woolen carpet

- Sleepless Night -

I didn’t understand it, the pillows were fluffed, the temperature in the room was perfect, even my favourite childhood night light was on, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get myself to sleep. My eyes were open like the entrance to a tunnel. I kept on staring at the bare ceiling, turning, sighing and moving around. Throwing the blanket away and dragging it back over my body after few seconds. The sleep and the comfortableness were nowhere seen. It’s going to be a long night…

Against my willingness I decided to woke my girlfriend up, in huge hopes she will help me. She always does. “Y/N?” I lightly shake her arms.

Slowly and reluctantly she uncover her flushed face. She blinks, closes her eyes, and blinks again. Streaks of moonlight penetrate the window and blinded her for a while. She sits up, drags her feet off the bed, and rubs her knuckles onto her eyes. Stretching her arms above her head she yawns. I watch her legs dangle above the white woolen carpet. “It’s already morning? Why is that so dark?” She asks cluelessly, while tapping on her stomach - which was covered in one of my tour T-shirts.

“No, no it’s not a morning yet. Come back to bed.”

She faced me, looking more lost than a little puppy. “Then why did you wake me up?” She asked, while jumping back under the soft and warm sheets. The second I shook her arms I knew the question will appear.

“Sorry.” She really needed my apologizes.

I feel her hands bore the innocence of a young girl; soft and delicate intertwined with mine which were rough, raw, and weary from years of playing the guitar. She brought my knuckle to her chapped lips, giving them light kisses – the sight of lust and admiration.

I smiled at the simple gesture, the feeling of frustration left my body, but just for one short second. In the blink of an eye it all came back, making me groan.

“You can’t sleep?” I sight helpless.

After few year old relationship she knew. She knew how badly jet lags effected me. I just finished the European leg of my tour, and it feels like the sleep left my body and stayed somewhere in Europe. Maybe it lays on this comfortable bed in Paris, or maybe it stayed in the bathtub in Madrid, where I took small nap… I don’t know where my sleep is, but for sure it’s really far away from me.

“Wanna know what my mom always did when I couldn’t sleep?” She asked as her gentle finger tips drew lines down my naked chest.

Instead of an answer, I moved my brows in a sight for her to continue. “She made huge glass of lemon water and she also stroked my head. I’ll bring you the water, do you want to come with me?”

I nodded, even though I desperately wanted to stay under the sheets and wait for sleep to arrive. Pushing the blanket away I follow her with a frown –  even though I know it is her face which is supposed to have this facial expression. As we entered the kitchen I regreted my choice of not wearing socks to bed. I looked down at Y/N’s small feet and I can see how she curls her toes, even with the fluffy socks on.

Standing behind I watch as Y/N quickly and messily pour the lemon and water into a long glass. Her small body which matches my broad posture really well sends me warmth and cozinees I really welcomed in the dark and rather freezing kitchen. A moment later she hands me the glass and it made me realized how thirsty I was. Maybe sleep doesn’t like thirsted people.

In this second I feel, and I definitely look like a small boy who has troubles sleeping alone, waiting for his mom to rescue him. I see my girlfriend lean against my chest, and the next thing I feel is her palm deep inside my hair.

“Your hair is such a mess, and it’s literally curlier and fluffier then ever.”

She wrapped her delicate arms around my shoulders, pulling herself even closer to me, her fingers gently rubbing my arm. Despite the heaviness in my stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressed against her. I’m sunk into the warmth of her side, appreciative of the simple gesture. Her touch made the room somehow warmer, my future within its walls seeming a little less bleak. Hugs could never be long enough for me. I knew that in my girlfriend’s arms I was safe and all my worries disappeared like rain on summer earth. In that embrace I was cocooned better than any butterfly-to-be. I felt her soft skin and the gentle squeeze on my own. I bathed in her warmth and the smell of freshly laundered clothes. No matter when the end came it was too soon and I would launch a campaign for more. Following and begging her for more cuddles, which she always gives me.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” She asked as I finished the glass of water.

Without an answer I took her small hands and a second later we were back in our bedroom, underneath the sheets. “Why does that help?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess it doesn’t really help in any way. I think it’s just in our heads.”

Yawning I press my lips against her shoulder, “Well, at least it works. Good night.”

As the words left my mouth, she turned around and kissed my cheek. To most, a kiss on the cheek would be a sign of friendship, or a polite way to greet a stranger of the opposite sex. But I know that a simple peck can convey as much meaning as a full-on kiss. Simple though it may be, a kiss on the cheek is special in its own, unique way. Maybe it all leaves is a little wet mark; a small pool of saliva on my cheek. But when she plants the kiss there I feel warmth spread through my limbs and my mind feels a pleasant buzz. Every good thing seems possible, likely even. And then I know I’ve found what I’ve been looking for, someone to show me what it means to be happy from the inside out, so my smile can be real and not a mask.

“Good night, honey.”

(My special thanks goes to: @permanentguitar and @that-one-mendes-boy ❤️)

2

Elizabeth of York aesthetic for @margarettudor

   Endearingly called “the Gracious Queen” by her subjects, one clear demonstration of the English people’s love for her can be recalled: while progressing over a carpet of woolen cloth that watching crowds were permitted afterward to take as a souvenir, a riot ensued and some died in the ordeal, all to obtain a piece of the cloth the Queen had tread on.

   After her premature death, the Tower – where she had died – ceased almost entirely to be used as a royal residence. Her family and subjects genuinely grieved her loss.

5

Selected works by Anna Betbeze.

Lava (2012), Slab (2011), Slag (2013), Moon (2011), Lake (2013)

Anna Betbeze creates exquisitely grotesque acid-dyed woolen flokati carpets. Dyed, burned, pulled, cut and washed, her rugs are the proof of her spirit of wild material experimentation: she explained that her process is the simultaneity of making and unmaking, at once the original object is destroyed and a new one emerges.

In fact, she came to her signature material more or less by chance while she was at Yale: 

“I lived with one of the rugs, and it became a filthy mess and I started really enjoying it and thought to try painting on it. Crawling around on them, being enveloped by them in the making” is to be immersed in them entirely. A lot of times the process is out my control.”

As I passed today by the Palace of Parliament, I realized I never posted a picture of it here on Tumblr. So, here it is :) If you don’t know what this is, you can find a description from Wikipedia below…

The Palace of Parliament in Bucharest, Romania is a multi-purpose building containing both chambers of the Romanian Parliament. According to the World Records Academy, the Palace is the world’s largest civilian building with an administrative function, most expensive administrative building and heaviest building.

The Palace was designed by architect Anca Petrescu and nearly completed by the Ceaușescu regime as the seat of political and administrative power. Nicolae Ceaușescu named it the People’s House (Casa Poporului), also known in English as the Palace of the People.

The Palace measures 270 m (890 ft) by 240 m (790 ft), 86 m (282 ft) high, and 92 m (302 ft) underground. It has 1,100 rooms, 2 underground parking garages and is 12 stories tall, with four underground levels currently available for the general public and in use, and another four in different stages of completion. The floorspace is 340,000 m2 (3,700,000 sq ft).

The structure combines elements and motifs from multiple sources, in an eclectic neoclassical architectural style. The building is constructed almost entirely of materials of Romanian origin. Estimates of the materials used include one million cubic meters of marble from Transylvania, most from Ruşchiţa; 3,500 tonnes of crystal — 480 chandeliers, 1,409 ceiling lights and mirrors were manufactured; 700,000 tonnes of steel and bronze for monumental doors and windows, chandeliers and capitals; 900,000 m2 (9,700,000 sq ft) of wood, over 95% of which is domestic, for parquet and wainscoting, including walnut, oak, sweet cherry, elm, sycamore maple; 200,000 m2 (2,200,000 sq ft) of woolen carpets of various dimensions, the larger of which were woven on-site by machines moved into the building; velvet and brocade curtains adorned with embroideries and passementeries in silver and gold.

Text source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palace_of_the_Parliament

8

Faig Ahmed (Artist from Azerbaijan)

First row: Flood of Yellow Weigh - 2007 (Woolen handmade carpet 150 x 100 cm)

Second row: Rabit - 2011 (Woolen handmade carpet 150 x 100 cm)

Third row Left: Tradition in Pixles - 2011 (Woolen handmade carpet - 150 X 100 cm)

Third row Right: Conversation - 2011 (Woolen handmade carpet - 150 X 100 cm)

Fourth row: Double Changes - 2011 (Woolen handmade carpet - 190 X 100 cm)

Fifth row Left; Ledge - 2011 (Woolen handmade carpet -
150 X 100 cm)

Fifth row Right: Hollow - 2011 (Woolen handmade carpet -
150 X 100 cm)

Last one: Double Stretching - 2010 (Woolen handmade carpet - 250 X 100 cm)

mightyisobel  asked:

In comparing the Free Cities to Slaver's Bay, do you think their economies have an equivalent level of technological sophistication? My guess is that literacy rates in the Free Cities are probably higher (compare Braavosi scripted entertainment to Meereenese blood sports as leisure activities), and that science and technology there are producing economic growth that outstrips Slaver's Bay's. But is that enough to overcome the inherited infrastructure and culture of the old Ghiscari Empire?

Oh, I think the Free Cities are a good bit ahead. 

1. The Ghiscari infrastructure is crumbling to pieces. The Masters aren’t putting anything into repair, let alone improvements.

1a. The Free Cities have inherited infrastructure and culture of their own - the Valyrian Empire. The roads, the walls, the aquaducts, etc. are all still there; the language and what remains of the writings are still there; etc. So it’s a case of the remnants of an Empire that went out on top vs. the re-imagining of an Empire that got given the Carthage treatment. 

2. The Free Cities have a much more diverse economy: Myr alone is expert in producing lace, carpets, fine woolens, glass, mechanical devices and weaponry, as well as probably agricultural products from its part of the Disputed Lands. Slaver’s Bay just produces slaves. 

3. There’s a historical phenomenon by which slavery tends to lead to a slowdown of innovation. Agricultural slavery tends to monocrop exporting - whether it’s grain in the ancient world, tobacco/cotton/etc. in the American case, sugar/coffee/etc. in the Caribbean and Latin America. Industrial slavery tends strongly toward to precious mineral extraction (silver and gold mining in Mexico, Peru, Brazil). Given the enormous profits in these extractive/export industries, there’s little incentives to diversify and invest in new industries; given the nature of slavery, there’s little incentive to look for productivity-enhancing technology (after all, it’s a lot cheaper to buy more slaves and drive the ones you have harder).  

So yeah, I think the Free Cities are a good bit ahead when it comes to technology.

2:00AM

A/N: so this is my first fanfic on this blog since I’m tayvin af y’all. I wrote this probably a month ago but never had the guts to post it but here’s me being impulsive and finally deciding to post it :) ! Anyway, it’s just a short, random, feel-good oneshot that doesn’t really have a huge plot lol but I thought it’d be cute. (Hopefully my next fics wont have these ANs). Enjoy!
The clock blinked “2:00AM”, the numbers and letters lighting up bright and red at the start of the hour. Taylor had been watching the small, black box as each minute ticked by, here one moment and gone the next time she refocused on it, until 12:00 had somehow become 2:00. She was sitting at the edge of her bed with her legs dangling off the side, and had been doing so for a small eternity. Her cold, pale fingers clutched her comforter, absentmindedly rubbing the soft white fabric between them, and her shoulders were hunched over ever so slightly as she stared at the ground below her. Everything was silent—her bedroom, the world outside, and especially her mind, which had shut down entirely over an hour ago, leaving her to stare aimlessly at the woolen carpet of her floor. A vague feeling of ‘Hey, you should probably go to sleep now’ floated around in her head, one that she had no intention to follow through with any time soon. She had tried to fall asleep. It was hours ago, but she had tried. And she couldn’t. It wasn’t because she had been struck with sudden inspiration and had to get her ideas down before she could do anything else. It wasn’t even because she wasn’t tired, since she was tired. But in her too-large bed in the earliest hours of a Sunday, trying to fall asleep here felt out of place. Cold. Strange. Unnatural. Lonely.

Yes. In her cotton shorts and a grey t-shirt, in her too-big room in a too-big house, she was lonely. She wanted someone to tuck her into bed, safe and secure, and hold her tightly as she slept and whisper sweet nothings into her ear and make her feel as if she had everything she needed right there with her. But the one person who could do that…

Taylor stood up abruptly, her bare feet sinking into the soft carpeting, and trudged over to her door, turning the knob and opening it. She made her way out of her room, down the stairs, and finally, out of her front door.  

After sitting in the same position for so long, her body was stiff and heavy as she stepped outside, but her mind was beginning to clear up. The cold air chilled her to the bones, making goosebumps rise up all over her arms and legs. She wrapped her arms around herself. Even though she had slipped on a pair of flats before leaving the house, she had ditched any warmer clothes; the drive wasn’t more than ten minutes anyway. The darkness of the night sky draped over her, the crescent moon doing little to illuminate her path as she slowly padded over to her car and climbed in.  

The drive to his house was silent, save for the constant hum and whir of the car’s engine. Taylor’s body was tense with anticipation. Her knuckles gripped the steering wheel until they were white; her right leg shook up and down almost uncontrollably. She drove as fast as she dared. The window was rolled all the way down, letting the sharp wind bite at her cheeks and tousle her short hair into knots. It would be a pain to deal with later, but for now, it was the very very least of her worries. Because now, she was pulling into a driveway. His driveway.

Killing the engine, Taylor climbed out of her car and crept up to his front door. She used the spare key he had given her months ago to unlock his door, the quiet click telling her that she was in. Inside, she snuck through the darkness of his house, the soft thump thump thump of her footsteps the only audible noise around.  

She let a small smile rise on her face, taking in the rough smell of the house. It was something akin to the scent of fresh pine needles, but laced with a distinct sweaty odor that came with 3-hour workouts in the gym and during energy-filled gigs in Las Vegas and in the countless shirts strewn across Taylor’s house, left there after nights of hushed whispers and heated kisses.

Within a few moments, she found herself standing outside his bedroom, her slender hand rested on his door knob, and gave it a turn. She pushed his door open halfway and slipped inside. He was never one to be a heavy sleeper, so when a hoarse “Wha?” came from the bed almost immediately, she wasn’t surprised.  

“Adam?” she said softly, biting down on her lower lip.  

“Taylor,” he rasped, still very much asleep. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” she paused, shutting her mouth. It hadn’t occurred to her, for some reason, that it was more than a little weird for her to show up at his house past 2:00 am without any logical reason, except for the impulsiveness of her heart. She knew he would be sleeping. She knew he wouldn’t have any idea what she was doing. She knew that she would have seen him later that day anyway. But… “I missed you. And I know it’s 2 in the morning but I couldn’t fall asleep for the longest time and I just ended up here and-”

He broke her off, “C’mere.” The silhouette of his body rose, and she saw his hand reach out for her. She took two steps forward. When she got to the base of his bed, she climbed on and blindly felt around for his hand. In a few moments, her slender fingers met his larger, calloused ones and they laced together, fitting together like two pieces in a puzzle. He pulled her under the covers and drew her towards him, wrapping his arms around her smaller body. “Better?”

She looped her arms tightly around his torso, rested her head in the crook of his neck, and closed her eyes. She smiled. “Better.”

Then they were silent for what felt like minutes, but it could have been hours, listening to the other’s breathing, and tangled together with no means of getting apart. Taylor’s hand rested on the left side of Adam’s chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath her fingertips. He would duck his neck down every so often and press his lips behind her ear, on her forehead, at the base of her neck. It had to be 3:00 now, with how long they had spent caught up in each other, but it didn’t matter. Because in this room in the middle of LA, they had all the time in the world.  

“Hey,” Adam murmured. Taylor made a low sound in response, but otherwise made no movement to acknowledge his word. Adam stayed silent for a moment, long enough for Taylor to decide he wasn’t going to say anything after all. But then he spoke up, his voice laced with sleepiness. “’m glad you ended up here.”

At this, she raised her head, peering at him through half-closed eyelids. Adam, continued, without opening his eyes. “And I’m not just referring to what you said earlier, about ending up at my house ‘cause you couldn’t sleep.”  

After a moment, Taylor nodded, resting her head back down against his chest. “I know.” And she did; he was glad that after everything she had been through, the ridiculous rumors and crazy media and past boyfriends and all, she ended up here, safe and happy and loved in his arms.  

So later, when Adam had long fallen back asleep and Taylor could hear his light snores right by her ear and she could feel sleep beginning to pull her away as well, she told him, “I’m glad I ended up here, too.“