castle but put up with years of abuse from the townspeople and gaston with no repercussions she was 100% in it just for the drama

The perfect gift 1/1

It’s just fluff.  It has no real plot and is a bit  lot fluffy.  Unremarkable house was even less remarkable when they first moved in.

He considered briefly whether to order flowers  to be delivered to the hospital but while some women might swoon at such a gesture, Scully had never been one to appreciate all the tried and tested cliches that he had used on other women in the past.

But then of course, never, by any stretch could Dana Scully ever be considered in the same category as his ‘other woman’ of times gone by.

He wanted to do something special, to show his appreciation for her in some kind of significant way, but despite them now being settled to some degree in this small, draughty house, he was aware always that a place to call their own it might be, but any less of a prison to him it certainly wasn’t.  To venture out in broad daylight to go gift shopping was akin to sticking a lurid sign above the door with ‘Here I am’ in flashing neon  letters.

Sure, he could gift order online, have some nice piece of jewellery delivered already wrapped and adorned with satin bows and stiff cardboard gift tag, but again, it was just all too insignificant a gesture and on this first meaningful event they would celebrate in this house together, he wanted it to be something tangible, something laden with thought and effort and…well, with love he supposed.

Because God knows he didn’t always show her how much she meant to him.

Eighteen months on the run together, living out of suitcases in shabby motel rooms, eating whatever grease laden shit happened to be on the menu at the time had taken a heavy toll.  Never staying for more than a few days anywhere as the sameness of their lives together gave way to a simmering resentment between both of them that he thinks, would have destroyed them completely if they hadn’t finally decided to just stop.  To hope that enough time had passed by so as to not be the priority to those intent on destroying them that they once were.

Skinner had found the house for them; Skinner had somehow pulled enough strings to have Scully’s felon status removed; and it was Skinner who had written her a glowing reference for the job she now held.  An internship which, would culminate in re-certification of her medical license and which would secure their financial futures in the years to come.  It was a debt of gratitude Mulder doubted could ever be paid but at the same time it came at a price, a feeling always of unworthiness, of failure, that suckerpunched him right in the gut everytime he allowed himself to think about it; because if it weren’t for her continuing allegiance to him, she would still be living a very different life and he was aware always that over the past two years or so, he had been able to offer absolutely nothing of any tangible value to make things better for her.

And that hurt.  A lot.

Not to mention the house, while a vast improvement on their accommodations previously, was of an age that might have made it affordable to them but which meant it left a great deal to be desired in terms of luxury and always, when he cast his eye over the mis-matched furniture and aged appliances, he couldn’t help but compare it to Scully’s beautiful apartment back in Georgetown - an apartment she walked away from without even a second of hesitation.  A home full of memories, of precious knick-knacks and beautiful antique furniture.  Of course the furniture in this house was also antique.  But not in a good way it was fair to say.

And it was cold.  It was always so fucking cold; not helped by the fact that they were living through one of the coldest winters for over half a century.  His Mother used to say it was too cold even to snow and until this year he hadn’t really understood what that meant.  But day after day as he woke up with Scully pressed tightly against him, only the top of her head exposed to the frigid temperature of the room, that was only barely held at bay by the layers of comforter and blankets they piled atop the bed, he couldn’t help but wish them back to the shabby motel rooms which, while infinitely less than perfect, at least had forced air and were usually warm.

He had considered suggesting they sleep downstairs, but really, it was only marginally warmer on the lower levels so instead they had just made the best of a bad situation.  Which, when he really thought about it, summed up the last ten years or so pretty well.

There was an old wood burning stove in the corner of the living room, but it was so rickety and rust riddled they just daren’t use it.  With no way of knowing how corroded the chimney lining was, to light a fire in there could be disastrous and to replace it had been added to the ever growing list of things he needed to do once Spring hit and the weather turned warmer, making it safer for him to get up on the roof and start to investigate properly.

But now, as he stood thoughtfully weighing up his birthday options, he realised that maybe, the answer to the perfect birthday gift for Scully had been staring him in the face all along and that given the fact that she seemed to be permanently only a degree or two above hypothermia, probably, the only fucking thing she wanted for her birthday was to be warm.  


As it turned out, the timing couldn’t have been better.  The four days preceding Scully’s birthday necessitated in her taking a trip into the city as part of an intern exchange programme and although she had offered to drive back each night, Mulder had managed to persuade her to check into a hotel and avoid a treacherous and ill-advised journey on the ice-covered roads.

He would be fine, he said, he had plenty to do to keep occupied.

Yeah. No shit.

The stove situation had proved a little more problematic than he first imagined and by the end of the first day he was freezing cold and ached all over from using muscles that he had forgotten he had. But, with the new stove set for delivery and installation in just 48 hours, he had no option but to just keep going because while he might not have experience in stove removal, he did at least understand that if old stove were still in place, new stove could not be fitted.  And after almost three days of cursing himself for ever getting started on this in the first place, the space in the living room where the stove had once stood, was now nothing more than a gaping hole which led to another smaller gaping hole which, if he angled his head just a little, he could see straight out of the roof to the stars which shone and twinkled in the winter sky.

And with a new access point for the frigid air to enter the house, the temperature within dipped to a hitherto unimagined low that no amount of layering seemed to alleviate and which took him to a whole other level of freezing.

But now, as he stood waiting for Scully to return home, her call coming just a few minutes ago that she was on her way, it all seemed suddenly worth the effort it had taken and he allowed himself to smile as he imagined her reaction.

Because in the corner of the room, it’s flickering interior casting a soft orange glow against the brand new sofa bed he had also ordered, the stove sat resplendent, radiating warmth around the small room where before there had only been cold, and this once tired interior with the moth eaten furniture was transformed, becoming a  welcoming haven to shield them both from the chill winds of life.

To become a home.

And home, whichever way you looked it, was a good place to be right now.


When space is at a premium,
furniture riots— but that’s not all!
Impelled, by the instinct
of self-preservation,
the arrangement of furniture transforms
into the despair of the outcasts of society,
in strange and faraway places.
The chairs become novels
reaffirming our ancient faith
like classical music, stimulating
brooding spirits, it seems futile,
but not all of America has lost perspective.

damnedapostate replied to your post: I just closed out of a fic bc Tony Stark bought…

why tho? i think tony stark would not only buy furniture like that but improve and tinker with it, too.

Ok, I will preface this with the fact that I work in design and am a snob about it due to that so this might get long. 

So. First off, good furniture, really good furniture, the kind that you buy when you’re a billionaire, comes preassembled bc it was made by a master craftsman. The table is solid hardwood, top to bottom, with graceful box joints, and perfect fills over screwholes. It’s not veneer over particle board. That furniture? made of solid wood? that stuff lasts ages, and isn’t going to come apart like kindling when a super soldier falls on it. 

If you’re talking about glass and wrought iron and metal, those are not things that the final attachment should be screws. That’s furniture that should be assembled by the artist that created it. That’s stuff where the final welds bring the whole thing together and it’s going to last right up until someone willfully tries to break it. 

Good furniture isn’t just function, it’s art. 

Next, on the subject of tinkering. You know how when you assemble an ikea desk, and then have to disassemble bc you’re moving and the legs mean it doesn’t fit in your car? And the thing never really goes back together right? 

Good furniture doesn’t do that. If it is something where the table top comes off the legs, there is a sturdy and custom made set of joinery. Once you get used to working with real materials, theres no going back. Particle board burns at your skin like a vampire with holy water. Printed wood grain veneer becomes anathema. Once you have a custom piece of furniture, especially any kind of wood craft, you’re spoiled for it. Ten minutes with an alan key and I think Tony would repulsor it into smithereens. 

Now, this is tony, so I think it’s safe to say that he would absolutely want to make better versions of things, but unless you’re making an expanding iris table. or some other transforming piece, I can’t see him getting all that interested. If it’s something that matters to him, he’d design and fab it from scratch. If it doesn’t matter to him, he’d order whatever was the best and expect someone else to handle it from there. 

Also. furniture making has little to do with the kind of engineering we see him do in canon. In general he does fidgety technological things. He doesn’t do handcraft work to get a perfect angle on a desktop, just does the math, and has Jarvis manufacture it. Yes, he built the mark I, but once he was back in Malibu, he had J doing fab. He loves technology, I don’t think he notices or cares much about the construction of the couch. 

This fic did not have him working in a cabin off the grid, in which case, sure, he’d tinker with cheap furniture and make it better. If its a broke student coffee shop au, I will accept that he’d have some super specialized walmart- bookshelves. But. If he is in the tower, and a billionaire, Tony Stark is not buying things that need assembly by purchaser. He yells aloud, Jarvis orders them, and employees bring them into the specified location. 

That being said, I’d really like to see what he would do if introduced to the idea of transforming furniture. like this. 

Originally posted by alckemist

Because I assume within about a day and a half he’d have a few hundred designs and he’d design a work bench that turned into a bed when he was too lazy/tired/busy sciencing to leave the lab, or even stand up. 

however, I stand by my initial argument, he’d build them from scratch. 

Anonymous said: I wouldn’t mind some Clint/Coulson doing something cute together like… planting a little vegetable patch together <3

“You need a project,” Phil says darkly as he stands and surveys the damage. Three cookie sheets are black with charred oatmeal cookies, the counter is littered with the detritus of cookie-making, and Clint is standing there in jeans only, his bare feet and shirtless chest not even working to distract Phil from the disaster that is their kitchen. 

“You might be right,” Clint says as he brushes his hand through his hair. Flour sprinkles onto his bare shoulders.

They’ve had three days of downtime after a grueling three-month under cover mission in Greece, and this is the third house disaster Phil’s walked in on since they returned to the states. Phil sighs and puts down his briefcase, loosens his tie, and shucks off his suit coat as Clint hands him a beer from the fridge. Phil looks once more at the sink, can’t hold back a wince at the mess, and retreats out to their patio to let Clint fix the current kitchen problem. 

Thirty minutes later, Clint joins him. He sits down in the patio chair next to Phil’s and takes a long swig of his drink. Phil is looking at a home decorating magazine that he obsesses over when Clint leans over and pulls it out of his hands. 

“Hey! I was reading that,” he says, glaring at Clint.

Clint holds the magazine so he can see the back for a moment, and then he gives it back to Phil with a grin. 

For some reason, Phil gets a sinking feeling. “What?” 

“I have an idea. Wanna order Thai for dinner? I’ll do it,” he says, and springs to his feet.

Keep reading

House Party For Two

“I’m just not feeling it tonight, Joe.” I say into the phone stretching out across the couch.

“Awe, come on, babe.” He whines, “It’ll be a fun time.”

“I’d rather just stay in. Besides, I look like a mess.” I look down at my body, clothed in one of his shirts and some pyjama shorts, my hand reaching up to the messy bun my hair is tossed into.

“I’m sure you look gorgeous as ever.”

“I don’t want to go out.”

“I thought you wanted to hang out tonight though.”

“Well yeah, I want to see you.”

“Then give me ten minutes.” I go to respond, but Joe’s hung up on me. Rolling my eyes, I replace the phone in my hand for the remote, deciding to find something to watch on TV.

True to his words, ten minutes later there’s a knock on the door as Joe uses his key to waltz in.

“Hello, love.” He leans over the back of the couch, dropping a kiss on my forehead as he slips the remote out of my hand, clicking off the tv.

“Hey! I was watching that!” I sit up, watching him start to move around, pushing furniture against the wall. “What are you doing?”

“We’re having a party!” He announces, turning to face me, a smile on his face.

“Joe, I told you I didn’t feel like seeing anyone tonight. Especially looking like this.” I gesture down at my body.

“It’s just us two. Besides, you look great, Y/N.”

“You are such a liar.”

“It’ll be fun.” Joe pulls me up from where I’m sat. “We don’t have to leave the house to have a good time, and we don’t need nobody to have a house party. Now, go grab your iPod.”

By the time I reemerge from my room, iPod in hand, the living room has been transformed. All the furniture is now pushed to the side, the lamps are the only lights still left on, but Joe’s managed to find some colourful pieces of clothing to throw over it, dimming the lights, and giving the room a glow.

“Ah, perfect.” He takes the music device from my hand, walking over the dock, cranking the volume up as an upbeat song begins to flow from the speakers.

“Are you trying to make my neighbours hate me?” I laugh, trying to be heard over the noise. Joe grins in response, dancing over to me, taking my hands in his as he beings to move our bodies.

“A house party isn’t a house party until it’s shut down by the cops.” He spins me around, and I finally relent, dancing to the music with him.

It turns out he’s right, we don’t have to leave to have a good time. Instead we spend the entire night dancing around my apartment, laughing and kissing and having a good time. Just the two of us.

Joe simply brought the good time home to me, and I loved every minute of it.