#Electrician silver sands

[silversandselectrical]

Silver Sands Electrical Services: Your Trusted Electricians in Mandurah

When it comes to your home's electrical system, safety and reliability are paramount. That's where Silver Sands Electrical Services comes in—your trusted electrician in Mandurah, WA. Our team of highly qualified and experienced electricians provides a comprehensive range of services to ensure your home's electrical system runs smoothly and safely.

Local Expertise You Can Trust On

Silver Sands Electrical Services is a Mandurah-based business, meaning we understand the unique electrical needs of the region. Our electricians are familiar with local building codes and regulations, ensuring all work adheres to the highest safety standards. Whether you're building a new home, renovating your existing one, or simply requiring maintenance, we have the expertise to handle any electrical job, big or small.

A Full Range of Electrical Services

At Silver Sands Electrical Services, we offer a wide variety of electrical services to cater to all your residential needs. Here's a glimpse of what we can do for you:

New Installations and Upgrades: From installing power points and lighting fixtures to rewiring your entire home, our team can handle any new installation or upgrade project efficiently and safely.

Maintenance and Repairs: Regular electrical maintenance is crucial for preventing future problems. We offer comprehensive electrical maintenance services to keep your home's electrical system in top condition. Additionally, our electricians are adept at troubleshooting and repairing any electrical issues you may encounter.

Safety Inspections: Electrical safety is non-negotiable. We provide electrical safety inspections to identify any potential hazards lurking within your home's wiring.

Data and Communication Cabling: In today's digital world, a well-functioning data and communication network is essential. Our electricians can install and configure data cabling to ensure a seamless and reliable internet connection throughout your home.

Why choose Silver Sands Electrical Services?

We understand that electrical problems can be disruptive and stressful. That's why we prioritise providing our customers with exceptional service. Here's what sets us apart:

Highly Qualified and Experienced Electricians: Our team is comprised of qualified and licensed electricians who are passionate about their work and committed to providing the highest quality service.

Upfront Pricing and Transparent Communication: We believe in clear and transparent communication. You'll receive a detailed quote before any work commences, so there are no hidden surprises.

Reliable and Efficient Service: We understand the importance of getting the job done right the first time. Our electricians are prompt, efficient, and will treat your home with respect.

For all your electrical needs in Mandurah, WA, look no further than Silver Sands Electrical Services. Contact us today for a free quote and experience the peace of mind that comes with knowing your home's electrical system is in safe hands.

[ulkaralakbarova]

In the 23rd century, inhabitants of a domed city freely experience all of life’s pleasures — but no one is allowed to live past 30. Citizens can try for a chance at being “renewed” in a civic ceremony on their 30th birthday. Escape is the only other option. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Logan: Michael York Francis: Richard Jordan Jessica: Jenny Agutter Box: Roscoe Lee Browne Holly: Farrah Fawcett Doc: Michael Anderson Jr. Old Man: Peter Ustinov 2nd Sanctuary Man: Randolph Roberts The Woman Runner: Lara Lindsay Billy: Gary Morgan Mary 2: Michelle Stacy Woman Customer: Laura Hippe Sandman: David Westberg Sanctuary Woman: Camilla Carr Cub: Greg Lewis Timid Girl: Ashley Cox Sandman: Bill Couch Runner: Glenn R. Wilder Last Day Character (uncredited): Joe L. Blevins Sandman Daniel (uncredited): Roger Borden Sand Man (uncredited): Greg Bransom City Dweller (uncredited): Paula Crist The City Computer (uncredited): Virginia Ann Ford Cub (uncredited): Chuck Gaylord Cub (uncredited): Mitch Gaylord (uncredited): Johnny Haymer Confused City Dweller (uncredited): Jessie Kirby 3rd Sanctuary Man / Ambush Man (uncredited): Greg Michaels 1st Sanctuary Man (uncredited): Bob Neill Love Shop Woman with Toy (uncredited): Renie Radich 1st Screamer in Logan’s Apartment (uncredited): Candice Rialson Screamer Party Woman (uncredited): Cheryl Smith Runner Great Hall (uncredited): Ron D. Thornton Film Crew: Director: Michael Anderson Novel: William F. Nolan Novel: George Clayton Johnson Screenplay: David Zelag Goodman Producer: Saul David Original Music Composer: Jerry Goldsmith Director of Photography: Ernest Laszlo Editor: Bob Wyman Production Design: Dale Hennesy Costume Design: Bill Thomas Associate Producer: Hugh Benson Makeup Artist: William Tuttle Hairstylist: Judith A. Cory Unit Production Manager: Byron Roberts Stunt Coordinator: Glenn R. Wilder Casting: Jack Baur Set Decoration: Robert De Vestel Property Master: Jack M. Marino Sound Editor: John Riordan Visual Effects Designer: L.B. Abbott Music Supervisor: Harry V. Lojewski Music Editor: William Saracino Dialect Coach: Leon Charles Script Supervisor: Ray Quiroz Choreographer: Stefan Wenta Second Assistant Director: Alan Brimfeld Second Assistant Director: Win Phelps Assistant Director: David Silver Stunt Coordinator: Bill Couch Key Grip: Martin Kashuk Electrician: Don Stott Associate Editor: Freeman A. Davies Assistant Editor: Chuck Ellison Unit Publicist: Don Morgan Stunts: Dick Ziker Stunts: Jeannie Epper Stunts: Loren Janes Stunts: Beth Nufer Stunts: Alex Plasschaert Stunts: Regina Parton Stunts: Lori Thomas Stunts: Mike Washlake Stunts: Russell Saunders Stunts: Barbara Graham Stunts: Tommy J. Huff Stunts: Sunny Woods Stunts: Paula Dell Stunts: Chuck Gaylord Stunts: Mitch Gaylord Stunts: Rosemary Johnston Stunts: Whitey Hughes Stunts: ‘Wild’ Bill Mock Stunts: Gary Morgan Stunts: Dar Robinson Stunts: Walter Robles Stunts: Angelo De Meo Stunts: Paula Crist Stunts: Dottie Catching Stunts: Bill Couch Jr. Stunts: Gregory J. Barnett Stunts: Craig R. Baxley Stunts: Phil Adams Stunts: Denny Arnold Stunts: May Boss Special Effects: Glen Robinson Movie Reviews: Richard: It’s a ‘Future Vision’ type of movie, plus a bit of an adventure into the unknown. At least for the two “Runners’ who have escaped out of their bubble world. It is fraught with twists and turns in a post Peak-Oil world, where society has finally found a solution to the resources of the planet. The ‘chosen’ few, however have one little catch, their lives have a unique way of ending, until these two discover a new way, and a Lie that was being told to all of the citizens. (Warning for younger viewers,there are scenes where (At the time,) it was considered risque to show people jumping into a freshwater pond and going skinny dipping).

[transit-fag]

There will be spell components, most of which will be depleted over time but they can be bought in corner stores and pharmacys, as well as stolen from plumbers, artists and electricians

Ingredients would include silver, iron, and copper shavings, sulphur, nitrate, lime, cloth, sands, and crushed gemstones

I think it could be fun to make a tabletop rpg campaign set in like a neighborhood of Chicago that has been teleported into another dimension.

[honeymoonjin]

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

--

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

--

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

--

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment,  unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

--

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

--

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

--

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

[ncbelectrical-blog]

NCB electrical is the best electrical support  in secret harbour, rockingham, mandurah. NCB Electrical are well known electricians in Perth and surrounding areas.They are dedicated and committed to work and give the best electrical services.  

NCB Electrical Address: 26 Porto Santo Green, Secret Harbour WA 6173 Phone: 0433 209 542

[grensolaroofer]

When Solar Panels Go Wrong

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The solar panel has become one of the best investments for many people in the past few decades. Whether you own a commercial property or live in a residential home, they provide a raft of benefits. They also help protect natural resources and the environment since they do not use the grid.

Choosing a solar power system is one of the wisest choices you can make, as they require little to no upkeep. Having said that, however, nothing can be guaranteed to be foolproof. Whenever you notice any issues with how your system is functioning, you should act immediately to prevent problems from worsening.

Below we have put together some of the most common questions asked regarding the subject.

How do solar panels malfunction? What causes solar panels to fail?

Thermal cycling, damp heat, humidity freeze, and UV exposure are all undesired elements that can cause modules to fail, according to NREL. Solar cells can develop cracks and solder bonds that fail during thermal cycling. In some cases, damp heat can cause encapsulants to delaminate and cells to corrode.

Are solar panels prone to damage? What can destroy solar panels?

Damage to solar panels is typically caused by weather conditions (hail, debris from extreme winds, etc.). Tree limbs falling from a storm would be expected to cause damage, but the most common culprits of such damage are much smaller. Blowing leaves, sticks, sand, and dirt across the solar panels has caused damage to the glass.

In any case, falling debris will eventually result in a loss of energy efficiency if left unattended. Although it seems ironic, solar panels are not capable of handling extreme temperatures. The system may overheat and be damaged. It is common for panels to overheat even when they are manufactured despite being tested to withstand heat.

It is a common mistake to associate hot climates with excellent solar panel conditions. In reality, high ambient temperatures do not favor solar panels. It is one of the major reasons for a decrease in performance. If not taken into consideration, this can result in a reduction in energy yield. Thus, if the climate in your area is very hot, it may be great for products like solar powered camping showers, but not necessarily for solar PV.

This is something that can be prevented. Ventilation systems like fans are an option. It may be tempting to splash it with water when it's hot, but you should not.

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What are the signs that a solar panel is bad? How do you know if a solar panel is bad?

The easiest way to check the health of an air conditioner is to observe the light shining on it during daylight hours when the air conditioner is supposed to be running. If your inverter shows a green light, your system is working properly. A red or orange light during daylight indicates an event or fault in the system.

Solar panels wear out with normal use, just like any other tool. The chemicals inside can deteriorate and break down over time, since they do not have moving parts. Older solar panels from the 1970s and 1980s are still generating electricity, but perhaps not to the same degree as they did before.

How does a solar panel degrade? What causes a solar panel to degrade?

Though crystalline solar panels are typically sold with 30-year life expectancy guarantees, those modules that have been around 30 years won't function as well as they did on day one. As a result of UV exposure and weather cycles, solar cells will experience degradation and performance may decline. As a result, solar panel manufacturers offer power output or performance warranties that usually guarantee 80% output after 25 years. Performance warranties include information about degradation rates.

How easily do solar panels break? Do solar panels break easily?

Unfortunately, solar panels do break sometimes, but not in the manner you think. You are not likely to see a physically broken solar panel, as most of these panels are built to withstand some pretty harsh conditions.

Since solar panel technology improves over the years, degradation rates are continuously declining, and they are frequently below 1%.

Can solar panels last for years? How durable are solar panels?

Generally speaking, solar panels last between 25 and 30 years. But, this doesn't mean the energy production stops after 25 years - just that it has declined significantly by what companies consider to be a significant amount.

A solar cell's structural integrity is very fragile. Several millimeters thick, they're actually very thin. They are surrounded by a very strong and durable frame and glass. Even the most severe weather conditions are not a problem for solar panels.

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Most popular problems with Solar Panels

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Birds

Solar panels are susceptible to havoc caused by those little birds tweeting overhead. The birds can nest under the panels and slow down or prevent the whole system from working properly. Consider bird roofing solutions such as mesh wire and spikes if you notice birds gathering on your roof.

Problems with the roof

Your roof's integrity should not be compromised by the solar system. Furthermore, it can protect the roof materials below by adding a layer of protection over them. There may be some instances, however, when the installation can damage the roof. Your PV system installers should be contacted if your roof appears to be compromised in any way. Check your roof from time to time.

Problems with the electrical system

Having defective wiring affects the performance of your solar panels. Corrosion, oxidation, and loose connections can impact electricity production. It is not a good idea to tamper with the wiring system on your own unless you know what you are doing or unless you are a qualified electrician. Tampering with solar panel wiring is illegal in some countries if you are not a licensed electrician. Make sure everything is checked by a licensed electrician.

Effects of PID

Potential Induced Degradation is referred to as PID. Solar panels and earthing can give rise to this condition due to voltage differences. This results in partial voltage discharges in the primary power circuit. In addition to lowering their lifespan, the PID effect may reduce efficiency and performance. Fortunately, a solar professional can assist in reversing or preventing the problem.

Snail trails

The "snail trail" problem is another common problem associated with solar panels. It derives its name from the brown lines that appear on your panels to give the appearance of snails moving across the surface. Silver paste (the ingredient in the manufacture of the panels) can be defective, which may cause the trails to appear after a few years. Due to moisture left behind, the silver paste oxidizes, thereby causing encapsulation material to corrode. Furthermore, microscopic cracks in the PV system may lead to contamination due to snail trail. Problems with the solar system reduce its performance and lead to premature failure.

Micro-cracks

There is a common problem of microcracks in solar panels that can compromise the efficiency of your system. Observing these tiny cracks with the naked eye is difficult because they are very small. Cracks can grow over time, especially with significant changes in the weather. During PV module production and during temperature and season changes, cracks most frequently appear. Inadequate handling during shipping can also cause them. The utmost care should be maintained during shipping and installation, which is why you need to hire a trusted professional.

Problems with inverters

By converting direct current from the sun to the current you use at home, solar panels use inverters to produce alternative current. There is usually a box called an inverter installed on the upper floor. Inverter lifespan isn't quite as long as solar panels. According to solar users, inverters typically need to be replaced every 10 to 15 years.

The bottom line is that while PV systems are amazing workhorses, they aren't flawless. In addition to manufacturing defects and normal wear and tear, they are prone to malfunctions as well. Having a good understanding of the way your system works and its output, and reporting any changes immediately is of primary importance.

Hot spots

With solar panels or solar energy systems, hot spots are a common problem. Solar panels can suffer technical degradation and even become irreparable when exposed to them. When panels become overheated and overloaded, hot spots appear. Many factors contribute to them, including dirt accumulated on the panels. Additionally, poor soldering creates low resistance in the part of the panel that generates power, which can result in voltage fluctuations. Solar panels can suffer from this problem, which can reduce their performance and lifespan.

We hope you found this article helpful. If you would like to know more about maintaining your solar panels click here.

from https://greensolarroofers.com/all-posts/when-solar-panels-go-wrong/

[andydiy123]

Analysis, Judgment and Suggested Countermeasures on the Perverted Murder Case of Baiyin Chain（Translating By Google）

Recently, I learned about the silver serial perverted murder case on the Internet. After reading it, it is really shocking! Based on the limited information, thinking about the chaos of the folks or the whimsical or sensational or false, there is no agreement between the clouds and the fog, so it is necessary to blow up the sand and think carefully in order to clarify the facts and draw more reasonable conclusions. The sentiment is as follows:

One. The description, analysis and judgment of the known information of the murderer

1. The murderer chose to commit crimes in Baiyin City for many times. It should have some inherent relationship and origin with Baiyin: it is very likely to live or be a Baiyin citizen. There is no comparison, it may be omitted or evaded by the crime. Do not rule out living or household registration in surrounding counties, cities, suburbs and other places;

2. Divorce, separation and living alone are more likely when committing the crime, but the possibility of being married, single and living with family members is not excluded. For example, the butcher Lin in Hong Kong lived with his family on rainy night. In addition, there have been similar cases in Guangzhou where the perpetrators had families with wives and children;

3. According to the published information, there is no mention of the murderer's robbery, so it seems that the family material conditions may be better at that time.

2. The murderer did not continue to analyze the cause of the crime

1. Sickness, old age and infirm;

2. The offender goes to prison;

3. Take the initiative or leave Baiyin due to work changes, and later conduct large-scale investigations and notices, so that they smell the danger and stop, hide or lie dormant;

4. Discovery in conscience, discard evil and do good;

5. Suicide due to internal and external pressure;

6. Death due to illness or cause.

Note: The probability of 4 and 5 is extremely low; the author prefers the analysis of 1, 3, especially the possibility of 3 as the most. In addition, Baotou has similar tactics reported on the Internet. If the statement is true, the relevant analysis can be eliminated.

3. Ideas, countermeasures and suggestions

Although the murderer is extremely vicious, but his appearance may be more ordinary, or even looks loyal (does not rule out the possibility of weak writing or handsome). In view of the possible double-sided personality appearance that is extremely confusing, except for unemployed, idle workers, migrant workers, mobile workers, shingle electricians, etc., students, teachers, demobilized soldiers, technicians, shopkeepers, etc. Civil servants, cadres and children of wealthy families must also be included in the comparison. In view of the particularity of this big case, any possibility should not be easily eliminated!

The murderer can commit 9 consecutive homicides in the urban area and in broad daylight. In addition to being bold, he may also have better professional convenience, cover or disguise, such as water and electricity installation, waste purchase, deliveryman, police assistant, security guard, travel doctor , Meter reading, door-to-door sales, sales, cleaning, and other door-to-door service providers.

According to the known information, the perpetrator should have observed, tracked, followed, and even had close contact with the victim in advance. Under normal circumstances, there should be witnesses, face-to-face, and even contacts. However, due to the missed golden period for solving the case, especially the lack of effective witnesses, the only way to compare and compare is based on the evidence obtained:

1. The first and last two cases and the little girl cases in 1988 and 2002 should focus on the discovery of clues, which seems to be traceable (limited by space, not shown here). It is recommended to continue to strengthen the comparison work of tracking, molesting, molesting women, burglary, rape and other criminal deeds in the region, neighboring provinces, cities and counties, and Curry nationwide. A large number of cases prove that many big cases often start from small cases;

2. Focus on those who meet the comparison conditions in the middle and later stages of the investigation:

①. People who go out and move out, such as those who go to school abroad, join the army, go abroad, join the family, buy houses abroad, enter households, and often or long-term work and do business abroad;

②. Have lived, worked and rented in Baiyin, such as shopkeepers, service industries, processing industries, freelancers, etc. (specifically, it can be determined based on the comprehensive research and judgment of the crime scene);

③. Relevant personnel who need to stay or communicate with silver due to work, such as van drivers, clerks, purchasers, wholesalers, etc.;

④. The murderer is familiar with silver, and it is not ruled out that he had gone to school in Baiyin, and was fostered, adopted, adopted, and returned to his parents or his original residence after he grew up;

⑤. Wife, girlfriend, lover with Baiyin household registration and foreigners with close relatives in Baiyin;

⑥. Others (At present, the author is more inclined to think that the criminals were responsible for photographing and printing, discs and audiovisual rentals, book lending and sales, gold and silver jewelry cleaning, meal delivery, milk, clock and watch electrical repairs, beauty salons, shoe nail repairs, and delivery There are many possibilities for service providers such as dry cleaning and dry cleaning. The results of real-time and large-scale investigations and visits in the early stage, and the reasonable modeling and restructuring of comprehensive and intelligent reasoning about the detailed files of the crime scene may lead to more clear conclusions and directions.)

3. Promote the investigation of the general population eligible for comparison in the remaining and surrounding counties and cities (depending on the traffic coverage during the incident). The recommended range can be small first, then large, and then proceed;

4. Increase the amount of rewards, maximize the enthusiasm of the masses for participation, and rely on the clues, wisdom and energy of the masses.

Conclusion: In view of the large number of deaths, the long time span, the brutal methods, and the bad impact of this series of cases, in the case that the criminals may still be alive and may still commit crimes again, theoretically speaking, even if one quarter of the province’s police force is used, it will cost This case must be solved in 5 years! Therefore, we must strengthen our confidence and be brave enough to overcome difficulties. I believe that there are two "iron proofs" of fingerprints and DNA in hand, and in time, the devil will be restrained! ! (Part of the work needs to be determined, coordinated, and divided by the provincial government!)

                                                                                         Analyst: **

                                                                                          2016-02-18

最近在网上了解到白银连环变态杀人案，看后着实让人震惊！基于有限的信息，思虑民间或胡思乱想或耸人听闻或以讹传讹之种种乱像，实云遮雾罩莫衷一是，故需吹尽黄沙审慎思辨，方有利于厘清事实及得出较合理推论。陈情如下：

一．对凶手已知信息的刻画勾勒及分析研判

1. 凶手连续多次选择在白银市区作案，应当是与白银有某种内在的关联和渊源：极有可能在白银居住过或即为白银籍,没有比对中，可能是有遗漏或被案犯规避。不排除居住或户籍在周边县市、郊区及外地；

2. 犯案时离异、分居和单独居住可能性较大，但亦不排除已婚、单身及和家人一起居住的可能性。例如香港的雨夜屠夫林犯即和家人一起居住。另外广州有过类似案件，凶犯有家庭有妻儿；

3. 根据已公开信息，未提到凶手有劫财行为，故貌似其时家庭物质条件可能较好。

二. 凶手后来没有继续犯案原因分析

1. 患病、年老体弱；

2. 犯事入监；

3. 主动或因工作变动离开白银及后期大范围排查和通告打草惊蛇，令其嗅到了危险并因之收手、隐匿或逃遁蛰伏；

4. 良心发现，弃恶从善；

5. 不堪内外压力自杀；

6. 因病、因故身亡。

注：4,5的可能性极低；笔者较倾向于1，3的分析，尤以3的可能性为最。另网传包头有类似手法案件，若所言非虚，则相关分析可剔除。

三.  思路、对策及建议

凶手虽穷凶极恶，但其长相外形却可能较为普通，甚或貌似忠良（不排除文弱或帅气的可能）。鉴于其可能存在的双面性格表像极具迷惑性，除一般意义上可能的无业、闲散人员、民工、流动人员、木瓦电工等，学生、教师、退伍复员转业军人、技术人员、店主、公务员、干部及富家子弟等等亦均须纳入比对范围。鉴于该大案的特殊性，任何可能性都不应当被轻易剔除！

凶手能在市区而且大白天情况下连续犯下9起命案，除胆大妄为外，可能还有比较好的职业便利、掩护或伪装，比如水电安装、收购废品、投递员、协警、保安、游医、抄表、上门兜售、推销、保洁和其他需上门服务业者等。

据已知信息研判，案犯应当是进行过观察、跟踪、盯梢甚至是与受害者提前有过密切接触等的。通常情况下应当是有目击、照面甚至是接触者的，不过因错失黄金破案期，特别是缺少有效目击者，故只能根据已获证据进行撒网式摸排比对：

1. 88年和02年的那首尾两起及小女孩案，宜重点加强线索发掘，似应有迹可循（限于篇幅，此处不表）。建议继续加强域内、周边省市县及全国库里过往发生的跟踪、猥亵、调戏妇女、入室盗窃、强奸等前科劣迹和羁押服刑人员的比对工作。大量案例证明，很多大案往往肇始于小案；

2. 重点排查案发中后期及其后符合比对条件的：

①. 外出、迁出人员，如在外上学、参军、出国、入赘、在外购房、入户及经常或长期在外务工经商就业的等；

②. 在白银生活工作租住过，如店主、服务业、加工业、自由职业者等（具体可结合案发现场综合研判划定）；

③. 因工作需要常驻或往来白银的相关人员，如客货车司机、办事员、采购、批发商贩，等等；

④. 凶手对白银较熟悉，不排除曾在白银上过学，及被寄养、过继、抱养，长大后重回父母身边或原户籍地等；

⑤. 妻子、女友、情人为白银户籍和有近亲属在白银的外地人；

⑥. 其它（目前笔者较倾向于认为案犯其时为摄影摄像洗印、碟片音像出租、图书出借售卖、金银首饰清洗、送餐送奶、钟表电器维修、美容美发、修鞋打钉、投递、干洗等服务业者的可能性为多。俟前期实时和大规模调查走访结果及案发现场有关翔实卷宗合理建模重构集智推理，或可得出更明晰的结论和指向。）

3. 推进对域内剩余和周边县市当中符合比对条件的普通人群的排查工作（视案发期间交通覆盖范围而定），建议范围可先小后大，次第进行；

4. 加大悬赏额度，最大程度地发挥群众参与的积极性，依靠广大人民群众的线索、智慧和能量。

结语：鉴于该系列案件致死人数多、时间跨度长、手段凶残、影响恶劣，在案犯或许仍然健在、仍有可能再次犯案的情况下，理论上讲，哪怕举全省1/4警力，花上5年时间，也要破获此案！故要坚定信心，勇于攻坚克难。相信有指纹和DNA这两样“铁证”在手，假以时日，定可缚住恶魔！！（部分工作需省厅定准、统筹、和分工!）

                                                                                         分析人：**

                                                                                          2016-02-18

[trendsdresscom]

Danielle Lloyd parades her svelte physique in a sporty blue bikini on sunny Dubai break

She’s jetted to Dubai for a romantic getaway.

And Danielle Lloyd was parading her svelte physique in an electric blue bikini as she larked about on the beach with her husband Michael O’ Neill on Friday.

The former glamour model, 36, displayed her washboard abs in the sporty two-piece as she shared a smooch with her husband while they frolicked on the sand with her four sons.

Loved-up: Danielle Lloyd, 36, displayed her svelte physique in an electric blue bikini on Thursday, as she packed on the PDA with husband Michael O’ Neill in Dubai

Danielle proudly displayed her tanned figure in electric blue bikini which boasted a plunging front and a black and gold Fendi-esque trim.

The reality star pulled her brunette tresses into a half-up half-down style as she pulled in her hunky husband for a steamy kiss.

Danielle and Michael were clearly enjoying the sunshine as they relaxed on the beach with her four children Archie, nine, Harry, eight, George, six, and Ronnie, two, who she shares with Michael.

Gorgeous: The former glamour model flaunted her svelte physique in the statement blue two-piece with a black and gold Fendi-style print

Sexy: The mother-of-four pulled her brunette tresses into a simple half-up half-down style, with her silver sunglasses perched on her head

Cute: Danielle cosied up to her electrician husband as they watched her four sons Archie, nine, Harry, eight, George, six, and Ronnie, two, play in the sand

Peachy: As Danielle took a dip in the ocean the bikini displayed every inch of her peachy posterior

In April 2019 it was revealed that Danielle and Michael married in a top secret wedding in Dubai. 

In a statement to MailOnline, a representative for the couple said: ‘I can confirm that the couple have married.’

Danielle and Michael exchanged vows in front of their family and friends on the beach in front of the Burj Al Arab hotel. 

At the time, the former Celebrity Big Brother star sharing a cryptic image of the iconic venue on her Instagram stories followed by a bride and groom emoji.

Romantic: Danielle and Michael were the picture of happiness as they shared a steamy smooch during their sunny getaway

Mr and Mrs: The couple tied the knot in August in a romantic Dubai ceremony, 

Gorgeous: Danielle sizzled in her sexy blue bikini as she watched her husband and sons play together on the beach

Meanwhile, insiders at the event told The Sun that the nuptials were an intimate occasion which their nearest and dearest promised to keep off social media.

Danielle and Michael announced their engagement in March 2016 after just six months of dating. 

The couple had to delay their wedding after Danielle became pregnant with their first child together, Ronnie, who was born in September 2017.

Their baby was a welcome addition to the bombshell’s young brood, three sons – Archie, George and Harry James – who she shares with ex-husband Jamie O’Hara. 

Fun: The family seemed to be having a whale of a time as they soaked up the hot sunshine together

Transformed: The star recently revealed she’s decided to return to glamour modelling after cosmetic surgery made her feel ‘womanly again’

Danielle recently revealed that she decided to return to glamour modelling after cosmetic surgery made her feel ‘womanly again.’

The mother-of-four told Closer magazine that after going under the knife, she feels happier and more confident than ever.

Later on, she took to Instagram to share a snap of her jaw-dropping figure and to discuss her procedures with fans, as she gushed about how ‘amazing’ her plastic surgeon made her feel the whole time.

Danielle went on to say that since her surgery she has set up an OnlyFans account to display her jaw-dropping physique, and her husband Micheal fully supports her decision to overhaul her already stunning frame. 

Transformed: Danielle was every inch the doting mum as she built sandcastles with her sons, including her youngest Ronnie

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from Trends Dress https://trendsdress.com/2020/02/24/danielle-lloyd-parades-her-svelte-physique-in-a-sporty-blue-bikini-on-sunny-dubai-break/

[ebrattray]

#Repair #work...had to work a #budget would have preferred to replace this #stanchion with a #concrete #column #electrician #electricalengineering #trelawny #duncans (at Silver Sands, Trelawny, Jamaica) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzuP7mihuLP/?igshid=1o8ileb8hr3nq

[fa-style]

Combine the colors correctly

Combine the colors correctly. 30 flowers from white to black 👍☝📝

1. White: goes with everything. The best combination with blue, red and black.

2. Beige: with blue, brown, emerald, black, red, white.

3. Grey - base color that goes well with capricious colors: fuchsia, red, purple, pink, blue.

4. Pink with brown, white, color mint green, olive, gray, turquoise, pale blue.

5. Fuchsia (dark pink) - gray, yellow-brown, green lime, green mint, brown.

6. Red - suited to yellow, white, brown, green, blue and black.

7. Tomato - red: blue, mint green, sand, creamy white, gray.

8. Cherry red: azure, gray, light orange, sand, pale yellow, beige.

9. Crimson-red: white, black, color, damask rose.

10. Brown: bright blue, cream, pink, fawn, green, beige.

11. Light brown: pale yellow, creamy white, blue, green, Magenta, red.

12. Dark brown: lemon yellow, sky blue, mint green, Magenta pink, lime green.

13. Tan: pink, dark brown, blue, green, purple.

14. Orange: blue, blue, lilac, purple, white, black.

15. Pale orange: gray, brown, olive.

16. Dark orange: pale yellow, olive, brown, cherry.

17. Yellow: blue, purple, light blue, purple, gray, black.

18. Lemon yellow: cherry red, brown, blue, grey.

19. Pale yellow: fuchsia, gray, brown, shades of red, yellowish brown, blue, purple.

20. Golden yellow: gray, brown, blue, red, black.

21. Olive: orange, light brown, brown.

22. Green: Golden-brown, orange, red, yellow, brown, grey, cream, black, cream and white.

23. Light green color: brown, yellowish-brown, fawn, grey, dark blue, red, gray.

24. Turquoise: fuchsia, cherry red, yellow, brown, cream, dark purple.

25. Electrician is beautiful with Golden yellow, brown, light brown, gray or silver.

26. Blue: red, grey, brown, orange, pink, white, yellow.

27. Dark blue: light purple, blue, yellowish-green, brown, gray, pale yellow, orange, green, red, white.

28. Lilac: orange, pink, dark purple, olive, gray, yellow, white.

29. Dark purple: Golden brown, pale yellow, gray, turquoise, mint green, light orange.

30. Black universal, elegant, looks in all Oceania, best with orange, pink, green, white, red, purple or yellow.

[silversandselectrical]

Electricians Mandurah Area

Silver Sands Electrical Services delivers exceptional electrical services in the Mandurah area. Whether you need installations, repairs, or maintenance, our licensed electricians are here to help. Reach us at +61 0403 570 076 for fast and friendly service.

[ulkaralakbarova]

For decades, next-door neighbors and former friends John and Max have feuded, trading insults and wicked pranks. When an attractive widow moves in nearby, their bad blood erupts into a high-stakes rivalry full of naughty jokes and adolescent hijinks. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: John Gustafson: Jack Lemmon Max Goldman: Walter Matthau Ariel Truax: Ann-Margret Grandpa Gustafson: Burgess Meredith Melanie: Daryl Hannah Jacob Goldman: Kevin Pollak Chuck: Ossie Davis Snyder: Buck Henry Mike: Christopher McDonald Moving Man: John Carroll Lynch Weatherman: Steve Cochran Pharmacist: Joe Howard Nurse: Isabell O’Connor Fisherman: Charles Brin Fisherman: Oliver Osterberg Film Crew: Director: Donald Petrie Original Music Composer: Alan Silvestri Producer: Richard C. Berman Editor: Bonnie Koehler Director of Photography: Johnny E. Jensen Art Direction: Mark Haack Special Effects Coordinator: Peter Albiez Chief Lighting Technician: Patrick Marshall Key Costumer: Trina Mrnak Location Manager: Cat Thompson Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Rick Hart Foley: Ellen Heuer Dialogue Editor: Vic Radulich Special Effects Supervisor: Greg C. Jensen Musician: Tom Boyd Associate Producer: Kathy Sarreal Casting: Sharon Howard-Field Second Assistant Director: Molly Muir Leadman: Chris Gibbin Boom Operator: Mark Steinbeck Dialogue Editor: Mike Szakmeister Stunts: Bill McIntosh First Assistant Camera: Jimmy E. Jensen Costume Supervisor: Keith G. Lewis Music Editor: Andrew Silver Production Accountant: Kim Bodner Administration: Peter L. Mullin Costume Design: Lisa Jensen Dialogue Editor: Christopher Assells ADR Editor: Linda Folk Additional Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Kim Waugh Stunts: Spiro Razatos Title Designer: Wayne Fitzgerald First Assistant Director: Douglas E. Wise Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Tom E. Dahl Second Unit: Rosalie Seifert Orchestrator: William Ross Administration: Gregory J. Niska Set Decoration: Clay A. Griffith Makeup Artist: Linda Melazzo First Assistant Director: Randy Suhr Foley: Kevin Bartnof ADR Supervisor: Jessica Gallavan Foley Editor: Eric Gotthelf Sound Recordist: David Behle Best Boy Electrician: Hugh Langtry Assistant Editor: Trudy Yee Construction Foreman: Blaine Marcou Special Effects: Shelly Hawkos Administration: Tom Sann Hairstylist: Linda Rizzuto Key Makeup Artist: Rick Sharp Assistant Property Master: Jerry Swift Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Robert J. Litt Stunt Coordinator: Ernie F. Orsatti Chief Lighting Technician: Pat Blymyer Scoring Mixer: Dennis S. Sands Production Accountant: Susan Montgomery Executive Producer: Dan Kolsrud Property Master: Jim Zemansky Stunts: Ray Lykins First Assistant Camera: Christopher M. Fisher Unit Publicist: Michael Singer Associate Producer: Darlene K. Chan Researcher: Aryn Chapman Sound Effects Editor: Randy Kelley Supervising Sound Effects Editor: Mark P. Stoeckinger Still Photographer: Ron Phillips Construction Coordinator: Douglas Dick Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Wayne Heitman Foley Editor: Patrick N. Sellers First Assistant Editor: Adam C. Frank Color Timer: Dale E. Grahn Supervising Music Editor: Kenneth Karman Dialogue Editor: Chris Hogan Camera Operator: Dick Colean Assistant Costume Designer: Elizabeth Shelton Location Manager: Dave Halls ADR & Dubbing: Thomas J. O’Connell Key Grip: Richard Moran Key Costumer: Hala Bahmet Administration: Lisa D. Menke Hairstylist: Linda De Andrea Assistant Art Director: Jack E. Pelissier Jr. Assistant Sound Editor: Cybele O’Brien Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Elliot Tyson Assistant Sound Editor: Victor Ray Ennis Production Sound Mixer: Russell C. Fager Rigging Gaffer: Tim Marshall Negative Cutter: Donah Bassett Script Supervisor: Susan Bierbaum ADR & Dubbing: Rick Canelli Special Effects: Keane Bonath Associate Editor: Steve Schoenberg Production Design: David Chapman Producer: John Davis Writer: Mark Steven Johnson Movie Reviews: John Chard: Do me a favour. Put your lip over your head… and swallow. Grumpy Old Men is directed by Donald Petrie and written by Mark Steven Johnson. It stars Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Ann-Margret, Kevin Polla...

[life-design-intro]

Combine the colors correctly

http://life-design-intro.tumblr.com

Combine the colors correctly. 30 flowers from white to black.

1. White: goes with everything. The best combination with blue, red and black.

2. Beige: with blue, brown, emerald, black, red, white.

3. Grey - base color that goes well with capricious colors: fuchsia, red, purple, pink, blue.

4. Pink with brown, white, color mint green, olive, gray, turquoise, pale blue.

5. Fuchsia (dark pink) - gray, yellow-brown, green lime, green mint, brown.

6. Red - suited to yellow, white, brown, green, blue and black.

7. Tomato - red: blue, mint green, sand, creamy white, gray.

8. Cherry red: azure, gray, light orange, sand, pale yellow, beige.

9. Crimson-red: white, black, color, damask rose.

10. Brown: bright blue, cream, pink, fawn, green, beige.

11. Light brown: pale yellow, creamy white, blue, green, Magenta, red.

12. Dark brown: lemon yellow, sky blue, mint green, Magenta pink, lime green.

13. Tan: pink, dark brown, blue, green, purple.

14. Orange: blue, blue, lilac, purple, white, black.

15. Pale orange: gray, brown, olive.

16. Dark orange: pale yellow, olive, brown, cherry.

17. Yellow: blue, purple, light blue, purple, gray, black.

18. Lemon yellow: cherry red, brown, blue, grey.

19. Pale yellow: fuchsia, gray, brown, shades of red, yellowish brown, blue, purple.

20. Golden yellow: gray, brown, blue, red, black.

21. Olive: orange, light brown, brown.

22. Green: Golden-brown, orange, red, yellow, brown, grey, cream, black, cream and white.

23. Light green color: brown, yellowish-brown, fawn, grey, dark blue, red, gray.

24. Turquoise: fuchsia, cherry red, yellow, brown, cream, dark purple.

25. Electrician is beautiful with Golden yellow, brown, light brown, gray or silver.

26. Blue: red, grey, brown, orange, pink, white, yellow.

27. Dark blue: light purple, blue, yellowish-green, brown, gray, pale yellow, orange, green, red, white.

28. Lilac: orange, pink, dark purple, olive, gray, yellow, white.

29. Dark purple: Golden brown, pale yellow, gray, turquoise, mint green, light orange.

30. Black universal, elegant, looks in all combinations, preferably with orange, pink, green, white, red, purple or yellow.

[handwork-art]

Combine the colors correctly

http://handwork-art.tumblr.com

Combine the colors correctly. 30 flowers from white to black.

1. White: goes with everything. The best combination with blue, red and black.

2. Beige: with blue, brown, emerald, black, red, white.

3. Grey - base color that goes well with capricious colors: fuchsia, red, purple, pink, blue.

4. Pink with brown, white, color mint green, olive, gray, turquoise, pale blue.

5. Fuchsia (dark pink) - gray, yellow-brown, green lime, green mint, brown.

6. Red - suited to yellow, white, brown, green, blue and black.

7. Tomato - red: blue, mint green, sand, creamy white, gray.

8. Cherry red: azure, gray, light orange, sand, pale yellow, beige.

9. Crimson-red: white, black, color, damask rose.

10. Brown: bright blue, cream, pink, fawn, green, beige.

11. Light brown: pale yellow, creamy white, blue, green, Magenta, red.

12. Dark brown: lemon yellow, sky blue, mint green, Magenta pink, lime green.

13. Tan: pink, dark brown, blue, green, purple.

14. Orange: blue, blue, lilac, purple, white, black.

15. Pale orange: gray, brown, olive.

16. Dark orange: pale yellow, olive, brown, cherry.

17. Yellow: blue, purple, light blue, purple, gray, black.

18. Lemon yellow: cherry red, brown, blue, grey.

19. Pale yellow: fuchsia, gray, brown, shades of red, yellowish brown, blue, purple.

20. Golden yellow: gray, brown, blue, red, black.

21. Olive: orange, light brown, brown.

22. Green: Golden-brown, orange, red, yellow, brown, grey, cream, black, cream and white.

23. Light green color: brown, yellowish-brown, fawn, grey, dark blue, red, gray.

24. Turquoise: fuchsia, cherry red, yellow, brown, cream, dark purple.

25. Electrician is beautiful with Golden yellow, brown, light brown, gray or silver.

26. Blue: red, grey, brown, orange, pink, white, yellow.

27. Dark blue: light purple, blue, yellowish-green, brown, gray, pale yellow, orange, green, red, white.

28. Lilac: orange, pink, dark purple, olive, gray, yellow, white.

29. Dark purple: Golden brown, pale yellow, gray, turquoise, mint green, light orange.

30. Black universal, elegant, looks in all combinations, preferably with orange, pink, green, white, red, purple or yellow.

[candynosebest]

Clean Green

It’s Summer, my least favourite season. (I know, I know, I’m such a weirdo). I still appreciate the occasional skinnydip, stroll on the hot sand in my short shorts, shopping online for bathers, seeing topless men and quaffing cold champagne. *OK, lots of champagne. I usually wear very heady, woody fragrances every other season, but because of my complexion, during Summer my usual ‘Afternoon of a Faun’ by ELDO, ‘Bibiotheque’ by BYREDO or ‘Silver Mountain Water’ by CREED is wayyyyy too much. I love that, during the hot and sticky months in Cape Town, the fresh and clean grassy aromas of my favourites listed below are like a bracing slap in the face when I need the energy most (after gym, after a hot shower, after a 2 hour nap stuck to bae). 1) Thierry Mugler ‘COLOGNE’

My mum and I have worn this fragrance for years. Its as green and modern as you can possibly get. Its unisex too, which is what I’m prone to wear mostly. I absolutely detest sweet, heavy florals.

2) Hermes ‘LE JARDIN SUR LA TOIT’

The name of this scent literally means ‘Garden on the Roof’. My first gay best friend has worn this for so long that every time I spray it on, I get a lump in my throat or some sort of disco flashback. It’s clean and green, but soft and elegant- timeless and definitely more of a fem scent. One all the women in my family wear and share. 

3) Calvin Klein ‘CKOne’

I mean really- no explanation required! I could swim in this fragrance on a hot summer day. It reminds me of my first boyfriend, my gym bag, clean sheets and being 17.

4) Etat Libre d’Orange ‘FAT ELECTRICIAN’ 

Of course I’d love it, with a name like that. And because I sell it. But seriously, this unisex fragrance is DIVINE. It’s sophisticated, chic, extremely sexy and woody- I do love woody...

5) Comme des Garcons ‘Series 1 Leaves: CALAMUS’

Its working for CdG that made me the fragrance snob that I am. I blame all my fragrance references on them. It’s green, peppery, very masculine, very dark and hot AF. It’s impossible to get and when people ask me what I’m wearing, I lie. 

6) Demeter ‘SWIMMING POOL’ 

Weird, crazy and totally addictive. Cheap as chips as well so I spray this all over me like Avene thermal water. Demeter is a brand that I adore for its accessibility and affordability for all ages. We sell it with glee at McLeod & Savage.

7) Serge Lutens ‘L’EAU’ 

I save this for date nights in summer. Its a very special beauty of a scent, a pure aldehyde in a league of its own, and bloody expensive. 

8)  Escentric Molecules ‘ESCENTRIC 03′ 

A science-y fragrance that smells different, COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, on everyone who tries it. Its definitely not for everyone as it doesn’t have many recognisable references (’Oh, this smells like atoms’???) This is the most hip and “I bought these shoes in Berlin/I’m going to an invite only art exhibition later” summer fragrance I own. 

9) Clarins ‘EAU DYNAMISANTE’

The 1980′s cult classic and my first “grown up” perfume- my 14th birthday gift. I love this perfume so so so much. Its a herby cardamom, caraway, bitter, oh-so-French chic smell I can recognise from miles away.

Love,

C xo

[versatilepoetry]

My Broken Heart Needed

The broken door of pure rosewood needed a carpenter to repair it; replenishing its distorted edges with loads of compassionate varnish and an array of hostile nails, The broken slabs of building needed an engineer to refurbish it; reinforcing its surface with lanky beams and columns; fortifying its gaping string of holes with rich chunks of cement and concrete, The broken pieces of cloth needed a tailor to stitch them; blend the scattered fragments together; to evolve the stupendous garment again, The broken checkbooks and torn documents of financial operation needed a banker to resurrect them; spawn ingeniously manipulative policies to ensure that all business bounced back to robust normalcy, The broken switchboards needed an electrician to configure them; intermingle the boundless conglomerate of wires to produce sparkling beams of untainted light, The broken fields needed a farmer to plough them; sow the right concoction of seeds and manure; in order to metamorphose the gruesome sand into blossoming land of enchanting fertility, The broken words of the book needed a writer to rearrange them; meticulously sort out the baffling jumble into magnificent lines of captivating literature, The broken spacecraft needed the scientist to remold it; splendidly synchronize its arms and tail; impregnate it with the most contemporary of machinery; to enable it to gush at electric speeds towards the heart of the blue sky, The broken ornaments needed the goldsmith to reinvigorate them; chisel the shards of unruly metal into scintillating necklaces of fabulous silver, The broken carving on the wall needed the artisan to harness it; convert its disrupted demeanor into one with astounding solidity and oligarchic magnificence, The broken shoe lying desolate in the attic needed a cobbler to mend it; transform its mocking and dusty caricature into one with exquisite shine and abundant lace, The broken gutter needed a plumber to renovate it; wholesomely stop the flow of spewing debris; converting the rotten stench emanating into one of placid and stringent calm, The broken painting needed an artist to embellish it; join all the horrendously massacred shapes into mesmerizing contours of the spell binding fairy, The broken bone needed a doctor to coalesce it; bond the severely depleted fragments together to give birth again to a rubicund entity, The broken song needed a musician to reconstruct it; embody it with jazzy tunes and revitalizing melody; profusely recreating its stolen glory again, The broken bird needed an ornithologist to rejuvenate it; apply balm to its torn feathers; in order to impart it with tumultuous force and propel it to fly, The broken watch needed a watchmaker to wind it; oil its rusty coalition of springs; so that it ticked incessantly as time drifted by, The broken law and order in the city needed a policeman to rectify it; instill a sense of impregnable security amongst citizens; with valiantacts of his dynamic bravery, The broken democracy in the world needed a flamboyant leader to uplift it; judiciously channelize all the energy of people for the betterment of this planet, The broken lawns sprawling disdainfully over colossal expanses of the valley needed a gardener to reinvigorate them; prudently squelch the unwanted weeds; in order to ensure that the roses bloomed merrily without parasites, The broken King needed a host of beautiful slaves to stimulate his dead senses; obey the most minuscule of his command; appease him thoroughly with dance; and the tantalizing cadence in their voice, The broken marriage needed a team of counselor's to recap it; solve the infinitesimal differences that had led to the execution of this bizarre event in life, The broken beliefs needed a sagacious saint to rebuild them; bring the abysmally lonely disciple closer to the realms of the omnipotent Ceator, The broken snapshot needed the photographer to reframe it; meticulously arrange the solitary chunks into a complete picture; depicting once again the smiling and boisterous family, The broken victim needed the pressman to alleviate her pain; highlight to the world in his article; about the plethora of lecherous atrocities committed on her impeccable body, The broken stomach needed a waiter to satisfy it; serving it with mouth watering delicacies and thereby ensuring that it succumbed to blissful and contented sleep, The broken laughter needed a clown to re-establish it; inundate its miserable life with unsurpassable amount of smile and ecstasy, The broken web needed a spider to reweave it; embedding its mercilessly split trajectory; again with silver threads of slime, The broken sea needed a battalion of fish and coral reefs to reform itself; relive the incredulous moment of glory when it had just been created in this Universe, The broken discotheque needed scores of impetuous boys and girls to enliven it; flood its dreary ambience with fiery passion; pulsating dance; and voluptuous movement, The broken history needed an archaeologist to recount it; search for the missing links and clues that once upon a time led to the formation of noble dynasties, The broken hive needed boundless number of bees to refill it; encompass each pore its persona with their discordant buzzing; and supremely sweet streams of honey, The broken vegetables needed a chef to realign them; prepare appetizing delicacies out of the shoddy mass of loose grass and fruit, The broken children needed a philanthropist to liberate them; fill their lives with all the jubilation and fantasy which they were so desperately bereft off, The broken mind needed a psychiatrist to retrieve it; bring it to proportion with the civilized society; from the corridors of despondency and lost oblivion, The broken ship needed a captain to coherently steer it; surge it forward with gusto and insurmountable exhilaration into the deep waters of the sapphire ocean, The broken army needed a brave and an audacious soldier to instigate it; see to it that it emerged victorious without the slightest of blemish to its motherland, The broken den needed the lion to enlighten it; prove it once again to the world that it harbored none other; but the irrefutable king of the jungle, The broken morning needed the cuckoo to animate it; drive away all the gloominess prevailing in the atmosphere; with the mesmerizing rhythm in its voice, The broken line needed a teacher to restore it; explicitly explain it to the student its symbolic meaning and astronomical importance, The broken voice needed a ventriloquist to harness it; extract the hidden melody to the summit of its capacity; portray to entire world the euphoric essence of sound, The broken automobile needed a mechanic to invigorate it; lubricate its dying parts; pumping tons of fresh air in its tyre; granting it the power to conquer the most treacherous of slopes, The broken balls needed a juggler to enhance their charm; spin them at mind boggling speeds; revolving them at all angles in the breeze before delectably collapsing on the bed of pure silk, The broken valley needed environmentalists to plant it with infinite saplings; see the inconspicuous nodules ripen into dense forests within a matter of fading months, The broken house needed a ensemble of detectives to find the culprits; hunt out the criminals who transformed the family living in perpetual bliss into deceased corpses buried beneath the earth, The broken women needed faithful husbands to alleviate their tale of deprivation; making them witness a new and vibrantly optimistic face of tomorrow, The broken lives needed a messiah from the heavens to rehabilitate them; shower their bereaved souls with immeasurable happiness, And my broken heart needed a girl who could fully comprehend my sorrow; love me like no one else did on this globe; bonding every beat of mine with her violently throbbing heart; healing every incurable wound of mine; blending her breath with mine for times and births immemorial.