#whitewashed bed frame

[futureofcities]

Master Bedroom in Nashville

Mid-sized timeless master bedroom remodel ideas with a light wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace

[daybreakatdawn]

Master Bedroom in Nashville

Mid-sized timeless master bedroom remodel ideas with a light wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace

[muertehorrible]

Master Bedroom in Nashville

Mid-sized timeless master bedroom remodel ideas with a light wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace

[hoytsheriff]

Master Bedroom in Nashville

Mid-sized timeless master bedroom remodel ideas with a light wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace

[jaydalexingram]

Master Bedroom in Nashville

Mid-sized timeless master bedroom remodel ideas with a light wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace

[kristopheredwards]

Master Bedroom in Nashville

Mid-sized timeless master bedroom remodel ideas with a light wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace

[blaluca]

Master Bedroom in Nashville Mid-sized timeless master bedroom remodel ideas with a light wood floor, gray walls, and no fireplace

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By His Command 2

Summary: you meet the wife. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Thank you for reading! Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

“Take your boots off,” the martha girds.

You unbutton the red boots and step out of them. You scoop of your valise once more and face the woman in green. She is already marching further inside.

The martha leads you down a long hallways without a word. You keep your head straight. The aunts always told you to keep your eyes to yourself. Those lessons did not come easy. Reflexively, you put your hand over your ear, expecting a blow at the very thought of peeking.

You pass open doorways but your attention is fixed on the hem of the martha’s dull green smock. She goes to the left, another wing of the hallway, not as far until she turns again, then stops completely. She steps to the side and puts her hand against her apron.

“Your room. You will sleep here and in the mornings you will not come out until you are summoned. Understood?” She explains sternly.

“Yes,” you answer.

“Go inside, put your bag down, and wait.”

You look at her but she refuses to meet your gaze. You quickly retract and turn instead to the closed door. She reaches to twist the handle and push in inside. You don’t miss the sliding latch on the outside.

You enter and she pulls the door shut. It brushes your skirt, nearly catching the fabric as it hits the frame. You spin and stare at the barrier, the metal bar on the other side scraping into the hoop. You’re locked in.

The iciness of the exterior seeps into the small room and nips at your layers. You shiver and place your valise on the low dresser against the wall, the paint peeling away from the aged wood. The weight of your bag causes it to creak.

You slip your gloves off and lay them beside the valise. You tuck your hands in your sleeves and retreat. Not far as the room isn’t very spacious. A bed with a rusting metal frame, a contrast to the pure white bedding pulled taught across the mattress. You push your hand beneath the pillow and feel the lumpy surface. It is at least a place to sleep. 

You look up and stare at the metal bars across the window. The frame was recently whitewashed but cannot hide the scratch marks etched into the wood. You try not to think of it.

Your steps groan in the floor as you carry on to the doorway to the left, the only aside from the entrance. A simple bathroom with only a toilet and a sink. There is a slightly dingy smell to it. Odd to think that in a house so resplendent from the outside, that it should hold such a pathetic cell.

You flinch as you hear a metal schlock and you back out of the bathroom. You turn and face the door as it opens. A woman in blue enters, a hat pinned to her spiral blonde locks, a hit of brown reaching to her ears. Her thick straight brows draw together as she raises her chin. You gape at her senselessly. This is the wife.

“Closer,” she beckons you forward with a fine leather glove.

You obey, edging nearer as her eyes bore into you. You watch the wall over her shoulder as you force your shoulders straight. You squeak as she yanks on the string of your bonnet and tears it away. She drops it and grabs your arms, turning you as she clicks her tongue.

When you face her again, she braces your hips and squeezes, feeling along your stomach as you try not to squirm. She lets you go but frightens you as she latches onto your chin, forcing you to look her in the face.

“Pray that you can do your duty,” she sneers.

You swallow tightly, trembling as her dark eyes pierce you like daggers.

“Blessed be the fruit,” you recite.

She glares at you, stepping forward as she bears down on you, walking you back as she grips tighter and tighter.

“I asked for a strong one,” she shoves you and you flail back onto the bed in a heap of flapping fabric, “don’t fear, it won’t be long. He’ll make short work of you.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows and blink at her dumbly. She scoffs and shakes her head, turning on her heel and strutting out. She slams the door in her stead and the lock chafes into the ring. 

The hollowness of that place settles over you. Not like the center where the other girls cowered with you, where their weeps kept you company. It’s only you now.

[kanmom51]

Dear. Army

I went to bed last night thinking that we won't be getting anything substantial on 7/6 even though we had a calendar showing us this:

Only to wake up this morning to discover this was uploaded to Weverse at 10pm KST on 7.6.23 (and an hour later to YT).

Where do I start?

By saying how amazing JM is, how much I love him and his voice and this song.

This man is an angel pure and simple.

What did I notice?

First of all the big ass miss out by releasing it at 10 pm KST and not 10:13 pm. All it took was a little more thought put into it. Just a little more.

Well, the next most obvious is of course the absence of a certain Jeon Jungkook in person, performing this song together with JM.

And why do I say in person?

Because even though every other single background sound and vocal was wiped from this performance, JK's background vocals, although subdued, were still there.

Do I admit that I am disappointed?

Fuck yeah.

I'm not only disappointed, I'm actually furious. Not at JM. Not at JK. But at the friggin company that isn't allowing those two to be in one frame, and has been doing this for months now.

And if you pipe up and say: "well that's not true, we've seen them in content together", stop for one second and think about what you are saying, what content that was. Ot7 content (no choice they are all there - and when they were, thinking of the last BTB JM was as loud as fuck, can't help but wonder why - or not) and JM's dance practice BTB, in which we got to see less than a minute of JK at JM's SMF pt. 2 practice. And about that one: first of all, we probably wouldn't have gotten to see that one if not for JM and JK's interaction in JM's live mentioning JK came to see him practicing, and second of all, go have a lookie what was shown to us in that BTB (we don't even get to see JK arriving to the practice - perhaps not to show us not JM's reaction to him arriving nor just how long he stayed there) and compare it to the Like crazy MV BTB and Jhope visiting JM.

And I'm sure I said this before, how stupid this all is, when it's as clear as day (well, thank god for JK and his rebellious streak) that these two are as close as can be. Couple or not. So wtf is the company so scared of? At this point, with everything that JK has been doing in the past few months (and it's not only JK, JM is part of it too of course, but admittedly JK is just not giving a fuck anymore, while JM is doing what he can within his own respectful and very intelligent way) it's bloody ridiculous not having them in content together.

You may think I'm over reacting here, but this is a long time coming, this angry rant of mine. And this here, as expected as it was, it pushed me over the line.

Like I said, It's not like I didn't see this coming. I knew in my heart that they will do this. Try to nullify Letter's importance to JM and JK. Whitewash it as a song for army. But somewhere, somehow, I still had some hope. Well, that one was a bust. And I guess knowing it's coming doesn't change that ache in the gut once it actually does come.

I ask myself, would it have been too obvious in their books? JM and JK singing this together? But why? If it's an innocent letter to army? A token of JM's love for army?

I guess we all know the answer to that.

So, then I am sitting here and thinking about what I said about JM.

How intelligent he is. How he does things within the 'allowed' limitations but still gets the message through.

He did it with the song's name for starters. It's not "Dear Army", which would make it addressed to army, it's "Dear. Army". By adding the period between the Dear and the Army, you literally have him addressing 2: Dear (which we know exactly who that is) and Army.

We have said this over and over again. This song is a song for JK disguised as a song for army. Dear does come first out of the two after all, lol. No, but this is just how things have to be, as long as they remain closeted, and that is totally understandable. This is how JM is telling us all what his feelings are for JK. He's telling JK and us. I know that there are those who believe that the song is talking to us in some parts and to JK in others. I'm not one of them. I believe this whole song (and the original lyrics say it all in my opinion) is addressed to JK. He is Dear. He is the one the Letter was written to. But in saying that, it was given as a gift to us. JM is allowing us to see what they mean to each other. And a gift that certainly is.

I also think about the fact that JM in this performance stripped the song down. No wave sounds. No harmonica. None of his own background vocals. The guitar, it's not him playing (unlike in the actual recorded song). All making it a little less personal perhaps (while singing it to army for Festa). But then, he made sure to leave one thing, and that's JK's background vocals, as soft as they may be, they are still there.

2 things I get from that (and yes, this is art and it's open to interpretation):

First of all, he's stripped the song of it's intimate setting (settings that were him and JK and what was between them).

Second of all, he left JK's vocals in but softer. JK isn't there with him, but JM is still telling us that JK is an inseparable part of this song. That the song can still exist without the waves and the harmonica and his own background vocals, but not without JK. JM even goes quiet at one point during that verse so we can hear JK's vocals clearer.

Maybe that's me being over melodramatic here, but that's what I feel at the moment.

Did you notice how JM doesn't look once at the camera, at us, while singing the song? Not once. The first and only time he looks at the camera, at us, and smiles, is when the song ends.

You know why?

Cause the man, he ain't singing that song to us. He's singing it for us to hear, but we aren't the recipients.

Oh, and did you see the smile on his face once he starts the verse with "baby", yes, that same verse where JK joins in?

I'm sorry, but you can even hear the smile in his voice as he's singing "baby"...

I apologize that this post isn't all filled with joy and gratitude that we got to see JM performing Letter (Dear. Army). But I have always been honest with you guys, and that is not going to change.

Don't get me wrong. I'm over the moon that we got to hear JM sing this live.

But I'm also sad.

I'm sad because I know how important this song is to both JM and JK. I know that JK would have joined JM in a heartbeat if only given a chance to, or more so, if allowed to. There is no way under the sun that JK was given the chance and declined. NO WAY. So there you have it.

[lost-decade]

A little ficlet because it's a sunny afternoon in the garden and I felt like writing a thing.

Lewis/Nico

Lockdown

~

Nico is thinking of Ibiza. Delicious breezes dancing through the twisty cobbled streets behind the port, whitewashed houses freshly painted for the season. The soft thwack of Vivi’s flipflops against the polished stone as she walks beside him. Their villa, large and airy with steps that wind down straight to the sea. There are nights, there, nights when he reads the girls a story after dinner and tucks them up in bed, kissing their foreheads before saying goodbye to Vivian. Those nights, she smiles and tells him to have fun, presses a condom into his hand and sends him out into the dusk, into the clubs that line the Calle del Virgen and all the delights within.

He wishes they'd gone there before all this. The plan is to do so, at the first opportunity when the restrictions ease up.

“Elevens are easy,” he tells Naila, blinking the thought away and turning his focus back to the iPad, the maths homework. “look, you just - “

She holds up her hands, demonstrating that she's only got ten fingers. “You just change the numbers as you go up. So two elevens are twenty-two, then thirty-three. Then forty-four.”

He pauses, looks up at the ceiling as if he can see through it. Wishes he could. He thinks about the tattooed number, just behind Lewis’ ear. Remembers how it tastes.

*

“You're not supposed to be here,” Lewis says. It's warm and Nico wants to go outside, wants to walk along the coast to Roquebrune. Or get his dick in Lewis’ arse. He thinks he might actually go insane soon.

“There's only so much home schooling I can do before I lose my mind. And I thought you might be, you know.” He tilts his head, resting it against the door frame. It's hot for April and he's got the linens out, draped himself in a pale blue shirt, unbuttoned almost to the navel. “Lonely.”

“Well you thought wrong.”

“And here I thought I was doing a nice thing, checking on my neighbour, making sure you have enough groceries. Going to invite me in?”

Lewis rolls his eyes but Nico has had a lifetime of reading him. “It's that or get you arrested for being within too many metres.”

“Might be preferable to staying at home and not going anywhere for weeks.”

“And here I thought that was why you retired, so you could be at home and play house husband,” Lewis says. He steps back anyway, allowing Nico to follow him in. He looks like he's been napping, wearing thin sweatpants low on his hips and a black tee that shows off his abs. Nico's mouth waters.

He refrains from saying I retired to get away from you. It wouldn't quite be true but it would piss Lewis off enough that he might just throw Nico out.

“Seriously though, how are you doing?”

“Working on some music mostly.” Lewis takes a jug of ice water from the fridge, pouring a glass for Nico. He sips it slowly, wondering how much small talk he can take and whether it's necessary, if Lewis will fall into the palm of his hand or if he has to work for it. “Wouldn't be your sort of thing,” Lewis continues, even though Nico wasn't going to ask to hear it anyway.

“Probably not,” he shrugs, stepping across the kitchen, into Lewis’ personal space.

He holds himself firm, Lewis, tension in his stance. “You’re only here because it's convenient, because you can't go out and pick up some twink in a back room.”

That's only part of it. Lockdown has made him think about Lewis, twenty-four seven. They're never home at the same time normally. For the last three weeks Nico has timed his morning runs to match up with Lewis’, watched him from a distance, the way his body cuts through the air with the precision of a machine.

“Do you often think about me with other men?” Nico asks, amusement in his tone. His breath ghosts Lewis’ jaw.

“I don't think about you at all.” Lewis shuts his eyes, lips parted as if he can suck the lie back in, but there's no resistance as Nico's fingers slide down the back of his sweatpants, brushing over his hole as he kisses him.

[kinetic-elaboration]

December 26: Murphy, Raven, Octavia, Only One Bed

Hmmm, wrote a little thing. I may or may not continue later.

For the prompt 'snowed in + only one bed'

Murphy, Raven, Octavia (Murphy & Raven, Raven/Octavia, possible future poly situation?), 650 words, ~18 minutes

*

If his life were another genre, perhaps one defined by three Xs, this would be an excellent situation: snowed out of the airport and put up in some mid-range hotel, in a single room with only one bed, and two beautiful women as roommates.

But Murphy's life is just his life, and the girls are as grumpy, exhausted, and gross as he is. So when they all crowd through the doorway at once and drop their bags on the floor, and catch sight of the bed situation, it's pathetic groans all around.

Sadly, this is the farthest from horny that he has ever been.

Murphy kicks his duffel bag toward the TV. "I guess I'll be sleeping on the floor," he says, and damn that part of him that almost makes it sound like a question.

Octavia doesn't answer. She's parked her rolling suitcase next to the window and is heading straight toward the bathroom. The door slams shut behind her, and immediately after, he hears the whine of a faucet and then the rush of water filling a tub. Raven is setting her backpack down on the dully upholstered beige chair, and as she unzips it and starts rifling through it, she shoots back over her shoulder, "Don't be dumb."

Murphy's already forgotten what they were talking about. He sinks down onto the end of the mattress and stares at his reflection in the shiny black screen of the TV. He looks like someone has just beaten him up: not bruised or bloody but just hang-dog world-weary. Two hours stuck in traffic at the bridge, thought they'd missed their flight, found it three hours delayed, then delayed again, then abruptly canceled—then they spent another hour calling their respective family members and several different airline help desks, trying to secure alternate transport. Nothing. So they gathered up their bags and ended up here.

Outside, the view is nothing but a whitewash of snow, flurries over flurries against a colorless sky, and the threat of an early sunset bringing on a new shade of deepening gray.

"What am I being dumb about?" he asks.

"The bed," Raven answers.

The sound from behind the bathroom door is that of a shower, now. So at least he has some hope that Little Blake isn't planning on monopolizing the bathroom for the entire rest of the night.

"I mean it's a king," Raven's saying. "You sleep on one side, Octavia and I will take the other."

She unzips her jacket, slips out of it and drapes it across the chair instead. Snowflakes are melting on the shoulders of it, are melting in her hair, too, so that when she takes down her ponytail, the dark waves fall across her shoulders with a slight dampness about them, as if she'd just stepped out of a shower herself. Her cheeks are flushed, too. His own skin feels uncomfortably warm.

"You know I roll around a lot in my sleep," he warns.

Raven considers. She crosses her arms against her chest, and he catches sight of her playing with her hair tie, stretching it between her fingers idly. "Then I'll sleep in the middle," she says. "You roll, Octavia kicks—"

"And you snore, I bet."

Raven snorts. But she doesn't seem to take offense. "I was going to say I'll be the buffer."

Murphy takes another look around the room: the inoffensive painting of flowers, the dark beige carpet at his feet, the little table by the window, with the hotel stationary on it, and the stiff red curtains framing the winter storm outside. All planes grounded. Nothing in or out all night.

"I guess this isn't exactly the romantic night you were expecting," he says, and he sounds a little sorry about it, even to his own ears.

Raven shrugs. "Actually I was expecting to sleep on the plane. So I guess this is technically a step up."

[horizon-verizon]

Are they trying to force Naerys/Aemon dynamic to Helaena/Aemond in the show🤢? There is absolutely zero hints/implications in the book that Aemond cared about helaena as a sister let alone having a crush on her or something. I'm tired of them trying so hard into forcing "tis a who studied the blade and philosophy" Aemond down on our throats

I mean the show is really trash and they drop the ball when they decided to Whitewash the worst of the greens Aemond/Alicent. If they're are desperately want to make this conflict "grey" they've Daeron/Helaena out there instead they choose Maegor reborn again?!

Yes, they are trying a Naerys/Aemond dynamic on these two. However, Aemond is only like Aemon in that they are both men, princes, Targaryens, and warriors. They have nothing alike personality or motivation wise.

While Naerys and Helaena are alike in that both:

are women married to their brothers in arrangements by their parents

deal with sexual abuse and rape (Helaena in the book even was most likely not always consenting)

are examples of "simple", gender-conforming, "submissive" women for wanting to be in two feudal/patriarchal female-oriented institutions/states: motherhood and nunnery/septahood (religious vocation for women)

These are for how feudal patriarchy makes these women victims, not full characters or persons. Granted, there's nothing much Gyldayn writes about Helaena besides her grief, madness and great fit for motherhood, but that's the fact of Gyldayn. We don't know if Helaena had her own sort of inner strength that was ignored, discounted, or never discovered. (EDIT yes she did) I personally think that there's room for it. And other distinctive traits that could actually make her her own person.

Despite what Aemond says, motherhood does not make one weak. HotD failed to make Helaena into a person, as her autistic-coded self still makes autism a personality trait (when it isn't) with her only ever showing some distinctiveness through it, that part in HotD where she talks about Aegon drunkenly abusing her and ignoring elsewise, and her playing with bugs.

The love for Helaena is mostly about how she suffers and her added, useless-to-the-greens, powers -- not who she is or how it sho s the greens' negligence. Because you will see many fans just take her powers as is

Naerys and Aemon are described in A World of Ice and Fire (written by Maester Yandel) as:

Queen Naerys—the one woman Aegon IV bedded in whom he took no pleasure—was pious and gentle and frail, and all these things the king misliked. Childbirth also proved a trial to Naerys, for she was small and delicate. When Prince Daeron was born on the last day of 153 AC, Grand Maester Alford warned that another pregnancy might kill her. Naerys was said to address her brother thus: "I have done my duty by you, and given you an heir. I beg you, let us live henceforth as brother and sister." We are told that Aegon replied: "That is what we are doing." Aegon continued to insist his sister perform her wifely duties for the rest of her life.

Matters between them were inflamed further by Prince Aemon, their brother, who had been inseparable from Naerys when they were young. Aegon's resentment of his noble, celebrated brother was plain to all, for the king delighted in slighting Aemon and Naerys both at every turn. Even after the Dragonknight died in his defense, and Queen Naerys perished in childbed the year after, Aegon IV did little to honor their memory.

("The Targaryen Kings: Aegon IV")

AND

She had skin so pale that it seemed almost translucent, men said. She was small of frame (and made smaller by having little appetite), with very fine features, and singers wrote songs in praise of her eyes—a deep violet in hue and very large, framed by pale lashes.

She loved Aemon best of her brothers, for he knew how to make her laugh—and he had something of the same piety that she possessed, while Aegon did not. She loved the Seven as dearly as she loved her brother, if not more so, and might have been a septa if her lord father had allowed it. But he did not, and Viserys instead wed her to his son Aegon in 153 AC, with King Aegon III's blessing. The singers say that Aemon and Naerys both wept during the ceremony, though the histories tell us Aemon quarreled with Aegon at the wedding feast, and that Naerys wept during the bedding rather than the wedding.

("The Targaryen Kings: Viserys II")

So we also know little about Naerys but more about her than we do Helaena.

There is nothing to suggest, nor nothing in Aemond's personality that shows he and Helaena would have ever been attracted to each other. I also think if we were to grey-ify anyone it would be Daeron or Helaena, even though Daeron did kill a whole town for Maelor's death when it definitely wasn't it or its lady's faults. Maybe make Daeron promise to be his nephew and niece's protector after seeing and showing how Aegon and Aemond don't care about them, favoring Maelor because of his secondary son status (secondary, not second) and then feeling guilt for their deaths, IDK. Honestly, the jump cut between the 5th and 6th episodes made us lose so much. I already complained about it multiple times, but yeah. Goes to show how much the writers and show runners feel for the side trying to win on the basis of male privilege and greed.

[teabooksandsweets]

A City of Bells

Chapter I — Part VI

Jocelyn followed Grandfather’s squat black figure and bald head up to the final stairs to the spare-room. It was a perfect panelled room with three windows looking out on the garden. Old oak beams crossed the whitewashed ceiling and in each of the four corners of the room was a carved wooden seraph with two wings covering his feet, two folded across his breast and two outspread behind him. There was no carpet on the oak floor that rose and fell like the waves of the sea, and no pictures on the walls, and the furniture was limited to the barest necessities.

“This is perhaps more of a monk’s room than a soldier’s,” said Grandfather, “but you must remember that Torminster was once a monastery and the Close is the coffin that holds its bones. Some people find this house frightening. The bones of the skeleton show through too clearly, they say, and the damp smell makes them think of death.”

“How old is this house?” asked Jocelyn.

“It belongs to all time. The hall and kitchen and larder are Norman, the tower is fifteenth century and this room has an eighteenth-century powdering powdering closet … But my greenhouse is pure Victorian … Have you everything you want?”

“Everything but peace of mind,” said Jocelyn unexpectedly and blushed crimson.

He remembered of old that Grandfather’s effect upon him was always to make him say exactly what was in his mind … An embarrassing effect … Such people as Grandfather, possessed of a sincerity as catching as measles, shouldn’t be allowed about loose in a world where the wearing of a mask was good form.

Grandfather sat down at the foot of the bed and folded his hands across his stomach, always a sign that he was giving a subject his serious consideration. The expression of his face changed from one of trouble to one of deep attention, as Ferranti’s disappearance passed from his mind and Jocelyn’s mental condition took its place.

“Peace is as essential to mental health, dear boy, as light to human life. What has happened to yours?”

“Mislaid it in South Africa,” said Jocelyn bitterly. “My work’s gone and I don’t know what to do. How can a man be peaceful when he has no future?”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Grandfather almost sharply. “We’ve all a future. You don’t know in what direction yours lies, that’s all, and you’ve not the patience to wait and see which way the wind blows.”

“The wind?” asked Jocelyn.

“Our destiny is like a wind blowing,” said Grandfather. “It carries us along. But now and again the wind seems to drop. We don’t know what to do next. Then it may be that a blade of grass growing in the road beside us bends slightly. It is a tiny movement, slight as a whim, but enough to show us which way to take.”

Jocelyn smiled at Grandfather affectionately. “If we were all to yield to our whims,” he said, “we’d do some pretty crazy things. I, for instance, would start a shop in Torminster.”

“Would you like to start a shop in Torminster?”

“It’s an idea that occurred to me as I drove up the High Street.”

“Then start it.”

Jocelyn laughed. “I was only joking, Grandfather. How could I start a shop with no capital and no experience and no business capacity?”

Grandfather unclasped his hands and rose sighing to his feet. He feared that Jocelyn was in a difficult frame of mind, depressed and restless, and this was hardly the moment to induce him to see reason.

“Stay here and do nothing,” he advised him. “Stay a year if you like. What does it matter? It’s often necessary in life to do nothing, but so few people do it nicely. And as for peace, there’s plenty of it in this house and in this town. They are so weighted with age that they have, as it were, fallen below the surface of time, like a buried city below the sea … Fall with them … Dear me, I must go and say evensong or I shall be late for dinner, and that distresses your dear grandmother.”

Left alone Jocelyn unpacked slowly, discovering the powdering closet, hardly bigger than a cupboard, where long ago some hooped and panniered lady had silvered her hair with powder, put a round black patch on her chin, rouge on her cheeks and rings on her fingers … What a fuss about nothing her toilet must have been! … But perhaps she was one of those people who do nothing so nicely that it becomes something. As he arranged his books on the shelf in the closet he pictured her to himself, slim and golden-haired, clothed in silk that rustled like autumn leaves, tremendously absorbed, as she powdered and patched and laced, in the creation of beauty.

nd longer ago still his room was part of the monastery. Some monk sat here, perhaps, making a missal, painting into it purple pansies and ivory roses and queer little animals with long legs and scarlet, tongues, the great-grandfathers of the dragon who pranced on the signboard in the Market Place. And the monk, as he painted a blue sky behind his ivory roses and put golden scrolls round the animals’ legs, would have been as absorbed in the making of a beautiful thing as the lady with her rouge-pot and her jewel-case … And on them both the winged seraphim would have looked down, and for them both the time that in Torminster did not pass away but only stepped into the background would have been measured into golden lengths by the chiming of bells.

Jocelyn realized that for him too bells were ringing, for the Cathedral clock was striking seven and he must change for dinner. On the last stroke Sarah knocked at his door and entered with hot water. She did everything by the Cathedral clock. When it chimed half-past six she put the kettle on. When it chimed a quarter-to-seven she slowly filled the cans and toiled up the stairs to the room where Grandfather and Grandmother slept, where she laid out their evening things on their fourposter and dumped their hot water into the basins with resounding bangs, just as the first stroke of seven rang out … On the last stroke of seven she knocked at the spare-room door … It was all a very serious ritual and she stumped across the room to Jocelyn’s washstand with the solemnity of a priest approaching the shrine of the oracle.

“You’ve laid out your own things,” she said severely. “I do that.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” said Jocelyn meekly. “But you see I was unpacking and I thought it would save you trouble.”

“Trouble!” snorted Sarah. “That’s what I’m here for. Life’s made up of trouble. You must expect that … I expect you find the master and mistress sadly changed?”

“I don’t see the slightest difference in them, Sarah,” said Jocelyn. “They never change.”

“Ah,” said Sarah, “you don’t live with them as I do and see them going down ’ill steady. I ’ope the dinner will be eatable, but Ellen’s very ’eavy-’anded with the pastry owing to ’aving been thrown over by the butcher which, as I tell ’er, it’s not to be expected that a man should keep faithful to a woman of ’er age, but it takes a light ’eart to make light pastry and it’s we that are the sufferers, as is only to be expected when you remember that in this world the innocent suffer for the guilty … Dinner’s at a quarter-to-eight, sir.”

She stalked away again and Jocelyn was left to embark upon the second shave of the day. It was quite unnecessary, but he was fastidious, one of those people whose private as well as whose public moments are controlled and decorous. Without consciously realizing it he liked to make each trivial act of life a thing of individual perfection, and in this he was linked to the monk and the lady.

He was immersed in white lather when there was a sudden pattering of bare feet outside his door, which burst open with no preliminary knock to admit a small boy with freckles and flaming red hair. He cast one glance at Jocelyn and dashed out again, leaving the door open and shouting at the full force of his lungs, “Come on, Henrietta, he’s shaving!”

Before Jocelyn had time to draw breath Hugh Anthony was back again with Henrietta. They had evidently arisen from their beds, for they were clothed in white nightgown and nightshirt and were barefooted. They leapt on to his bed with the agility of young rabbits and leant over its foot as though it were the front rail of the dress circle, their eyes bulging and their mouths ajar. Jocelyn realized that, for the first time in his life, he was an exciting entertainment. The parental toilet was, he had heard, as good as a circus to the Edwardian young, but these children, fatherless and with a bearded grandfather, had up till now missed one of the chief thrills in life. He flourished his razor and prepared to do his best. While he did it there was no sound but deep, ecstatic breathing, and when he had finished there was a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction.

“There! He’s done!” said Hugh Anthony. “Did you think it would be like that, Henrietta?”

“I thought it would make more noise,” said Henrietta, “like when Bates cuts the grass.”

“I expect he hadn’t got enough beard,” said Hugh Anthony. “Now if Grandfather started shaving I dare say it would be more noisy.”

Jocelyn put on his coat and turned round to survey the couple.

Hugh Anthony at eight years old was compact and rounded like his grandfather. His blue, astonished eyes were also like his grandfather’s, but his circular face, dusted all over with golden freckles, his turned-up nose and flaming red hair were all his own. Quite his own too was his look of perpetual inquiry. His whole body seemed at times to be curved into the shape of a questionmark and the word “why?” was seldom off his lips. The house rang with it from the moment he woke up in the morning until the moment when he fell asleep with his final question still vibrating in the air of the silent, unanswering night.

“Why don’t you grow a beard?” he asked Jocelyn.

“I’ve been a soldier,” said Jocelyn, “and in the Army it is the fashion to have a moustache only.”

“Why?”

“To distinguish soldiers from sailors, who are either clean-shaven or have beards.”

“Why?”

“It’s just the fashion.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

Henrietta pushed Hugh Anthony face downward on the bed and seated herself upon the small of his back where, enthroned in grace, she smiled sweetly at Jocelyn. She was a child of few words, but all her actions were quick, decisive and to the point.

She was an astonishing creature, not conventionally beautiful, but with a grace and certain luminous quality that were far more arresting than the usual nine-year-old female chubbiness. She was small and thin with long-fingered hands and slender feet. Her brown eyes were curiously changeable with her moods, sometimes blazing with light and sometimes opaquely dark, as though the spirit behind them were a newly lit flame so sensitive that a breath of joy or sorrow could fan it into a blaze or extinguish it altogether. Her face, small and pointed, rising from the Toby frill of her nightgown like a flower from its calyx and very pale against her straight dark hair, made Jocelyn think of white jasmine.

“I hope we are not intruding,” she said politely to Jocelyn. Her voice was curiously deep for a child, with a ringing note in it that was very beautiful.

“Not at all,” said Jocelyn. “I am honoured.”

“Grandfather says Hugh Anthony is to call you uncle,” she said. “Do I call you uncle too even though I’m only adopted?”

“Please,” said Jocelyn. “Until now I have had no niece. It’s a dreadful thing, you know, to have no niece.”

He came close to the bed and smiled down at her, and instantly, with her answering smile, her whole being seemed to come flooding into her face. She was giving him her friendship with the lovely abandonment of childhood that has not learned yet to hold back for fear the love given should be scorned. Jocelyn, in this his first close contact with a child, felt not so much touched as stabbed. This trustfulness and fragility were almost terrifying, for how in the world, as children grew from childhood to maturity and the bloom was rubbed off them, did the sensitive spirit itself escape destruction? … Well, sometimes it did but sometimes it did not … And the man who destroyed it? “It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.” Heaven above, what an alarming thing it must be to be a parent!

But at this moment Hugh Anthony, whose ordinary temperament was always a relief after Henrietta’s emotional one, became tired of lying on his face with his mouth full of eiderdown and abruptly heaved up his posterior. Henrietta rolled off the bed to the floor on one side and Hugh Anthony on the other.

“Did you bring your sword?” he asked, while still in a recumbent position.

“No,” said Jocelyn.

“Why not?”

“I didn’t think I should have any use for it.”

“But we could have played at St. George and the Dragon with it, you being the Dragon and me George.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jocelyn. “I never thought of that.”

“Then you should have,” said Hugh Anthony severely. “You should have remembered when you packed that I should have wanted to see your sword. Grandfather says that every morning in one’s cold bath one should say to oneself, ‘Now what can I do for others to-day?’”

The gong rang.

“Hadn’t you two kids better go to bed?” inquired Jocelyn.

“We don’t go properly to bed till it’s dark,” said Henrietta, sitting up on the floor and re-plaiting her hair. “We’re put there and then we get out again. Come on, Hugh Anthony, we’ll go up to the top of the tower and see the stars come out. We’ll take Uncle Jocelyn’s eiderdown.”

They departed as suddenly as they had come, trailing the eiderdown after them like clouds of glory.

[gvawood]

Black and White Interior Design Trends for 2024

This minimalist approach, often associated with contemporary or modern design, is gaining popularity for its ability to create a clean, stylish, and effortlessly chic look. In 2024, the monochrome trend is evolving, incorporating elements of high-quality, solid wood furniture to add warmth and texture to these sharp contrasts.

Black and white is a classic combination that never goes out of style. Whether you’re aiming for a modern, industrial look or a more traditional, elegant atmosphere, this color scheme offers endless versatility. It serves as the perfect backdrop for showcasing beautiful furniture pieces and unique decor elements.

The key to a successful black-and-white interior is finding the right balance. Too much black can make a space feel dark and heavy, while too much white can feel stark and cold. The best designs use solid wood furniture in natural tones to bridge the gap, adding warmth and depth to the room.

In a monochrome setting, the textures and shapes of your furniture and decor take center stage. High-quality solid wood pieces, with their natural grains and rich finishes, become focal points in a black-and-white room. A sleek black dining table paired with white upholstered chairs, or a white bed frame against a black accent wall, can create a stunning visual impact.

Invest in high-quality, solid wood furniture that stands out against your monochrome backdrop. A solid black oak coffee table or a whitewashed wooden console can become the centerpiece of your living room or bedroom.

[mogulinterior]

Haute Bohemian Rustic Interiors and Design

Antique Indian Furniture designs are full of an earthy vibrancy, a tumultuous love story of pattern and texture with the sandy whitewashed cabinets, Jaipur blue consoles, deep green rustic door cabinets. Each room starts with a stillness of subdued, soft base that allows the vibrancy of design elements to emerge.The structured decor is neutral and the accessories or furnitures are bold and exotic.

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A beautiful old Haveli door make a phenomenal headboard, with a long chest at the end of the bed to store blankets and pillows. The bay window is framed with an antique arch that reminds you of old palaces in India with their cusped windows. Soft pashmina blankets and colorful toss pillows complete the design. An Old door sideboard chest is used as a media console and gives added storage. Connecting to the roots and an infusion of culture and history makes you stand apart from the crowd. Mixing styles and being globally inspired, keep the color tones in a similar category so as to stay uniformly chaotic.

Traditional classic design with a bohemian flair yet polished and purposeful, haute bohemian interiors are a class apart. Curated antique sculptures with the energies of ancient spiritual wisdom bring the essence of the world traveller with sophisticated and purposeful design.

[beds1234]

Embracing Tranquil Luxury: Discovering Bedroom Suites In Bondi Junction

Nestled amidst the vibrant energy of Sydney's Bondi Junction, bedroom suites exemplify a harmonious blend of coastal charm, modern innovation, and timeless elegance. As residents seek both comfort and style in their living spaces, Bondi Junction's furniture offerings stand out for their unique designs and thoughtful craftsmanship. From integrated storage solutions to sustainable materials and personalised design services, these bedroom suites cater to the diverse preferences of urban dwellers.

1. Coastal-Inspired Elegance

Reflecting Bondi Junction's proximity to the beach, many bedroom suites feature coastal-inspired designs that evoke a sense of relaxation and tranquillity. Soft, neutral colour palettes reminiscent of sand and sea are common, complemented by natural materials such as whitewashed wood and rattan accents. These suites create a serene retreat within urban settings, capturing the essence of coastal living.

2. Integrated Storage Solutions

In compact living spaces typical of Bondi Junction, bedroom suites often incorporate integrated storage solutions to maximise functionality without sacrificing style. Bed frames with built-in drawers or bedside tables with hidden compartments provide ample storage for clothing, bedding, and personal items. These clever designs help residents maintain a clutter-free environment while optimising space efficiency.

3. Customisable Configurations

Flexibility is key in Bondi Junction's bedroom suites, with customisable configurations that allow residents to tailor their sleeping spaces to suit their lifestyle. Modular bedroom sets offer versatility, enabling homeowners to mix and match components such as bed frames, dressers, and nightstands according to their preferences and room dimensions. This customisation ensures that every bedroom suite is uniquely suited to individual needs.

4. Luxurious Upholstered Headboards

Adding a touch of sophistication, many bedroom suites in Bondi Junction feature luxurious upholstered headboards. These headboards, upholstered in plush fabrics like velvet or linen, serve as focal points in the room while providing comfort when sitting up in bed. The choice of upholstery colours and textures allows residents to personalise their bedrooms, creating a luxurious and inviting atmosphere.

5. Smart Bedroom Technology

Bondi Junction embraces the integration of smart technology in bedroom suites, offering residents convenience and connectivity. Smart beds with adjustable settings for optimal comfort, bedside lamps with built-in USB charging ports, and voice-controlled lighting systems are examples of how technology enhances everyday living. These innovations cater to modern lifestyles, allowing for seamless integration of tech into bedroom decor.

6. Artisanal Craftsmanship

Bondi Junction's bedroom suites showcase artisanal craftsmanship and attention to detail, offering residents bespoke furniture pieces that exemplify quality and artistry. Handcrafted bed frames, custom-made dressers, and artisan upholstery reflect the skill of local craftsmen, creating pieces that are not only functional but also works of art. This dedication to craftsmanship ensures that each bedroom suite exudes character and elegance.

7. Space-Saving Innovations

Given the premium on space in Bondi Junction, bedroom suites often incorporate innovative space-saving solutions. Murphy beds that fold into wall cabinets during the day, sliding wardrobes that maximise closet space, and compact vanity units with built-in mirrors and storage compartments are popular choices. These innovations enable residents to optimise their bedroom layouts while maintaining a stylish and organised environment.

In Bondi Junction, bedroom suites are more than just functional spaces—they are expressions of personal style and comfort. From coastal-inspired themes to smart technology integration, each suite offers residents a sanctuary tailored to their lifestyle needs. With a focus on innovation, sustainability, and artisanal craftsmanship, Bondi Junction continues to redefine luxury and elegance in bedroom furniture trends.