#I can feel the architecture of my mind shift to become the staircase room in labyrinth

[bloomburnburial]

the baseline level of stress I feel at home remains unsustainable and yet we will continue to endure

[katelynn-a-fan]

An Eve to Remember

This is my gift of @destinys-dragon. I’ve had creative block for nearly a whole month... I cranked out more than half of this today in 4ish hours so I’m glad to finally be able to gift this to you. I picked one of your more complicated prompts (I think) to write, but I did it!

Ao3

Summary: Thomas Sanders is trying to get a good nights rest for Christmas the next day, but a confusing appearance in his own mind leads him down a different path to... his own living room? Not everything's the same in his mind but by golly he is going to help his Sides the best he can to make sure that that night is the best Christmas (eve) they've had yet.

Parings: LAMP and Dukeciet/Demus

Word count: 4902 / 4.9k

Warning: Disorientation, slightly disturbing visuals, (passionate) Kissing, 

Thomas took a few experimental blinks as the heady feeling of drowsiness slowly ebbed away. His hand sluggishly rubbed his brow, insistent on kneading the fuzziness in his head out. Maybe then he could remember exactly how he got there.

Where am I?

His eyes very, very slowly adjusted to surroundings as his hands skirted across the tile-

The… tile… under him?

Why is there tile under me? That shouldn't be there unless I’m-

“Oh, you’re finally here!” His own voice called out from above him, but that wasn’t something unknown to him. What was unknown to him is how he got to where he was at that moment.

Thomas craned his neck towards the familiar pair of Warby Parker glasses and the soft gray and light blue blur of Patton. Another agonizing blinks passed before Thomas’s eyes finally resolved Patton’s face and his… blue and grey Christmas sweater? Even with the different attire, Patton’s signature grin was just as wide as always.

“Huh… hey Patton… Um…” Thomas bit his lip, his eyes glancing at various features around him. Sticking his hand out, Patton’s grin dipped a few millimeters as Thomas accepted Patton’s hand. Quickly pulling him up, Patton smoothed his thumb over Thomas’s knuckles. 

“Yes, Thomas?” 

He lingered his gaze around the clear space he was in, the short hallway of his own apartment. His gaze scoured every inch of the space, and everything about it just screamed: Different! 

“This… isn’t my actual apartment.”

Smile tilting sideways on his face, Patton wrapped his hands fully around Thomas’s.

“Of course it isn’t, silly! You’re asleep right now!”

Thomas’s hands flexed a little between Patton’s hands.

“I am? I’ve never done this before though- Been here with you guys before, I mean.”

Gently turning his hands, Patton made his grip into a proper handhold and began to lead Thomas down the much, much longer than usual corridor.

Laughing slightly Patton turned back to Thomas with a very sly twinkle in his eye.

“Oh you have, you just don’t remember afterwards-”

“Wait what-”

“Daddy! You left me alone with the cookies and nothing to fuck and I got myself dirty!” 

Thomas jumped as he finally rounded the nonsensical corner into his dream kitchen. Remus was standing on the counter with a fair amount of beige matter spattering his outfit, hair, and even his moustache. 

Letting go of Thomas’s hand finally, Patton grabbed a rag and quickly dampened it in the sink before tossing it up to Remus. Immediately snatching it out of the air, Remus bounced on the balls of his feet before sitting on the counter instead and swinging his legs as he cleaned himself off.

“Here you go! I’m surprised you didn’t set the kitchen on fire like last time.”

Hands pausing on his face, Remus’s legs quickly stopped swinging as Remus’s eyes went wide and he pushed his bottom lip out in a pout.

“I only make a mess when I’m not actually making something! That time I wasn’t even cooking anything.”

Placing a hand on Remus’s shoulder, Patton squeezed Remus’s shoulder.

“Hey, I believe you. It’s not everyday we do this. I’m sorry I assumed-”

Remus brushed off Patton’s hand from his shoulder after a moment, but grabbed it just before it was too far. 

“Nah I’m kidding about being mad, dear Daddy! Fires are just one of the hazards of being me!” 

Making eye contact, Patton smiled at Remus once again.

“Well that’s good! Thomas is here, though I think you knew that already.”

A smirk immediately plastered onto Remus’s face as he glanced over to where Thomas had been shifting from foot to foot in the kitchen entrance. 

“Ah, our resident Thomas the Dank Engine! Have you ever had dreams of sugar dicks dancing through your head?”

Thomas’s smile slowly turned wooden as a bitter taste invaded his mouth at Remus’s words. Skin crawling slightly, Thomas swallowed down a small lump in his throat before he managed to reply. 

I just want something wholesome. I don’t want to be thinking of that when I’m watching my parents or when I myself open presents.

“Uh, no…?”

“Well you just might have some after tonight!” Cackling, Remus stood back up on the counter before impossibly scurrying up the cupboards. The ceiling stretched impossibly high and out so that Remus slowly became just a pair of eyes in a dark cavern above the kitchen. Luckily, the moment didn’t last long and just as fast, Remus was scrambling down the cupboards once again to sit on the counter beside Patton.

Patton’s expression didn’t betray anything other than acute disinterest, however his hands silently tumbled over each other for a few moments.

“Well, Thomas, come here! We’re baking everything for the others!” Waving his hand invitingly, Patton gestured also to the oven where the oven light revealed a tray of cookies, a full blown turkey, a slab of ham, as well as some other things that managed to fill the impossibly big oven.

Thomas finally stepped forward.

Nose twitching a little, Thomas was suddenly bombarded with the strong smell of cookies.

“Whoa! This kitchen smells like the perfect Christmas, Pat!”

Chuckling, Patton wrapped his arms around Thomas in a quick hug.

“Well that’s the idea, kiddo!”

Squinting, he followed Patton with his eyes as Patton stepped back, the sensation of Patton’s embrace lingering on his skin.

“Did you just sneak in that hug because you ever get to in my videos? That hug seemed very targeted.”

Cheeks quickly turning pink, Patton nearly ducked his head away as he stepped back against the sink.

“That may be part of the reason.”

At that moment, the words embroidered on Patton and Remus' sweater finally revealed themselves.

Patton’s predictably read: Feliz Navi Dad and a Happy Blue Year.

But Remus’s was nearly illegible as the chaos of neon green on black made it almost unreadable, eventually, the words came together to spell out: I’m theTrashman and I’ll have all your wrapping paper.

Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but a sound in the short distance caught his attention instead. He turned towards the source, over the counter and surely into the living room, but was met with the strangely comforting void of black beyond it.

“What’s happening in the living room? And why can’t I see it?”

Glancing fleetingly at the black void, Patton bounced over to Thomas.

“Oh that’s just your mind doing it’s thing. Not everything in this mind kitchen is going to be exactly the same, and sometimes when something’s changed, it just becomes blank space. It’s nice.” Patton gestured past Thomas towards the other direction both of them came from. “By the way, it’s not just us who’re here, everyone else is down the hall. You don’t have to stay talking with us. We still have a bit to do anyways.”

Eyes widening, Thomas whipped around towards the entrance of the kitchen and strained his ears towards the faint sounds from down the hall Thomas hadn’t been paying any attention to until now.

“There’s more to this place?”

A sparkle in his eyes had Patton’s smile widening and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Yes! And you can go wherever you want. This is your head after all.”

Thomas took an initial step towards the edge of the kitchen before he turned around and gave both a fleeting look and a comforting smile before he stepped out of the kitchen with a wave.

Just like the hallway from the entrance, the space between the hallway and the living room was strange, even the sounds were farther than they should’ve been.

The slightly harsher light from the overhead kitchen light slowly faded to something much more muted and pleasant as Thomas treaded carefully down the short end of the hallway to where the sounds of the other were coming from.

Shoulders the slightest bit hunched, Thomas tentatively peeked out from the corner of the hallway where it opened up into the living room. With a gasp, Thomas nearly fell into the living room at the sight that lay before him.

The space was definitely recognizable as his apartment, yet somehow completely different. Instead of the smaller dimensions of his real apartment, the living room was now a much larger open space full of architecture reminiscent of a log cabin. 

The staircase was still there, but was made of the more rustic wood like everything else. Something completely and entirely new was the roaring fire in a fireplace below the TV that was mounted above it instead of being in the corner like usual.

Not only that, but everything was also decorated to the nines in Christmas decorations, tinsel strung on the mantle very delicately and securely, a wreath on some of the posts, and the main attraction, the Christmas tree twinkling in the dim firelight.

As for the others, they were hovering near the Christmas tree. Logan was closest to Thomas, back to Thomas as he faced everyone else. Janus was hunched over the very bottom of the tree, placing a golden ornament among the gold and silver ornaments near the bottom of the tree.

Thomas frowned, his hands coming to clasp in front of him as his eyes fell on Virgil and Roman.

Virgil was swaying as he sat upon Roman’s shoulders. Reaching up, he hesitated at each little sway to put the purple colored ornament near the top of the very tall tree. 

As a particularly violent sway sent both of them nearly off balance, Thomas nearly bolted forward to catch them, but Logan simply took a step towards them and pushed gently at a specific part of Roman’s back. The gesture was so subtle that Roman didn’t even pause as he laughed, securing Virgil on his shoulders without a glance backwards at Logan.

Even Roman didn’t notice, Thomas had, and he smiled at Logan as he came back to a different spot, but just as far away as the previous spot from the tree.

Something unusually tense in Logan’s back has Thomas’s feet immediately bringing him up beside Logan.

Thomas placed a hand on Logan’s arm once he was close enough. However, Logan quickly began to step to the side, but Thomas’s grip remained, halting Logan as soon as he began to move.

Neither of them said anything, a simple nod passing between them before the simultaneously turned back to watch Virgil and Roman’s antics.

“They are somehow so careful and yet so reckless. I can’t understand them sometimes.”

“Do they know they could’ve just conjured a ladder to do this?”

Turning to Thomas, Logan leveled a single eyebrow at Thomas, his expression still neutral.

“Sure, but then we wouldn’t get to see this… entertaining display.”

A slight upturn of Logan’s lips and a dusting of pick on his cheeks had Thomas looking back to the teetering disaster waiting to happen. Then back at Roman and Virgil. Then back at Logan.

A smile of Thomas’s own blossomed on his face.

Even the message on Logan’s dark blue and black sweater emphasized the moment, showing the periodic table with elements labeled Cu, Ti, E, all highlighted.

But Thomas didn’t address that as Logan subtly moved his hands behind his back, the edge of an object in his hand peeking out for a split second

“What is that in your hand? I see you hiding it.”

Bringing his hands farther away from Thomas with the offending item, Logan’s Adam’s apple bobbed conspicuously before Logan cleared his throat and spoke.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mouth popping open, Thomas’s mouth was open in the ghost of a word before he froze, his face falling as his eyes darted back and forth a bit. Straightening his back, Thomas closed his mouth before placing a subtle, comforting hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“Oh, I suppose it’s a secret? Well then I won’t spoil it. Wouldn’t want to force your hand,” Thomas lightly tapped his pointer finger to his lips with a small smirk on his face. “I won’t keep you from whatever you’re doing.”

And with that, Thomas gave Logan a wink and stepped over to where Janus was still half bent over the tree.

“Hey Janus.”

Janus glanced up with his usual impassive expression, but the moment he met Thomas’s eyes, Janus’s face immediately melted into the smallest of smiles. The moment didn’t last long, a look from Janus returned by Thomas.

“Ah our creator. My humblest greetings.”

“I’m not your creator Janus. You are as much a part of me as I am in this place.”

“And yet, each of us here are so incredibly different. All thanks to you.”

Thomas’s cheeks heated rapidly, though his level expression suggested he was trying not to acknowledge that fact.

“Whatever.”

Both of them turned as Roman and Virgil began to exclaim, something about going too fast, lost in the flurry of limbs as they once again began to fall, but this time righted themselves completely unaided.

They each took a few moments, muttering words only each other could hear before Roman’s eyes turned to the bottom of the tree and the most incredulous sound imaginable came from his lips.

“Why must you defy everything I planned for this tree Mr. Slick and Grinchy?”

Crouching down, Janus made no effort to reply or react at all at first. He completed the gesture of placing the ornament and standing back up before his eyes even flickered to Roman in the slightest.

“Society is an illusion and so is perfect beauty or aesthetic.”

Roman frowned, huffing as he crossed his arms. 

“I may not understand what exactly that means, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re wrong about that! The ornaments should be evenly distributed across the tree instead of all of those ornaments being at the bottom.”

However, despite the passionate speech, Janus’s expression remained neutral, a yawn that appeared 100% genuine only adding to the message.

“Well, when you finally conjure that ladder, I’ll be happy to place some of these nearer to the top.”

Roman’s gasp this time was devoid of all it’s incredulousness this time, his eyes bugging out as he gently slapped his head with his hand the best he could while holding onto Virgil.

“It’s not often I say this, but… Mr. Humbug, you’re righ-”

“It’s time!” Thomas jumped, turning around to Patton’s head sticking out from the hallway. They made eye contact and Patton jerked his head back in the direction of the hall.

“Hey Thomas, some help with the drinks, Remus and I got the food.”

Rubbing his jaw, Thomas glanced back at Janus and Roman, their quick glances toward each other making Thomas’s breath catch. 

“Sure Pat, I’m coming…”

Sending one last glance back at the trio with an apologetic smile, Thomas turned and walked past Patton back into the kitchen where the steaming mugs of hot cocoa sat for Thomas to bring. Remus already had a platter of pristine Christmas cookies and a full ham and a turkey and- 

Eyes bugging out once again, Thomas’s eyes were locked onto Remus as he went down the hall with the entire contents of the oven carried in his 6 total hands. 

Patton, on the other hand, had only two side dishes in his hands as he passed Thomas. Nodding towards the steaming mugs, Patton stepped back towards the living room.

“Just grab the trays, everything’s lighter here than you would expect, so you won’t have to much to handle.”

Opening his mouth, Thomas’s words died on his lips once again as Patton disappeared around the corner, leaving Thomas to his duty of bringing the drinks.

Thankfully, just as Patton said, the trays were exponentially lighter than they looked with 3-4 mugs on each of them. So Thomas easily picked up and brough the mugs back down the hallway. 

But everything came to a sudden halt when Thomas stepped back into the living room.

He had to have been gone less than a minute, but the whole atmosphere in the living room had drastically shifted from a slight Christmas feel to full blown nostalgia Christmastime feeling. The tree had every inch covered in ornaments now, the fire was roaring somehow more than before and everyone was seated comfortably on the many couches that faced the TV with plates and utensils a plenty.

It took all Thomas’s effort not to drop both those dang platters as his feet almost instantaneously rooted him to the spot as his mouth dropped open at how fast everything had suddenly come together.

“Thomas- snrk- You okay there?” Virgil’s smug voice came from one of the furthest couches, Virgil sitting on the arm of the couch, but slowly sinking down towards the proper place.

Jolting, Thomas abruptly cleared his throat and nodded as his eyes continued to take in the living room, his voice not at all convincing.

“Uh, yes? Uh….no? I think… this is just… wow.”

Each of Sides looked to one another, a similar expression of wide open eyes at how awed Thomas sounded. They had done that. Only Janus managed not to look bothered, but by the way Remus rolled his eyes in Janus’s direction, there was more than meets the eye under the impassive half smile Janus had managed to pull off.

Soon, however, Thomas was stepping forward once again, not yet completely over the sight, but recovered enough that he could mostly properly function again.

Without a word, Thomas handed everyone a drink according to the cups, each of them the sides usual colors with an animal design/theme. 

The last one left on the tray for Thomas was a chaotic blend of all of them, cutesy animals and a rainbow design.

“Oh… I love that. It’s perfect.”

Patton, who was sitting comfortably with Logan on a couch, leaned over the arm of their couch and patted Roman’s arm as best he could on the other couch.

“See, I told you he’d love it.”

And with that, all of them dug in, the hum of conversation washing over Thomas as he got what he wanted from each of the platters.

It was like only an instant had passed when Roman finally bolted up, bouncin on his toes in all his excitement.

“Is everyone done? Because if we are, then it’s time for presents!”

Presents went by just as fast as each of the Sides revealed their presents for each other.

Logan was first with a scrapbook for Patton of all the memories from the preparations, each of them laughing and preparing the day as well as some sneakily hidden shots from the meal. He even took a picture of Patton’s completely awed look, instructing Patton to turn to the last page to see the very picture already in the book. 

It probably took five minutes for Patton to stop borderline choking Logan with a hug, and even more than that for Patton to stop crying happy tears into Logan’s Christmas sweater. 

Patton’s present was for Janus. 

Janus was leaning just slightly away from the present as he opened it, ready for something disappointing, perhaps. But instead a moment of pure joy flashed across Janus’s face as he opened it. Sure, his expression immediately hid that that moment had even existed, but every Side had watched him, so there was no hiding it.

Inside Janus’s present was everything a cold-blooded, snake themed side would want, a snake plushie and onesie as well as a heated and weighted blanket. 

Still, with Janus’s blatant slip, he still schooled his expression as he extracted each from the packaging.

Janus had Virgil.

Thomas and Logan had frowned at the small package Virgil had been handed by Janus, aas did Virgil himself. 

But Virgil was more curious than anything, as even though Janus was one to play tricks, this small package was small enough it was likely not to be one.

What nobody expected was the utter ear-piercing squeal that came from Virgil after a moment of gazing at his unwrapped present.

“How? You found an exclusive version of-”

“I know you love MCR, and found that, as luck would have it, in the recesses of Thomas’s mind. It helps to be a bit more experienced with all things not conscious. I-”

In a surprising move for everyone, Virgil cut Janus’s ramble short with a slamming hug.

There weren’t nearly as many tears as Patton’s reaction to his gift, but if there were a few tears that leaked into Janus’s sweater, Janus made no comment as Virgil finally pulled back, sheeks red as the reality of what he had just done sunk in.

Virgil had presents for both of the twins, a thing of slime that looked like sewage and other fun things for Remus and a set of copic markers for Roman.

Remus was immediate in unveiling his slime and beginning to play with it, but Roman was hesitant. 

“I have plenty of markers, virgil, not that I am ungrateful for them, but what led you to this as my gift.”

Virgil tensed just ever so slightly before pushing a piece of paper in front of Roman.

“Just try them, idiot.”

Roman once again huffed in annoyance.

“Alright, Panic at the Disco.”

Roman tried out each of the colors, but soon found the paper to be too small for testing them out, and eventually, the color ran over each other, but when they did, Roman completely froze.

In all Roman’s time, he had never had markers that actually blended when you layered them. And that’s when it clicked in Roman’s expression, eyes widening like everyone else’s had when they opened their presents.

This time, of all times, Roman instantly apologized, nearly giving the markers back as his increasingly reddening face sunk deeper into his sweater. It wasn’t until Logan announced his own present was next that Roman had the courage to emerge, still rosy cheeked, but less so.

To complete the circle of gifts, the twins had Logan’s present. And they took their time in handing to Logan, as if what was inside was fragile or important.

Logan treated the gift the same, taking great care in unwrapping the gift before staring down at the gift of a very important looking notebook.

Without having to be asked, both of the twins wove a tale of watching Logan struggle to create a good schedule for Thomas, even clashing with Roman himself. But Remus was the one who continued, talking about how he had garnered some information from the non-conscious part of Thomas’s brain on how to tap into it to cement an idea or plan.

The notebook, when written in, would cement whatever idea was in it into Thomas’s mind, bring it to the forefront without completely intruding. It was the perfect thing to help Thomas listen to Logan more.

Thomas should’ve been more outraged that Logan had to have something like this to even be listened to, but his own logic had always been overshadowed by feelings at times. It was the best thing he could do to go over to Logan and hug him when he saw the tension in Logan’s body and the refusal to meet Thomas’s eyes.

The instant Thomas wrapped his arms around Logan, his body stiffened even more before just as quickly completely melting into Thomas completely. Fingers running through Logan’s hair, Thomas whispered out quiet assurances.

“No, don’t you dare feel guilty about not being heard. You shouldn't have to be ‘tempted’ to make me listen ‘against my will.’ You are a part of me that I need to listen to, and I trust you enough to allow this greater power over me. If I didn’t want this, my creativity- creavtivities wouldn’t have made this for you.”

That was enough to stop the slight shivering as Logan pulled back with uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable eyes, wide and awe-filled.

“Really?” Logan’s voice was barely a breath.

“Really.” Thomas echoed, squeezing Logan gently before letting go and sitting back beside him.

Still keeping Logan in the corner of his eye, Thomas turned to Remus and Roman who were still in front of them with a mischievous glint in their eyes.

“Now, each of you check your pockets now,” Both of them snapped in unison as Roman spoke. “You should find something new there.”

With varying levels of excitement and wariness each of them reached into their pockets to produce a jagged piece of something. When the twins were met with blank stare at the reason for these gifts, neither of them faltered.

“Each of you, gather around the coffee table and place your piece down, we have ours as well.”

Eyebrow raised, Thomas obliged, as did the rest of the Sides after. As each of them placed their piece on the table, the idea slowly came into shape, though as always it was Logan’s face to light up first in realization.

“Now each of you arrange your pieces the best you can to create a complete shape, there is only one way these pieces fit together, but we’ll let you figure it out.”

It only took a moment for each of their voices to vy to be heard, only Logan holding his tongue as he had likely already figured it out and a stern but gentle glare from Roman to not ruin it for everyone. Roman did pointedly glance at the notebook he and Remus had just given him, permission to slyly get back at Roman is however he saw fit in what he guided Thomas towards.

Surprisingly, it was Patton who first exclaimed the solution.

“Oh that’s so cute! It’s a star!”

Judging by the grumbles that arose from Janus, he might have been close to that solution himself, but was beaten to the punch by Patton’s exclamation.

“You got it! This our gift to all of you.”

In any case, after that the 7 of them arranged their pieces  so that the star design appeared. Thomas’s pink piece was at the top, with Virgi’s purple and Roman’s red sitting beside it. For now, the star was devoid of orange, but full of the rest of the sides neon yellows, lush greens and two distinct peaceful blues. 

The star was still a 5 pointed star, which made the piece placement a little more complicated, but eventually they were able to press the pieces together. When they did the star flashed brightly before suddenly zooming out of everyone’s grip and alighting on the tree.

Once the star was in its place, snow suddenly began to fall from the ceiling silently. Even Remus and Roman’s mouth fell open as the first flakes settled onto them.

Each of the Sides and Thomas gazed up at least once to try to find where they were coming from, but they just appeared a few inches from the ceiling and fell down to them. 

Even with the mystery, all of them slowly succumbed to the urge to enjoy the indoor snow. Whether it was trying to catch a flake with their tongue or immediately catching as much snow in one place to attempt a snowball, the formality of the gift giving was completely gone and replaced with the unbridle fun of playing in the snow.

“Wait… where… Where did that mistletoe come from? We never put that up.” Virgil pointed to a sprig of mistletoe above where Janus and Remus were gathering snow, Janus gathering most of it while Remus made balls of snow.

Both Janus and Remus looked up in unison, eyeing the sprig before looking at each other.

“I don’t care, come here Jani-bear. I want to get steamy enough that the snow starts melting.”

Even Thomas rolled his eyes at the pet name and the cheesy line, but couldn’t help fawning over Janus’s reaction.

Face turning bright red, it was Janus who took the initiative to pull Remus’s collar and kiss him. Responding in kind after a moment to recover, Remus responded by mouthing into the kiss just as passionately.

A gasp from behind Thomas had him turning to yet another sprig of mistletoe, this time above the four other sides, each of them turning red as they turned their face up to it. 

Surprisingly, Patton was the first to place a quick kiss on Logan’s lips, with Roman just behind him sweeping Virgil into a kiss of his own.

Thomas's chest filled with warmth as he watched his sides kiss each other, their love an extension of his own self love. The sensation filled him outwards from his chest up to his head and down to the tip of his toes.

It wasn’t until he was staggering, though, that it hit him that maybe the warmth wasn’t just love, that the blanket he didn’t exactly remember wrapping around himself was warming him up pleasantly as well.

Eyes dropping, Thomas made it to the couch, lying down to answer the call of his mind, the warm embrace of sleep ever stronger on him.

A familiar voice echoed softly in his head just at the cusp of sleep

“This is our present for you, Thomas, a pleasant dream by our sides enjoying Christmas together.”

The picture of his Sides’ concerned faces hovering over him faded as the pleasant feelings of the night carried him off into proper, joy filled dreams.

Thomas smiled, nuzzling into his pillow, asleep and content.

[vinnydesign]

Courtyard :An Architectural Element of Design

The central courtyard is often referred to as an atrium and is a unique feature that can give your home an abundance of natural light. A central courtyard in your home can provide peaceful privacy for the family, away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It is also a perfect way to make the most of the beautiful Indian climate! Courtyards add warmth and a point of difference to a client’s home. Designing courtyards is in line with philosophy of providing a solid connectivity with nature while responding to client needs and their vision of beautiful, livable spaces. Courtyards can be the heart of a building where natural light and warmth permeate throughout the space.

Central courtyards are not only aesthetically beautiful but offer many benefits to the home such as better ventilation. The open space allows for air movement within the home and natural breezes can be substituted for expensive air conditioning in the warm Indian summers.The security of a central courtyard is also an added bonus as clients can open all of the windows and doors during the day and night without worrying about intruders.

Whilst central courtyards are not new to the building industry, they are a classic feature being the Traditional homes from across the globe have used designs with interior courtyards for thousands of years, but have fallen out of favour in recent generations. From the earliest example of a courtyard house in 6000BCE, to the ancient Roman Domus, to the Chinese Siheyuan and the Sahn of the typical middle eastern home, the courtyard house has a long history that crosses regional boundaries and spans many climactic zones. Recent research has focused in on the many benefits of these traditional designs; these homes not only have sustainability advantages, like passive cooling, but also create major benefits for their inhabitants health and social life. Can we capitalize on these traditional models by incorporating courtyards into our modern architecture?

In warmer climates, courtyard homes are particularly sustainable, allowing for greater ventilation in the home and cooler spaces of outdoor refuge than the neighbouring streets.

“Courtyards work with any style of home, from modern to classical, but the designs are particularly popular in warmer climates, where courtyards induce airflow. When designed properly, one end of the courtyard can be 15 degrees cooler than the other end because of cross-ventilation.”

Courtyards might not just make our lives greener- they may also make them happier. In multi-family housing, a courtyard can be a “central component to promote social and cultural health and happiness of residents.” In a research, one notices data both qualitative and quantitative data on courtyard garden house designs, and concluded that it is the combination of “a sense of privacy with a feeling of community” that is the reason for the social success of these spaces.

But How can we adapt traditional courtyard spaces into our contemporary design work? In what ways can we utilize the inherit powers of the courtyard to improve our housing designs? because Courtyards are an Architectural Design Element.When I teach my students of Interior Design I ask them to plan a residential space as per the bio-climatic requirements of Nature so as to increase the well-being of the family residing in that house .

Architecturally, courtyards add a design element that creates connectivity between interior and exterior space. The open air oasis, a rarity in dense cities, provides a multi-functional extension of living space ideal for entertaining, gardening, yoga and star gazing, right in the middle of a restless city. Unlike a yard, courtyards carved out in the center of a building provides a private tranquil space for homeowners, or buffered space for apartment dwellers in courtyard apartments.

Connecting with Nature

Living in a hyperconnected environment has been scientifically proven to induce stress, feelings of loneliness and people yearn to have more connectivity to the world we live in. Natural environments and having access to outdoor space can have a positive impact on physical and mental health and the benefits of connecting with nature can improve well being.We have to be in contact with our natural surroundings to acquire an intimate knowledge about them and in order to protect them. We will need a paradigm shift so that a building becomes a member of the landscape, collecting solar energy from the sun for its electrical needs while sequestering carbon and producing oxygen, harvesting rainwater for potable uses and maintaining an edible forest, and supplying waste water to on-site wetlands. Our bid for courtyards is a small step forward toward our vision of this harmonious future, which looks to a city teeming with life, not the sterile projection of Wall-E and other climate disaster movies.

Every house can benefit from blending with nature, and in the current urban environment, there’s no better way to achieve this than with internal gardens for modern Indian homes. Besides adding a stunning feature to the interiors of the house, an interior courtyard garden provides a relaxing retreat where one can refresh one’s energy amid the soothing greenery. In modern Indian homes, it’s easy to incorporate an internal garden seamlessly with the help of glass walls, sliding doors and retractable ceilings.

For houses, if one wants specific designs such as interior courtyard designs — Kerala style, with a traditional courtyard around which all the rooms of the house wrap, it’s essential to incorporate it into the model at the time of planning the house. Of course, it’s possible to install simple indoor gardens even in small apartments.

The most straightforward idea for an indoor garden design in India is to have a low-maintenance rock garden with hardy plants that don’t require much care. All you need is a small area, either off the living area or a bedroom, where rocks and plants can be artistically arranged to create a lovely green patch. Ideally, glass windows or a sliding door should allow you to view the garden from within the room to bring in the freshness of the garden into the home’s interiors.

Another idea is to have a Japanese indoor garden design with pebbles, a bamboo plant and a small fountain that not only don’t require much space but also are cost effective and easy to maintain. A Japanese garden is minimalist in nature, making it the perfect internal garden for a modern home.

Green walls or vertical gardens are a new trend in Indian homes as they only require a bit of wall space to bring greenery into any room. These gardens are also relatively maintenance-free if they come with automated-watering systems.

While many old bungalows in India have a traditional courtyard in the centre, often with a water feature or a tree, modern apartments have an insufficient area within to incorporate a large courtyard. A smart solution is to create small interior courtyard designs, with artificial grass, potted plants and even a customised water feature in a corner. Adding artwork and sculptures on the wall as well as seating can convert the area into a cosy space where your family will love to relax in the evenings or early mornings.

The design can be implemented even in a balcony or terrace adjoining the living room by u When thinking of internal gardens for modern Indian homes, one of the most common designs that come to mind is the traditional central courtyard, like the ones seen in old houses in Kerala. While it might seem like the design won’t suit a modern style home, one can adapt it by using the square or rectangular well in the centre with a glass roof overhead to protect it against the natural elements. In a modern house, using French doors or picture windows that frame the views of the courtyard from within the home can make it appear that the greenery is an extension of the room, adding a calming touch to the ambience.

One can carry through certain traditional elements in the interior courtyard garden by planting a large tree or installing a pond with floating flowers in the centre of the courtyard. Some pieces of traditional furniture such as a simple wooden swing can look just as good even in a modern house. To keep the area maintenance-free paving blocks of concrete or spread along the walls to add to the greenery.

Using sliding glass doors to separate the areas without blocking the views of the garden.

For homeowners who value sustainability when building a home, one of the best ideas is to retain the existing trees on the plot of land and design the house around it. Imagine having a tall tree with its branches running through several rooms in the house! You can extend the idea by enclosing the tree within glass walls to create an internal garden with pebbles and potted plants. This type of interior courtyard garden design not only adds a unique feature to the house but also allows nature to thrive amid the construction as the glass doesn’t block the sunlight, thereby allowing the tree to grow well.

Since space is limited in most modern Indian homes, it’s an excellent idea to identify dead spaces that can be converted into a lovely internal garden. Usually, the entrance corridor or the stairwell are common areas where space gets wasted. By designing the area to incorporate an interior courtyard garden one can enjoy the benefit of having a splash of green inside the home.

It doesn’t take much to build an internal garden under the atrium at the entrance or beneath the staircase. All you need is a few planters, pebble borders and niches or shelves on which more potted plants can be placed. Of course, you can take it a step further by creating layers such as a water feature with floating lotuses or koi fish and covering it with glass tiles to make a stunning entrance for the home.

While it isn’t impossible to create internal gardens for modern Indian homes, it’s essential to design the space so that you get the most out of it. It’s advisable to consult a landscape architect or professional who has the knowledge and experience to suggest the best elements that can be a part of the interior garden in your home.

Advantages of a Courtyard

Architecturally, courtyards make perfect sense. They give the residents of a home a private outdoor space, which is secure and usable throughout the day. With its natural ventilation, a courtyard helps the house stay appropriately warm or cool without the need for heaters and air conditioners.

In a warm climate, a courtyard can bring down the house’s temperature, saving on energy bills. Several courtyards also include natural cooling elements as a part of their design like a fountain, a basin, an artificial waterfall, thick external walls and double-glazed windows.

Interior courtyards are very much in vogue today for the above reasons. They provide an aesthetic means of spending time with nature in the midst of a busy schedule. And the best part is that courtyards work with any style of home — modern or traditional.

So from growing an indoor garden to creating a serene corner in a crash and burn busy lifestyle, interior courtyards can do so much to enrich your life. Here are some more advantages you can enjoy…

For overall mental and physical health, human beings need to see the night sky every so often. In a densely designed city, it’s truly a luxury to steal a quiet moment of private reflection in your own courtyard. There are many benefits of a courtyard that go beyond aesthetics. Some of the benefits include:

Light

An interior courtyard centrally sits under the open sky, flooding the space around it with daylight. Every room that opens into the courtyard gets its dose of sunlight during the day, helping you with energy savings.

The benefits of being exposed to this optimum quantity of sunlight are well known, and even during a daily workday, you’ll benefit by simply having your morning tea in a natural refreshing environment. For courtyards that are located in the front or back of the house, the adjacent room can be the kitchen or living room, which is most often used during the day.

Centrally located courtyards in urban setups may be surrounded by high walls restricting the entry of light. In such cases, you can use exterior reflectors on your windows and doors.

Ventilation

For centuries, interior courtyards have been created to aid the purpose of natural ventilation. Ventilation itself serves many purposes. It provides fresh air, improves oxygen supply and dilutes odours. When creating a courtyard, keep room for cross ventilation, which offers the maximum cooling effect.

Courtyard ventilation also has passive cooling effects during the night, which brings the overall temperature of the place down. In addition to this, a courtyard filled with plants and a garden area helps keep the house cool even in scorching and arid climates.

Separate Spaces

A courtyard acts as a space separator within the home. A courtyard between the living room and bedrooms, can work to increase the privacy between these areas, not letting casual visitors walk in unwittingly. It provides a break in the décor too, with each section gaining a new personality that goes only with the central flow.

A courtyard between the kitchen and living room is a perfect place for entertaining guests as well as unwinding after the day’s work.

Connects Spaces

A courtyard can also be a connector of spaces within the home, providing accessibility to different parts with ease. If you have a courtyard in the front or at the back of your house, it not only acts as an entrance or exit point, but can connect to more than one room depending on your courtyard architecture.

A centrally located courtyard, on the other hand, can provide access to multiple rooms in the house, making movement easier.

Privacy + Security: Instead of hauling in the grill every night, a courtyard allows you to truly go wild with your ultimate vision for a secret garden and teak Adirondack chairs or fully decked out outdoor kitchen. Likewise, plants and edible gardens will be out of reach from hungry critters or neighbors tempted to snack on your tomatoes.

Therapeutic Properties: As a society we suffer from nature deficit disorder. Studies have shown that spending mindful time outdoors can reduce stress levels and strengthen your immune system. Putting down the electronics and spending intentional time in the privacy of a courtyard and allowing yourself to get lost in your surroundings can help you reach a greater sense of calm.

Possibilities: Unlike a yard, open to lookie-loo neighbors, an enclosed courtyard becomes another room in your house offering a private respite space. Being open to the sky, there are no height limits, and it can be layered with trellises, plant life, hanging cocoon chairs, party lights, or whatever you please. Or, you can go big and create your own outdoor spa!

Recreation: Letting kids or pets play outdoors is a little less intimidating and can provide a greater sense of security with a courtyard. They get fresh air and you get piece of mind. Likewise, adults wanting to unwind in a private setting without missing out on a lovely summer night can get ahold of both! Depending on lot size, it’s entirely possible to install a pétanque court. How glorious would it be to spend warm summer evenings with friends, and playing a spirited game of pétanque more like playing with marbles in India ?

Courtyard Kitchen Extension

In India , we relish the short window of warm temperatures, and when the sun is shining you probably don’t want to be trapped inside, busy with meal preparation. Extending the kitchen to the outdoors can provide a fresh perspective that can boost culinary imagination and create a nature-inspired gathering space for family and guests.

There are a variety of outdoor cooking options to consider when you’re planning an outdoor kitchen design. Whether you’re an aspiring master chef or a true grill master, installing a grill, smoker, and wood burning oven trifecta can navigate your gastronomy quest throughout the year.

Landscaping

Imagine being able to walk out your back door and wander into a green cloaked paradise teaming with birds and butterflies. With little effort or expense, it’s possible to create a lush landscape reminiscent of local garden nurseries. A mix of edible, native and perennial plants can bring interest and layers of visually stunning plant life to your doorstep. Native plants are usually low-maintenance and drought tolerant and tend to attract beneficial insects, such as pollinators, and colorful butterflies. Depending on the health of the soil and sun orientation, edible plants can be planted directly into the ground and provide a healthy dose of vegetables throughout the summer. Having fresh herbs and summer vegetables available just a garden shear snip away can be so rewarding! If the soil situation is suboptimal, using a variety of containers, planter boxes or raised beds are great options and have the added benefit of being mobile so they can be placed along the sun’s path. A more extravagant landscape plan would include shrubs, trees and an irrigation system to lessen the amount of labour and time spent with maintenance. Although, there are times when I find solace in the simple task of watering plants. With a courtyard, you have the option to enjoy the refreshing joy of being amidst greenery without having to look for it in far flung jungle reserves and nature resorts. Simply head to your courtyard to rejuvenate your eyes with the sight of green — it’s beneficial for health.

The great part of having a courtyard is that you can enjoy what different seasons bring in. From blossoming flowers under the summer sun to the hundred hues of green during the rains, to the select blossoms of winter, you can enjoy it all without stepping out from your home.

Designing and Building a Courtyard

When thinking about utilizing a courtyard in your design you should take the following into consideration: budget, convenience and placement of a grill, shelter (is an overhang possible to protect and shade windows and doors?), rainwater collection and drainage, irrigation, hardscape, landscape, built-ins, running utility lines, and lighting hook ups.

In all a Courtyard is an exceptional microclimate Controller and can be a great Stress Reliever for the families .

[runningwolf62]

@wardencommanderrodimiss, @pachelbelsheadcanon Oh my god I hate case fics, have the first half of Turnabout Ablaze.

-

At first, it’s a pretty simple routine. Get up. Get dressed. Walk the dog. Go back to Edgey’s apartment. Apply for jobs. Write fic. Rinse and repeat.

The chapter is less of a mess than Larry had originally thought and while his readers love it, they have questions and Larry wishes he had answers. WolfDragon offers what support he can, apparently he’s got something coming up with work, his coworker, who he compares to being “frighteningly like Viper from your fic” has something for him that’s gonna keep him busy for the foreseeable future but Larry already misses him. Like, he’s not gonna sit around waiting for him to get back, but he finds that WolfDragon’s really become part of his life and he’s gonna miss being able to chat with him quite as much.

Pess is good company though as he binges his way through Edgey’s collection of Steel Samurai, occasionally he texts him a picture of the TV with some caption as he reacts to whatever is happening in the episode. Edgeworth seems largely amused by Larry’s reactions though occasionally he asks his opinion on a plot twist or writing choice, but given his focus is on visiting his family in Germany he doesn’t have too much time to talk.

But then, a few days into Edgeworth’s vacation, something pops up on Larry’s radar. Namely because he’d been searching “Steel Samurai” in an attempt to find a reference for some art to draw Edgeworth, partially as a joke, partially as a thank you. But this is the answer to Larry’s prayers. Sort of.

The embassies are hiring, of all things, someone to perform in a stage play of Steel Samurai. Larry figures fuck it, and throws his hat in the ring. It can’t hurt to try and plus he’s still working on getting published.

Something that hurts to even think about, because he misses sitting with Elise and talking about plot ideas, just the camaraderie of having someone to sit with and work with. He misses having a mentor and it guts him still to think about writing serious work.

He knows he needs to though. He needs to strike while the iron’s hot, but he’s made a deal with himself. Find a new place, find a new job to pay the bills, and then he goes back. He’ll give himself that much time, that should be enough time to mourn.

What he doesn’t expect, is that he hears back almost immediately. Like later that day immediately.

But Larry’s not one to turn down a chance at work, however brief this will be. So, he says yes.

He waits to tell Edgeworth though because he wants to see his face.

-

Oh, he sees Edgeworth’s face alright. Larry prides himself on everything Nick taught him in college and then stuff he picked up in his time working here that he doesn’t break character when Miles Edgeworth himself asks for his autograph. He really cannot wait to see his face now. He might have to film it. He tries to wink at him as he hands over the autograph, but he doesn’t think Edgeworth sees it. He doesn’t recognize the young girl with him either, she reminds him of Maya though, something about her eyes, bright chirping voice and dark hair.

Edgy and Nick were just adopting kids all over the place huh?

He remembers what he’s here to do though. This is a big moment, a big goodwill thing, no pressure Larry. No pressure. Just shaking a guy’s hand.

Thankfully that ends without incident, Larry feels like he’s riding some kind of high. He’s not only impressed Edgeworth, admittedly not that Edgeworth knew that, but he’s done a massively impressive thing without fucking it up! Though now that it’s over, he did just kind of shake a guy’s hand. Like, yeah, the gesture was important, but it was just an everyday thing really. He tells himself that in the hopes his heart rate will go back down to normal.

Well, honestly, getting out of his costume and getting some fresh air might help. He takes a secret staircase up and out during the Jammin’ Ninja thing to go sit on the roof and take his helmet off and just cool down.

He does let out a fist pump and a cheer though. Larry Butz, Turnabout Champion in his own right after all.

He takes the time to relax, rehydrate, and admire the chimney, it’s got some interesting architecture though he’s not sure why anyone would have a fire going now. It’s LA in March it’s not that cold, it shouldn’t be smoking. He gets so lost in studying the chimney that he kind of forgets he’s supposed to head down to his room and then to the speech.

Until the police arrive, to find him still admiring architecture.

And he’s accused of murder.

Again.

Larry decides at this point the universe is against him this year.

He lets himself be dragged back downstairs, holy shit there’s an actual dead body, he feels his breath stop in his throat, memories of Elise, er, Misty, and the memory of Cindy haunting him as he stares at the body.

He steps back as this very aggressive - did he actually just snarl at him – Interpol agent steps towards him, he wants to be back on the roof, away from her, away from the body and the accusations, just long enough to clear his head and think.

He backs away and right into something solid that grunts as Larry crashes into them. The pitch suggests male. The whip that makes his head spin, literally as his mask spins around him, suggests someone else.

“What do you think you're doing to my subordinate!?” Yeah, he knows that voice and whip. He quickly pulls his helmet off so that he can see her, “uh hi aga- Edgy?”

Edgeworth’s eyes about leap out of his skull, and Von Karma spares him a glance, long enough to ask, “who is this fruitcake!?” Okay now that felt harsh.

“I am Larry of the House of Butz: Married Man of Neo Olde Tokyo, m’ ma’am!” He would not say m’lady he had not sunk that low, he had not. His head was still kind of spinning though, and given he’d smashed his name together with the Steel Samurai’s introduction he might also have some kind of heat exhaustion.

“Now I remember. This... person is one of your childhood friends, isn't he, Miles?”

Edgeworth softens slightly as he seems to take in Larry’s frantic state, “yes… he is.”

Larry laughs a bit nervously, “Hey! It’s good to see ya, I’m in a bit of a bind.” He also hadn’t realized Edgeworth was back in town, had they missed each other? He’s been walking Pess, even with his now hectic schedule, the show coming up had caused the past week to be a bit of a blur.

Edgeworth’s eyes narrow and Larry fights the urge to shift around nervously, “what sort of "bind" are we talking about here...?”

Larry glances over his shoulder at the agent behind him, who also had narrowed eyes and a cruel, sharp, sneer, “the suspect kind! I accidentally became a suspect in a murder!”

“I see. That is quite the bind.” Edgeworth sounds calm though as he took in the room so maybe things will be okay. Maybe.

Von Karma arches an eyebrow and tugs on her whip, “...Not that we're in the least bit surprised.”

Edgeworth makes a noise in his throat while Larry feels himself deflate like a balloon. Namely like the one he launched into Gourd lake. Sounds like a good idea right now. Not just ‘cause he felt like shit, but he was also sweating in the costume.

“Franziska, he has been making quite the effort to improve himself,” Edgeworth speaks quietly but firmly, “I assure you; he’s only improved.”

Larry gives him a grateful look while Franziska eyes him critically, Larry hates how he feels himself coming up short as she sizes him up. But the she nods.

“Well then, fools of a feather flock together.”

Edgeworth nods and then seems to take in Larry’s outfit, “wait!”

Larry grins at him tiredly, “surprise? I hope you liked the autograph?” he really hopes Edgeworth did, he hopes that had made him happy in some way.

Edgeworth is gawking at him again, “you were the… On stage…”

“Yeah?”

“Not to interrupt,” the voice that cuts in is one clearly delighted to interrupt and Larry about jumps out of the suit when the hand comes down on his shoulder.

Edgeworth’s eyes harden to flint as he takes in the man next to Larry. “Aha. So, this is the incident you mentioned earlier.”

The Agent grins and Larry feels like the big bad wolf is hanging off his shoulder, “Mr. Prosecutor, this man... this childhood friend of yours... is our prime suspect. Of what, you ask? Of the murder of a man who had snuck into this embassy, Mask☆DeMasque II!”

“There was a second one?” Larry looks at him in surprise, he almost feels himself throw up, he doesn’t need a reminder of that god awful week, and this time without WolfDragon and Nick to help pull him out of it, he doesn’t need to remember the break up, the fight, the foolish, stupid-

“useless looking young man”

He bites back bile and has barely zoned back in when he hears Edgeworth ask someone, a different detective? Where had he come from?

“Why exactly was that man placed under arrest, Detective?”

The detective glances at him curiously, “that... samurai?”

Edgeworth grins slightly, “he was born looking suspicious, but not for the reasons you suspect, I assure you. As you can plainly see, he is completely harmless.” Larry gives him a dirty look, now is not the time for jokes but Edgeworth doesn’t seem to mean anything by it other than light ribbing.

The detective looks at him and hesitates, “well, it was just a random guess... It's not like he's actually under arrest...”

What? Larry spins to look at the agent, who had certainly made it sound like he was being arrested before he decides that is not a man he wants to fight. Samurai sword or no.

“Tonight, here, at the Allebahstian Embassy Ambassador Alba was to give a commemorative speech. And that's when... the Yatagarasu showed. But keep in mind... the Yatagarasu isn't who I'm talking about right now.”

Larry tries to catch Edgeworth’s eyes, the whomst? But Edgeworth’s focus is on the detective as he continues.

“Those seats for the guests who had been called to sit in them were empty.””

Edgeworth glances at Larry out of the corner of his eye, “a no-show...? Who was it that failed to take their seat?”

“Me,” Larry muttered miserably, “I was up on the roof.” And had completely forgotten.

The detective, Larry leans to see the name Badd – is that a joke?!? – pinned on his shirt. “The Steel Samurai. Until the speech was to begin, each member of the entire Steel Samurai family was to wait in a separate room, However, for some weird reason that man was spotted in a different location than his assigned room at that time.”

“On the roof,” Edgeworth finishes, and glances at Larry, “and what, were you doing up there?”

Larry tugs on his collar, “After the show, I left the pushcart in the Rose Garden, and came into the embassy. Then, they took a picture of me shaking hands with the ambassador. After that, and until my next appearance, I had some free time, so I wandered around, and I was overheating so I thought I’d go outside and cool off. Celebrate a little.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. “That's when I spotted the chimney. A chimney like that is a rare thing, you know.” He bites back his excitement, “and I was busy admiring the architecture and missed my cue and that’s when they found me on the roof.”

“You were just up there cooling off?” Edgeworth repeats, as though there’s doubt. Larry shrugs his shoulders.

“Did a little people watching too and that sort of thing but mostly yeah.” He pauses, “I was also wondering why smoke was pouring out of it, given it’s March. In LA. You know, not the time to cuddle up in front of a fire.”

He folds his arms and tilts his head to think, “which is really weird ‘cause I think that’s Mindy’s room and she was taken away on a stretcher so I don’t know why she’d want to overheat.”

Edgeworth and Von Karma startle at that and he realizes he’s probably handed them some evidence they’ll need to make sense of. He gives them a chance to prowl around the room and investigate, doing his best to stay out of the way while keeping Edgeworth between him and the wolf guy. He has a very intense stare as he watches Larry from across the room, he certainly knows his aesthetic and lives up to it.

"I must again ask why we are helping this foolish fool," Von Karma asks with a glance over at Larry, who grins sheepishly.

Edgeworth glances at his sister, "that man helped me when I was at my lowest point and believed that I could return. I would like to offer Larry the same chance."

"Thanks, Edgy- wait that man? Do you mean-"

"Can someone please get the Pink Princess so we can ask her some questions?" Edgeworth smoothly steamrolls over Larry's confusion. That man really.

The wolf man huffs, eyes narrowing as he watches them, Larry feels very much like a rabbit might under the gaze of a wolf. Edgeworth’s attention turns to him now and the investigator shifts to address him.

“You did some investigating over in the Babahlese Embassy, too, right?”

Edgeworth nods once, “I did. Is there a problem?” It’s like a tennis match, though Larry thinks Edgeworth prefers when his partner on the court (hah) is Nick.

“Lang Zi says: ‘A wolf who aims to hunt for two rabbits at once...’” he rumbles, almost a warning and Larry kinda wishes he could be that intimidating.

Edgeworth keeps his cool though, and Larry is very impressed. “I believe the idiom you require is, ‘He who runs after two hares will catch neither.’”

The agent scoffs openly at that, “A real wolf can catch both.”

Edgeworth smirks just slightly and Larry knows he’s got him. “I see. So, what are you trying to say, seeing as how I am currently handling two cases?”

The agent pauses before he snorts again, “suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you.” Larry isn’t sure he even did that in the entire conversation but he’s having the horrifying realization of why the agent’s way of talking sounds familiar. He talks like WolfDragon. But like WolfDragon if he was a rampant asshole.

Edgeworth turns to Larry now, “I have some questions for you.”

“I’ve got some for you as well,” Larry folds his arms over his chest, the costume clanging slightly as he does, “what’s with you and that man” he rolls his eyes at the term, “and adopting kids? Like you turn your back and he’s got another one and now you’ve got one hanging off you. Where is she by the way?”

“She couldn’t get- she is not my- I am not adopting anyone,” Edgeworth flusters and the agent lifts his eyebrow.

“Maybe you two could be childhood friends.” He mused out loud, Larry gives him a dirty look before he can think better of it.

The pink princess arriving keeps Larry’s foot out of his mouth for the moment. “Hey!” He greets her cheerfully; he likes Mindy and thinks she likes him. Thinks she liked him a lot more when he mentioned off handedly that he wasn’t dating right now because he was focusing on getting himself and his life back in order. “Feeling any better?”

There’s no response and Larry finds that a bit unsettling. “Umm.”

Edgeworth and Von Karma glance at her and then begin musing over the fireplace, Larry has no idea how the fireplaces could be connected; his only experience with architecture was drawing it. He could admire it, but he didn’t know the mechanics.

But it’s important to the two of them obviously. Larry’s not sure how he feels watching them interact. It’s like they almost get along but can’t help sabotaging their own relationship.

Edgeworth turns from his sister and the fireplace to Mindy, “Ms. Pink Princess. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you.”

Once more she doesn’t answer, and Larry and Edgeworth share a concerned look. The agent shifts his weight slightly, Larry realizes in that moment if something has happened to Mindy at least he’ll be on their side in this.

Edgeworth took a step forward, calmly, “Ms. Pink Princess! If you would please answer...” as he spoke, she began to remove her helmet and Edgeworth’s voice definitely shot up an octave on “me!”

Edgeworth makes a noise like a computer finding an error and Larry was given vivid flashes of that one cursed job, his past has all come back to haunt him today hasn’t it?

“Wh-what the--!? A-Aren't you Ms. Oldbag!?” Larry stammers out, barely managing to not curse, mostly out of fear Von Karma will strike him.

Edgeworth whirls on him, “why are you so surprised!?”

Oldbag looks surprised to see him, “Ah, so you're the one they got to play the Steel Samurai. It's too bad I didn't realize that until now.”

“You are acquaintances with Larry...?” Bit stronger of a relationship than Larry would say they have but he’ll gladly let Edgeworth talk to her.

Oldbag laughs and waves her hand like she’s trying to reassure a jealous lover, “why, yes! We worked at the same company for a little while, you know. That's why it's OK, my Edgey-poo! You don't need to be jealous!”

Edgeworth makes a strangled noise and Larry does not blame him in the slightest.

Oldbag continues, “I was in the next room, you know, trying to get in some beauty sleep. But it was so noisy here that I couldn't fall asleep. So, I came over to complain! So, imagine my shock when I saw my precious Edgey-poo waiting here for me! I mean, who could've imagined that you would ever come to a show like this! I guess I've misjudged you, Edgey-poo!”

Von Karma and Larry both shift closer to Edgeworth as though he might need them for support. Von Karma pulls on her coiled whip and asked slowly, “you ‘misjudged’ him...?”

“I thought he was trying to avoid me, you know!” She laughs but Larry can see by Edgeworth’s face that was exactly what he was doing. “But it looks like the winds have shifted and he's now willing to be chased after! I'm simply overwhelmed! Don't you worry, Edgey-poo! I'd chase you for forever! To the ends of the Earth!”

Von Karma looks ready to jump in front of her brother and buy him time to run but instead says, “Isn't that just peachy?”

Oldbag explains that she used to work for the studio, and they’d called her last minute as understudy for Mindy. That certainly did explain why “Mindy” had missed so many cues and fumbled in so many places. Larry had done his best to cover for his co-star when he’d needed to. Which he’d had.

“How did you get the role,” Edgeworth asks Larry absently as they watch her hand the paper proving it to Von Karma.

“Guy they wanted for the role got a bigger acting offer. Some movie that’s gonna have John Marsh in it or something.” Edgeworth nods and Larry adds, "I also thought I was applying for the crew."

"That... does make more sense."

"Yeah, I'm good with my hands and arts and building stuff, so I figured stage and tech couldn't be that hard, helped once with one of Nick's things in college but I guess I clicked the wrong link or something 'cause I got called in for an audition."

Edgeworth’s soft laugh is fond, “that does seem your kind of luck.”

Larry grins at him and shrugs, a feeling of warmth uncurling in his chest. If he wasn’t accused of murder this would be downright heartwarming.

The sound of a dog barking makes them start, Larry turns his head, since when did police departments use Shibas?

The Agent immediately begins to praise him, Larry settles next to Edgeworth to watch the unfold. After a moment he leans over and asks, “what his name anyway? The guy who like tried to arrest me.”

“Agent Lang, he’s with Interpol.” Edgeworth replies and Larry tries to suppress a shudder at just how much trouble he’s gotten himself into.

Larry watches Edgeworth debate and reason exactly how Larry isn’t the killer and connect various pieces of evidence with a speed that Larry has to admire. “You’re a real Sherlock Holmes Edgy,” he comments with a grin as he watches Edgeworth display his wit.

Agent Lang huffs and curls his lip in a smirk and Larry’s eyes widen, was this guy an actual werewolf why were his teeth like that?!?

He jerks back as Agent Lang speaks, “well done Mr. Prosecutor.” He glances between the two of them, “although, I still find it a bit unbelievable that the two of you are friends.”

Edgeworth and Larry are silent, they’ve proved how well they know each other, if that’s not enough for him Larry doesn’t know what will be. Especially if he’s gonna be like this about it.

Lang’s eyes glint with a bit of excitement, “but the suspicion on that guy over there-” head jerk at Larry, “isn't completely resolved yet, so don't get any funny ideas about running off, OK?” This time he smirks at Larry and he steps back.

“Uh Edgy, what does Wolfman mean when he says I’m not off the hook?” He thinks Lang twitches at the Wolfman name. He knows he does, it slipped out by accident, but Agent Lang is like WolfDragon’s evil twin or something.

Edgeworth sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, “he means the murder weapon. Larry, did you forget? There are two layers of suspicion hanging over your head.”

Lang smirks like the wolf who has caught the first scent of blood, “That's exactly what I mean. We can't only rely on the words of the suspect, after all. We may have figured out where he was and what he was doing all night… but the blood-stained Samurai Sword that was left at the crime scene- As long as there is no satisfactory explanation for that then this wolf will refuse to ease up on his bite!”

Larry thinks he snapped his teeth at the end of his sentence, “Jesus, Edgy, He looks like he's seriously about to take a bite out of me!”

Edgeworth glares at Lang, “he probably will.” He draws himself up and steps up to debate, Larry’s beginning to realize that with his luck it’s a damn good thing his two childhood friends became lawyers.

He chimes in when he can, confirming that the spear and the sword are made of the same stuff and bend easily, he’s pretty sure not even Lang could kill a man with one. It would be rather like killing a man with a carboard tube.

And then Franziska and Edgeworth finally get to what has been lingering underneath the surface of their exchanges.

Her father.

Larry hates that man more than he could ever put into words. He remembers Greggory Edgeworth faintly, more a kind feeling, a warmth and an aching loss. He knows exactly what he did to Edgeworth though and for that he will never forgive him. He bites his words back though; this is between the siblings.

And you know it’s serious when your sibling calls you by your last name, “Ms. von Karma, as you know, unlike your father, I am not a genius prosecutor. Plus, I doubt his record of a 40-year win streak will ever be broken.” Edgeworth raises his head proudly, “but perhaps, it is for the best if it remains unbroken. For no one should've conceived of the notion to ‘convict all defendants’ in the first place!”

“Atta a boy Edgy,” Larry’s muttered praise fills the silence as Franziska stares at her brother. Her whip strikes over his armor and he yelps.

“What a foolishly foolish statement from a foolish fool who hates to lose!” Franziska steps towards her brother which is hardly intimidating in Larry’s opinion when Edgeworth is that much taller, “it's the job of a prosecutor to make sure that all defendants are found guilty in court. There is nothing more important in this world than a perfect victory!”

Edgeworth shakes his head sadly at her, “That may be your opinion, however, I don't believe that's all we are.”

Lang makes a startled noise, Larry smirks at him now, like he told WolfDragon, Edgy is the best of the prosecution, not for his record but for his beliefs.

“As a prosecutor, what I pursue is not the perfect victory, but the perfect truth. And if that means that the bridge, I must cross will crumble beneath my feet... ...then let it crumble as I walk on towards the truth!” Larry itches to write that down, or clap, or something. He just grins at Edgeworth with pride, and he catches a hint of gratitude from Edgeworth. Edgeworth has come a long way from his ���Demon Prosecutor’ days and Larry’s so happy to see him get here.

Lang is quite a moment longer, perhaps aware of the moment they are sharing before he grins and cuts in, “you're good at keeping me entertained, Mr. Prosecutor!” He looks actually pleased, not the cocky arrogance Larry’s begun to associate with him, but it shifts back into the challenging smirk and he and Edgeworth start going again.

The verbal sparring is much louder when Larry is standing right next to everyone yelling “Hold it!” and “Objection!” and “Not so fast!” His head spins but Edgeworth proves that the murder weapon wasn’t even the sword. Or would’ve if they’d be allowed to examine it.

Larry feels a pang of guilt as Edgeworth agrees to take the responsibility for any repercussions from examining the statue, this is his fault. If he’d been more careful, if he’d been where he was supposed to be Edgeworth wouldn’t be risking everything for him.

Except that this evidence they find is literally game changing. He’s off the hook and everyone looks too busy to explain what is happening, so he heads off back to his room.

Once there he realizes that his ‘son’ is missing. Great. The last thing he needs is to get in trouble for having lost a prop. Nothing for it. He’ll just have to check everywhere that isn’t a crime scene. Actually, that might be a good idea. Keep him out of the way and out of trouble. But first he needs to get out of this costume before he sweats to death.

[lsmithart]

**Artist Research: The Art of Rachel Whiteread book

Page 8 - Repeatedly the work asks of us, ‘how do we live in this world, in this particular space?’ As Shelley Hornstein points out, the considered placement of site specificity and the corresponding sense of dislocation that is manifest in all Whiteread’s pieces, creates in us a sense of unfamiliarity. The works ‘exist to make us feel a sensation of life’.

Page 9 - Relates to the Readymade - an object out of place, displaced between the negative and the positive, between the domestic space and the institution. These voids of beds and baths were the not very special traces of not very special objects made special.

Page 17- Whiteread’s earlier project Gjost had literalists a room to emphasise the closely packed connections of history it might contain. In her solidification and inversion of spatial relations we can see Whiteread as bent on liberating that time and revealing its contents.

Page 33 - In Whiteread’s work ‘things’ collide: past/future, presence/absence, public/private, space/solid, temporary/permanent, aesthetics/historical relevance.

Chapter 1 - Remembrance of things Present by Jennifer Gross - page 35

The art historical lens through which I most readily see Whiteread’s silent works does not belong to the discipline of sculpture; rather it arises from a tradition in painting - the memento mori ‘remember you must die’. Symbols of mementor more include candles, skulls and trophy animals.

Her sculptural impressions are distillations of life.

Page 37 - Link between vanities painting and Whiteread’s sculptures - ‘the intimation of unseen life’ - the sought-after effect is that of a still life which moves us by showing fresh traces of man’s presence. The lid of the salt-box is still open, a crust of bread is sticking out of the eggshell. For Whiteread, she purposely selects methods of casting that directly capture markings and traces within them, or you purposely blocks out the surfaces. Through casting immaterial spaces, she imprints them through the process of solidification.

Page 41 - Oxygen as life-giving presence - wanting to preserve the fullness of breath.

‘All my room pieces really have to do with observing.’ Thinking about how the works affect us physically.

‘How do we live here, right here?’

Page 43 - ‘The logic o sculpture is a commemorative representation. It sits in a particular place and speaks in a symbolical tongue about the meaning or use of that place.

Page 46 - Whiteread’s sculptures encapsulate both monumental intimacy and alienating familiarity as with her casts of household objects.

Page 49 - Monument - a replica of a plinth in Trafalgar Square. ‘The viewer looked through and around it as its haunting presence created a focal point, without proving any fixed meaning or interpretation of the historically and socially charged location. The work commemorated art and life without recourse to traditional representation and, when its terms of service on Trafalgar Square drew to a close, it was hauled off this originating site, given a new base, and awaits installation in a location that is yet to be determined. Here, it continues to reflect place, acting as one enabling lens onto a new site and an ever unfolding present.’ - Remnant of site acting as a paradoxical representation of the original site.

Chapter 2 - Matters Immaterial by Shelley Hornstein - Page 51

Not only is Whiteread after defamiliarising the familiar, she heightens the materiality of the thing, making it seem to be more than what it is in its physical form.

Page 53 - Key to Whiteread’s practice - process of casting and the subsequent location, placement and intervention in space of the cast object.

Page 56 - We wear the architecture of our everyday lives like a skin with the expectation that it will always be there to protect us and continue to provide the shell within which we become defined.

Freud’s argument is that the unhemleich or the ‘uncanny’ is that which is concealed, but also that which is known and familiar.

She has been hailed as someone who casts, whose work is about casting and whose work is about loss (of the object, thus absent or reversed).

Page 58 - By taking the imprint of found objects, and specifically large-scale and architectural, architectural-related or architectonic objects (plinths, water towers, bookshelves, furniture, houses), she is commenting on the deeply rooted relationship we hold to objects integral to our everyday lives. By framing the objects with a mould, she is framing objects for us to consider, much as frames identify and highlight works in a museum. Whiteread frames and exposes what she wants us to pay attention to and separate from the everyday so that we take notice,

Page 60 - Through the process of taking an impression, what is the imprint left in the material that serves as a fossilisation under pressure? Does casting try to shape the object that will then disappear? In the process, something is always being lost: inside or outside. Her frames of space that are shaped on the inside by the absence of the object once the mould and the interiorised object is removed, constitute the nature of her practice.

Chapter 3 - Sensitive Skin by Susan Lawson - Page 69

Whiteread’s work, simply put, destabilises the classic dichotomy of presence and absence in which presence is the privileged term and, bringing both to mind at once, holds them in the balance.

Page 72 - Since the only relation between a cast and a mould is indexical - the cast must touch the mould intimately to exist.

Page 74 - The solidified void that is Ghost might well be read as a metaphor for memories trapped within the unconscious. We might also say that works such as Ghost render visible the absence that counts. Crucially, however, it is the point at which this ‘solid void or ‘present absence’ meets the void in which it sits, the air of the gallery, that is not only inscribed but itself circumscribes the work: inscribed with the traces of the walls from which Ghost has been cast, and, as limit and visible edge, circumscribing both the artwork and our visual access to it. It is all, in fact, that the viewer can see: in that sense, the surface might be seen to constitute the artwork itself.

Page 76 - Dichotomy - presence/absence, male/female, mind/body - divided from each other in the making of reason, and not only that each remains embedded in the other as a trace of the other, but that the split itself, constituted itself internally.

Page 77 - It is not simply the case that interior and exterior are reversed in Whiteread’s work, nor that in reversing them they are both called to mind at once. Yet neither is it only the case that the interior implies the exterior through its indexical relationship to it. Rather the cast shirts from being simply an index for the absent object to being both an index and a signifier. For example, it is both the house and the work called ‘House’ that together constitute the house as sign per se.

Page 78 - Duchamp’s concept of infra mince - ‘ultra-thin’. Examples: ‘when the tobacco smoke smells also of the mouth which exhales it, the 2 odours marry by infra mince.’ ‘What infra mince aims to isolate is a kind of displacement that bears a trace without necessarily being “indexical”… a kind of interface or state of being “in between”’. ‘Infra mince then points to a condition of liminality, something on the threshold (between inside and outside, for example)… a gap or shift that is virtually imperceptible but absolute’.

Casts are indexical to the mould; moulds are indexical to the object.

Example of Whiteread’s work that is ‘infra mince’ - Wall - sculpture which presents the mould and the cast with a space between the two.

Page 83 - If Wall highlights the potential for iterability, it does it all the more to pinpoint the loss of continuity that occurs in the face of destruction, and the creation of the sign. This destruction, for Whiteread, is variously the destruction of ethics, of vernacular traditions, of ways of life and of life itself, and is crucial to the sense of loss that pervades her work, and which, in Wall, is present by its absence. The relationship in Wall between cast and mould is not, then, strictly infra mince in the specific sense of Duchamp’s example. Yet neither is there a straightforward relationship between the original object and the cast (or copy) of it. In Wall, Whiteread places the human body inside the split, into the moment of difference and at the heart of language formation.

Chapter 4 - Moving On by Melanie Marino

Page 85 - “A maze is a house built purposely to confuse men; its architecture, prodigal in symmetries, is made to serve that purpose. In that palace that I imperfectly explored, the architecture had no purpose. There were corridors that led nowhere, unreachably high windows, grandly dramatic doors that opened onto moonlike cells or empty shafts, incredibly upside-down staircases with upside-down treads or balustrades.” - Jorge Luis Borges - makes me think of the building in my primary school which had doors that led to nowhere… possible prompt for a new work?

‘I had an idea of mummifying the sense of silence in the room’. She creates that paradoxical ‘image that produces death while trying to preserve life’.

Whitehead’s shift in emphasis from domestic objects to architectural structures was motivated by the ambition to de-literalise the former’s connection to the body. The artist once observed, ‘I use furniture as a metaphor for human beings’. Where the beds slump like bodies against walls, mutating into the shape of tongues, lips and folds, the casts of architectural structures and their parts, such as corners, floors and stairs, do not represent surrogate bodies as much as they do abstract forms. Yet, the bodily analogy persists. ‘I think of houses in terms of skeletons, the plumbing and electricity as nerves and blood vessels.’

References:

Townsend, C., (2004). The Art of Rachel Whiteread. [Online]. Available at https://olin.tind.io/record/125945/.

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[17] Glitch in the System - Warmth

By E. The morning after happens.

–

Sombra woke up the next morning in a slow, languorous dawning of consciousness. With it came her memories of the previous night, along with all the feelings and fears one might expect to accompany them.

As a blinding spike of adrenaline shot through her chest, she looked over to see the spider sleeping soundly beside her, fingers delicately curled beneath her chin as she slumbered. Her breathing was slow by normal standards, but in keeping with the pace of her heart, and Sombra watched her for what felt like a very long time in an attempt to convince herself that she was not, in fact, dreaming and had not, somehow, ruined it all.

The characteristic restlessness that colored her days took hold of her eventually, and she wiggled around a bit, trying to scooch closer without waking Widowmaker up. She’d gotten near enough that their foreheads were almost touching when the sniper opened her eyes with a soft flutter of lashes.

Sombra reached out a finger and touched the tip of her nose. “Boop.”

Widowmaker’s slow smile - a genuine smile, Sombra noted - lit up her sleep-heavy expression like a fire in the darkness. “Tu es mignonne,” she said, grabbing Sombra’s outstretched hand in her own. “Are you okay?”

“Better than, mi cielita.”

Widowmaker propped her head up on her hand, brushing some stray hairs from Sombra’s face. “I am glad to be home.”

The inflection in her voice filled Sombra with an unfamiliar heat that she masked by leaning forward and placing a single, soft kiss on Widowmaker’s chilled lips. The spider wound an arm around her waist, keeping her from shifting away, and Sombra felt a comfortable, growing familiarity in the way Widow’s cool skin pressed against the length of her body.

��Two weeks, no mission,” Sombra smirked, snaking an ankle around Widow’s calf to bring her closer. “What are you going to do?”

“I could always call Gabriel and ask for an objective,” she replied, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“He is going to give us such shit,” Sombra groaned, thinking about all the side-eyes and sighs that awaited them back at the Talon mansion.

“Gabriel can think what he pleases,” Widowmaker murmured into the curve of her throat. She felt the gentle pressure of teeth on the skin of her collarbone as the spider pressed against her side, and promptly stopped thinking about Gabriel, missions, and Talon in its entirety.

An hour later, they made their way out of bed, and descended into the chateau proper to review the details of the endeavor they’d signed up for. Sombra held her hand down the impressive staircase from the upstairs rooms to the primary kitchen and dining room, hungry, but not quite willing to let her go just yet.

“Would you like me to make you breakfast?” Widowmaker asked as they stood before the kitchen, its newness a strange sort of contrast to the rest of the estate. Someone had gone through considerable effort to make the oven and refrigerator blend in with the 17th century architecture, but there was just something about modern appliances that would never quite exist unnoticed in a place that predated electrical grids

“Sure,” Sombra said, running a hand over Toulouse’s back as he hopped on the table to greet them. Widow was perusing the cabinets, and Sombra lifted him into her arms before the spider noticed and complained about pawprints on the marble countertop

“What would you like?” she asked, turning back to the hacker, her expression indicating she already knew the answer.

“Cereal,” Sombra replied as Toulouse purred. “And a mimosa.”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes. “You have the palate of a five year old child. I’m making us omelets.”

“And a mimosa?”

Her incredulity shifted ever so slightly into a smile. “And a mimosa.”

Widowmaker, of course, made them hearty 3-egg omelets with swiss cheese and spinach, setting a small bowl of Sombra’s cereal on the table beside the plate without any additional comment.

“You spoil me,” the hacker said.

“I know how petulant you can be when you don’t get what you want.”

Sombra grinned and they sat down to their meal.

After breakfast they started on the outdoor terrace, raking away the soggy remnants of fall, sweeping old fallen twigs and leaves from the trellis over the side. It was rather lovely once you looked past the rust spots on the iron and the dead vines. The work wasn’t hard, but it took some time, and by the time the afternoon rolled around they were ready for a slight change of tasks.

“This place needs some serious work,” Sombra commented as she took in the piles of paint cans, drop cloths, and ladders littering the interior.

“It is several centuries old and has been uninhabited for quite some time,” Widowmaker replied. “It is going to be an endeavor.”

“That’s a word for it,” Sombra sighed, stretching her sore muscles from the morning, tapping at one of the boxes of stuff that was stacked in a corner by the bay window overlooking the lake. “So, where do we start?”

Widowmaker did not answer right away, taking in the sheer unfinished chaos of the chateau. “Here,” she said, picking up the top box from the pile and placing it on the counter. “We should take care of these first. They are taking up space.”

“What’s in ‘em?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, squinting and pulling the cardboard flaps back. Sombra walked over to join her, hopping up on the table as she pulled out album after album of old, mostly black and white photographs.

“Oof, memory lane,” she said, picking one up and flipping through the pages. “These have to be a century old. Do you even know who these people are?”

“They are familiar to me,” Widowmaker said, her voice soft as her eyes flicked over each picture one by one. “Relevant to the Guillard line, although I cannot recall their names. Or their familial importance.”

“Well unless you’re secretly also a vampire, you probably never knew them, anyway.” As she tugged out another album, a single loose photograph slipped free and floated to the floor.

Widowmaker bent to pick it up, flipping it over. “Oh,” was all she said, voice deadpan and detached.

“What?” Sombra asked, immediately recognizing the shift in the spider’s intonation.

“It is nothing,” she said, setting the picture on the table and continuing through the box.

Sombra picked it up. “Oh,” she echoed, frowning and uncertain what to say. She’d never met Gerard, but unless Amélie had been married to some other Overwatch agent in her life, then she’d stumbled across their wedding photo. “Lo siento, cielita.”

“It means nothing to me,” she replied, head down as she sorted through the remaining photographs, the detached vehemence with which she moved indicating to Sombra that it did, in fact, mean something. What, she had no idea, and it didn’t look as though Widow had any intention of elaborating. Sombra tucked the picture covertly into her pocket and said nothing more on the matter.

They did not sort for long, Widowmaker’s silent perusal of the photographs becoming more and more erratic as she reached the bottom of the box.

“I am finished,” she said, packing them back into the musty cardboard.

“What do you want to do with them?” Sombra asked, frowning, the image of Amélie and Gerard feeling conspicuous against the fabric of her pyjamas.

“Burn them,” was Widow’s casual response.

“Burn them?” Sombra replied, uncertain. “But they’re part of your past.”

“They are not my family anymore,” she replied, stepping away from the table. “Burn them. I will be back soon.” Turning from Sombra and the stack of albums, she left the room.

She didn’t return, not after an hour had passed, not after the sun had begun to dip low in the sky. Sombra did as she had asked, tossing them page by page into the fireplace, wrinkling her nose against the acrid smell of burning paper.

As night descended on the chateau, Sombra gave up on the spider returning of her own volition and decided it was time to go look for her.

“Widow?” she called out as she crossed back out to the terrace, the sky dark now, but the sniper was nowhere to be seen. She checked the kitchen, made her way down to the wine cellar, and back out the the main entrance. The chateau was huge; if Widowmaker did not want to be found, even Sombra would have a difficult time locating her.

It took her the better part of an hour, but eventually she found Widowmaker where she’d retreated to the balcony outside their bedroom, standing stoically out beneath the stars.

“Hey,” Sombra said softly, walking to stand beside her. She didn’t acknowledge her immediately, so she settled in silently beside her, joining her in her quiet survey of the the vast holdings of the Guillard Estate stretching out beyond. The moon was high and the stars were out in force, illuminating the pair in their silent moment of reprieve.

“Sombra,” Widowmaker asked after what felt like an eternity of silence, eyes focused on some nondescript feature in the distance, “what does love feel like?”

Sombra raised one notched eyebrow and snorted out a laugh. “You’re asking me, araña?”

“I’m asking you.”

Sombra shrugged, the skin of her arm brushing against the chilled blue of the sniper’s, bared in a plain black shirt not nearly covering enough for the temperature. “I’m not really an expert on love. I find more solace in circuits than people. You know,” she shrugged, leaning against the railing. “Historically speaking.”

“I remember feeling it. I just don’t remember how it felt.”

Sombra thought for a moment, back into her own past, and found it decidedly lacking in both wisdom and unbiased affection. She hadn’t spent much time on people; on really getting to know people aside from learning how to manipulate and use them. It hadn’t seemed like a problem to her before, but now she wondered if, perhaps, she might benefit from a companionship without any manipulative strings attached.

Something, she thought, like was undeniably blossoming here in the chateau.

Strangely enough, as her mind wandered in pursuit of something, anything she could offer in response, the one thing she kept returning to was Toulouse. Toulouse, the small, fragile creature she loved more than anything else in this world; the vibrant ball of joy who wanted nothing more than affection and safety. Perhaps it was because there was no manipulation to be had. Even if she’d wanted to, how did one manipulate a cat? Through tuna and catnip?

At any rate, she thought, it gave her an answer she could believe in.

“I think it’s warmth, araña,” she replied, smiling as she glanced at the stoic woman beside her. She was still staring into the distance, features strained as she struggled to remember the feeling she’d once possessed in excess and now only recalled as a vague shadow.

“Well, then, there’s no hope for me, is there?” she replied, her words an attempt at a joke, but coming across much more despondent than she’d likely intended.

Swallowing, Sombra reached a hand out and took Widowmaker’s, twining her fingers gently between the sniper’s. “Not that. It’s not a warmth you generate, it’s a warmth you get from somewhere else. Like the glow off a fireplace, or the security of being held.” She squeezed her hand, smiling. “I know you can feel warmth, even if you can’t quite offer it in return.”

Widowmaker was silent for a long time, unmoving from her steadfast regard of the horizon. Sombra struggled against her natural inclination to move and do, stifling it for the sake of the moment.

“You are very warm,” Widowmaker said after a long time, so softly that her words were nearly carried away by the subtle breeze that whispered past them.

Gently, and as gingerly as she could manage, Sombra rested her head against the spider’s shoulder. A host of words paraded across her mind, but in the end she chose none of them, deciding instead to simply exist as the fire Widowmaker needed at that moment.

They stayed there, hand in hand, until the sun came up.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic

[ryssa-ravensdawn]

The Beginning ...

              Ryssa stared at her ancestral home, letting her gaze move over the lands that that manor sat upon.  It was nothing to be proud of.  Although impressive in size and architecture, the building seemed to loom in a sinister way.  The shadows that surrounded covered it in a veil that made one wonder if it was real and not a trick of the mind.  It seemed almost alive, a monstrous thing that breathed and watched with its many glass eyes.  

              But it called to her.  A call she had ignored for the longest time until that strange meeting with Telidrae Darkbane.  How strange had it been that the raven-haired ranger had been stalking her, even going as far as setting a trap for her.  To what purpose?

              It had taken Ryssa the better part of a day to get out of the trap with the sedatives that had been in her system.  They had made her lethargic but she had been aware enough to hear her once sister-in-law’s warning.  

Whatever you do, don’t go back to the Ravensdawn Manor.

              For the longest time, she had thought she had imagined the image of Teli. She thought it had been an odd nightmare induced by the drugs.  The wisps of shadows that had clung to the ranger had not made sense to Ryssa.  Had Kael finally led her down that path? Though that did not make sense.  Last she knew the two had become rather estranged.  Ryssa had believed that some other had drugged, tied her up, and left her to fend for herself.  

              She could hardly believe it had been the elf she had enjoyed Sunday tea with, Kael’s blushing bride, the woman that had named her only daughter after her, her once lover. The encounter had left Ryssa with far more questions than answers. It had made her search for Telidrae only to find that the home that Kael had left to her had been burned down and the once mage turned ranger had been arrested for conspiracy to commit treason, assault on peace officers, and murder.

              The trail had gone cold after that.  Ryssa had no other choice or clue.  It was back to the place of her nightmares, to the home she had ran from.

              The feeling of dread coiled within Ryssa’s belly. Every instinct told her to run. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, shifting uncomfortably atop of her large wolf. Ulfric shifted anxiously as well, lowering his head to the ground to sniff and snort in distaste.  Idly, her hand reached out to soothe the beast, keeping a hold of the saddle horn.

              “You feel it too, don’t you?” She asked of her wolf only to have one of Ulfric’s ears twitch in her direction.  He produced a whine before plopping down on the ground. He would not budge despite Ryssa’s insistence.  The moment she had led him to the ancient gate, the wolf had decided that it was not safe to go anywhere else but away from this place.  “Do not give me that attitude.  I have gotten enough of that from Kael.”  

              Sighing, the redhead dismounted the direwolf and turned to pull at the straps and buckles that kept the saddle secure to the beast’s torso.  “I cannot explain it.  It calls to me.  It has been calling to me for a long time.  I have tried to convince Kael to come with me but he will have nothing of it. He has dropped his family name and goes by an alias.  Complete anonymity.  You would think he was ashamed to be a Ravensdawn.  It is like he does not even care. And Teli?  I must know that Teli is alright and not losing herself to something she does not understand.”  The wolf merely turned his large head towards her, trying to lick at her face.

              “If that is what he wishes to do then I cannot convince him otherwise.  He wants to live another’s life and be oblivious, so be it.  I will rebuild this home and make it my own.  It is time to face the past and move on.  Besides, if Teli is in there and she has encountered something sinister…”  She canted her head, looking down at icy blue eyes set within black fur and could not finish the sentence.  “The sooner I go the sooner I will be back out.  There is nothing but shadows, cobwebs, and dust in there.  Now, you can stay out here and be a pup or you can come with me.”

              As the redhead started to move towards the dilapidated gate, Ulfric got up stood between Ryssa and the iron wrought entryway. It was the first time that he growled at Ryssa, ears flattening against his skull, all teeth bared at his Mistress. A fine ridge of fur stood on end from the base of his neck down to his tail.

              “I have had enough of that from my brother, Ulfy.” She muttered, reaching towards the wolf’s muzzle.  Both hands came to his large head, grabbing him by the fur on his cheeks and pressed both of their foreheads together.  “I am terrified but I cannot keep running away from my fears. This is where I grew up. This is my origin.  This is my home.”  She placed a small kiss on the ebony fur, taking in the scent of her most trusted companion.  “I am the last remaining scion of the Ravensdawn line.  I will not let my name and family vanish.  I will rebuild from the ruins.  I will find the rest and bid them to come out of hiding.  The dark stain on our name has been cleansed and paid in blood.”

              The saddle was carried just inside the gate where Ulfric whined and yipped at her as she made her way to the sprawling edifice. The grounds were stained with dark spots though it was not rain.  The ichor that stained the dead or dying grass looked sticky and fresh.  Ravens cawed overhead, ancestors of the avians that had once been bred on purpose to carry messages across Quel’thalas.  The once thriving rose bushes were brittle and grey, the few buds that tried to live struggled to cling on to life. Ryssa even fancied she could smell the scent of decay on the air.

              The twin doors were ajar, allowing her to enter the darkness of her abandoned home.  With twin scythes drawn, she stepped carefully onto dusty carpets.  The scurrying of rats and ravens within the home made her already on edge nerves fray just a little but she pushed forward. It was clear someone had come and gone, disturbing the edges of the dust here and there but nothing that she could truly make out.

              She had reached the bottom of the grand staircase, letting phantom memories play tricks on her as she remembered playing on the banisters and chasing Kael up the stairs.  She remembered nervously walking down the steps in her first high heels and tumbling down the length of them only to look up at her brother on the verge of tears.  A lifetime ago.

              “I told you to stay away.”  The voice seemed to drift from all around, making her pivot on her foot to try to pinpoint from where it had come from.  She knew that voice.  

              “My little flame …”  Ryssa’s voice faltered just a little.  

              “I told you to stay away.”  The voice was harsher the second time around, anger beginning to rise.

              “Telidrae…”  The redhead’s feet found purchase on the first step, slowly beginning the ascent into the second floor.  “Come out. You can live here too.  I know what happened to your home and I do not come to kick you out.  If you wish to live here with me, I will extend that offer to you.  You are my dear friend.  Well more than that, actually.”

              Nothing but silence greeted Ryssa as she reached the second floor landing.  Her ears strained to catch any sound that would tell her where Telidrae might be hiding. The first step took her in the direction of the hall that led to the bedrooms.  It was the stench of something rotting that made her hesitate.

              “Teli?”  Ryssa’s voice hissed through the darkness once more.  A sudden thump and sharp inhale made her turn towards the base of the stairs once more, looking down to see a cloaked figure on their knees. Teli’s face slowly turned upwards to catch sight of Ryssa only to mouth the word run.  

              Spindly fingers seemed to manifest out of the shadows themselves to rest upon Telidrae’s shoulders.  Another cloaked figure appeared beside the kneeling Telidrae. Fingers curled onto the elf’s shoulder, penetrating the flesh.  Teli’s scream resounded through the Manor just as Ryssa flew down the stairs towards the second cloaked figure.

              Ryssa’s scythes expertly cut through the air and took off the arm that had wounded Telidrae.  Though as it was severed, the arm only seemed to dig dagger-like fingers into Teli’s shoulder even more.  The ranger seemed to only hunch in submission, hands coming to her ears as if there was pain being inflected upon her head. The rest of the cloaked figure turned towards the redhead and the face beneath the hood made Ryssa recoil in horror.

              It was a walking corpse.  But not the kind the Dark Lady could make.  Nor those that some necromancers could raise.  This one was rotting as they stood there.  The sound of something wet and heavy slapped to the ground.  The stench itself was gut-wrenching, permeating the whole room in a smell that would cling to clothes for days.  Each step towards Ryssa was poised and elegant despite the bits of flesh that seemed to be melting off it.

              The voice that came from the creature made Ryssa’s eyes widen, forcing her to step back.  The sound of her own heart was suddenly thunderous within her mind.  Her grip on her scythes faltered, a soft murmur welled up in her throat.  

“ ̵I̧ǹ t҉he d͡ark̵nes̨s òf t͝h͢is͞ pl̡ac͘e͡ I̛ ͘ha̸ve w͟a͢íted̵ ̧Sle͘ȩpi͘n̕g a͟nd ̸s̡afe wi͞thin ̧t̴h̨e͝ G̕ręat ̡M͠ot̛hèr̡'s͢ ͞w̵ơmb. I̕ l͟istene͠d͠ ͏an̢d͘ ͏waíte͘d for̶ t̸he ̢o͜ne͝s t͞h̴at de̶s̴e͞c͠ra̕ţe͝d,͠ ̷T̡h̢é g̷r̵éat͞ mo͟ther's ͜núrtu̢rin͝g̀ ̸o͜'͡ ͟h̴eŗ sṕe͝c͢i͞al͟ bl͟oo͜m͠. O ̀t́e͟ǹd͜e̸r ́qu͟een,͡ y̷ou h͡a҉t̴h̀ re͠tu͢rņed ̶T͠o y̡o͝u͢r ̕or̶ig̵i̵n͡s̴ ͘as̴ you͏ w̢e͡r̵e̢ ́fo͜retol͢d.͝ Come ̢now͏ an̵d see͜ wh͘a̵t ̡you ͜ha̷ve̸ ͏e͟ar͜n̷ed́,̡ ̸ ̶Y͡ou͞r p̢la̸c̕e͝ ͡is͢ ͏in̸te̵g̀ral̛ ̀in͟ t̕h̨is̕ m͝old.҉ “

              The fingers on the creature’s remaining hand reached out for Ryssa, gleaming white bone peering beneath the rotting flesh.  “Teli?”  She whispered, fear edging into her voice as the creature forced her to take a few steps back.  For all that Ryssa wished Teli to look up, the ranger simple remained curled over herself, clawing at her ears.  Soft wisps of purple enveloped her, coiling around her as magical bindings.

              “ A̸wa͝kén Xom̀e͢ra̴.̛ T̛ḩe͘ d̸òorw̶a͠y awai̛ts.͏”

              Ryssa’s knees buckled and she was forced to catch herself.  The clash of steel blades against stone floor resounded through the hall but that was not what made her want to run away.  The soft voice that coiled in her mind made a chill run down her spine.  

              A̯̰̜̜t̩ ̫͚̠̠̳̪̦l͚͙o̙͈͈͕̗̰̖n̪̬͔g̥͉̗͇͎ ̦̱͖͍̮̦͕l̯̤ạ̖̥̼s̤̲̳͔̞t͖̦͙̯,͍̰͔̻͓ ̩m͖̮̜͇y̤̰ ͙̭̭s͔̘͇̟l͍̜u̬͖̮̲m̭̝͓̼͈be̳̗̣͍r̲͙̙̥ ̦̦͖̫h̯̪̙̜͙̝a̲̬̗̱s̖ ̪̞̻̼̹e͚̰͔̣̘̗̮n̹̭͔̝̭͚ͅd̪̭̬͚e̤͇̝̘͉d͎̮̲̩͉.̜̬

[ @telidraedarkbane ]

[alexllove-blog]

It’s not an obvious place to come across a piece of art. At an abandoned school, I climb a staircase past ivy-covered storage rooms to a raised outdoor space – and the swimming pool comes into scene-stealing view. The pool, faded starting blocks still in place, has not been used by schoolchildren for over a decade, yet it’s currently brimming with life. Hundreds of wooden boxes line its edges, each neatly packed with fresh flowers and plants, a sense of nurturing reflected in rainbow shades of pink, yellow and purple with hints of rosemary. But most eye-catching of all is the surface of the pool: smooth and glassy in hues of green, with seamless reflections of the forests, rice fields and skies that surround it, creating the sensation of stepping into a vast theatrical tableau of Japanese rural life.

One of Yayoi Kusama’s pumpkins on Naoshima

Forget the minimalist white walls of a modern art gallery in some cosmopolitan hub. This artwork – by Italian Giacomo Zaganelli – is situated somewhere entirely different: Shodoshima, a remote island surrounded by the calm waters of the Seto Inland Sea in Japan. It is just one of 213 artworks scattered across the rice fields, ports, old houses, beaches and vacant schools of 12 islands and two ports for this year’s Setouchi Triennale – the fourth edition since its 2010 launch. The concept, according to its founders, is simple: the event taps into the power of contemporary art to revitalise rural communities hit hard, like so many across Japan, by depopulation, tumbling birth rates and economic decline.

And it’s not just socially impactful – it’s also beautiful. The Seto Inland Sea, cocooned by three of Japan’s four main islands, is the perfect backdrop for art, a symphony of blues and whites – the beauty of the light is impossible to ignore – with the silhouettes of 3,000 small peaked islands hovering on the horizon.

A street on Shodoshima

Art was added to this alluring locale in more recent years: Naoshima – also known as the “art island” – led the way in the 1980s, when Soichiro Fukutake, a Japanese billionaire and philanthropist art collector, began transforming the island into a haven of contemporary art, fuelled by the belief that art is better appreciated in natural settings than in cities. Today, it’s home to a string of Tadao Ando-designed museums and outdoor installations by world-class artists, with Yayoi Kusama’s oversized pumpkins greeting visitors arriving at the port. The launch of the Setouchi Triennale in 2010 further spurred the spread of art across the entire region with increasingly tangible results: from an increase in visitors to a surge in its population.

“Rural art festivals involve artists confronting real problems in society”

I’m visiting the region ahead of the festival’s official opening, and I first stop on Shodoshima, an island that – reflecting the region’s reputation as the Mediterranean of Japan – is famous for its olives. After a short drive inland, I find the swimming pool artwork Fluire. Florentine artist Zaganelli pauses from putting the finishing touches to the flower-filled boxes, once used to store local noodles: “In winter, the landscape was yellow, but now it’s so green. Everything is continually changing, but this swimming pool is always here,” he says. “We don’t speak the same language, but locals immediately understood what we were doing. Everyone helped and tomorrow we will cook Italian food – risotto, tiramisu – for everyone to say thank you.”

Fluire on Shodoshima

Venturing deeper into Shodoshima, I stop in a peaceful green valley filled with tiered rice fields, fruit trees and birdsong – as well as a towering fairytale-style structure handmade from 4,000 pieces of bamboo. It’s by Taiwanese artist Wang Wen-Chih and is his fourth iteration, a new design rebuilt every three years ever since the festival began. Stepping over a tiny knee-high gate with a slightly pointless padlock, I wander along a narrow bamboo pathway that leads into a vast central space, sunlight filtering peacefully through the towering ceiling, before I hear a booming “No shoes!” Quickly slipping off my trainers, I see that the voice belongs to Heiji Iguchi, a tough-looking 69-year-old local, a retired engineer and the artwork’s unofficial gate master.

Softening as he talks about his friendship with the artist, he says, “None of us knew anything about art at first. We were so surprised. Everybody said, ‘What is art?’” Laughing at the memory while proudly looking around, he adds, “I still don’t know what art is. But now at least I understand how the artist makes this structure.”

Bamboo artwork by Wang Wen-Chih

A quick lunch follows at nearby café Komame Shokudo, which offers jaw-dropping views across the valley and smiling female staff in tenugui headscarves (one made from a Yayoi Kusama pumpkin fabric, hinting at the region’s artistic pedigree). After enjoying a meal of rice balls and cold sesame somen noodles, it’s time to head to Teshima, just a short hop away by boat.

Despite its diminutive dimensions – Teshima is about 10 times smaller than Shodoshima – the island has become a textbook example of how art, architecture and nature can combine to sublime effect. Upon my arrival, it’s clear that art has become a comfortable part of daily life, as the elderly lady running the local bike rental store demonstrates by chatting easily about “the Boltanski down the road” (in reference to Christian Boltanski’s Les Archives du Coeur installation in a wooden house on a nearby beach) and urges me not to miss visiting Teshima Art Museum. The latter may not be new, but is a timeless attraction. And so, after cycling up and down hills, I stop by to gaze at the clouds while lying down in the soft-edged white space that takes inspiration from a drop of water.

UMITOTA by Akira Minagawa and Shinichiro Ogata on Teshima

Not far from the museum, a new addition for the current festival run is UMITOTA – a small house renovated by two leading Japanese designers Akira Minagawa and Shinichiro Ogata. The home – open for day visits and overnight stays – is likely to become a haven for Japanese design lovers. It has a façade of thousands of sparkling abalone shells; a tunnel-like wooden corridor at the entrance, which perfectly frames sea views when I glance back over my shoulder; a minimalist living area with warm chartreuse yellow textiles and an abstract wooden light sculpture by Morison Kobayashi; and a bath of Teshima stone.

That evening, I stay at Usagi House – an Airbnb homestay run by Japanese artists Shin and Emi Hirai, who moved to the island with their 11-month-old baby in search of a simpler, more creative life after six years living in Berlin. After picking me up in his small white truck, Shin – friendly and enthusiastic and dressed in a striped jumpsuit and cap – first takes me to a barn-style space they have transformed into a theatre to showcase their unique video and music performance unit called Usaginingen.

Artist Sarah Westphal

Unfortunately, I’ve just missed a show (there are several every week), but Shin takes me around the space, filled with cloud-like sculptural clusters of clear straws fashioned into Finnish-style himmeli (ornament) by local children. At the front, Emi, a former graphic designer, sits on a visual machine called TA-CO – consisting of a self-adapted bicycle that projects her abstract visuals onto the screen as she pedals. Later, at their home, we tuck into a dinner of cumin-sprinkled homegrown vegetables, soups and rice. “There are about 800 people [on Teshima] and most are over 60,” Shin explains. “But people are very friendly – we feel free here.”

Shin’s words reflect a general creative shift in the region, as the success of the festival appears to be working its magic and enticing a growing number of similarly open-minded Japanese to the region. The event – which has three seasonal programmes spanning over 100 days – is steadily growing. The number of artworks has nearly trebled from 76 in the first year. Visitor figures are also booming: a million people visited the last event in 2016 – and this year, over 300,000 visited during the festival’s first 10 days alone.

Sea Gulls Parking Lot by Takahito Kimura on Megijima

The next morning I take to the sea again, catching two boats to get to Ogijima. It’s a tiny island where clusters of old Japanese houses cling to narrow, steep hillside paths. After savouring the play of light and shadows at artist Jaume Plensa’s structure at the port, I wander up a steep path to a small wooden building, the former post office. Stepping inside, I’m enveloped in a warm, orange glow, as close-up video footage of a swirling octopus covers the far wall of a retro-style room and is reflected into an interior pool of water just in front of me. Its creator, Belgium-based artist Sarah Westphal – dressed in black, clutching tape and paper – steps quietly into the dark space beside me. “It’s a kind of longing for the sea,” she says. “Life is so loud and fast. I hope people can have a quiet, meditative experience when they come here.”

Continuing further along, I spy a stylish café with double-height ceilings, pendant lights and homemade breads and coffees. Inside, I meet 34-year-old Kaisho Damonte in his cap and apron. Together with his wife, Yuko, he opened Damonte & Co last year. The couple earlier gave up their busy jobs in Tokyo and spent a year travelling the world on the lookout for the perfect place to live, before stumbling across Ogijima. “We visited during the art festival in 2016 and instantly fell in love,” smiles Kaisho. “We moved here a few months later.”

Kaisho and Yuko Damonte from Damonte & Co café

Preparing a croque monsieur with wild boar he hunted himself (there are apparently around 300 wild boars on Ogijima, easily outnumbering the 170 residents), he adds, “What we love most is the atmosphere and the nature. People are so open and friendly, which is unusual for rural Japan. The school has even reopened, and there are 10 to 15 young families living here now.”

From Ogijima, a 20-minute boat hop takes me to Megijima and the geography shifts to windswept beaches, stone walls and pine trees. The hours pass quickly as I wander past spinning seagulls by artist Takahito Kimura and explore a former guesthouse turned arts hub called Little Shops on the Island. There are puddle-shaped ping-pong tables, Leandro Erlich’s spinning washing machines and tatami rooms with portraits of residents holding wedding photos.

A statue on Megijima

Sipping tea nearby at the new Megino café and guesthouse, I meet another example of the region’s revival: its owner, 31-year-old Satomi Mekada, who worked in Kyoto guesthouses before discovering Megijima. “When I first came here, it felt like home,” Mekada says. She aims to plant 100 lacquer trees – used in Japanese lacquerware, known as urushi – to revive local craftsmanship. “And people are so grateful – they all say, ‘Thank you for moving here.’”

At the end of a long day – and on my sixth ferry in total – I catch up with Fram Kitagawa, the festival’s visionary founding general director. As our boat pulls out of Tamano City’s Uno Port, the ever-dapper, refreshingly direct and often chain-smoking Kitagawa, wearing a light-grey suit, sinks into a seat and expounds on the Setouchi Triennale’s ongoing theme of restoring the sea. “We want to restore the islands, give them more vitality, make them less isolated,” he says from beneath a jaunty wide-brimmed hat. “There are positive changes already: Shodoshima’s population is increasing and newcomers are moving to Ogijima.”

The event has not been without its challenges: the deeply complex logistical implications of creating artworks in remote, rural settings; the practicalities of creating a festival spanning a large number of islands and ports; and conveying the concept behind the festival to local elderly communities unused to contemporary art. According to Kitagawa, however, it’s worth it.

“Art in the past was all about being understood, it was philosophical or conceptual and was put in a white cube,” he adds. “But rural art festivals involve artists going into the real world and confronting real problems in society. Art appreciation takes time. It doesn’t matter if elderly communities understand or not – they are simply happy to see more visitors. These encounters make them happier and healthier. This is the power of art.”

Kitagawa pauses to point towards the coast, where a neon sign reading “In Progress” lights up a dusky pink sky, part of a new artwork by Mischa Kuball. It’s a perfect summary of a festival whose deep-rooted impact on the region, reflected in the rising populations, the reopened school and the engaged elderly communities, is perhaps the ultimate legacy of contemporary art. And it’s only just getting started.

SEE ALSO: 5 art-driven islands near Hiroshima worth exploring 

This article was originally published in the June 2019 issue of SilverKris magazine

The post The Setouchi Triennale and the power of art and nature in Japan appeared first on SilverKris.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

NSFW #2.4: Make Your Mark

The sun hung high in the clear azure sky, casting the cliffs and sandy ground in a light golden hue. The setting was one that called to mind any number of stories, mental images of camels and oases and, of course, pyramids. But to the contrary, NSFW were not visiting the Great Pyramids, one of the legendary Seven Wonders that happened to be in the city where Valor Pro was hosting their event. Instead, they’d traveled several hours away to Luxor, the fabled Valley of the Kings. It brought them to where they stood now- inside of a magnificent three tiered temple that seemed to glow in the same golden cast as its surroundings. Several groups of tourists wound their way up the grand staircases and through its ancient halls. Bishop Church and Mike McGuire, however, were already in an area only restored a few years prior, taking a moment to appreciate what lay before them- and turning an eye toward their GoPro camera, set up on its portable tripod. Their outfits coordinated well- both in khaki shorts and sturdy hiking boots, sporting their new ‘Cherry Bomb!’ tanks. Bishop sported an NSFW branded ballcap to shield his eyes from the sun, while Mike opted for their ever present Mets cap. They hadn’t made a habit of wearing their own merchandise lately but someone special was bound to get riled up when they watch. “Welcome to Egypt, Valor Pro faithful! I gotta tell you, there ain’t a better place the brass coulda picked for this show. The whole country is soaked in history. Legendary kings hundreds of thousands of years old have left their marks all around us. And this here? This grand piece of fuckin’ architecture is dedicated to one of ‘em- Hatshepsut. Now, Hatshepsut was an interesting piece of work, different from any other of the great Pharaohs of ancient Egypt. And that had a lot to do, well, with who she was.” They were in a long, somewhat narrow room with an arched ceiling. The walls were adorned with murals, colorful in spite of their age even though there were quite a few pieces of imagery missing, and the ceiling a still vivid blue sporting row after row of yellow stars to mimic the desert sky at night. While Mike spoke, John observed with his hands behind his back. For someone so broad, he did his best to minimize his impact on this ancient ground. “In modern times, everything about her is accessible within seconds. But here,” John’s right hand gestured to the pictures in front of him, “is one of the major ways the ancient Egyptians  communicated. And so despite Hatshepsut’s accomplishments, she was slowly erased and when she wasn’t? Her ascension and motives were all questioned and scrutinized.” “There’s been lots of speculation on why her successor- her stepson- did that. A common theory goes that he didn’t hold her any ill will personally, but didn’t want any other women getting ideas on doing what she did and becoming Pharaoh themselves. But whatever his motive was? It didn’t fucking work, because, as my partner said, you can look up her reign in seconds. We’re talking about her right now. Which is a testament to the fact that true greatness can’t be buried forever.” Mike went to lean against the wall in a casual manner, but a somewhat alarmed look from their partner stopped them and they folded their arms instead. “Of course, chipping away cartouches and pulling down statues ain’t the only way to try to diminish someone’s mark on the world. Trying to muddy the narrative’s the bog standard these days. Kicking up so much shit that what makes someone shine is lost in a storm of crap that either ain’t true or doesn’t matter.” John finally turned around to face the camera, he stood close to his partner. “We’re somewhat used to it,” John paused, “A business decision was made to not renew our contracts in our previous place of employment. There were whispers circulating as to why. And within moments, our tenure had been rewritten by those that linger like wraiths. Coming to Valor Pro was our way of saying to them, to anyone, that our legacy is ours. But here we are, contenders already, and yet the focus has shifted to something that is less than desirable. That’s why we feel that it is on us to remind everyone just who we are.” “We are the kings of tag team wrestling. The falling Icarus, the Cherry Bombers, the Bishop and the Queen. Our bond is fuckin’ unbreakable and our faith in each other is unshakable, no matter how much shit tries to cover up our legacy.” Mike shifted their hat to the side. “And here you are, Reboca, stepping up to us with your fuckin’ arrogance and cracks about our age while conveniently forgetting to say boo about the fact that your fiance's job is hanging in the balance. Too busy sucking yourself off to remember that detail? Or do you really not give a shit?” “Maybe you do. Maybe you’ve got that card clutched to your chest. But Cross Reboca, we understand where your priorities lie. You took one look at us and you dismissed us. You see NSFW as an appetizer to your grand feast. Dakota Jennings, though,” he turned to Mike, “Her actions are debatable but even then, I like her.” “Me too. In other circumstances, we could be friends. She’s totally my kind of gal. There’s just one eentsy weentsy little thing wrong- girl, you’ve got a real whacked out view of your current situation. Let’s break this down. We’ve talked about this and I don’t wanna hang on it too long, but let’s play devil’s advocate and say Vannah had it coming. That doesn’t mean you got carte fucking blanche to wallop everyone with a chair who looks at you goddamn cockeyed. Holy shit. I mean, I’ll admit to playing fast and loose with the rules, but when you go around making modern fucking art with steel chairs and blood? And the brass gets sick of your goddamn shenanigans and calls you to the carpet? There’s only one person responsible for the predicament you wind up in, and I’ll give you a hint- it ain’t Ms. Vanessa Byrne. And even so? And this is the kicker, Jennings- you cry foul on getting punished for your shit at the same time you’re selling fucking t-shirts of it. Wow.” Mike let out a subtle ‘whew’, having said all that in a minimal amount of breaths. Their partner graciously picked up the thread. “And so that’s why you’re here. Back against the wall. Wounded animal. Against all odds. All of those cliches. It puts Mike and I in an unfortunate predicament. We are the arbitrators. We have the final say on your career in Valor Pro.” There was a poignant pause. Footsteps going away from them in the distance can be heard. “Right now, right here, it gives me second thoughts. To extinguish a young career would be no proud achievement. But Mike knows about me. Knows how I handle business in that ring. Once I step between those ropes, friend or foe, I don’t care who you are.” “That’s true. We got a little saying between ourselves- ‘it’s different in the ring’. Now, that phrase has a few meanings for us, most’re personal. But the one you need to be concerned with is the one my partner just alluded to. Because he’s dead serious and so am I- soon as that bell rings, we don’t care. Soon as that bell rings, our sole fuckin’ sphere of concern involves watching each other’s backs and making sure one of you stays down for three, no matter what we have to do to make that happen. Reboca has his arrogance and skill. Jennings has her violence and moxie. That may or may not be enough, but we will do horrible fucking things to you to make sure’s shit it isn’t.” Mike’s eyes were hard-cut emeralds in the dim light, narrowed, sharp, and dangerous. “Three seconds is the easy way out,” John’s fists balled up, the muscles in his arms taut with tension, “I’d need about nine myself. First, blood flow is cut to the brain. All of those vibrant colors become muted. Vision fails. Then like pulling a plug, the ability to move, to speak, to remember, to feel love - that all goes away as the frontal cortex shuts down. A second later, unconsciousness. The bell rings. You don’t hear that. It takes three seconds for normal brain function to resume. And when it does, Dakota Jennings, you’ll come to the realization that while Cross Reboca still has his greatest opportunity to date, you will have nothing.” “Shit’s cold. But that’s the business. I’m sure you two understand.” Mike shrugged. “Also understand we ain’t selling you short. We know we’re in for a hell of a fight. We know you two won’t be split easy- no matter what Cross does or doesn’t say, even if he is the guy in this fight with the least to lose, you two are gonna get married. And it’ll probably be a big, fancy affair, destination venue, celebrity appearances, gourmet cake personally barbecued by Guy Fieri guaranteed to take you to fuckin’ Flavortown, the works!” John mouthed the words to himself, ‘barbecued cake?’ “You got that to look forward to. You got love for each other that nobody’s gonna deny. Nothing can take that away from you…” Inhale. Exhale. Their expression sets in a certain sort of determination and defiance.  They looked to their partner, who responded with a slight nod. “...just like nothing can take what me and Church have away from us. Nothing. We don’t have the glitz, the glamour. The fancy cars an’ movie stars, the high roller suites. You live like superstars. But we’re Not Superstars- we’re Fuckin’ Wrestlers. And that fact? That is why we’re going to be Valor Pro’s next Chimera Tag Team Champions.” Giving that crooked grin of theirs, Mike clicked off the camera. It wasn’t a moment too soon. Before Mike could even say anything about what they’d just recorded, a stampede of footfalls echoed through the ancient stone hallways, and a small throng of people came into the shrine where NSFW had just finished recording. They cut between them, the two of them momentarily on opposite sides of a small Nile of humanity, occupying the empty spaces in the murals long since partially erased. Their eyes stayed connected, even as the tour group made their way around the chamber and took pictures. When a part of the room thinned out, they made their way back to the center. Mike held out their hand. John took it, and the two of them joined the group in their appreciation of ancient history.