#an unadorned rectangle

[atwitchyship]

oh my god. It's so beautiful, too, and like, linen. Linen is insane to make. And then they wove it and kept it in a neat little box and it's.

It's like touching history. Of course they repaired it and washed it, it was very valuable and well-made (look how fine!) and just. We're looking at someone's laundry, several millennia past. It blows my mind.

It doesn’t look that exciting, but this linen is from the New Kingdom (ca. 1492–1473 B.C.)

Thinking about it for too long makes me feel absolutely insane.

[minaturefics]

Alive & Alight

Request/prompt from @tolkien-fantasy: Aragorn or Eomer x Reader but the reader is a disabled girl who can't ride horses because of her illnesses, so she becomes a leatherworker who makes saddles instead because that's the closest she can get to working with horses. She gets commissioned by Elrond/Theoden to make Brego or Hasufel a saddle and they fall head over heels for her.

A/N: It's... finally here... idk why I even try to limit myself to <3k words when things just always overflow. I tried to keep the disability vague, and based it on my understanding from a relation of mine. If anything comes off as problematic, please lmk. Hope you all enjoy it!

Eomer x disabled!Reader

Fem reader

Content warnings: Non-graphic/detailed mentions of chronic pain

5.5k words

---

The evening sun streamed through the windows into the workshop, casting long rectangles of orange across the workbenches. The sweet, earthy scent of leather lingered in the air above the sharp tang of metal. You rocked the head knife, slicing through the buttery leather. Pain shot through your body and the blade clattered to the table. 

Across the room, Deormund looked up from his work, a frown on his face. His dark blonde hair was pulled up in a haphazard bun and stray strands brushed the top of his shoulders. He was burly and stout, but his brown eyes were gentle. “Girl, are you hurting again?”

“I’m alright, sir.” You stretched and shifted in your seat. “I just want to get started on this saddle before we finish for today.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and shook his head. “You’ve had enough.”

“But—”

“There is no nobility in unnecessary suffering, girl.” He laid his awl down and crossed the room. “Come, you should rest.” He ushered you over to a small table in the corner and lifted the cloth covering a basket of bread. “I’ll finish up the cutting.”

You tore off a piece of bread and stared out the window. Horses trotted by, their heads bobbing and their tails flicking. How beautiful they were, with their braided manes and glossy coats. You eyed the riders, just some simple merchants riding back to their villages, and your chest tightened. If only you were able to ride, if only your body did not ache so. 

Your eyes wandered to the plains just visible through the thatched roofs. Oh, to ride unhindered through the grass, to feel the sting of the wind, to go wherever your heart desired. You sighed and comforted yourself with the knowledge that you still had the pleasure of working with horses in your craft. You could make them beautiful saddles, comfortable for both animal and rider, could see your work on the backs of the most noble horses.

Voices approached the workshop and your eyes drifted to the entrance.

“Uncle, this is unnecessary.”

“Eomer, it is time for a new saddle.”

“I do not see what is wrong with my own.”

“It is… plain. Future kings do not ride on unadorned saddles.”

Your eyes met your mentor’s and your heart sped up. The prince and the king? You tossed the half eaten bread back in the basket and replaced the cloth just as they entered the workshop. They were dressed in their formal tunics, the gold embellishments glinting against the rich green velvet. Theoden was grinning, but Eomer’s lips were pressed in a hard line. 

“Your highness,” Deormund tugged his dirty apron off and bowed deeply. 

You forced yourself to stand, wincing as you did so. You managed a short curtsey before the dull throb of pain began to grow. 

Theoden gestured at the rickety chair. “Please, sit. I understand that you suffer from an illness.”

Eomer’s eyes drifted over to you and your breath hitched in your throat. He seemed to fill the room in a way that was not evident when you saw him from afar. He was tall, taller than his uncle, and his broad frame seemed to make the room smaller. His gaze fixed you where you stood and for a moment all you could do was stare back into his hazel eyes.

You glanced away, willing your heart to slow, as you lowered yourself back down.

What were they doing at the workshop? It was rare of the king and his family to personally visit merchants and craftsmen. Was it the saddle you had made for one of the Marshals of the Riddermark? Were they dissatisfied? Your fingers twitched on your lap, wishing you had one of your tools to fiddle with. 

“I’ve come to convince my nephew to have a new saddle made.” Theoden shot a look at Eomer. “I thought perhaps if he saw the level of craftsmanship that went into the saddles you make he would be won over.”

Deormund nodded and walked over to the bench where the half-finished saddles sat. “These are all hand-carved by our young lady over there.”

Eomer’s eyes met yours again, intense but with a spark of curiosity in them. He joined Deormund by the bench and cast his eyes over the saddles. You fidgeted with your thin apron. Would they be to his liking? To have one of your saddles on the horse of the prince, the future king of Rohan… It would be an honour of the highest regard, one of the greatest compliments to your work and skill. You swallowed as you watched his face. 

His brows slowly relaxed and his jaw loosened. He reached a hand out and traced the ridges and grooves of the pattern. “These tell a story,” he muttered, voice full of wonder. “A woman’s journey across the plains, an encounter with another, injured. Caring, healing, building a home together.” He looked at the next one. “And this, of a young boy and his father, from travelling merchants to wealthy shop owners.”

His eyes cut to yours and you nodded. “Horses are the centre of our people. I wanted to pay homage to the way they serve us, the way we work with them. They carry more than just our bodies on their backs, they carry our lives, our stories.”

He held your gaze, his hazel eyes alight with something you could not name. 

“Alright,” he said, eyes never wavering from you. “A new saddle, I’ll agree to it. But only if it’s you.”

-

Eomer paced his rooms, a frown on his face and his hands behind his back. Candles burned around the space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was filled with Eowyn’s perfume, lavender and some Gondorian flower he could not place, and under that, something familiar and comforting that reminded him of their parents.

The last few days had brought back memories he did not know he had.

He had spoken to you about his life as part of your work for the saddle. The memories and stories had come slow and stilted at first, but encouraged by your soft eyes and smiles, they began to unspool and unfurl. His mother’s hands covering his as they stroked the horse, his father’s booming voice as he acted bedtime stories out, racing Eowyn on ponies across the fields. 

You had sat there, hands folded on your lap, still and attentive, listening. Once again, he had been struck by how beautiful you were. When he had walked into the workshop and set eyes on you, his stomach had fluttered and flipped. Framed by the window, illuminated by the evening sun, you looked glorious, at home among the leather and tools. 

“Daydreaming again, brother?” Eowyn said as she walked into the room and settled on the cushioned bench. 

He clicked his tongue at her. “Do not tease me so. I was not daydreaming, I was… thinking.”

Eowyn snickered. “About the young lady who makes the saddles?”

His cheeks burned and he turned away from his sister. “She is… intriguing.”

“How so?”

“Have you seen her work? It is a marvel how she manages to bring stories to life on the leather. Her carving is so intricate, it is nearly unbelievable.” He spun to face her. “And when she speaks of her work, she comes alive, shines almost, like the Entwash on a summer’s day. And when she smiles, I —”

His sister laughed. “Brother, I dare say you are smitten.”

He grumbled and looked out of the window. Could anyone fault him, truly? He was surprised there was not a line of suitors lingering outside the workshop or your home. 

Homes and shops dotted the hill of Edoras, flowing down from Meduseld. Little squares of light vanished into the distance and darkness and he gazed out wondering which one of those squares might have been yours. Were you whiling your evening away on your own, or was there another beside you, holding your hand, enjoying your smiles?

His stomach clenched strangely at that thought and he whirled around to face Eowyn. “How goes your project with the healing houses?”

“Well enough. The building you have allotted us is more than sufficient. Our apothecaries are not as well stocked, but the women are well trained.” Her eyes softened with understanding. “Uncle has told me she suffers from a chronic hurt. There is not much we can do, but I will be able to brew a tonic to ease the pain a little.”

“I would be most grateful,” he muttered. He sighed and joined his sister on the bench. “I am seeing her again in a few days. She has sketched out a design, I think. She wishes for me to look over it.” 

“Are you nervous to see her?”

He scowled at her. “I am not nervous. I am simply… eager to see what she has come up with.”

“And I suppose your now regularly washed and oiled hair has no relation to your meetings with her?” Eowyn bit back a smile.

Eomer’s eyes darted back to the window. “Nothing at all.”

-

The late afternoon sun poured over Edoras and the thatched roofs below you gleamed gold. A cool wind swept through the small garden, tossing your hair and tickling the back of your neck. You leaned back against the cushions spread on the stone bench, idly playing with the glass vial he had given you, while he looked over your sketch.

“I feel as though something is missing,” he muttered. “Here, in the later sections.”

You leaned over and peered at the sheets of paper. It depicted the victory at the Black Gate, his reunion with a healed Eowyn, his return back to Edoras. The last panel showed him with his uncle and sister, standing in front of The Golden Hall.“I have never been to Gondor or seen Minas Tirith. Is there something wrong with the way I’ve drawn them?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps there is some part else that also needs to be included.” He handed the parchment back to you. “But the earlier panels are perfect. My parents, my family… you have brought their memory alive.”

You gave him a smile as your fingers tightened around the paper. You looked at the figurines, at the vistas and buildings you had drawn. “I can start on the first few sections. Then perhaps in time what is missing will come to you.”

“May I keep them? Reviewing them might help, I think. And I can show Eowyn as well.” You nodded and he rolled the papers up.

He hummed and looked out at the fields. You followed his gaze and tried not to focus on how his knee was pressed against yours. You could feel the warmth coming off him, could smell his scent of leather and sandalwood.

You thought back to the last couple of weeks, to the hours spent talking to him. There was a fire to Eomer, a passion that seemed to overflow from him, and when he told his stories, he told them with a fervour that roused your spirit. It was no wonder then, that he was one of the Marshals of the Riddermark, no wonder how so many were willing to leave with him when he was exiled. 

But there was also a softness to him, a tenderness underneath it all. In the quiet of the evening, by the light of the fire, he had told you stories of his parents and his sister. How they used to terrorise the servants in the house, how they would spend time braiding each other’s hair, how their parents would take them around the villages and towns, acquainting them with their people.

It seemed that he drifted closer to you with each visit. The first time he had sat opposite you, his heavy desk like a wall between the both of you. But soon he sat in the next armchair over, and then some visits later he chose to share the cushioned bench by the window with you. The front of his knees would graze yours, or his hand would rest just a reach away.

You had heard from the gossiping maids at Meduseld that he was yet to find a partner. How was it possible that a man like him did not have countless betrothal offers and arrangements? For a time it seemed as though there were always princesses or noble ladies coming to visit Edoras, especially after Eowyn’s marriage to Faramir.

They were all regal and graceful and soft.

Eomer cleared his throat and turned back to you. “My lady, I was wondering if you had some time to spare after this.”

“I do. Would you like to discuss the design more? Or maybe look over the different leathers that we have?”

“No, ah, I was hoping you’d like to join me for dinner.” His cheeks tinged pink. 

“Dinner?” Your finger tightened around the vial. What a strange thing to ask of you. It was not very common for the royal family to invite mere craftsmen and merchants for dinner. Perhaps he was just being polite since the evening was drawing near and he had taken up any time you would have had to prepare a meal.

It had been a long day; carving in the morning and sketching in the afternoon. Your body ached, and you longed for some rest. But Eomer’s eyes were so wide and hopeful, his slight smile so shy and boyish. “I… Um…”

“I understand if perhaps, I am aware you have been quite busy today, if another evening, or morning, would suit you better…”

You smiled at him. “Perhaps in a day or two? I am quite weary today.”

“Of course, of course.” He nodded, a smile growing on his face. “Simply let me know and I shall clear my schedule.”

-

Eomer fiddled with the reins in his hand as the carriage moved towards the small grove by the Snowbourn. There was still an hour or two before sunset and the river glittered in the strong sun. The air was cool and carried the fresh scent of dirt and grass, and subtly, from you just beside him, a smell of cloves from the balm you used on your muscles and joints.

It had been over a week since he last saw you. Your message had come the day after he saw you, deferring the dinner invitation, citing some urgent work that had come up, and he had been left anxious that you had changed your mind. He nearly drove Eowyn mad with his questions and doubts, and more than once she had chased him out of Edoras, telling him to go for a long ride. 

But then your message had come a few mornings later, and he was left scrambling to prepare what he had envisioned in his mind. You had mentioned before how much you adored horses and how much you wished you could ride. It had been some months since you were last out of the city, when you and Deormund went to source some leather from the neighbouring town. 

He had made certain to load the carriage seat with cushions, to bring a basket of fresh berries and cheese, to plan a path near enough to the city should you wish to return, but far enough that his horse could run unhindered. Everything to make you comfortable, everything just so he could spend some time with you away from the chatter and noise of Edoras.

Just you and him, alone. 

He froze in his seat. Was it not proper to do such a thing? Was there some parent he needed to ask permission from? Or even then, were you willing to be alone with him in such a setting? Bema, he should have thought about it more, but from the moment you had accepted his invitation that afternoon his mind had run away with plans and ideas. 

He fought the urge to glance at you beside him. Did you simply accept his plan because he was a prince? Perhaps you did not actually wish to come out with him, perhaps you simply felt obliged. Eowyn has berated him more than once about his forwardness and rashness. Perhaps he had overstepped without even realising. 

“My lord?” you asked, and he allowed his eyes to dart to you. “Is anything the matter? You have gone stiff and quiet.”

“I was simply thinking.”

“What troubles you?”

He tugged on the reins and slowed the carriage to a halt. He turned in the narrow seat to face you. “My lady, do you truly wish to be here?” You frowned but he continued. “I do not wish for you to feel obligated to… to… accept my invitations simply because I am a prince. I would not wish to —”

You reached for his hand but your fingers curled away. You shook your head. “I feel no such thing. I assure you, I… I do wish to be here.”

His heart sped up. “Well, I am… yes, I… I am glad to hear it.”

“Now, let us go. I wish to stop by the river.” You grinned at him and his chest loosened. “But perhaps… we could go faster?” Your smile turned shy and you glanced away. “I relish the rush of wind in my face, the sight of the land hurtling by.”

“Then perhaps you should take the reins.” The worn leather sat in his open palm. 

You reached out, your fingertips grazing his skin, delicate and feather-light. Your hand curled around the reigns and your smile turned sly. “Are you certain? Deormund never lets me with the reins for fear of his life.”

He laughed. “My lady, I have much experience with Eowyn’s wild steering. I beg you, do not hold back. Go as fast as you please.”

You tugged on the reins and clicked your tongue, and before he knew it, he was thrown back in his seat as you laughed above the roaring wind. 

-

You knocked the mallet against the decorative stamp, shifting ever so slightly across the smooth leather. Mountains materialised over the plains, rising above the ocean of grass. You sighed, thinking about the evening out with Eomer racing wild across the fields. It had been exhilarating, the trundle of the carriage, nearly flying with the speed of Firefoot. And afterwards, windswept and giddy, he had taken you home. 

You thought of how he lingered in the low light of the lantern hanging by your front door, his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed. How he wished you goodnight, his voice low and his gaze alight with something you had not seen in his eyes before.

“Girl,” Deormund said, and you looked up. He glanced away and down at the piece of leather he was working on and fiddled with his knife. “It might not be my place to ask, but that boy…”

“You mean… the prince?”

“Yes. That boy.” He grumbled something under his breath. “Listen child, I am not one for gossip and rumours but even I cannot escape the words flying around Edoras at the moment.”

You flushed a little and glanced away. Deormund was the closest thing you had to a parent, and the weight of his words caused your stomach to turn. Did he disapprove in some way? Was it perhaps affecting the business? “Is something the matter?”

He cleared his throat and you hazarded a glance at him. His face was impassive but his eyes were concerned. “Do you truly care for him?”

Your fingers traced the outlines on the leather idly. “Yes. He is a good friend to me.”

“A friend…?”

You sighed and threw your hands up. “Yes, a friend. I do not know why you prod and poke me so. You are a practical man, sir. Of all people I’m certain that you understand that he and I will be nothing more than friends.”

Your chest tightened as the words left your mouth, the reality of it suddenly tangible in the air. You deflated in your chair, body protesting at the sudden movement from before. 

“Girl —”

You shook your head. “There is no use in it. I know the work we do is important, held in high esteem even, but we are still craftsmen. And craftsmen are not equal to princes. Eomer will find another, and she will make a fine queen for him one day.”

You looked at the panel you were working on. It was one of the last ones, and after the saddle was finished, there was no reason for you and him to keep meeting. Yes, Eomer will find someone else, and all that will be left for you will be the ghost of the memories. Would he bring her into the workshop and commission a saddle for her? Will you have to watch as he gazed upon her with love in his eyes?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to push you. It is just… You have seen happier these past few weeks. I thought perhaps I would have to find a new apprentice.”

A new apprentice, of course. Even if Eomer did return your feelings, what of your work? Leather carving was not the work of a queen; there would be no doubt that you would have to give it up. But to sit in hallowed rooms, silent and still, forever staring out at the plains, what sort of life would that be? 

You looked around the workshop. It was home, was it not? The worn wooden work tables, the comforting scent of leather, the tools that fit so perfectly in the palm of your hand. 

Tears stung at your eyes and you blinked them away. “Do not worry, sir. There will be no need for that.”

-

Firefoot galloped at full speed. The grass underneath Eomer was nothing but a blur of green. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and dampened the collar of his tunic. His heart pounded in time with his ragged breaths and he tensed his thighs, urging Firefoot to go faster. 

“Enough!” Eowyn shouted as she caught up to him. “Brother, enough!”

He glanced at her. Her hair was wild, streaming with the wind, and her eyes were cold and angry. She was braced on her saddle and he knew she was ready to speed ahead and round her horse to cut him off if he did not heed her words. 

He tugged on the reins and Firefoot began to slow.

“You’re going to run the horses ragged.” She huffed and shook her head. “What is the matter with you?” The horses slowed to a comfortable trot and she drew close to him. “You have been ill-tempered this whole week. Even uncle does not dare to be near you.”

“It is nothing.” He let out a sharp exhale.

“It is that carver, is it not?”

Eomer glanced at his sister. Her gaze had warmed into something soft and sympathetic. He sagged in his saddle and sighed. “Yes. I had thought perhaps… She seemed to like my company, even said so herself. And yet this whole week all of my invitations have been declined.

“She is well within her rights to do so. I am aware she does not owe me anything, but it does… sting somewhat. I do not know if I did anything wrong, if at all. I know there has been gossip circulating. Perhaps she became aware of my feelings and was frightened away? I do not know, and it drives me to madness.”

“Maybe her pain has worsened this week. She simply may not have the capacity to see you.”

“I know,” he groaned. “But in the past she has told me if that is the case. More than once she had rescheduled our earlier meetings. It is unlike her to be so reticent. Maybe I have just been mistaken about her feelings towards me.”

He stared at the horizon wishing he could just ride and ride and ride.

He had never been in love before, not properly at least. There had been little infatuations, charming women who turned his head, but nothing like the feeling that had now rooted itself inside his heart. How was he to love another when you existed in the world? 

Despite himself, he had wandered down to the workshop the day before, just to catch a glimpse of you. He saw you through the window, hunched over the table, working on the saddle. How beautiful you were, your brows creased in concentration, your hands steady and skilled. And when you had laughed at something Deormund said, it took all his willpower not to sweep into the workshop and pull you into his arms. 

He sighed and tipped his head back to catch the cool wind. “The saddle will be finished soon. I will not have any excuses to see her anymore, and perhaps that is for the best. It would be too painful to be by her side and not have her. And she does not need to be burdened with my unwanted feelings.”

Eowyn arched an eyebrow. “Are you certain your feelings are unwanted?”

“I think this past week is evidence of it.”

“It is evidence that perhaps she is… avoiding you. But maybe not for the reasons you think.” She gave a laugh, slightly pained and embarrassed. “When The Ring was destroyed and the sky cleared, there were a few days where Faramir kept his distance from me. He… He thought I would ride out to Cormallen to see Aragorn.”

He blinked at her. “You are suggesting that she is acting in a similar way? But I have not shown interest in anyone but her.”

“I am simply saying that you do not know her reasons for sure. It would do you both good, I think, to speak plainly.”

He nudged her foot with his and gave her a small smile. “I will miss you, sister, when you leave.”

She grinned at him. “We still have a couple weeks yet.”

-

You laid your tools down and swiped at the bead of sweat on your forehead. The second last panel was finished. It showed Eomer’s return to Edoras with his uncle and Eowyn, happy and victorious. You ran your fingers over his carved face and form, unable to stop the small smile from tugging at your lips even as your heart twinged.

Deormund walked over from his station and nodded at the saddle. “You did good work today, girl. Take the rest of the day off.”

You stretched and silently thanked Eowyn for her concoction; your muscles would certainly have been more achy without it. “Thank you, sir. Perhaps I will —”

A shadow darkened the entrance and both of you looked up. 

Eomer stood in the doorway, flushed and slightly out of breath. “Forgive my sudden intrusion. My lady, I wish to speak to you if you can spare the time.”

Your eyes darted from him to Deormund who simply inclined his head. “Is it important, my lord?”

“I would say so, yes. Perhaps we could walk just outside the city gates? But if you are not feeling up to it then —”

“I will go with you.” You stood and tried to slow your heart. It seemed that a week apart from him did not abate your feelings for him. If anything, the sight of him just made you long to be by his side even more. 

You bid Deormund farewell and followed Eomer out of the workshop. The walk down to the city gates was silent, though many openly stared as the both of you passed. You twisted your hands together and kept your gaze fixed on the plains beyond. 

As you passed through the gates, Eomer let out a breath and glanced at you. “Forgive me for taking you out here. I wished to speak to you without the risk of being overheard.” 

You nodded and the both of you paused a few paces from the main road. Simbelmynë waved in the breeze, the delicate blooms rippling where they dotted the barrows. The sun was low in the sky and orange spilled across the land. The end of day bustle and the neigh of horses was just audible through the open gate.

You cleared your throat. “What is it that warrants such a precaution?” You took a breath and readied yourself. Was he unhappy with the saddle so far? Had something terrible happened? Was he being sent away?

“My lady, I hope you will forgive me for being forward, but I simply must know.” He looked into your eyes, beseeching. “Have I offended you in some way? It has not escaped my notice how you have been avoiding me.”

You opened your mouth and then snapped it shut. How could you possibly tell him the truth? It would ruin what friendship you had with him. “I… You have not offended me, I assure you.”

“Then what is it?” He looked askance at you before his eyes trailed over to the barrows. “I know I have not hidden my affection for you well. That much is evident by all the rumours circulating. But if I have made you uncomfortable in any way, please let me know. I shall endeavour to rein myself in better.”

“Affection?” You gaped at him. “You…”

He gave an awkward chuckle. “Perhaps I have not been as blatant as I thought I was. Yes, I am quite fond of you. When you started declining my invitations I thought… Well, if you do not feel the same, please tell me now. I will bear you no grudge and we will never speak of it again.”

Eomer returned your feelings? Your heart fluttered but dropped the next moment. “No, I…” Your voice came out strangled. “I can’t.”

His head snapped up, his hazel eyes intense. “You cannot? I do not understand.”

“My lord, I cannot give up my work.” You clenched your skirts in your fists. “I cannot, I will not sit idle and lonely in Meduseld forever removed from what I love so dearly. Not even for you.”

His frown deepened before his face cleared into what looked like relief. “Is that your only reservation?” 

You nodded and straightened, ready to counter any argument he may have. “It pains me to be apart from you, but it would hurt more should I never carve again.”

A wide grin split his face and he laughed. “I would ask no such thing of you. I have seen my own sister trapped in a gilded cage, withering and wilting. I would not place that on another.” His smile softened and he reached up, cupping your cheek. 

Blood rushed to your face and your eyes fluttered shut. Did you hear correctly? That you could have both Eomer and your work? You felt him step closer and his scent filled your nose. You peered up at him, nearly unable to bear the weight of his gaze. “But… I am not suited to be a princess, let alone a future queen.”

“I could not think of anyone better suited than you. It would be fitting, would it not? That the Queen of Rohan herself saddles the very horses of her people. I know your heart, I have seen it in your work. Your love and respect for our land, our stories, our people.”

“Eomer, I am not… But I am… But what if…”

“Peace,” he whispered, dipping his head as he tipped your chin back. “I will stop your mouth.” His lips hovered a hair’s breadth away from yours, waiting for your permission. 

You gave in to the pull of your heart and surged forward. His lips were soft and warm, and he kissed with a passion that left you lightheaded. He tugged you closer, pulling your body flushed against his, and sighed a little when your hand found its place on his firm chest. 

He drew back to catch his breath and he laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “By my troth, I love you as I live and breathe.”

You giggled, giddy and delighted. “Are you glad your uncle brought you to the workshop now?”

“I was glad the moment I laid eyes on you. Ah yes, this reminds me.” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a creased piece of paper. He unfolded it to reveal the slightly smudged sketch of the final panel you had given him weeks ago. “I think I have discovered what was missing.”

“Hm?” You glanced at him then back at the paper, a little confused. The scene looked perfect, even Meduseld was accurate down to the patterns that decorated the arches.

“You, of course.” He gave you a fond exasperated look. “Bema, I have never met another so oblivious.”

“Oh.” You laughed and pressed your face into his chest. Your feet ached and you leaned a little bit harder on him. “Eomer, may we return now? I am quite weary.”

“Of course.” His smile turned mischievous. “Shall I carry you back?”

“Eomer, there is no need, I—” You shrieked and laughed as he picked you up, his arm under your knees and the other looped around your back. “People will talk.”

He kissed your cheek and started up the road. “Let them talk, then, and let news of their future queen spread.” 

---

The line Eomer says before he kisses you is from Much Ado About Nothing

Taglist: @sotwk

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #193

I've decided that the locket I made for you is not sufficient.

I took a closer look at the one you lost. I tried my best to analyze its shape, color, and proportions. I tried to be meticulous about the details…

Yours is silver. Mine is gold. Yours is like a rectangle with the corners cut off. Mine is shaped like an arch. Yours is plain and unadorned. Mine has tree branches.

…If I'm gonna return your necklace to you, I wanna get it right. If I want to be taken seriously by those very important people when (if??) I get an opportunity to bring the pendant to you, then I have to have something impeccable to present. It has to be accurate. It has to be good. It has to be worthy of you.

I found something today that matches the shape and size. I think it's about as close to the original as I'm ever going to find. Most folks in my world don't like plain things, and opt for engravings and whatnot. But this one is plain. It's silver. It's in the correct shape. And it has approximately the correct proportions. My only gripe about it is that the attachment point to which a chain connects isn't quite in the correct orientation, but I think I might be able to get that corrected at a customization shop. So I ordered it. And then I'm gonna ask someone to fix it. Or, depending on the size, I might ask someone to make something that looks like it, with all the imperfections removed.

...When it's satisfactory, I'll make another locket for you, in addition to the one I already made. And I will present you with both options. You can choose one, or you can have both, or you can decide to take neither. It really doesn't matter to me, as long as you're happy.

Restless today. I'm not sure what I'll do. I wanted to try to make good broccoli for Br today, because apparently she has never had it pan-fried with butter and parm cheese, and this seems like blasphemy to me, so I'm going to fix it. Later, J and I are gonna go see R and some of his friends at Eggcellent; apparently he's looking forward to me meeting them. I hope I make a good impression, but... I'm kinda weird, so maybe I'll accidentally do a bad job. I'm very nervous about it. But I suppose we'll see what happens.

It's chilly and rainy today. It's a perfect day for open windows and tea. The wind whispers through the trees, and the scent of the rain has permeated our whole house. I took a couple nice pictures of the area out back, too, that you might like.

...The lovely adorable fuzzball in the bottom left corner is Arremo, one of my lovely feline children! He is a regular ol' bucket-o'-purrs, so by all means, do say hello to him if you wish!

I also got some pictures of tea swirls, and a slow-motion video of the billowing milk. Today's is a jasmine green tea, sweetened with honey:

While I'm at it, I'll also include some of the pictures I took for you in days past, but never got a chance to show you. Here:

...And once I have pictures of today's bubble tea, I'll share those with you, too.

...And now I have them. This one is a taro milk tea with ube cream on top. The taro is not powdered like in most bubble tea shops; it is literal, boiled, mashed, and sweetened taro root. And the ube cream is also not from a powder. Here:

...And this one is a Ruby Red tea with tea jelly and cream cheese foam - again, not from a powder:

...I wish you could come try these. I wish I could get one for you. I wish I could share lots of things with you. This life I lead... it came from a broken and twisted place. And there are lots of things about it that are still very unfortunate, like the rib injury and my various genetic defects and all the ways I don't fit into the world I live in, but... it's still good. It's still good. It's still worth living.

I had intended to meet with R there, because he had friends from Michigan that were visiting, and he wanted to introduce them to me. One of them is a physicist, and the other one is working as an animator for a video game company. I was shocked to discover that they had not only somehow already read (and enjoyed?????) my very first (and very long!) letter to you, but also, they had already put their names on my petition for your safety. 🤯🤯🤯

Also also, while we were there, some other friends from a different part of my friend group was there - a friend named K, who is associated with V, who brought their other partners there, too. They were introduced to me as S and Jo. And they noticed the reminder of you that I carry around, and recognized it, and when I explained your significance to me and what I am trying to do, they also put their names in my petition for your safety!!! That petition can be found here:

...I met like 4 new people today. And somehow, I didn't do a bad job!!! WOWWWW!!! 🤩🤩🤩

I had a lot of stellar conversation in both sets of friend groups. All told, there were 8 people, if you include J and myself. R and his friends stayed separate from K and her partners, but still, it was a good time. We talked about you, and we talked about Mewtwo, and we talked about Steven Universe and Adventure Time and all sorts of things. I am very much looking forward to getting to know everyone just a little better as time goes on.

So, needless to say, at least for now, I am pretty stoked. I'm gonna keep doing whatever I can to try to work towards an outcome in which you can heal and be safe and happy.

Br will be visiting at some unknown time later today, and she will stay the night!!! I am excited for this! I got some broccoli and some steak for her, and I wanna cook these up really nicely for her, but I might have to do that tomorrow. I'll see what she thinks when she gets here, whenever that is. I am pretty tired from all the social, though, so I think I'm going to practice parrying Mimics. During my last Dead Cells run, I had gotten pretty far with 3 Boss Cells until I had gotten my ass kicked by a Mimic; next time, I wanna be prepared.

I'll put this here, just in case I decide to stream. Though I'm not sure that I will; my rhythm is a little weird and off-point today. But maybe I don't only have to stream when I am doing well:

I love you, and I'm gonna keep fighting for a compassionate and gentle future for you, so please... please be safe out there, okay? Please keep making kind, good, and wholesome choices. I'll write again soon...

Your friend, Lumine

[shwetanshisinha]

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Blinds. Blinds are window coverings made of rigid slats that may be adjusted to allow or restrict light. The slats' orientations enable different degrees of direct light to the pool. Vertical blinds, which use long strips to produce the same effect and function as horizontal blinds, are more common. For sliding doors and large windows, panel blinds have the same construction as vertical blinds. Aluminum, bamboo, wood, vinyl, fabric, and faux wood are just a few of the materials that can be used to make blinds.

[bethany-sensei]

Rahi’s job involves him being alone a lot, but I’m actually in the middle of writing this scene:

Ragheiyont waited until sundown before making his way to the military neighborhoods. Following the map Seikhiel had drawn for him, he found the house.

It looked almost just like all the other houses on the street: two stories made of unadorned rectangles, but the slope of the roof looked nice to relax on. Two shallow steps led to the front door. Someone had tried growing some flowers out front, but they were all limp and brown now. Ragheiyont decided the path to the door looked far too exposed, so he circled around the back, where he found more doomed flowers and an old bench covered in leaf litter. There was a back door, but one of the windows opened with almost no effort. Ragheiyont eased himself over the sill.

The house felt abandoned, but that was stupid, wasn’t it? Ragheiyont moved silently, letting his senses adjust to his surroundings. He had entered a room with tall shelves lining the walls. A battered old chair and probably a lamp occupied one corner. Ragheiyont tiptoed through an open kind of archway or something into what must be the front room. A table and a kind of vertical organizer occupied the space beside the door. The adjacent wall held an assortment of weapons in neat display racks. On the opposite side of the room, a stairway led upward. Ragheiyont considered it for a long moment. Then he continued his circuit of the downstairs.

In the kitchen and dining area at last he encountered signs of life. There were some of the same arcane supplies and fixtures he recognized from Raphael’s kitchen, but most of them were smaller. The little table had only two chairs, and one of them looked like an afterthought. Behind the table, though, the interior wall was covered in shallow shelving in staggered and asymmetrical arrangements, each shelf artfully displaying tins and cups and little ceramic pots with spouts. Ragheiyont stared at it, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Tea, he realized, remembering the teapot and the green tea. This is all to do with tea? If so, it was clearly the one thing in the house that Seikhiel truly loved. Ragheiyont wanted to touch it, to run his fingertips over every shelf until he understood. Then the refrigerator box thing made a noise, and he sprang away like a startled cat.

With one last guilty glance at the tea shelves, Ragheiyont headed for the stairs.

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[acommonloon]

Started hearing about Grasssa Gramma before Covid but paid it little mind. Italian restaurants rarely impress me. They're fine, like Mexican restaurants but, rarely do they distinguish themselves. This one was opened by a well known local restaurateur...in a strip mall so even though several people recommended it, I was conflicted.

Our first try was with friends and things went sideways from the start. You can see from these pics in the bar, the restaurant invested in serious kitsch but the room we were led into for our first time was a rectangle with tall, unadorned, painted cinderblock walls. Italian Institutional perhaps? Then our server entusiastically accosted us with scripted patter aimed at leading us through the proper way to enjoy a Grassa Gramma meal. GTFO

"First we pour the Chianti, then we all raise our glasses and say...blah blah blah (Italian) which means...blah blah blah." SERIOUSLY? our server looked like an extra from Dukes of Hazzard and sounded like he just fell off the truck from AppleAtChYa. Take our order and go away!

The food and wine was good but I'd never again agree to be seated in a high school cafeteria setting to be charged premium prices for any food. However, before being led into the room with no view, I'd looked into the bar. It looked like someplace I might want to be in.

D and I went there last night. It was...much better. The food was still only good but the surroundings were, as you see, not painted cinderblocks. I had a glass of Amaro with my canoli for dessert and we were on our way. TBH, it was too costly for mostly pasta but we enjoyed the experience. The same can be had at a Mexican joint for half the price.

D is leaving now for Easter dinner with her Fam. I've got chicken shwarma in the slow cooker and am half way through a growler of Upland's barleywine so I'm feeling fine. Happy Easter or whatever.

[ravkanfashion]

Luda anon. I don’t mind the nobility clothes either, tbh. I’m sure I can take them for inspo and describe them as being made of much cheaper and commonly used fabrics and styles based n what I already dug up. It would be much appreciated if you could dig something up even from the canon timeline

Hi there!

Sorry for having take this long to answer!

Okay, so... Luda. Since the Fold apparently has been up for 400 years, give or take, we're talking mid to late 1400's. The problem is that we do not really have extant garments, especially for lower class women, but let's see what we do know.

The gown with the tiny bodice, high waist, and full skirt was hardly altered; but the tight sleeves were now so long that they almost covered the hand. Though the high waist was more general, gowns with a low waist were sometimes seen; also for Court wear a low-waisted dress was worn, with a faint suggestion of the sideless surcoat—an echo of the fashion of 1350. A low, rounded neck sometimes replaced the deep V-shape of Figs. 2, 4, and on more simple dresses the round opening was sometimes filled in with a plain, dark material; square necks showing the top of the under-dress were quite common . Noblewomen wore damasks, many rich varieties of velvet, silks, and satin, also taffeta and soft woollen cloths. Coarser woollen cloths, frieze, flannel (of wool), russet, and linens were used by the poorer people.

Long, narrow, richly lined cloaks were worn with Court dress, and large circular cloaks were for general use, of velvet, broadcloth, frieze, and woollen cloths.

Women's Fashions (1460-83) from Nancy Margetts Bradfield: Historical Costumes of England

(All I could find of Russia at the time is that people probably worn European fashions?)

As a working woman, Luda probably wore things with a low waist. Since fabric is expensive (as it's all made by hand), her clothes were probably cut from rectangles to avoid wasting fabric as much as possible (lacing on the side/front of the dress is possible for a better fit).

As for the layers, as always, we start with a shift (most likely long sleeved) that protects the outer layers from body fluids. No underwear is worn under the shift at all (no drawers), only stockings, secured with garters (probably just a thin srtip of cloth). No boned supportive undergarments would have been worn (that's still a couple decades away). Then comes a kirtle, basically a dress--once again, simple in cut to save fabric, with long sleeves and a long skirt. After that comes another dress/kirtle, that we can also call a surcoat. As mentioned above, there was a sideless version of that (Harriet Walter wears a couple of sideless surcoats in the first season of The Spanish Princess as Margaret Beaufort--but please, do not use that show as a costume reference XD)

As for the hair, if we consider her Aleksander's wife/she had pose as his wife, historically speaking she is supposed to cover her hair with a kerchief/cap/veil, but the show showed her with unbound hair, and it's fantasy so...

As for colors, based on her scenes, her pallett seems to be based on greys and red (which then in turn mostly likely inspired the Healer uniforms), but undyed wool, browns and yellows also sound plausible. Her personal style is most likely very simple and unadorned, both out os need and practicality, but some embroidery is not unplausible.

Here's a vid on late 14th/early 15th century clothing:

This vid might be helpful too:

So... that's it. That's all I could dig up on my limited time XD However, I did start a tag for Luda, so some inspiration is due to start popping up :)

[elisende]

Predators (1/2)

Characters: Halsin/FOC Rating: M Words: 2655 Long before becoming the first druid of the Emerald Grove, Halsin is a hotheaded, aimless youth struggling to control his anger and alienation. When a mysterious druid saves him from a great bear, he sees a path to another life. Even the High Forest was a lonely place for a wood elf with no kinfolk to speak of--none still living. Most of his kind had left for Evermeet or for the teeming cities of the east. Neither appealed to Halsin.

He roamed the great forest that was his birthright, scavenging what scraps could be found on the edges of the human settlements that encroached, year by year, like some choking vine.

And he grew from adolescent to adult over the twenty winters of his wandering, broadening across the shoulders, shooting up to a height that others seemed to find incredible. The humans around the villages he haunted took to calling him the Tailhleach, “the tall walker,” in their strange tongue. They feared him as some sort of half-man, half-beast, a spirit protector of the forest. The myth was a useful one: it meant he went mostly undisturbed, except when the occasional foolhardy youth took it upon himself to hunt down the beast. But Halsin had his own ways of staying the sword arms and bows of overeager hunters.

These conquests, too, became part of his legend.

Now fully grown, he had become, in a word, complacent. There was nothing in the forest, man or beast, that could challenge him. So he thought, with all the arrogance of the young.

Halsin’s appetites often led him from one part of the forest to the other in search of delicacies: truffles, chestnut honey, blackberries. Today he was foraging for mushrooms: the orange rilled ones so good they could be eaten raw, as soon as they were dusted off. The mushrooms preferred this part of the wood, the wet brambly hillside that was often choked in fog.

Nothing seemed amiss as he scanned the forest floor for their distinctive convex caps.

He was deaf to the crackling of dead leaves, the faint but audible snap of a twig, the rustle of disturbed undergrowth and even the snort of the curious bear as it approached his crouching back.

It was only when the beast’s breath disturbed the hair on Halsin’s head that he whirled around, startling the great bear. For one moment that felt like a century, they stared, nose to nose and eye to eye: elf and bear, locked in the fatal glance of prey and hunter.

Then the bear roared, its fear exploding to rage like dry tinder under lightning’s forked tongue. Halsin was so close that he could see the ridges on the bear’s bright canine teeth, taste its meaty breath. A young bear, he thought stupidly. He began backing away, all the while watching the beast.

The great bear stood on its hind feet and flattened its ears. It made as though to charge but it was only a feint, a test of Halsin’s resolve. He stopped. Anger building alongside his terror, he bellowed at it, swung the slim oaken branch he always carried with him.

But the bear wouldn’t be intimidated. It had no inkling of his fearsome reputation. His rage was only fuel for its own.

It swiped, claws scraping Halsin’s flesh from his hairline down to his left eyebrow. His vision went red and by instinct he swung his club. He only hit the bear by luck, the same luck that had saved his left eye.

It backed away and lowered its head, ears flattened. This would be a true charge and he stood little chance of surviving it, given the bear’s size.

He stood, waiting, in a defensive crouch, holding out his makeshift club, blood pouring down his face. But just as the bear started to charge, a warning growl sounded from the chestnut grove beyond.

Almost comically, the bear quirked its head. The growls continued and the bear moaned in reply, as though in conversation with it.

The rage melted from the beast’s eyes and it pawed the air as an elven woman appeared in the gloom. She lowed at the bear once more and the bear, incredibly, seemed almost to chuckle.

“What are you--”

“He says you’re after his mushrooms again. Whenever you come here, you leave nothing for the others who reside in this wood. He thinks it's rather rude,” the elf said. As she came closer, he saw the crest of Silvanus on her broach. A druid, then.

He laughed incredulously, wiping the blood from his face. “I’m rude? That bear--”

“His name is Sage.”

Halsin paused, collecting his thoughts. The druid was very lovely, as a moonrise over a pine forest is lovely, or a bird of prey on the wing, or the river’s rush after first thaw. Hers was a stark, unadorned beauty. “That bear-- alright, Sage--was about to kill me,” he finally said, failing to keep his voice level. He was still trembling with his fear and anger. The two never could be parted, for him; they were like smoke and flame.

“His kind have been killed for far less,” she said. Her tone was neutral but he could see a warning glint in her amber eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked, his curiosity overtaking his consternation. “There is no Circle for twenty leagues.”

“No indeed,” the druid said. He could tell she did not enjoy speaking of herself; her words took a rote quality. “I’m posted here for a task that has taken me some years, and will take more still to complete.” She tilted her head, looking inquiringly at him. “Like Sage, I’ve also noticed that you claim more than your share from this wood.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“You are hard to avoid. You trample through the wood like it's your bedchamber.”

He colored ever so slightly when she said the word bedchamber. The bear, Sage, groaned as if in agreement. The druid walked over and patted him on the head, whispering something in his rounded ears. Halsin felt absurdly jealous at the intimacy, even as his wounds began to throb.

As was often the case, he found himself speaking before he knew precisely what he was going to say. He knew only that he was drawn to the druid. “I can help you with your task, whatever it is, if you teach me in exchange. I would like to learn the ways of the druids.”

She didn’t laugh outright, at least. The druid seemed even to consider it. But then, finally, she said: “No, I haven’t the inclination for such an arrangement. I live alone by choice as much as by necessity.”

And without so much as a fare thee well, she vanished back into the wood. Sparing a quick backwards glance at the now mellow bear sniffing the orange mushrooms, Halsin followed.

*

He trekked for more than half the day until evening fell. The druid doubled back three times and almost lost him half a dozen more but every time he’d managed to find her trail and catch up with her.

Perhaps, he reflected later, she wanted to be found.

He was not so foolhardy as to barge into the tiny hut where the druid lived; he had little doubt the elf could magick him into a fine paste and butter her toast with him, if she so desired. He rested on a fallen log on the patch of green and looked around the darkening glade as he waited for her to emerge.

It was virtually untouched, despite her habitation. In contrast to the human villagers who seemed intent on clearing every tree within the radius of their settlements, the druid’s hut seemed to have emerged spontaneously from the ground, disturbing none of the surrounding environs.

A brook murmured nearby and made sweet music with the evening song of the crepuscular birds. His mind wandered back to the druid and he resumed the game he’d been playing all afternoon as he trailed her, trying to guess her name. She looked to be a high elf of some maturity--perhaps five or even six centuries, old enough for the first lines to appear at the corners of her lovely, fierce eyes. What was she doing here, after all?

It had been long since he’d met such an interesting person--since he’d met anyone he cared to know. The irony that she didn’t wish to know him was bitter, stinging. He dabbed gingerly at the gashes on his brow. They throbbed still but had stopped bleeding, at least.

Smoke rose from her hut and Halsin’s belly cramped with hunger. He had not eaten all day and was out of the deer jerky he usually kept in his hip pouch. And, too, there was hunger of another sort, equally desperate for satisfaction.

Her door finally opened to him, a rectangle of golden light in the gathering dark.

He felt every inch of his six and a half feet when he entered the hut; he was eye level with the rafters and had to crouch to move around the single room. Without comment, the druid pulled a chair from the table--there was only one chair--and extended her arm in invitation.

Halsin sat, inhaling the exquisite scent of the rabbit stew bubbling on the hearth. She did not offer to bind his wounds but bent over him to take a cursory look to ensure there was nothing amiss.

He held his breath as she touched his face with her cool fingers, probing the furrows the Sage’s claws had left in his flesh. He gasped, and not just from the pain. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s touch, even an indifferent one? “Those will scar,” she said simply, then moved back to the hearth.

“Tell me,” he said, watching intently as she ladled the stew into an earthenware bowl. “What is your name?”

The druid glanced up from the hearth. Her amber gaze was intense; he felt his blood heating just from that look. He wanted her so badly that even the distant possibility his desire might be fulfilled quickened his pulse.

“Dalia,” she said. He could never have guessed it.

“‘The edge of dawn,’” he translated from the high elven. A poetic name but one that seemed to suit her. “Pretty. I’m called Halsin.”

She smiled at that. It was not a common name, he imagined, among her folk.

“‘Hazelnut,’” she said, meeting his eyes again as she passed him the bowl. Their fingers brushed and his intake of breath was audible.

“Just ‘hazel,’ in our tongue,” he said, still watching her. She was as captivating as a hawk at prey, even serving soup from a cookpot. He noticed a fading tattoo running along her hairline. Too ornate for druid work. He longed to trace it with his finger. “Where are your people?”

“My Circle resides at the Dancing Falls, on the edge of the Dessarin.” She settled on the hearth to eat her soup. She had a slim figure, neat and athletic and not tall, imposing though she was in presence.

His curiosity warred with his hunger and since he had already been marked as rude, he split the difference and spoke over a mouthful of the glorious stew: rich and silky, it was, tasting of herbs and wild onions and savory meat. It burned his mouth but he did not care. “I meant, your people. Your kith and kin.”

“The druids are my kin now. The creatures and trees of this wood my kith.” She blew carefully on her stew before taking a bite.

Halsin considered this and found the idea not unappealing. The last two decades had been lonely ones and he found himself now relishing even the most adversarial contacts with people. “What do you druids do? Besides live in nature?”

Dalia snorted. “‘Besides live in nature,’ as though it’s some rare sport.”

“Well, isn’t it? Not many choose such a life.”

“You did.”

He stopped eating and looked down at his bowl of half-finished stew, uncertain of how much to reveal. He wanted to tell all, unburden all the secrets of his heart for the sake of sharing them. But even his corroded social skills warned him against that approach. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him. “This life chose me,” he said vehemently, anger rising unbidden. “Not the other way around. My people are dead and gone.”

Dalia’s curved eyebrow registered her skepticism and he felt another flash of annoyance. How dare she imagine she knew his heart better than he?

“You might have traveled to a city, or made a life in one of the villages here. No doubt they would be happy to have your shield and many maidens happy to take you to their beds.”

Halsin choked on his stew and from the corner of his eye caught her faint smile, the glimmer in her keen eyes. She was teasing him for the callow youth that he knew he was, damn her.

When he regained some dignity after his fit of coughing subsided, he said, “You presume, druid. I’m not interested in maidens.” She did not squirm under his stare but merely returned his challenging gaze with her own. He wanted desperately to know what was going on behind those golden eyes. Almost as much as he wanted to throw her onto the straw pallet in the corner and divest her of her robes, to explore her lean body with eyes, hands, and tongue.

“Teach me,” he demanded. He leaned forward in the creaky chair, using his imposing size to loom over her. Like the bear, she wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“You are impetuous and full of anger. And truly, no better than the humans you scorn; for though you live in nature you do not cherish its harmony, only what you can plunder from it."

He opened his mouth to respond in fury--what he would say, he did not know, but certainly something regrettable--but the druid held up her hand, cutting him off with the force of that gesture.

"If you want to become a druid, you will first need to master your own feelings. But nature, much as we druids endeavor to heal it, also has the power to heal us in turn.” She heaved a sigh, as though already regretting her next words. “I can teach you. Perhaps it was meant to be so.”

Halsin’s anger melted into relief so deep the corners of his eyes pricked with tears. His voice was rough when he replied with a terse “Thank you.” Even he had not realized how much he wanted this--needed it. Halsin’s eyes finally rose again to meet Dalia’s. “I swear that your trust in me will not be misplaced.”

She nodded briskly as though they’d concluded a trade. “Well and good. About the other thing….”

“The other thing?” he said densely.

“Of maidens and bedchambers.” She rolled her eyes and he felt a blush creep up his neck.

“Oh. Yes. What about them?” he asked warily.

“I’m not so foolish as to offer my heart to a wood elf but we both have… needs.” Her face was still composed but behind her stiff words he could sense her vulnerability. She, too, was lonely. The idea of her dwelling here alone in the hut for years on end filled him with tenderness in equal measure to his desire for her.

His chair scraped away from the table and he narrowly avoided a collision with the rafter as he sat down beside her to take her face in his hands.

She had an angular jaw to match her aquiline features. Her eyes had little softness in them, even now. She told him what to do next. As their bodies joined by the fire he experienced pleasures he didn’t know existed. Compared to his crude, perfunctory couplings in the wood, they were divine, revelations written in flesh and sighs.

After, they lay together in silence as the fire dwindled and his heart threatened to over-brim with happiness. Rare happiness from the promise of things to come.

[sexandwistfulness]

vespertine whispers

In this unending stillness, I say my words to you in whispers right to your ear. Your eyes have the wide-open attribute of someone paying very close attention, which is the one thing before anything that I demand when we go to bed. Your neck lolls for me in my grip; your head tilts for me to follow what I say. “Do this for me,” I say, in that scratch between whisper and growl. My hands wander with an unmatched autonomy. Your sole job is to remain seated throughout the performance. You can do this for me, can’t you?

Sex is at its most powerful to me in the transition between times of day. It’s territorial. Tide-like. Sit for me by the window while I possess you with my hands: let your gaze lapse into an unplaced indefinite. See waves and valleys and horizons as you look away to the unadorned wall. See the city below us shape and reshape in shadows as dusk descends. See windows become rectangles of soft bright color, diffusing the lights of people’s apartments, of shops still open. See, but do not watch. In this unending stillness, I want you here.

My fingers find your mouth — four testing your lips while my thumb stays soaked in sentimentality, caressing your chin; then two entering to rest against the flat of your tongue. I want no abruptness to my motion. I enjoy reflexive power, and the consequences of it, but that doesn’t mean I need the bluntness of involuntary reactions: my two fingers in your mouth do not make me want to strike sudden to I invoke that gag in you. What I want instead is the slow burn, the threat enforced. The half inch and half inch of my fingers down towards your throat.

You stay seated but your thighs tremble just enough. When I withdraw my fingers in that same slow motion, your mouth rewards me with a trail of drool made more noticeable when it stains your little black dress. My other hand follows the molasses-slow trail south, detouring to take greedy clutches of parts of your body I spend the free minutes of my day imagining and reimagining. Your collarbones, your shoulders. Your breastplate, above your cleavage (another time, when I have enough spare concentration beyond watching and touching you, I will tell you the story of the word buxom, my favorite anecdote of etymology.) The fond fondle of your breasts, the dip of fingers lowering further to trace fingertips down your diaphragm is, down to your abdomen, rimming your belly button, towards the mound landmarking where all my attentions will eventually settle. Your nipples tell you how hypersensitive you are: the stutter of your breaths reinforce this truth. Your whispers are moans, and they belong to me.

[makeshiftsun]

Agnes Martin

Friendship, 1963.

Grey Geese descending: The Art of Agnes Martin

by Thomas McEvilley, from The Exile’s return

“In graph paper, a grid of squares occupies a rectangular field; Martin usually uses a grid of rectangles on a square field. The rectangle, as she herself has suggest, drains out the stabilizing or rigidifying power of the square, introducing comparatively unstable and flowing elements into it. This interplay between the fixed and the changing is one way of locating the underlying tension that pervades and unifies her work in its ideas, as the grid patterns and lines unify it optically. Untitled (1960) contains five rows and ten columns of elements and breaks down to the simple ration 1:2. Words (1961) has the same ratio, combining elements in relations between four and eight. Blue Flower (1962) contains 33 rows and 33 columns of elements. Pale Grey (1966) contains 66 rows of elements and 44 column of them, while Untitled (1966) exactly reverses this, containing 66 columns and 44 rows; both these works have the ratio 2:3, which appears in other works as well... ....When asked about decisions having to do with how many elements would be included in a given work, Martin answers that her interest is more in scale, in an architectural sense, than in arithmetic.” PAGE 67-68

Stone, 1964.

“The square format of Martin’s works tends negatively toward the sublime by avoiding both the suggestion of landscape that the horizontal rectangle brings with it and the suggestion of the figure borne by the vertical rectangle. More often martin’s writings seen to me to recall passages or intentions of classical Taoist texts - a body of literature with which Martin has lived closely. Without suggesting that this reference point exhausts, or even specifies, the content of her work, I nevertheless find it unavoidably recurring in connection with it - especially in connection with Martin’s use of the grid.

In art practice the grid has had a common function in the transferral of images from once scale or place to another; the original image is gridded, and a grid of the same number, but not usually the same size, is drawn onto the receiving surface. Finally each square or rectangle of the gridded original is transferred separately to the corresponding space of the new grid. The gridded surface, then, functions as a kind of ontological ground, a membrane from which forms emerge into the light, a threshold where energy passes from formlessness to form. So what is a grid standing empty, like graph paper on which nothing has yet been drawn?

In the Tae Te Ching, or Book of the Tao (which has been variously dated between the sixth and the third centuries B.C.), attributed to the philosopher Lao Tzu, there is a passage about art. If the people, Lao Tzu says, “find life too plain and unadorned, / Then let them have accessories; / Give them Simplicity to look at, the Uncarved Block to hold. In Taoist terminology the “Uncarved Block” is a state of potential being that coexists with the many concrete actualizations of being. It contains, in its uncarved state, countless potential forms, its infinity being compromised and constricted by any particular carving of it into actuality. In this context we might reconsider Martin’s grid. It is like the block from which no particular form has yet been carved. It contains within its potentiality all possible forms. It waits. Activated and tingling, the grid is the place of infinite creativity, the ground to which we must return for “the renewal of memories of moments of perfection.” When Martin’s grids disappear as one backs away from the painting, they disappear, as it were, into the otherwise formless ground, where they reside always in a kind of latency, giving the ground an appearance of floating vibrancy, of light-filled potentiality, of invisible but active force. Thus the grids are intensifications of the meaning that the ground itself has in art. They show the ground hyperactivated for the appearance of the figure, the image, yet still empty, suspended at the moment of hyperactivation just before forms appear, and before infinity is compromised. The empty grid, then is like the uncarved block, and in Taoist painting theory the uncarved block equals the mountain. In a similar way Martin’s open grids suggest both the openness of the New Mexico sky and earth in which she lives and also the mountains which hover in its emptiness. Her grid is like the substructure of a landscape in which a mountain rises cloaked in mist.

Martin’s work thus involves the dichotomy between an ordered system -  the grid - and a particular event within that system - the personal feeling of the lines, which proceed over the surface with a heartbreaking delicacy of touch. She has expressed this dichotomy through a discussion of the difference between unchanging and changing things. Changing things Martin calls the “exhaustibles,” unchanging things the “inexhaustibles.” This dichotomy has occupied a lot of twentieth-century art, but most relevant here is the tradition of the abstract sublime, from Kasimir Malevich’s Black Square (ca. 1915) to Yves Klein’s blue monochromes, to Pollocks The Deep (1953).” PAGE 68-70

Mountain I, 1966.

““I hope I have made it clear,” writes Martin, “that the work is about perfection as we are aware of it in our minds but that the paintings are very far from being perfect - completely removed in fact - even as we ourselves are.” And she say “If any perfection is indicated in the work it is recognized by the artist as truly miraculous.” Yet classical art “is like a memory of perfection.” And as Martin’s art suggests, in order to attain to the art of the memory of perfection we must return from figure to ground, from rigid differentiation to open potentiality. We must go back, as Lao Tzu puts it, into the Uncarved Block, or, as Martin writes, to that rewarding state when “our most tenacious prejudices are overcome. Our most tightly gripped resistances come under the knife.” All judgments, all “knowledge,” must be abandoned:” PAGE 72

Untitled from On a Clear Day, 1973.

[butch-snorlax]

I kinda like the idea of comfy brutalism. Like nice unadorned rectangles that are airy light and pleasant inside. Simple geometric floor plans designed for purpose. Functional but pleasant. Probabaly baige. Designed to lived in as easily and efficiently as possible.

Over the past few months I have asked a male architect for ideas & drafts for the renovation of the farmhouse, and at every turn I am stunned by his utter disregard for any cleaning-related concerns. For example, he is very into the idea of having in the living-room a big, non-openable window near the ceiling—which, granted, looks pretty, like having a piece of blue sky when you raise your eyes, but immediately I’m like, with a high ceiling, how will I clean this? You can’t open it so you have to clean both sides separately, and you can’t easily reach either side. I’ll need a tool with an absurdly long telescopic handle. He says, a stepladder. I’m like, but I’ll need to carry it by myself to the living-room and the front of the house every time. “So?” So a very tall stepladder is heavy? And it will be hard not to get dirty water dripping down the wall. He reacts like he can’t believe he is being asked to bring the concept of dirty soap water into his grand designs, like these are base, trifling considerations, when to me it’s a crucial factor in the decision to add this decorative window.

Similarly we both agree on leaving most of the wood beams exposed because they’re old and beautiful, but when I ask if we ought to insulate in such a way as to cover every other one, so the remaining ones are farther apart and it’s harder for spiders to use them as ready-made anchors for their webs, he just looks disgusted, like “I am talking about Architecture and you bring up spiderwebs.” At this point I start to entertain the idea that men make horrible architects. You design someone’s house to give them a nice, convenient space to live in, not to make their life more difficult. A man who has never used a sponge in his life should not be allowed to graduate from architect school and that’s the end of it.

[freenewstoday]

New Post has been published on https://freenews.today/2021/02/05/does-anyone-make-cute-dog-beds/

Does Anyone Make Cute Dog Beds?

WHAT IS IT with dog beds? Must they be those slobber-stained blobs that muck up an otherwise thoughtfully decorated interior? Luckily, a few designers, including Ellen Van Dusen, have pondered this as well. “Every bed was a shade of beige, and very utilitarian,” said the textile designer and founder of Brooklyn’s Dusen Dusen Home. “I didn’t get it—if you have all this nice furniture, why would you have this ugly pillow in the middle of the room?” Ms. Van Dusen has gone on to create color-blocked beds in vibrant shades, but pet lovers with more demure taste have stylish options, too—from flaxen chaise longues to rattan baskets that are plushed-out with fluffy cushions.

For safety’s sake, Gail Miller Bisher, the Fox Sports analyst for the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, offered these tips: Avoid elevated beds for long-backed breeds like corgis or dachshunds, and steer clear of rippable fabrics if you have a teething puppy. Our picks reflect a universal truth: Cute is a mutable concept.

1. Conservatory Cute

This roost brings you one dog bed closer to that dream of a Victorian-style, glass-enclosed room. Sue Jones, creative director of Oka, the brand behind it, underlines its practicality: “It’s hard-wearing and sturdy, and light enough to lift and move around.” In widths from 26 to 42 inches (shown), it can be cozied up with a blanket or cushion.

Ideal for: A glossy Irish setter. Rattan Mattaban Pet Bed, from $350, oka.com

2. Industrial Cute

Like a chic exhaust vent, the MiaCara Covo dog lounge is butch enough for the loft that won’t be softened by dog or design. Though the bed is otherwise unadorned, Düsseldorf interior architect Uta Cossman sneaked a tiny-arch flourish into its bent-plywood base. The 28-inch cushion—in faux fur or a sandy weave—is orthopedic foam.

Ideal for: Tiny but tough-looking miniature bull terriers. $605, miacara.com

3. Opulently Cute

Maybe you’ve got a glamorous canine who needs a throne of her own? Howe London’s Great Bear bed, modeled on a 19th-century chair, is made of custom-sized spindle-turned beech and whatever fabric you (OK, or your dog) desire. The studio’s go-to? This repurposed antique carpet, hand-stitched and tasseled.

Ideal for: An equally regal Afghan hound. $4,227 plus fabric for 24-inch-square, howelondon.com

4. Casual Cute

You could tuck this Ghanian basket into plenty of living rooms niftily, but it might look best in a cottage by the sea (or in any home whose owner is aiming for a coastal vibe). Buff-toned elephant grass skews beachy, as do the stripes in a midnight dye: black at first glance, then streaked with navy. In sizes from 22 to 30 inches in length, the laid-back lairs are available in nine other patterns, too.

Ideal for: A Frisbee-fetching golden retriever. Large Bear Dog Bed in Cross, $180, designdua.com

5. Instagram Cute

Brooklyn designer Ellen Van Dusen, known for her pleasingly chaotic printed textiles and clothing, considers the punchy, social-media-friendly palette of this wool-blend and cotton-canvas bed to be “chill and calming.” We think the 36-inch-by-27-inch pillow would suit the owner who starts posting bright images at the mere mention of khaki. And the bed isn’t just color-blocked. On the canvas cover, embroidered concentric squares and rectangles of chain stitching form the shapes, and the loopy threads give the pillow a snazzy nap.

Ideal for: A Dalmatian, whose black and white polka-dot coat would create a positively Memphis tableau. Dusen Dusen Landscape Dog Bed, $184, dusendusen.com

6. International-Style Cute

At once minimal and commodious, the Linden Dog Day Bed by Bad Marlon is enough to make a Barcelona chair jealous. To merge design cred with ultra-chill appeal, Bad Marlon’s Ji Yeon Yu watched the studio’s pets relax…all day.

Ideal for: A mini-labradoodle, as pictured. The designer breed’s curly coat and fluffy coif provide a pleasing textural contrast to the neat 20-inch oatmeal-colored cushion. $480, crateandbarrel.com

7. Possibly Too Cute

Even in this “white” colorway—it also comes in pink—this ruffled confection of a den might appeal only to those swept up in the pastoral sweetness of cottagecore. The 20- or 24-inch-tall house, patched in Liberty floral fabric stripes, includes a cushion edged with linen-cashmere but not the pup’s treacly little skirt.

Ideal for: Sassy Shih Tzus. Louisdog Peekaboo Liberty Dog House, from $335, teacupspuppies.com

The Wall Street Journal is not compensated by retailers listed in its articles as outlets for products. Listed retailers frequently are not the sole retail outlets.

More in Design & Decorating

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[vincentpennington]

Apple Bundt Cake (Paleo, Gluten Free)

This tender and delicious apple bundt cake is made with almond and cassava flour, but even your pickiest eaters won’t ever suspect that it’s totally grain free, gluten free, and paleo-friendly!

This showstopper of a cake is super simple to throw together, especially if you have an abundance of apples. Better yet, my paleo version tastes like a “real” gluten-packed bundt cake, with a moist and tender crumb dotted with apples and infused with cinnamon.

Paleo and gluten-free apple bundt cake!

When autumn rolls around, I start dreaming about uncomplicated apple and cinnamon infused treats, and this paleo cake made with almond and cassava flour hits the spot!

I modified my Berry Snack Cake recipe to create this fall-inspired paleo dessert that’s pretty enough for company. Although I prefer using lactose-free ghee in this recipe, softened coconut oil or palm shortening also works great if you prefer a dairy-free version.

What are the best apples for baking?

To make sure the apple slices don’t dissolve completely into the baked apple bundt cake batter, choose an apple variety that holds its shape during the baking process. Some of the best baking apples are Granny Smith, Jonagold, Honeycrisp, Mutsu, Braeburn, and Pink Lady. Feel free to mix and match the varieties, too!

Can you substitute other ingredients?

Yes, I know I’ve been baking more paleo desserts lately, but that doesn’t make me a paleo baking expert. I’m not sure if you can use an egg substitute or use another flour in place of almond flour or cassava flour in this apple bundt cake recipe because I haven’t tried out all the different possible permutations. But if you have success with any ingredient substitutions, please let us all know in the comments section below!

Where’s the glaze?

I know most bundt cakes are topped with an icing or glaze, but I think this apple bundt cake tastes perfectly sweet unadorned. It may be an Asian thing where we don’t love super sweet desserts, but give it a try, ’kay?

How do you store the cake?

You can keep this apple bundt cake in a sealed container at cool room temperature for up to two days. However, because the cake is very moist, I like to store it in a sealed container in the fridge for up to five days or in the freezer for a few months. You can thaw the frozen cake overnight in the fridge and take the cake out an hour before serving it to bring to room temperature.

Let’s Make Apple Bundt Cake!

Serves 16

Ingredients

1½ pounds (680.4 grams) apples (Granny Smith, Jonagold, Honeycrisp, Mutsu, Braeburn, or Pink Lady), peeled and cored

2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar or lemon juice

2 cups (224 grams) finely ground almond flour

1½ cups (192 grams) cassava flour

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt

1 cup (224 grams) ghee, coconut oil, or palm shortening, softened

1⅓ cups (192 grams) maple sugar or coconut sugar

4 large eggs at room temperature

⅔ cup (158 mL) full-fat canned coconut milk at room temperature

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Equipment

All my favorite tools are listed here, including my favorite mixer and bundt pan.

Method

Heat the oven to 350°F with the rack in the middle. Lightly grease the sides and bottom of a 10-­inch non-stick bundt pan with some ghee, coconut oil, or avocado oil.

Use the large holes of a grater or food processor to shred half of the apples.

Use a sharp knife to thinly chop the other half into small thin rectangles, about the size of your thumbnail.

Place the apples in a large bowl and toss with the apple cider vinegar. Set aside.

In a separate medium bowl, combine the flours, cinnamon, baking soda, and salt.

Whisk the dry ingredients together, and set the bowl aside.

Plop the softened ghee (or coconut oil) and maple sugar (or coconut sugar) in the bowl of a stand mixer or in a large bowl if you are using a hand mixer.

Use the paddle attachment to blend the mixture on medium-high speed for 3 to 5 minutes or until lighter in color and fluffy.

Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add the eggs, coconut milk, and vanilla.

Beat the mixture on medium speed for 30 seconds or until combined.

Next, add half the flour mixture and beat on low speed until combined.

Slowly add the rest of the flour and mix until incorporated. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and mix in any dry flour with a spatula.

Carefully fold the apples into the batter.

Transfer the batter to the greased bundt pan and smooth the top.

Pop the pan in the oven.

Bake until the cake is golden brown and a wooden skewer inserted in the center comes out clean, about 55 to 70 minutes.

Cool the cake in the pan on a cooling rack for 15 minutes.

Invert the cake on a wire rack and remove the pan.

Cool the apple bundt cake completely, about two hours.

Slice up and enjoy!

Looking for more recipe ideas? Head on over to my Recipe Index. You’ll also find exclusive recipes on my iPhone and iPad app, and in my cookbooks, Nom Nom Paleo: Food for Humans (Andrews McMeel Publishing 2013) and Ready or Not! (Andrews McMeel Publishing 2017)!

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Apple Bundt Cake (Paleo, Gluten Free, Grain Free)

.wprm-recipe-rating .wprm-rating-star.wprm-rating-star-full svg * { fill: #343434; }

This tender and delicious apple bundt cake is made with almond and cassava flour, but even your pickiest eaters won’t ever suspect that it’s totally grain free, gluten free, and paleo-friendly!

Course Dessert

Cuisine American

Keyword apple dessert, Dairy-free, fall dessert, gluten-free, grain-free, nom nom paleo, paleo, paleo dessert

Prep Time 15 minutes

Cook Time 1 hour

Cooling time 2 hours

Servings 16

Calories 345kcal

Author Michelle Tam

Ingredients

1½ pounds apples peeled and cored. Granny Smith, Jonagold, Honeycrisp, Mutsu, Braeburn, and Pink Lady are good baking apple varieties.

2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar or lemon juice

2 cups finely ground almond flour

1½ cups cassava flour

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt 

1 cup ghee softened (or coconut oil or palm shortening)

1⅓ cup maple sugar or coconut sugar

4 large eggs at room temperature

⅔ cup full-fat coconut milk at room temperature

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

US Customary - Metric

Instructions

Heat oven to 350°F with the rack in the middle. Lightly grease the sides and bottom of a 10-­inch non-stick bundt pan with some ghee, coconut oil, or avocado oil.

Use the large holes of a grater or food processor to shred half of the apples and use a sharp knife to thinly chop the other half into small thin rectangles, about the size of your thumbnail.

Place the apples in a bowl and toss with the apple cider vinegar. Set aside.

In medium bowl, whisk together flours, cinnamon, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

Plop the softened ghee (or coconut oil) and maple sugar (or coconut sugar) in the bowl of a stand mixer or in a large bowl if you are using a hand mixer.

Use the paddle attachment to blend the mixture on medium-high speed for 3 to 5 minutes or until lighter in color and fluffy.

Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add the eggs, coconut milk, and vanilla. Beat the mixture on medium speed for 30 seconds or until combined.

Next, add half the flour mixture and beat on low speed until combined. Slowly add the rest of the flour and mix until incorporated. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and mix in any dry flour with a spatula.

Carefully fold the apples into the batter with a silione spatula.

Transfer the batter to the greased bundt pan and smooth the top.

Pop the pan in the oven and bake until the cake is golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 55 to 70 minutes.

Cool the cake in the pan on a cooling rack for 15 minutes. Invert the cake on a wire rack and cool completely, about two hours. Slice and enjoy!

Notes

You can keep the apple bundt cake in a sealed container at cool room temperature for up to two days. However, because the cake is very moist, I prefer to store it in a sealed container in the fridge for up to five days or in the freezer for a few months. You can thaw the frozen cake overnight in the fridge.

Nutrition

Calories: 345kcal | Carbohydrates: 37g | Protein: 5g | Fat: 21g | Fiber: 3g | Sugar: 22g

The post Apple Bundt Cake (Paleo, Gluten Free) appeared first on Nom Nom Paleo®.

[autumngracy]

French fries served in small terracotta flower pots

Salt shakers that are just, like. unadorned metal rectangles with holes in the top

[theforbiz]

Kitchen cabinets have a great influence on the overall aesthetic and décor of your kitchen. Before choosing cabinets you must decide first the kind of kitchen design you would prefer. Once you choose the design or theme of your kitchen, select a cabinet style that complements the space. Apart from adding glamor and beauty to your kitchen, kitchen cabinets keep your cooking area clean and organized.

The European style kitchen cabinets are the latest trend to influence the market, that can add elan and functionality to a cooking space.

Appearance and Functionality of European Style Kitchen Cabinets

European style cabinetry has an extremely sleek and ultra-modern appearance. This cabinet design displays minimalist aesthetics with streamlined, clean, and well-defined form. These cabinets have a bold and streamlined appearance with flat, unembellished doors, as well as sleek and polished hardware.

European style kitchen cabinets do not include face frames and feature door spaces between the cabinets. As a result, these cabinets have concealed hinges and flush doors. European style kitchen cabinets are an ideal choice in a modern kitchen that optimizes space and facilitate easy access to stored items. These cabinets come in beautiful colors, and varied finishes, like glossy and matte, that enhances the visual appeal of your kitchen décor.

This style of kitchen cabinets possesses linear forms, straight edges, and angular lines. Geometric shapes, such as rectangles instead of arches, highly stylized design, and graceful lines are some of the most prominent features of European style of cabinetry. These features make European kitchen cabinets one of the most favorable cabinetry choices in most of the kitchen renovating projects.

Features of European Style Kitchen Cabinets

Here,  we discuss the many features of European style kitchen cabinets to help you know it better.

Full Overlay Design

European style cabinetry has a distinct characteristic of having a full overlay design. This kind of construction gives an ultra-sleek and seamless look to the cabinet and also enhances the functionality of the cabinet with maximum storage space and full access feature.

Frameless cabinets have full overlay doors, which are directly fixed to the cabinet box. This type of structure includes concealed hinges. Full overlay doors provide a smooth design by hiding the frame behind the cabinet doors.

The frameless cabinet design ensures easy access and maximum storage capacity. It does not include vertical stiles or partitions, that can be a hindrance to store large items and kitchen utensils.

Flat Panel Doors

European style cabinetry makes use of simple cabinet door styles, such as the flat panel door and the slab style door. These doors have a minimalist look and do not come with additional embellishment. These cabinet doors are built from solid, single, plain flat wood.

Wide Range of Colors

European style cabinets are found in a wide range of colors. They come in neutral shades such as white, taupe, gray, and beige, as well as in bold tones, like bright reds, oranges, and lime greens.

Finishes

European style cabinets usually possess flat, smooth surfaces with a highly polished look. This is obtained by making use of laminates or high gloss paints, metal hardware, vinyl, and glass.

The high-gloss finish is mostly common with European style cabinetry and this finish is achieved by the use of various finishing processes. Few techniques that are utilized in producing highly reflective surfaces in these cabinets are brushing or rolling on high gloss paint coats, application of lacquering, laminating, and polyurethane, and spray painting using a compressor.

Another cabinet finish associated with European style cabinets is flat matte finish, which differs strikingly from the glossy finish.

Plain, Minimalist Hardware

Use of sleek, unadorned, and understated hardware is another unique aspect of European style kitchen cabinets. Cabinet door pulls, knobs, and handles typically feature plain and subtle forms, which perfectly complement the streamlined look of this cabinet design. Usually, this kind of kitchen cabinet hardware has polished, satin, or brushed finish. This hardware is designed in a way to enhance the efficiency of usage and convenience.

Hidden Hinges

European style cabinetry makes use of concealed hinges on the cabinet doors. This is yet another exclusive feature of these cabinets that facilitates in ease of use and provide an extra seamless design. The hinges in this cabinetry are mounted on the inner sides of the cabinet that hides their location. After installing these hinges, the doors of the cabinet become fully adjustable. To carry out small adjustments in the cabinet doors, only rotating the screws with the help of a basic screwdriver will help accomplish the task.  

European style cabinet doors fitted with hidden hinges may be removed effortlessly, which can be done even by the beginners. However, this hardware need not be detached from the cabinet door while doing any adjustment on the door, like making proper door alignment to correct the gaps between the doors or the cabinet walls.

European style concealed hinges offer maximum security to the cabinet doors and also offer more convenience while carrying out the cleaning task of the cabinet surface. Furthermore, the concealed cabinet hinges are on the lower price range.

Self-Closing System

The most amazing feature of European style kitchen cabinets is that the doors have a soft closing or self-closing ability due to the use of advanced cabinet door hinges. This kind of mechanism aids in eliminating the noise of the cabinet doors being slammed hard when closed. If the user forcefully closes the cabinet door of this cabinet, the motion is slowed down and gently glided to its closed position due to the presence of a spring. This spring helps to control and reduce the force with which the cabinet door is closed.

In Conclusion

European style kitchen cabinets are best suited for homeowners, who favor contemporary and eclectic look in their kitchen, without compromising the efficiency. Available in a broad range of colors, designs, finishes, and styles, these cabinets are the best combination of optimum functionality and visual appeal.

The post All You Need to Know About European Style Kitchen Cabinets appeared first on TheForBiz - Change Your World.

https://ift.tt/2uydatN

[archienewling]

I knew I wanted to do something special in Eleanor’s room. Wallpaper? She wasn’t interested. How about molding? E was neutral and I was fully enamored with the idea, so yes. Absolutely! I love bedrooms with raised paneling, and it would fit well here architecturally. The first floor of any home is usually the most grand, where you might find taller baseboards, finer finishes, and details like paneling or crown molding. Our Victorian has raised paneling in the entryway, beams and crown in the dining room, picture rail in most bedrooms, and beadboard details throughout. Paneling or molding details in the bedroom of an otherwise unadorned house could be incongruous, but here it would fit.

Eleanor’s room has a noticeable slope to it though. That’s that old house charm for you. The floor slants, the ceiling slants, and I doubt you’ll find a true right angle anywhere. I wanted to do this so badly I tried to convince myself that I could cheat it by splitting the difference between level and what appears to the eye to be level, fudging some of the lines to turn rectangles into parallelograms and trapezoids. To a clear-headed person, this sounds like a terrible idea, right? I was dazzled by my brilliant design vision and it took me a while to admit that this probably isn’t the best space for rigid geometry.

So no wallpaper. No molding. A canopy bed, or a bed tucked into some sort of fort-like nook with beautiful fabric draping the sides was already ruled out when we instead decided to go from a twin-sized bed to a double. A larger canopy bed would still fit technically, but the scale would have been completely wrong. We’ll be adding color and pattern, of course, but I still wanted to do something beyond paint, add a bed, and hang curtains. Plus it’s the One Room Challenge; I wanted an actual challenge!

Well, I could make the bed. And do something interesting with the windows.

This is a phenomenal idea, yes? Never mind that I am far more comfortable with a saw than a sewing machine. I can do this. Except that my cursory knowledge of how to make a headboard was probably gleaned from formative years watching Trading Spaces. Plywood + foam + batting + fabric = headboard. Easy peasy. Except that I want to made a wingback headboard and it turns out it’s way more complicated than that? So OK, plan B is a simple rectangle with channel tufting. Still difficult, but easier. I’m not sure which option will win, but wish me luck.

Wait, we didn’t even get to the windows yet. Get lost, curtains! I’m doing lambrequins. On windows that you can tell just by looking at them have settled with the house and gone out of square. Do I need to change course here as well and go with a valance instead? Eh. Either way, I’ll be doing shades underneath that I plan on making myself. Do I know how? You bet I don’t! Will I figure it out? Oh, for sure! I’m making great decisions with a looming deadline. (If I could renovate old houses and learn how to do all kinds of hard things in the process, surely I can do this. Fingers crossed.)

Follow along with the One Room Challenge participants!

• At Charlotte’s House  • Design Addict Mom  • Erika Ward Interiors  • Erin Kestenbaum  • Girl & Grey • Gray Malin  • Hommeboys  • I Spy DIY  • Jewel Marlowe  • The Learner Observer  • Making it Lovely •  Nicole White Designs  • Old Brand New  • Oscar Bravo Home  • Place of My Taste  • The Rath Project • Room for Tuesday  • SG Style  • Undecorated Home  • Veronica Solomon  • Media BH&G  • TM by ORC

My One Room Challenge Sponsors

Thank you to the following sponsors for generously providing product. • Blueprint Lighting • Crystorama • Fabricut • Garnet Hill • Loloi • Tuft & Needle

My One Room Challenge Posts

Follow along from the beginning! • Week 1: My Daughter’s Room • Week 2: The Design Plan

And check out my previous One Room Challenges! • Spring ’16: Our Bedroom and Den • Fall ’16: Front and Back Entry, Stairs, and Hallways • Fall ’17: My Home Office

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