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michelangelomarble · 2 years ago

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Premium Rainforest Marble at the Best Price From Bhutra Marble Kishangarh

Marble has always been a popular choice for home decor. Its elegance and beauty make it the perfect material for countertops, flooring, and other decorative pieces.

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What is Rainforest Marble?

Rainforest marble is a type of marble that is known for its unique appearance. It is often referred to as "serpentinite" because of its snake-like patterns.

The stone is extracted from the mountains of India and is also found in parts of Brazil.

Rainforest marble is characterized by its green and brown colors, which resemble a forest, hence the name.

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Characteristics of Rainforest Marble

Rainforest Marble is a metamorphic rock, which means it was formed from other rocks over time due to high pressure and heat.

Its unique patterns are a result of the presence of serpentine minerals in the stone.

These minerals give the marble its distinctive green and brown hues. Rainforest marble is a hard and durable stone that can withstand the wear and tear of daily use.

Uses of Rainforest Marble

Rainforest marble is a popular choice for home decor because of its unique appearance.

Its green and brown hues make it a great choice for flooring, countertops, and backsplashes.

It can also be used for decorative pieces such as statues, vases, and other art pieces.

Flooring

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It can withstand heavy foot traffic and is resistant to scratches and stains. Its unique patterns add character to any room and can make a statement in any home decor.

Countertops

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Backsplashes

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It can add depth and character to any kitchen or bathroom. Its durability and resistance to stains and scratches make it a practical choice for backsplashes.

Decorative Pieces

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Its unique patterns make it a great choice for accent pieces and can add a touch of nature to any home decor.

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Maintenance of Rainforest Marble

Rainforest Marble is a durable and low-maintenance stone, but it still requires some care to keep it looking its best.

The stone should be sealed to prevent stains and scratches. Regular cleaning with a mild soap and water solution is recommended.

Avoid using abrasive cleaners or acidic solutions that can damage the stone.

Conclusion

Rainforest marble is a unique and beautiful stone that can add character to any home decor. Its distinctive patterns make it a popular choice for flooring, countertops, and backsplashes.

It is also a great choice for decorative pieces such as statues and vases. While it is a durable and low-maintenance stone, it still requires some care to keep it looking its best.

With proper maintenance, Rainforest Marble can be enjoyed for years to come

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tajmarble · 2 years ago

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Marble and Granite Steps

Marble and granite are two of the most popular natural stones used for a variety of construction and design purposes. From flooring to countertops, these materials are known for their durability, elegance, and timeless beauty. One application of marble and granite that is often overlooked is for steps.

Marble and granite steps are a luxurious and long-lasting option for any staircase. They provide a high-end look that adds value to any property. Additionally, they are incredibly durable and require very little maintenance, making them a practical choice for both residential and commercial settings.

At tajmarble.ae, we specialize in providing high-quality marble and granite steps for our clients. We understand that each project is unique, which is why we offer a variety of colors and patterns to choose from. Our team of experts is also available to provide guidance and advice to help you choose the perfect steps for your space.

In addition to providing exceptional products, we also offer installation services to ensure that your new steps are properly installed and secure. Our team has years of experience in working with marble and granite and are dedicated to delivering high-quality workmanship.

At tajmarble.ae, we are committed to providing our clients with the best possible experience. We take pride in our attention to detail, personalized service, and commitment to quality. Contact us today to learn more about our marble and granite steps and how we can help bring your vision to life.

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rkmarblesindia-blogs · 2 years ago

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biblioklept-writes · 2 years ago

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hi. is it possible to do an enemies to lovers between aemond x reader? the reader hates aemond for his arrogance and impulsive behaviour. aemond supposedly "hates" her and is in complete denial. however, he gets jealous when she is performing traditional dancing with one of her male friends because he doesn't know the moves and feels left out. after the dance, he chases her to the gardens after the dance while the reader is wearing her traditional costume and jewelleries. and that was when he finally notices how beautiful the reader is. if you can consider this, that would be great! thanks!

Hey anon! thank you for this prompt <3

I am going Desi!reader with this, hoping that you were desi and came to my blog from this hehe. I feel this prompt suites modern times better than hotd era and I incorporated a tinsy bit of this ask, sorry if thats not what you had in mind!

I was a fool (Modern!Aemond x Reader)

Content: just some jealous Aemond in an arranged marriage type of situation, could be considered fluff

A/N: Ravi is just an OC (if you are familiar with A Good Girl's Guide to Murder then not really)

HOTD Masterlist | Modern!Aemond Masterlist

Sometimes, being a rich heiress was tough.

You enjoyed a luxurious life thanks to your parent's jewellery making and retail, and a luxury hotel chain - they were one of the most famed in all of Westeros, having migrated from the Indian Subcontinent in their youth.

As their eldest daughter and heiress, you were introduced to the Targaryens, a strange family full of scandal, yet they were the wealthiest of the business families in all of Westeros - dealing with luxury vehicles, home decor, skin care and cosmetics line - and they owned some smaller, less expensive brands under elusive names. Surely not all of their business was legal, just like yours.

You had first met Aemond Targaryen at one of your mother's seven star hotel, right by the King's Landing Airport. It was a rather secretive place and paparazzi stayed away, courtesy of the Airport Security Force. You had become accustomed to the bright lights and the shining marble flooring and the high ceilings, non of them piquing your interest as they did when you were a child.

You had heard a lot about him, more than you were willing to admit. You had attended the same university, with him being two years your senior. He was stoic - stayed quiet save for answering the professors. Among the girls, he had a reputation of being inexpressive and condescending, even though he was a pleasure in bed. You and him never had the same crowd - not in university and never outside of it. You had heard he loved cars and partook in numerous F1 races and had a stellar reputation - almost always getting to the podium.

Reputation or not, you did not like him. He was a stuck-up and arrogant man, and you couldn't stand the thought of marrying him even for a profit to your family. Pretending to be in love with this man was tough, even with his god-like beauty.

Aemond has his permanent scowl on his face, even when you are having a very public dinner with his cousin Baela and her fiancé. You and Baela are having a light-hearted conversation on the subject of cosmetics, sharing your preferences and icks. Bonding over the fact that neither of you manage to get a foundation that matches perfectly, you pitch that maybe you should start your own cosmetic line catering to darker skins specifically.

"I'll promote you for free," Baela quips. "It's time we take matters into our own hands, isn't it?"

"That's what I am saying," You chuckle.

Both your companions are sitting in complete silence after exchanging etiquette compelled pleasantries. They quietly pick at their plates, and you pity the Lannister man - Baela's fiancé - for being stuck with your soon to be fiancé, Aemond. You've stopped feeling anything for him quite a while ago, your date.

"Red is really your colour," Baela compliments once the quartet of you is out of the restaurant. "It's hard to keep eyes off of you,"

The two of you walk arm in arm behind your respective dates, feeling pleasant in the cool evening air. "Thank you," you say, pushing your hair away from your eyes. "You're a stunner yourself, Baela."

She stops, and lets the men walk out of earshot before asking, "How does my cousin treat you?" She sounds concerned.

You take both her hands in yours, heart warmed by her concern. "He's fine. We barely talk. That's great," you say. "Otherwise I'd have slapped him by now."

"He's a bit of a... personality," Baela agrees. "If he does anything that bothers you, let me know. I will put a word to his mother."

You chuckle, "Sure," The only reason you've not turned your house upside down is because of this family. They have their quirks, but Baela and her twin Rhaena, Alicent, Helaena and Daeron have been very welcoming of you, making sure that you feel right at home.

As etiquette rules, Aemond waits for you by the passenger side of his Rolls Royce as you walk to it, opening the door for you then going over to the driver's side. He is quiet again, and you start scrolling through your phone, answering any messages that need urgent attention. It's always like this, you barely speak aside from exchanging pleasantries - and honestly, you didn't mind it too much.

It's not like you hadn't tried, you had always tried to make small talk, to get to know him better, but his responses never exceeded one word. How was your day? Average. How are you feeling? Good. And that was on the good days, otherwise, you've only ever heard him hum or snark in response.

He wasn't controlling of what you were doing or who you were with - one could say it was all they asked for in a rich husband who let them do whatever they want. You didn't want that though, you were the eldest daughter of ultra rich immigrant parents, you knew how to get things done your way, and you knew how to keep everyone in line without having to utter a word. But you were also the eldest daughter of immigrant parents, always having to set a pristine example for your little brother and youngest sister, be the perfect daughter, caretaker, student, dancer, performer, the best of your year, raise your siblings while your parents work and do so without any complains to anyone. Expressing your qualms meant a lecture on how ungrateful you were of everything that your parents provided for you and being unable to say something in your defence because then you 'd be talking back like an ungrateful little brat.

This to-be marriage with Aemond was something set up entirely by your mother and his. Your mother couldn't wait to rub it in everyone's face that her beautiful, perfect daughter, her heiress was about to get married to one of the most handsome, and the richest bachelor in all of the continent, who had a stellar record in academics and was an expert in finance, and had no blemishes in his portfolio.

Turning this down would earn you a lifelong worth of taunts and lectures, so arguably this was better than that. Complete silence with a stranger you can trust, but not speak with. A stranger who would soon be your fiancé and put on a show for the tabloids to gossip about to give the reporters their content.

You think he hates you - he doesn't spare you one glance from his good eye - always keeping his sapphire-eyed side to you. Aemond had lost that eye in childhood, back when you were still fascinated by the pristine marble floors of hotels. There had been some accident involving his nephews from his stepsister, and your mother had sent her condolences to Alicent with some jewels. The current sapphire that he wore was the latest gift from your mother for announcing your cold courtship.

It's a few evenings later and you are visiting Aemond's penthouse in the heart of King's Landing to give the paparazzi a show, to give the tabloids something to gossip about the next morning and afternoon, when you are planning to leave.

You quite enjoy the music and the open bar, hating the strong taste of vodka, but not quite getting enough of it. You definitely aren't sober anymore, moving to the fast tempo of the music that you cannot distinguish - you only know that it makes you feel powerful like a divine goddess waiting to unleash her rage.

"Couldn't even wait for me to get back from work before getting drunk?" Aemond says. His voice is deep and it makes you shiver, for you have never heard him speak more than one word. "I wonder what my mother sees in you," he grumbles. "Whatever she does, I don't."

You give him the finger, and close your eyes to get lost in the music again. You really don't care what he thinks of you, but something in his words was straight up insulting.

"No words to say now?" He snarks.

"What is it that you pride yourself in, hm?" You ask, glaring at him.

"I graduated with the top scores in my degree, I am the best finance manager and the best Westerosi F1 driver - " he starts to say, offended. For a moment you wonder if he's drunk too, but the condescending look in his darkened violet eye has you lashing out on him in rage.

"Yeah, big deal racer-boy." You snap your fingers in front of his face, having to look up. "I was also the top scorer in my year - across all majors, I can hack into your finance system and bring it down and you wouldn't even know what happened. I run an NGO, I manage my mother's finances and I know how to stitch, embroider and cook. I can survive if left alone - but you'll start crying for your mother the moment you are left alone with no servants or money to take care of you. If anyone gets to act like a stuck up arrogant little bitch that should be me."

"Oh please, your mother was the one pushing for this marriage because she knows you are incapable of anything," He snaps at you. You are nose to nose, and you want to smack him hard across the face, but you hold back that grudge.

"You know what your beloved mother told me before we started all this?" You challenge. "Do you? DO YOU?" you exhale before saying, "She said that there is no other woman who could possibly put up with this attitude of yours - that she knows you will not be able to survive on your own, you big man-child. Putting a little show on for the reporters doesn't make you a man."

You push him back and take the elevator, yelling a "Fuck you!" before the door closes and hides his comically scandalised face.

Trouble in paradise? It seems the most eligible bachelor in Westeros is free for taking again.

"What is this that the newspapers say," Your mother says, tone chiding. "Why would you leave in the middle of the night?"

"I cannot stand Aemond, mother!" You complain. "I cannot stand him. If Alicent weren't so sweet, I'd never have agreed to this whole thing."

"Sweetie, please. Think it over again." Your mother insists.

"Consider this arrangement over if he doesn't apologise to me." You declare, glaring at your mother with untamed fury. And for once, she is rightfully terrified of your eldest daughter-rage. Your little brother supports you, making your point stronger. He can be a pain in the ass but he can also be helpful in times like these.

There is a gala event on the weekend, and your family friends from Little Kilton are invited. The Singh Family is here, as is your old friend Ravi. You hug him tightly and ask him about his girlfriend and the crimes that they uncovered together. He's giggly talking about his lovely girlfriend Pip, calling him Sarge and other cute names like that.

You want to be normal at that moment - not the daughter of diamond merchant and a luxury hotel chain owner, but a daughter of normal immigrants, with a boyfriend who can love you as Ravi loves his Sarge Pip.

You are quite done with everything, and decide to dress in traditional clothes for the gala, opting for a rather fancy lehenga. You are going to dance tonight, flaunt your classical dancing skills with Ravi as your companion. Your outfits accidentally match with the similar shades of green and silken fabrics - Ravi clicks a selfie and sends it to his girlfriend, who instantly calls and you finally get to see her in her element. You see the way Ravi's eyes light up on seeing her, and a knife twists at your heart - because you'll never have anyone be this happy to see you.

Pip gushes about how pretty you look and how no one will notice Ravi with you in the room, and you share a good laugh at Ravi's pouty look, claiming he looked ravishing.

"Alright, we're there." Ravi says. "I'll call you when I get back, Sarge. Love you."

"Love you." Pip says before they hang up.

"You're so in love it's disgusting." You say, lips twisted in mock disgust. "Put a ring on it already."

"That's the plan," He says with a dreamy smile. "I didn't come over just to see you, did I?"

"Ravi Singh!" You scream with your hand covering your mouth. "Oh my god, you absolute dork in love you can't be for real!"

"I hope she says yes." He sighs.

"Oh, she will." You declare. "I'll help you pick out the ring."

You told Ravi everything about Aemond and your situation with him, and the paparazzi didn't stop clicking pictures as your mom walked with you, with Ravi accompanying you. He's a little nervous, but he hides it well.

Once inside, you spot Alicent and Helaena, and introduce them to Ravi as your childhood friend and they are really welcoming of him. Alicent looks upset over her son's behaviour and apologises on his behalf, but you lie and tell her that's fine. Your mother can break her heart later gently if her son fails to prove himself worthy to you.

You spot Aemond's silver head in the corner of your eye as you walk away from Alicent and Helaena, and grab Ravi's wrist and have him look at your former-soon-to-be fiancé.

"He looks like an elitist snob," Ravi comments.

"You're not wrong," you say.

"I think jealousy would do him some good," Ravi says. "Let's go get changed, I believe our performance is in an hour. Don't you need t0o much time to get changed?"

"Let's go," You say, grinning. You whisper to your mother, actively avoiding looking at Aemond, not bothering to put up any civility for him. You'll never look at him in the face again if he doesn't apologise for his condescension.

The beat of the classical music hits your veins, and you and Ravi are dancing to the rhythm, going where the music takes you. The whole crowd is silent, entranced by your performance. It's nothing too strenuous, but you manage to impress them. You trust him enough for the couple of lifts that you have, earning a loud applause as you finish your performance with you on one knee on the right of the stage and Ravi in identical position on the left.

You are panting heavily as you get off the stage as the applause slowly quiets down, changing back into your magnificent green lehenga before going out to get some fresh air. The gardens are impeccably maintained, with trimmed bushes and perfectly shaped trees, the clean air replenishing the stale one in your lungs, making you relaxed after the costing performance.

You take a seat on a bench under a tall tree, in relative isolation as you catch your breath.

A scowl curves your beautiful face as you hear the sound of your name in Aemond's quiet, deep voice, wondering what more he could possibly have to say to you.

"What business have you got here?" You bitterly ask.

"You were amazing back there," He attempts.

"I am aware, thank you." You say, still refusing to look at him. "I had a great partner with me."

"Speaking of a partner, who is he?" Aemond asks.

"None of your business anymore," You snap.

"I just want to talk," He tries again.

"There's nothing there to talk," you stop him. "You made it pretty clear that I am not worth your time or attention."

"It was foolish of me to say that." He amends.

"Yet, that is what you thought was the truth." You say, looking ahead at the bushes in front of you.

"I'd have danced if you asked me to," He confesses, changing routes.

"You left no room for questions," You counter. "No self respecting person would ask something of you after only receiving one word or one syllable response for more than a month. And as a self respecting person I don't deem you a fit partner."

"And he is?" Aemond asks, you can hear in his voice - the anger, the strain that he has in his jaw.

"Surely," You tease, voice deadpanned. "Much better than you, definitely."

"What do you want me to do?" Aemond finally caves in, sighing.

"I don't know, maybe your top of the major brain should have the answers," You snap again. Your glare and voice have bite, but you do not give him the satisfaction of facing him. The warmth of his body comes at your side as he takes a seat beside you and lets out a long sigh.

"Look, I know it was foolish of me to say what I did," He started. "I want to ask for your forgiveness."

"You've not given me any reason to trust you," you say. “How can I forgive you if I know nothing about you?"

"We ought to change that then." Aemond decides. "Let me take you out sometime."

"You had all the time in the world to take me out, yet…" you trail off.

"I had been a fool," He sighs, rubbing his face. "A stuck up arrogant little bitch, as you'd rightfully put."

"What changed?" You ask, finally turning to look at him. Aemond's usual scowl is replaced with a soft, pleading crease in his brow. His lilac eye is uncharacteristically soft - you can swear that he has tears in both his eyes - the sapphire one and the intact one. "Please don't tell me you are doing this because your mom asked you to."

"She doesn't know what happened," Aemond confesses, his voice dropping down to a whisper. "I just needed to hear what you told me the other day."

"And?" You prompted.

"I have always thought you to be insanely beautiful," Aemond confesses with a hesitant sigh. "But today you look divine, crafted patiently by the Seven themselves."

"Hmm, go on." You say with a cheeky grin, and Aemond chuckles. This the first time you ever heard him laugh, the first time you have ever seen him smile. He has a pretty smile and his laugh is one of the most pleasing sounds to your ears.

"I was intimidated by you, to be honest." He confesses. You have never heard him sound so vulnerable, exposed, and you realise that you are rather fond of it. "You're this insanely talented, beautiful woman who has her life together with everything sorted and I don't think I have ever learned how to keep up a conversation."

“You big, foolish man,” you press your lips together, inhaling a deep breath. “That degree is of no use, you should return it. How can you manage finance without knowing proper communication?”

“Maybe you can help me with that,” He says with a smile. He has dimples.

“I’d like that,” You nod.

“I’ll pick you up at seven, tomorrow?” He asks.

“Why wait?” you shrug.

#aemond targaryen x reader #ask ans: oneshot #ask: modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #aemond x you #modern!aemond #aemond targaryen #modern hotd #hotd fic

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jomiddlemarch · 8 months ago

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The shapes a bright container can contain!

IV. “This is a carriage house?” Hermione asked after first standing silent for a good two minutes, a length of time that seemed far longer when a witch was known to hurl herself into a squid-infested loch in early winter.

“You speak as if you have an extensive experience of real estate,” Draco retorted.

“It’s quite a bit more house than I’d imagined,” she said. To exceed Hermione Granger’s imagination was a feat and Draco decided he’d follow the Muggle adage and begin as he meant to go on.

“Did you expect it to still contain carriages? Or horses? Tack?” Draco said. “Did you want a pony? That could be arranged, though I think an Arabian or an Abraxan hybrid—"

“No. Of course not,” she said. “But this is quite lovely. So thoughtfully appointed.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Your wife had exquisite taste,” Hermione said.

“Yes, she did,” Draco replied. “You can see it in the main house. This was my project.”

“Oh, I see. I didn’t mean to imply,” she broke off. Somehow, this was what flustered her, this bit of gauche maladroitness, though she was staying in the home of a former Death Eater, a man who still bore the brand of a genocidal maniac on his forearm. She didn’t blush however; her eyes only widened and she seemed to lose what color she had. Draco decided he’d look after her well enough blushing became an option again.

“It’s all right. Why don’t I give you a tour of the place, get you settled,” he said. He wanted to offer her his arm, to feel her hand on him and keep her steady, but he suspected she would actually be as offended as she’d imagined he might just have been. He walked closer to her than would ordinarily be considered polite and kept the pace slow.

“This is the sitting room,” he said, gesturing around them. Two large chesterfields upholstered in dark green velvet sat on either side of a coffee-table strewn with periodicals and some art books, a bowl hewn from the base of a cypress at the center, filled with green apples. Squashy silk pillows in an array of jewel tones were tucked at either end of the sofas, a cashmere throw draped in a corner. A pair of club chairs bracketed the large fireplace, and an ancient Persian rug was underfoot. Long windows were surrounded by bookshelves, the bookshelves full of neatly arranged books that appeared much-handled.

“It’s lovely. Looks very comfortable,” Hermione said. He beckoned her to follow him as he walked across the space and miraculously, she followed, her wand-hand empty.

“This is the kitchen. The table seats six, though it’s easy enough to enlarge it if you wanted to have more people over. You should have as many people over as you like,” Draco said. The table was a generously sized oval made of beautifully patinaed mahogany and he thought she would have preferred something sturdy and practical, a scrubbed oak. She’d want to set it with mismatched plates, a potluck with dishes randomly assembled or better yet, Indian takeaway with plenty of samosas.

“Is there a Transfiguration spell that preserves the wood better?” Hermione asked.

“There’s a leaf. Though any standard Transfiguration you’d cast would be fine. It’s not a priceless antique,” Draco said.

“It looks like a Sheraton,” Hermione remarked. “I suppose that’s not priceless to you. It’s just Muggle.”

“It’s a fake. A fake Sheraton,” Draco said, shrugging, trying not to feel flustered and failing. “I like the look of Georgian furniture, but I didn’t want anything that would feel like a museum piece. I had enough of that, growing up. Except that that furniture was also cursed half the time.”

“Half, huh?”

“Closer to three-quarters in the North Wing. Dreadful place and you can’t even burn it to the ground,” he said.

“A pity. I guess. This is the kitchen proper?” she said, moving past him into the room with its soapstone worktops, slate floors, sage green painted cupboards fitted as neatly as a ship’s galley, though there was plenty of space. A marble slab for pastry, a great hulking Aga prepared to cook a roast and warm the whole house, and tucked behind—

“That’s a butler’s pantry,” Draco said, as she poked her head around to peer in the narrow space.

“You thought this place needed a butler’s pantry? Is there a butler?” she asked, then paused, a look of bemused horror on her face. “Good Lord, is there a butler?”

“There’s no butler and no House-elves either, before you get yourself worked into a tizzy,” Draco said. He’d have liked to have Tizzy herself serving, earning the ample wage they’d negotiated, but he’d known that no matter how comprehensive the benefits, Hermione would be distressed to be waited upon by a creature in a toweling jumpsuit, unable to convince herself she wasn’t taking advantage. “I thought butler’s pantry sounded better than glorified closet. I will now pause to allow you to make some comment along the lines of me being a posh git.”

“You’ve made that unnecessary now,” Hermione said, horror passed, smiling again.

“There’s a butler’s pantry because I needed a defined space I could configure for electricity to work. Neville said you have very strong opinions about the Panis tosti charm—”

“It’s shite,” she interrupted. “Utter bollocks. It’s a travesty to call what it does toast and everyone knows it and won’t admit it. Molly Weasley has five different toasting forks because the charm is such shite—”

“As I said, Very Strong Opinions, duly noted. Also, he said you have slightly less Strong Opinions on toasting forks, I believe they hearken too much to the Edwardian period for your taste, and so I had to make sure there was some part of the house where you could make a proper piece of toast in a toaster,” Draco explained. He opened the little hatch that concealed the toaster. “There’s also a charging station for any devices that need it.”

“Oh my goodness,” she said.

“You probably won’t short it all out if you cast a spell, but I’d try to keep it to a minimum and no wandless. When you channel magic through your hands directly, it warps the wards I put up,” he said.

“You did a lot of work,” she said. “Went to a lot of trouble.”

“What part of looking after properly was obscure to a witch of your erudition and exactitude?” Draco said. She’d think he was teasing and he was but he also meant it, especially the praise, which he’d been told to expect her to shrug off.

She shrugged.

“You didn’t have to,” she said.

“I only did what I thought I must. What I thought you would do, without a second thought, if you were the one taking care of someone,” Draco said.

“I’ve never gotten Harry a toaster,” she said.

“But he doesn’t ever seem to miss all the Mugglish equipment he grew up with. He was happy to leave it all behind,” Draco said.

“He does love everything Wizarding,” Hermione said. “Even Celestina Warbeck.”

Draco could not help his grimace then, but Hermione gave him a look of the purest camaraderie and appreciation, suggesting his expression had not put her off in the slightest.

“I shan’t say a word. About his taste in music at least,” he said. “There’s a water closet just at the back, before the conservatory. We might explore there a bit or would you rather see the sleeping quarters upstairs?”

He spent a considerable amount of time mulling over how he’d mention where she would sleep to minimize any awkwardness, knowing he didn’t want to utter the word bed but that she’d immediately pick up on any verbal contortions to avoid it.

“Did you have Neville to see to the conservatory?” she asked, prescient. Longbottom had spent a week and the entire budget Draco had given him, but the results were lovely and marvelously fragrant.

“Yes,” Draco answered.

“Then I’ll have an idea of what it’s like already and I’ll enjoy finding out how I’m wrong later,” she said. “Take me upstairs.”

#dramione #comfort fic #fluffy #angst #hermione x draco #draco POV #who doesn't love a house tour?#Hermione on Toast #chapter four #draco is very attentive to detail

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adicorporation · 7 months ago

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Top 12 marble flooring designs for homes in India

Find timeless elegance for every room with our guide to Indian & Italian marble flooring. Explore marble flooring design ideas for the hall, bathrooms, bedroom, and more.

#Marble Floor Designs For Hall #marble suuplier in India #best marble dealer #Marble Floor Designs For Bathroom #Marble Floor Designs For Kitchen #Indian marble supplier #Italian marble in Pune

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psychoanalysisandchill · 1 year ago

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The wrathful glare of Kali and the callous gaze of Medusa – the emergence of the femme fatale in the female psyche.

Legend of Kali

In Hindu legend, goddess Durka and her helpers, the Matri goddesses, slay the demon Raktabīja, only to find out that the stains of Raktabīja’s blood act like seed on soil as every drop manifests another duplicate of him. Durka becomes enraged and summons Kali, whom then proceeds to slay and devour Raktabīja and his legion of duplicates. She dances on their corpses and parades around with Raktabīja slain head in her hand, securing the droplets of blood through holding a plate underneath it, so as to prevent further bleeding on the soil. Motivated by her insatiable fury, Kali proceeds with the destruction of all else that crosses her path, but after stepping on the corpse of Lord Shiva, Kali is struck by embarrassment and remorse as her supressed superego is released from her shadow and brings her back to her senses. Lord Shiva’s has the power to liberate Kali from her fury as he is the transcendent Self. He is the benevolent patriarch, yogi supreme, yet also husband and father, suggesting the achievement of harmonious balance between wordily duties and that of holy men. His anima, being integrated, is neither possessing him nor is it plaguing him as a result of repression. He neither falls prey to the manipulative trickery of deceitful women nor does he view women as disdainfully inferior sexual objects. Only he can liberate Kali from her all-consuming misandry and soothe her sorrows.

Shiva’s non-threatening benevolence makes itself known through the act of laying underneath Kali’s feet. Possessed by wrath, Kali has lost sight of that which is holy. Without recognition of the benevolent aspects of Shiva, Kali’s fury is bound to drown the universe in her flames, however, Durka’s initial intention behind the summoning of Kali was to defeat Raktabīja and his legion of duplicates, rather than bring about the destruction of the universe.

Durka and the Matri goddesses are at loss at Raktabīja’s lack of chivalry in combat and the injustice of his supernatural power. They are the modern-day women whom get harassed by demonic and demeaning men despite enforcing their boundaries. Such men seek to dominate through ridicule rather than reason. The lack of decorum in both combat and dialogue makes the summoning of Kali inevitable for a woman as all else has failed to shield her vulnerability from the malevolence of a demonic beast.

In recent memory, Raktabīja and Poseidon manifested themselves as Harvey Weistein and Jeffrey Epstein, powerful demonic beasts, seeking to preserve their authority whilst uninterested in the discontinuation of their predatory behaviour. The faith in the punitive power of the rule of law arrests Kali from flooding the consciousness of their victims, making Durka and the Matri goddesses persevere in a civilized manner, unlike the instance in which 200 Indian women, armed with vegetable knifes, stones and chilli powder stormed the court hearing of gang-leader and rapist Akku Yadav, dismembering his genitals with a vegetable knife, robbing him of his phallus through a vengeful barbaric act of literal castration, dead in a matter of 15 minutes, leaving his lifeless corpse daggered by kitchen knives on the white marble floor of the court, in an exhibition of gore galore, resembling the sublime beauty of a transcendent piece of art in the eyes of Kali.

Legend of Medusa (Ovid´s version)

In Greek legend, Medusa is the sole mortal among three gorgon sisters, depicted as a beautiful maid with plentiful of potential suitors, longing for the reciprocation of her attention. She is brutally raped in the temple of Athena by God Poseidon as a result of the rejection of his advances. Enraged by the desacralization of her temple, Athena curses Medusa, turning her hair turned into snakes, metamorphosing her into a monstrous form armed with a glare that petrified anyone who dared to meet her eyes.

As if Medusa hadn’t suffered enough, she was later beheaded by demigod Perseus. Many men had tried to behead her prior to Perseus, but all had been turned into stone at the sight of her petrifying glare. Perseus however, was clever enough to stare into the mirror moments before the beheading, instead of in her eyes. As he flew over Libya with Medusa’s decapitated in his hands, blood dripped on the soil and snakes sprout from the droplets. Medusa’s head is later gifted to Athena, whom attaches it to her shield, supplying her with the power of Medusa’s deadly glare in combat.

The legend of Medusa is one of horrific injustice and betrayal. After the violation of her person through the act of rape, her boss, Athena, does the unimaginable: curse her. The ancient equivalent to the modern-day slut shame of a genuine victim of rape. The horrors of rape alone didn’t metamorphize her hair into serpents, it was that the aftermath of her rape was followed by the ultimate betrayal by a deity she had bestowed with trust.

If Kali’s fury has lit her heart on fire, then Athena’s betrayal has frozen Medusa’s heart into ice. In Kali, the Nietzschean will to power is alive and striving, but in Medusa it is nowhere to be found. Medusa, as a beautiful maiden was pure, pure in the sense that she couldn’t conceive of the unfathomable betrayal of Athena, thus when it dawned upon her hope in both humanity and divinity was lost. Anyone who’s superego isn’t as disturbed as that of Athena and Poseidon will be overwhelmed by their conscience upon meeting Medusa’s gaze. The burden of her victimization is a collective bearing for all to carry, reminding us of the consequences of vicious cruelty.

Every young boy has looked into the eyes of Medusa as their, otherwise loving, mother coolly hit them with the “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed,” remark. Such disappointment, from women, causes a man to cringe in an instinctive act of clenching the gut muscles.

In yogic philosophy, masculine consciousness is associated with fire and believed to reside in the solar plexus. One believes to be speaking figuratively when alluding to bravery as “having guts” but embodied bravery, is quite literally impossible without having a strong presence in the gut area.

The act of cringing is the act of shame as a biological reaction rather than an emotion. Medusa’s ice-cold gaze, cursing one to cringe in shame, is the true extinguisher of a man’s masculine consciousness, making him think twice before he acts next time, however since Medusa has lost hope in the redeeming qualities of man, there will be no next time, whomever meeting her gaze is doomed to freeze for all eternity. The many men whom attempted to behead her prior to Perseus couldn’t bear the collective burden of a restless conscience and thus instinctively attempt to rescue their phallus from the prospect of psychic castration through beheading the source of their restlessness. Such an act of profanity, is nothing short from foolish desperation, a last resort for restoring balance in one’s psyche, bound to fail from the get go, which is why all men prior to Perseus freeze to stone upon their attempted murder.

Perseus only finds success through looking in the mirror at the moment of execution, sparing his phallus from castration as his conscience remains unaffected, but his heinous crime is not without consequence as Medusa’s spilled blood sprout to life venomous serpents on Libyan soil. Medusa is Mahsa Amini, as the Iranian morality police seem to mistake the beauty of a woman’s hair for poisonous serpents. The serpents sprung to life by Medusa’s blood are the many Iranian women unleashing the terror of their liberated hair upon the morality police. Nothing terrifies fundamentalist Islamists more than the emergence of their own anima, as it becomes projected upon an enchanting woman.

Raktabīja’s blood stains produce duplicates as a reaction to fair female resistance, Medusa’s blood stains produce serpents as a reaction to horrific injustice and a cowardice murder. The moral of the story is that injustice and disrespect of self-assertion lay the groundworks in which mayhem may flourish.

Lastly, Athena attaching Medusa’s head to her shield is a ploy to harness the power of a victim’s hopeless disappointment and masquerade it as her own. Athena, despite being a deity, could impossibly freeze her opponents with her own gaze, as she created Medusa’s through initiating the destruction of her reputation. It is solely through a masquerade in which Athena cosplays victimhood that she can harness the powers of it.

#kali #medusa #greek mythology #ancient greek #greek texts #greek posts #hinduism #hindu mythology #psychoanalysis #sigmund freud #freud #carl jung #analytical psychology #feminism #rapeculture #superego #literary criticism

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chelseachilly · 2 years ago

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king of my heart - pt 2

and all the pieces fall right into place getting caught up in the moment, lipstick on your face i’m yours to keep and i’m yours to lose you know i’m not a bad girl but i’ll do bad things with you

pairings: reader x ben chilwell chapter summary: despite your better judgement, you go over to ben’s place for the first time. warnings: smut, 18+ word count: 1.9k

a/n: thank you for reading part one, i hope you enjoy the (much steamier) part 2 lol - more coming soon! pls let me know what u think 🖤

read part one

Three days later, you somehow find yourself standing in front of your bathroom mirror, putting on lip gloss, getting ready to go over to Ben Chilwell’s house.

You were admittedly on the fence when you first talked to Charlotte about it after receiving his message after the party.

“He’s a footballer, I’m sure he just wants to hook up,” you said to her as you both scrolled through his Instagram.

“Isn’t that what you want, too? You said you’re not looking for anything serious,” Charlotte pointed out. When you lingered a bit too long on a post of him sitting shirtless on a yacht somewhere, she chuckled lightly. “Plus, you’re clearly into him.”

You couldn’t deny that to be true; there was something so unique and interesting about Ben, something that captivated you instantly in the short time you spent with him.

The butterflies in your stomach while talking to him at the party were unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You’ve been trying to convince yourself since that it was just because he’s famous and a great player and obviously attractive, not indicative of something more.

In all honesty, your fear isn’t that he’ll want to keep things casual - you’re worried that he won’t, or that you’ll catch feelings for him and they won’t be returned. You’ve had enough heartache the past few years, you’re not sure you could handle that.

Regardless, you decided to respond to his DM a few hours after he sent it, unable to resist the temptation.

yourinstagram Hey, it was great meeting you too! Sure, I’d be up for something 😊

You did worry you seemed overly eager, but he didn’t take long to respond.

benchilwell Perfect, I’ve got Wednesday off training. Wanna come to mine on Tuesday night and we can order dinner? You good with Indian?

yourinstagram Sounds good, just send me the details!

When Tuesday finally rolls around, you feel more nervous than you expected but excited nonetheless. You get home from work around six and immediately start getting ready even though you don’t have to be at Ben’s until eight.

Charlotte is out at a work event, so you have no one to advise you, but you decide on jeans and a white long-sleeve tee. It’s a simple outfit, but you feel both relaxed and confident in it, which is perfect for…whatever this is.

You take the tube and show up at Ben’s right on time. You briefly consider if you should’ve played it cool and been a bit late, but you’ve already rung the doorbell and it’s too late to turn back now.

The door swings open, revealing a brightly smiling Ben, in a fleecy black sweatshirt and matching joggers, knocking the wind out of you just as much as he did the first time.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiles, stepping out of the way so you can come in. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too,” you say sincerely, slipping your shoes off in the entry hall. “How was your day?”

“Not bad,” Ben shrugs, beginning to lead you further into the house. “Much better now, though. How about you?”

You can feel yourself blushing as he flashes you a cheeky grin before turning around to walk into the next room.

“Mine was good, yeah,” you mumble, trying to regain your composure.

Without Ben’s gaze on you, you look around the house for the first time - it’s massive, with marble floors and sky-high ceilings. Honestly, it might be the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As you enter the kitchen, there’s a huge spread of food out on the island.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got one of everything,” Ben says a bit shyly. “Indian makes for good leftovers, though, right?”

“Yeah, it does,” you agree, smiling at him. “Thanks, Ben, this looks delicious.”

He passes you a plate to fill up, him following suit as you load yours with a bit of everything.

“I’m sorry I didn’t suggest a restaurant, it’s just that there can be paps or fans taking photos a lot of the time and I didn’t want to subject you to that,” Ben says as you sit down at the table to eat.

“Of course, I get it,” you say. “And I’m good with staying in, really. Honestly, I kind of prefer it.”

“Yeah, same here,” Ben smiles. “Especially after a long day.”

You share stories of your work days as you eat what’s probably the best food you’ve had since moving to London. Once you’re done, Ben offers you a glass of wine as he cleans up and puts the rest in the fridge.

You sip the cold Chardonnay and sit back, feeling hopelessly giddy as you watch Ben hum some song you faintly recognize and move around the kitchen tidying up.

“You feel like watching a film?” Ben asks when he’s done.

You nod and he takes you to another room, with a huge couch and a TV nearly the size of the wall. He sits and you sit next to him, leaving about an arm’s length of separation between the two of you.

You settle on a scary movie called Smile after Ben suggests it. You’re not much for the horror genre but you agree anyway, not wanting to seem lame in front of this guy you barely know. You get comfortable on the couch, inching slightly closer to Ben so you can stretch your legs out on the sectional in front of him.

You can feel Ben’s gaze on you from time to time, but you keep your eyes glued to the screen to avoid eye contact. He’s fairly close to you now, and you’re worried if you look at him you won’t be able to resist kissing him. You don’t usually mind making the first move, but something about this feels different.

All of a sudden, a jump scare on the screen makes you reflexively turn your head away, and your face ends up landing on Ben’s shoulder. Although he jolted at the sudden scare as well, he immediately wraps an arm around you and begins to run his hand up and down your arm.

“You alright?” Ben asks, his breath warm on your ear.

“Yeah, it’s just a film,” you laugh softly, not moving an inch. You feel so comfortable and safe right now considering you just met this guy a few days ago. It’s like you’ve known him for years. “Not much of a scary movie person, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry, you should’ve said something,” Ben says gently. “You wanna pick something else?”

He pauses the film and you raise your head from his shoulder, now meeting his eyes with your faces only inches apart.

About three seconds pass before you both dive in to kiss each other, your lips meeting seamlessly.

His hands are on your back as you begin to make out with more intensity, scrambling to get closer to him. You end up straddling his lap, running your hands through his hair - which is just as soft as you imagined - as he pulls you as close as possible.

You carry on like this for god knows how long, unable to get enough of each other. Eventually, you have to come up for air, both of you completely out of breath.

You remain in his lap as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Wow,” you breathe, admiring his slightly swollen lips and enjoying the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you. “That was-“

“Yeah,” Ben finishes, placing a lighter kiss on your lips. “Do you want to…”

“Yes,” you reply, diving in to kiss him again and tugging at the bottom of his sweatshirt.

He gets the hint and takes it off, along with the white t-shirt underneath. You can’t help but pull away to look at him for a moment, your eyes scanning the many small tattoos you saw on his Instagram.

And his abs, obviously.

As you continue to kiss, he starts to take off your shirt as well, and you nod in consent before he removes it fully.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, staring at your breasts as he begins to kiss your neck and jawline, making you moan.

You continue to undress until there’s nothing left. Ben reaches down and can immediately feel how ready you are for him, making you tremble when his finger touches your sensitive spot.

“I want you,” you mumble against his lips. “Now.”

“I need to get a-”

You cut him off by reaching over and pulling what he’s looking for out of your purse on the floor.

“Modern women come prepared,” you smirk, passing him the condom.

“Damn, you’re amazing,” Ben grins as he opens the wrapper with his teeth and begins to roll it on his hard cock.

Ben flips you both over on the couch and sinks in to you slowly, making both of you moan with pleasure. He asks if you’re alright as he begins to thrust into you slightly faster, and you can only nod as your brain goes fuzzy with pure bliss.

Before it’s even over, you can tell this is the best sex you’ve ever had. It’s not just the technique, though obviously his toned, athletic body is improving the experience, but something more than that too. He feels so right inside of you, so perfect.

“Y/N,” Ben moans, “I’m close, love.”

“That’s ok, go ahead.”

He lets out another low groan as he comes, and you feel a bit bereft as he pulls out and collapses on the couch next to you. After he’s had the chance to catch his breath, he gets up on his knees and begins to trail kisses down your body, making you tremble with anticipation.

It’s even more perfect when he goes down on you, making you see stars within seconds of his mouth on you. By the time you finish, you’re screaming his name in pleasure.

After he’s passed you a tissue to clean yourself up, Ben leans back against the couch cushions and pulls you into his arms, draping a blanket over your naked and now a bit sweaty bodies.

“That was amazing,” you can’t help but admit, your head resting on his chest and your eyes fluttering shut with contentment.

“So amazing,” he agrees, kissing your forehead in a way that feels almost too intimate, despite the activities you just engaged in. “You’re incredible, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Not so bad yourself, Ben Chilwell,” you chuckle. “Where did you learn to - you know what, never mind.”

You both laugh, but you suddenly remember what you came here for. The sex, although not a guarantee, was not unexpected and certainly not unwelcome.

Everything else, though - the butterflies in your stomach when he laughs, the tender forehead kisses after sex - is strictly off-limits if you want to retain your sanity.

You don’t need a boyfriend at all right now, let alone a footballer. Even if that footballer makes your heart want to leap right out of your chest.

“Ben, I just wanna be clear,” you say after a few minutes of enjoying each other’s touch in silence. “This was really fun, and I would love to keep seeing you, but that’s all this is, right? Fun?”

Ben hesitates for a moment, and you’re suddenly concerned that he expected more from this evening.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I just assumed since you’re a professional athlete and busy with football and everything that you wouldn’t be looking for-“

“Yeah, of course,” Ben interrupts, smiling and kissing you again. “That’s perfect, actually. Having no strings attached makes everything easier.”

“Okay, great,” you smile, kissing him again. “Now, do you wanna pick another film or do you wanna go for round two?”

Ben stares at you, looking a bit awestruck for a moment, before leaning in to kiss you again.

Somehow, the second time is even better.

next chapter 💙

#ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell x y/n #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell #chelsea fc imagine #komh

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filipeanut · 1 year ago

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Admission to many museums in the UK are free, so once and a while we drop in to get to see local art. Here are some photos of art with themes of colonization, injustice, and issues of our time at Tate Liverpool.

This photo is of a Palestinian woman in what’s left of her home during the Sabra Camp massacre in 1982. It is by Don McCullin, a British photographer who covered the Lebanese Civil War during his visits in 1976 and 1982. Palestinian refugees fled to Lebanon after the establishment of Israel in 1948 in what was once a part of Palestine. The war in Lebanon led to massacres of Muslim neighborhoods including Palestinians in the Sabra refugee camp.

The late Zarina Hashmi was an Indian-American artist born in India, whose family was displaced by the 1947 partition of India after British colonial rule. While her sister Rani moved to Pakistan, Zarina eventually traveled the world, staying in touch with her sister everywhere she went. “Letters from Home” use these letters from Rani as a basis for the art, as they are written in Urdu and printed along with depictions of blue prints and maps of the places Zarina had lived through the years.

Kader Attia was born in France to Algerian parents, and later grew up in Algeria. Believe it or not, this artwork is made out of food. Specifically, couscous, a staple in Algeria as well as the rest of North Africa. Near the exhibit is a photo of Swiss-French architect Le Corbusier, who applied modernist architecture during the French colonial period in Algeria near the mid 1900s. In this artwork Attia seems to shape buildings in the modernist style, depicting the ancient hilltop city of Ghardaia in Algeria. The buildings are molded in couscous, and cracks and crumbling areas in the buildings could be seen as weathering from both the city’s old age and French colonization.

Torkwase Dyson handcrafted these huge, black structures and placed them in a large dark space on the first floor of Tate Liverpool. Dyson’s abstract works “grapple with the ways in which space is perceived, imagined and negotiated particularly by black and brown bodies.” This installation, “Liquid a Place,” definitely displays this, with these huge statues of what seam like heavy slabs of the darkest marble. They definitely convey the weight of colonization for me, and the artist description of them echoing “the curve of a ship’s hull” got me the most. Tate Liverpool sits in what was once one of Europe’s busiest ports serving the Transatlantic Slave Trade.

Lubaina Himid was one of the pioneers of the UK’s Black Art movement in the 1980s. “Carrot Piece” shows a white figure hovering a carrot over a Black woman carrying her own plentiful batch of food and items. The white figure is on a unicycle and wears light make up, conveying ridiculousness or crude entertainment, as if a clown. These are cut-out wooden paintings that are life-sized and was made for, as Himid wrote in her description, “…the moment when you slowly realise that you have learned something quite useful about yourself which proves to be a whole lot better than anything ever offered to you for free.”

Kerry James Marshall is known for his colorful paintings depicting Black people in dark shades. He counters “Western pictorial tradition” and brings forward Black figures in it. This work shows a Black figure wearing a British royal guard uniform, holding a sandwich board advertising a fish and chips restaurant named after a freedman, prominent writer, and British slavery abolitionist Olaudah Equiano. The irony of this art, is that it does not show a place in England. It is a scene in Arizona, where a “London Bridge” was made to attract American tourism.

#Tate Liverpool #Kerry James Marshall #Zarina Hashmi #Don McCullin #Lubaina Himid #Kader Attia #Torkwase Dyson

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