#glazing currently in progress before the final fire

[suzycreamcheeze]

✨ 🌀 𓇕 𓆙 Sacred Portals 𓆙 𓇕 🌀 ✨

[bottledstorydesigns]

Scars from a Refinery

He was told the refinery would make him stronger, greater, more powerful than the others. For a time it did. But as time grew older, his power drained faster than it renewed. The refineries had always drained him, he just didn’t notice it at first, bolstered by the progress and the fumes as he was.

It was not sustainable, could never have been sustainable, and now it was too late to go back. Tiredness set in and he began to crystalise, set into rock, wither away. And yet, as he did, the refinery itself could no longer function without the power it thrived on - fed off - and it too began to disintegrate, become what it had been before it was chimneys and tanks and pipes and rails. And amongst the peeling paint and rusted valves, the future began to crawl, inching its way as haired vines and curious, tentative leaves, exploring this landscape that had been purged for so long.

And so he rested at last, sound in the knowledge that while he could no relive his decision or tread a happier path, the vines and the flowers would reclaim the landscape for their own, in their own time, and perhaps the next dragon could make a better choice.

A new dragon, complete with jar to store stories and treasures, sculpted over the winter holidays, inspired by the astounding magnitude of the Zeeland refineries that are surrounded by such beauty in every other direction.

He currently awaits his first firing, glaze, a second firing and finally wire adornments to create the ladders and railings that accessorise industrial landscapes. He is also currently awaiting a name, which will likely come to me during the glazing process, although I can never quite tell and it’s different for all the dragons! Let me know if you have any ideas...

Follow me on instagram as @bottledstorydesigns to see my other dragons!

[ginnyweasleymybeloved]

willow / fred weasley

ahhhhh the first addition to this series!! really hope you guys like it! make sure to let me know what you think, asks/reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3

evermore x hp masterlist

all fics masterlist

summary: hogwarts’ most popular playboy has made it very clear that you, his best friend, were not his type, seeing as you were crushing on him hard, you decide to take matters into your own hands

word count: 2k

warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of sex but not really, kissing, i think thats it but let me know if i missed anything <3

taglist: @padsfirewhisky

“life was a willow and it bent right to you wind

they count me out time and time again

life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

but i come back stronger than a 90s trend”

Fred Weasley had made quite the name for himself in Hogwarts as of late. You loved the boy dearly but in simple terms he’d become something of a womaniser. It was lighthearted, for the most part, girls knew what they were getting into with Fred, it was black and white and completely unsentimental. With him, a snog was just a snog and a shag was just a shag, there was no confusion over whether or not there was something more there with Fred, there wasn’t and, you supposed, as a teenage girl that there was a certain appeal to that sort of physical transaction. Even though Fred was becoming increasingly hard to catch by himself without a random girl hanging from his arm, he was very particular about who he chose to keep as company on any given night.

Unfortunately for you, it seemed that the criteria was “anyone who isn’t Y/n”. This was made clear to you during a party in the Gryffindor common room while you were hanging out with Fred, George, Lee and Angelina. The five of you were taking up one of the comfy sofas towards the back of the crowded room, a bottle of fire whiskey was being passed between you all. Angelina had her head sleepily tucked into your shoulder, ever the lightweight, as she listened to the conversation the boys were having halfheartedly. George was sat to your right while Angelina was tucked against the arm of the chair to your left, his long arm stretched to wrap around both yours and Angelina’s shoulders. Fred sat on the right arm of the sofa with Lee slouched drunkenly beside George, it was fairly late and since the party had started pretty early after the day’s quidditch win, you were all fairly intoxicated when the dreaded topic of Fred’s gallivanting came about.

“Right, question for Fred,” Lee started, his words slightly slurred as he passed the bottle of fire whiskey to George, who took a long swig before handing the bottle to you and resting his cheek against the top of your head. You let out a small laugh, with Angelina resting on your shoulder and George close to sleep on your head you felt like the comfiest spot in the entire common room.

“Go for it, Jordan,” Fred said airily, his brown eyes glazed over as his stared at your form enveloped between George and Angelina, catching his gaze you outstretched your arm, offering him the alcohol only for him to shake his head and greet you with a soft smile, shifting his eyes back to Lee.

Lee, who always had a tendency to talk with his hands, waved his arms around nonsensically as he posed the question, “If you had to spend the rest of your life with one girl in our year who would it be? Excluding Y/n obviously.”

You sprung to life at that, disturbing Angie and George when you lurched forward to face Lee with a confused expression, “What? What do you mean excluding Y/n?”

Fred chuckled at your affronted expression and shook his head softly, “Don’t look so offended, love. He just means that you’re not really my type.”

You let out a scoff as Angie whined, sitting up with you only to wrap her arms around your middle and plop her head back down on your shoulder, muttering a druken, “Piss off, Freddie. You couldn’t get her anyway,” George snorted, obviously entertained by the whole thing while Lee looked like a child who just got caught staying up past bedtime.

“Ignoring the fact that I’m obviously way out of your league,” you started, glaring at Fred teasingly, “If I’m not your type then how come last night’s girl looked exactly like me?” You challenged raising an eyebrow. George let out a low whistle and Fred choked on air.

“She didn’t- she wasn’t-“ Fred stuttered and Angie groaned against your neck.

“Yea she did, Fredrick. She wasn’t even as gorgeous as our Y/n stop acting like a prat you’d be lucky to spend your life with her!” She ranted, glaring at him as best she could through her droopy eyelids.

“I agree with Angie, Y/n is obviously an exception because she’s simply too good for our resident fuckboy,” George added as you and Fred entered into some kind of staring contest.

Lee snatched the fire whiskey from your hand and took a quick shot, “Alright, alright calm down! Here is my professional commentary; Y/n is not included because Freddie dearest doesn’t know how to deal with feelings and, as we all know, Y/n is a whirlwind- in a good way of course- however Freddie can only think with his dick so he would only get lost in her current.”

“Oi!” Fred shouted indignantly, pouting childishly before hopping off his seat and shoved his twin away from you, he squeezed himself into the space beside you and looked at you seriously, his cheeks flushed due to, what you thought was, his intoxicated state, “You’re not included because you’re my best mate and I’ll spend the rest of my life with you anyway I just think, you know, romantically you're not my type...” That stung. The alcohol in your system wasn’t working nearly as hard as Angie’s as she was reaching across your body and smacking Fred across the chest clumsily before you could even fully digest his words.

“Fred-“ smack, “Weasley-“ smack, “You-“ smack, “Are-“ smack, “such a-“ smack, “Twat!” The slaps she delivered were weak and didn’t do much besides cause Fred to fall into a state of utter confusion, “Romantically you’re not my type,” you, George and Lee snickered at Angie’s imitation of Fred’s voice, while Fred continued to stare at Angelina with a lost expression as she went on, “So a loyal, trustworthy, considerate, girlfriend isn’t your type? Hm? Well good because just because you said that you can never ever have her because she’s mine!”

“Alright, Angie. I think it’s time for bed,” you mumbled through a laugh, she was always a combative drunk and you usually found it quite funny but you didn’t need anymore reminding that your hopeless crush really was hopeless. When you stood up you howled out a laugh when Angie hopped up behind you, still glaring at Fred she smacked your ass, slung her arm around your shoulder and slurred, “Yeah. Let’s go, sexy,” George and Lee fell into a fit of laughter as you led Angie towards the stairs.

“I love you girls!” George called through his laughter, Lee hummed in agreement.

“Love you, Georgie. Love you, Lee!” You replied.

“I love you too!” Angie shouted over you.

Fred was still lost when you disappeared up the stairs with his, very drunk, teammate, “What the fuck just happened?”

“Your stupid ’Y/n is off limits’ rule has finally caught up to you. You’ve lost her to Angie.” George chuckled and Fred shoved him halfheartedly.

“Shut up. All that this proves is that I’m no good for her.” He said, bitterly taking a swig from the bottle in his hands. It was no secret to either of the boys that Fred was head over heels for you. He would’ve followed you anywhere, however, it seemed as though every time he spoke to you the less he even knew what he was trying to say; take that night as an example. You were exactly his type. In every way. But Lee was right when he said Fred wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, whereas you seemed to hold an ocean of feelings and insights to life that Fred would actively drown in if he could.

“She likes you Fred, you know how she is when she wants something. Tell her no, she’ll only come back stronger. She’ll crack you eventually, ‘specially with Angie in her corner,” George informed his brother, reminding him of your unmatched determination.

True enough, you had always played to win and often did everything in your power to complete a challenge and come out on top. Fred wasn’t an idiot, he knew you fancied him, he fancied you too, who wouldn’t? But there were times that he’d be with you and this feeling of home would wash over him- he couldn’t risk losing you or that feeling you brought about, he’d be completely hollow. Besides, chasing girls who reminded him of you would keep him satisfied for the time being, surely. Surely not apparently.

George was right when he said you wouldn’t give up, in the last few days Fred found himself wishing you were his and he just knew you were doing things to make him crazy on purpose. You were, of course. He couldn’t deny that you were a force of nature all on your own, but wow, you were indeed a whirlwind when you acted with intention.

It had started with fleeting touches whenever you were close enough to achieve it. Gentle brushes of your fingertips against his while you walked alongside each other in the halls, quickly progressed into your hand gripping his bicep every time you spoke to him, then onto biting your lip whenever you were aware of his gaze. Ignoring the growing frustration within him only grew harder when you’d approach him, like clockwork, each night before he’d get busy with whoever it happened to be that night. You’d casually brush your hand down his arm, pull your lip between your teeth, wink and tell him to, “have fun”, and he would, purely because he’d have that image of you seared into his head the entire time.

Playing dirty was never something Fred would normally get on board with, however, the second he noticed you lapping up the attention you were receiving from one of the, admittedly handsome, Ravenclaw boys; Fred decided that you were in fact the one prize he’d cheat to win.

“Fuck this,” he’d muttered, causing his twin to raise an eyebrow at him. They’d only just sat down for breakfast yet Fred was already cursing out the day.

Ginny had heard him too, the youngest Weasley gave Fred a bored look, “What’s wrong with you?”

Fred let out an agitated huff through his nose, glaring menacingly at the tall brunette boy, who was sitting far too close to you for Fred’s liking. George’s laugh broke him out of his trance and he heard his brother snicker out a sarcastic, “So the penny’s finally dropped, has it?”

“Piss off, George,” Fred grumbled, his lips forming a scowly as the boy placed his hand on your knee under the table.

“For Merlin’s sake, Fred. Would you just ask her out already? I’m sick of you,” Ginny complained, Fred was her brother and she loved him but this? This was ridiculous.

“Rude, Gins. You better watch it or I’ll tell mum you’re misbehaving,” Fred joked, halfheartedly while Ginny raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Try it, Fred. I’ll tell her that you’re being a git and ruining her chances of having Y/n as a daughter-in-law.” Ginny threatened. Fred shook his head, determination flooding his body.

He stood from his spot hastily, and all but marched up to you and the boy who currently occupied your attention, “Oi, can I steal you for a minute, love?” Before you could even answer, you were being pulled from your seat by Fred’s strong grip on your hand.

The boy pulled you along until you were out of earshot of the Great Hall and away from the prying eyes of the nosy student body.

“Can I help you, Freddie?” You asked sweetly, too sweetly.

Fred’s hands slid against your sides before settling contently on your waist, he shook his head in disbelief as he spoke, “You’re something else, do you know that?”

Butterflies rumbled in your stomach in response to his newfound proximity and burning gaze. It took everything in you to bite back a triumphant yell as you managed a wicked grin. “What I am is exactly your type, Fred Weasley.”

“You’re bloody right you are,” he muttered, impatient desire fuelling him as he brought his lips to yours, tugging you closer by the waist and kissing you with so much desperation that you were starting to think snogging Fred Weasley wasn’t as open and shut as you’d previously thought.

[maplecornia]

chapter 9

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.61K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: this chapter makes me laugh, especially the scene with Jojo and Namjoon.

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags:@kookaine |@fangirl125reader |@kookiebbyxx |@taradevonne

You’ve been waiting for an hour.

Tilting your head back, you sigh, extremely bored.

You've tried everything you could think of to bypass the time. Reading, writing, watching YouTube, then switching over to Netflix, even attempting to doze in the slightly uncomfortable waiting room chair.

None of them have worked.

Currently, you're doodling in your sketchbook, but no concrete idea comes to mind for the sketch. Leaving you with tiny flowers, faces, and body parts on the page as though it were a practice sheet.

Peering over the sketchbook, you scan the room for any sign of life, but as the day has dragged on, so has the crowd.

You don't see any sign of Kim Namjoon anywhere, and the receptionist hasn't called you over ever since you turned in the forms she gave you. Uninterested, your eyes glazing over, you pull out your phone, peering at the time.

12:30 pm.

Heaving a sigh, you tilt your head back, the music playing through your GalaxyBuds. Yet it does no good to lift your spirits.

You suppose it's only fair, you made him wait, now it's his turn.

Setting your phone down once more, you purse your lips, as your gaze falls on a flower swaying in the wind outside.

It's the only flower you can see amongst the bush. It stands almost forlornly in the midst of multiple of its fellow brethren withered around it. Still, it stands strong, unwilling to fall victim to the harsh weather outside.

A thought crossing your mind, you turn to your sketchbook, quickly turning the page and beginning a vigorous sketch before you lose your idea.

Unbeknownst to you, as you progress halfway through the sketch, Kim Namjoon bursts into the lobby, looking out of breath and flustered.

He wears a bright white T-shirt, one with a small black Nike emblem across his left pectoral muscle. It hangs sort of loose around his neck, his collarbone visible as cooling sweat causes him to glisten like a bright star.

It's not as noticeable, considering that he wears a thick black sweatshirt zipped down around his shoulders. It's simple, with thin white stripes running down the sleeves and white soft underlining to it.

The black sweats he wears seem to fit with the outfit, the same white stripes running down each pant leg. Each piece of clothing has a Nike emblem on it and pairs well with the white Nike AirForces he wears on his feet.

They’re simple but rich clothes and bring to mind the same clothes Jungkook was wearing before.

The cooling sweat on his skin and the way his hair falls a bit messily underneath his cap could lead to the presumption that they were doing a major dance practice before all of this.

No matter the case, he didn't expect the meeting to take this long, and he feels terrible for making you wait, despite everything. As he looks for any sign of you, he doesn't find any.

Worried that you have already left, he knocks on the front desk, gathering the attention of the receptionist that helped you earlier. Kim Jojo raises her head, and as she catches sight of RM, her eyes widen just the slightest bit, but not enough for him to notice.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Namjoon, what can I--”

“Yes, yes hello.” Namjoon interrupts her, too panicked to care about formalities.

He wants to catch you before you get tired of waiting and leave. First impressions are everything to him, and if he has a bad one…Shaking the worry away, he leans forward over the counter separating the receptionist from him and she flinches away at the sudden closeness.

RM either doesn't notice or doesn't care, but either way, he meets her with an intent stare, every word uttered from his lips urgent and careful.

“Has anyone by the name of Lin Yen come in?” The receptionist opens her mouth to respond but before she can say anything, he holds up a finger.

A thought having crossed his mind, he reaches into his back pocket, bringing out his phone. He tries to bring up the picture of you while Jojo stands there, half in shock, half in annoyance. As soon as he finds it, he lets out a little victory shout, one that startles her.

Grinning, he presents it to her, and she peers at a strange picture of you. After she looks at it, Jojo pulls back, her brows crinkling in confusion.

“She looks like this. If she came in, could you please tell me? I've been waiting since 8:00 this morning to meet her.” Jojo sighs, trying to gain her composure before responding.

“Mr. Namjoon--” she begins, but Namjoon interrupts once more.

“She’s my new assistant, you see, and I need to begin her training today. She needs to know the ropes before our busy season comes back around.” He explains, pulling the phone back and trying to pocket it once more.

Instead, he ends up knocking over a container filled with an assortment of pens and pencils. Surprised, he fumbles to pick it up but ends up spilling it all over the floor. Cursing under his breath, he reaches down to pick up some pencils that have fallen.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Jojo picks up the container, righting it on the counter with a loud thud. Startled, RM glances up at her eyes wide, and she smiles sweetly.

“Please, just leave it.” She says between her teeth. He shrugs, almost reluctantly standing. She sighs in relief, carefully putting the pens and pencils back in their place.

“Now...Mr. Namjoon, please listen--” once more, she cannot finish, Namjoon unable to shut up to save his life.

“I’m sorry, but if you need any more information on her I could--”

“Kim Namjoon!” This time it's Jojo's turn to interrupt him, her patience finally wearing thin.

RM instantly falls silent, a bit surprised at the outburst.

Jojo takes a steadying breath before continuing.

“Now, the person you are talking about has already come in. I told her you were in a meeting and had her wait in the waiting room for you to return.” At the information, RM turns to the waiting room where he catches sight of you for the first time in real life.

He notices you vigorously sketching out your idea. Smiling, he can't help but smile at the familiarities he finds in you. You look exactly like the picture Jaejin sent, despite how weird it was.

“I had expected to receive a notice of your return, so I could send her to you, but now that you're here….” Namjoon turns away from you and flashes his contagious smile at Jojo who is once more taken aback.

“Thank you,” Namjoon says with gratitude, reaching across the desk and holding her hand as he bows before turning away.

Jojo, watching him go, turns beet red before collapsing behind the desk in exhaustion. Another fellow receptionist cries out with alarm before tending to her in concern.

You, once more, having no awareness of the events happening around you, continue to sketch. Having finished the rough sketch you begin to define every line, detail, and curve. As you work, you bite the inside of your cheek, sometimes licking your lips in your trance of concentration.

When you're lost in your mind of imagination and creativity, nothing from the outside world can distract you.

And yes, that also includes a very tall, very real version of Kim Namjoon striding towards you.

You don't look up as he comes within a few feet in front of you. You don't even notice as he bends to your eye level, trying to catch your attention. It doesn't break your concentration, even as you reach for an eraser, lightly humming to the music playing in your ears. He smiles, almost laughing at your concentration before he covers his mouth, trying to be quiet so that you don't notice he’s there.

Trying to tease you, he carefully (as much as he’s able) sits down next to you. He was planning on pulling out one of your GalaxyBuds and surprising you, but as he catches a glimpse of your work, he’s stopped cold.

It's breathtaking.

You have created an awestruck image of a woman, on her knees. She wails out in agony as she sits amongst a pile of ash, flecks of it falling around her as though there's a fire burning nearby.

However, that’s not what catches Namjoon’s eye.

Amongst the ash, if anyone looks closely, they'll be able to see that there are small, scattered remains of bones hidden.

She sits amongst them, wailing, the look on her face one of pure anguish and sorrow as the ash from the fading bones stains her skin and her dress.

As though she has lost everyone she’s held, dear.

RM can't seem to look away, entranced by the grotesque beauty of the image and the talent of the artist.

He admires the way you set it up, the way you created the girl imperfectly, but still real. Because after all, who in real life is perfect? As he watches your pencil move expertly across the page, he can't help but think that with each stroke, the creation grows more and more lifelike.

As though she were truly crying out in the pain her heart brings. As though she were alive and breathing.

Almost against his wishes, his hand reaches out to touch the paper, if only to make sure that the actual sketch is truly a mere fabrication of pencil and paper.

As his fingers graze the parchment, that is when you snap out of your concentration.

Eyes widening, you jolt up straight, immediately turning to look at your side.

As soon as your eyes meet Namjoon’s, his hand flinches off the paper. He lets out a soft gasp as he flinches away, surprised by your sudden attention.

Just like with Jungkook, you're frozen in place.

Unable to move.

Unable to function.

Unable to speak.

And just like Jungkook, Namjoon is the same way.

But for a different reason.

He was caught in the act, and he doesn't know what to do.

Your eyes hold him in a sort of bind.

For a moment he forgets what he was doing there, he forgets what his purpose is, for a moment he even forgets why you are there.

For a split second, it's just you and him in a pocket in space.

Your eyes holding his, his eyes holding yours.

Kim Namjoon.

The leader of BTS. The first member of the group you have grown to love. Talented, handsome, a practical genius, he is just as mature and intimidating as you expected him to be.

Despite how close the two of you are sitting, he still seems larger than life, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even real.

He doesn't seem like it after all.

His skin seems too real, too perfect. His hair is too soft, too smooth. His eyes are too warm and too brown.

Almost exactly like the milky chocolate brown you’ve seen so often in so many photos, except for one thing.

As you stare into them, you can see life so clearly alight in them. How they reveal so many emotions at the same time. There are so many that it's almost impossible to read them at all. Serene and peaceful, they are poets' eyes.

So emotional, yet so mysterious and secretive at the same time.

Dreamboat eyes.

“Kim Namjoon?” you whisper, almost unsure if it's him or not.

As you do, his face makes that mixed expression between confusion and amusement as he chuckles softly, looking away and breaking the connection. Holding his hand up to his mouth, he nods, clearing his throat, but not saying anything for a moment.

“Yes, that's who I am, and you must be...Lin Yen?” your heart jumps at the fact that he knows your name.

Speechless, all you can do is nod mutely as he utters another adorable chuckle, one that always seems to remind you of Goofy.

“Jaejin didn't tell me you were an artist.” As soon as he says that, you notice that your sketchbook is still open, and showcasing your imperfect, unready sketch.

Panicking, you fumble to get it closed. Blushing, you hug it tightly to your chest, as though it could erase the fact that he just got a sneak peek into your very soul.

“What's wrong? It was good!” RM asks, worried.

Biting your bottom lip in trepidation, you shake your head, hiding your face.

“Don't lie….” you mumble.

You know it wasn't close to being done, and it wasn't nearly as perfect as it could have been. You're quite disappointed in it at the moment. You feel as though it was too rushed due to the many ideas pouring out from your brain at the exact moment.

As you take an ashamed peek at Namjoon, you find him staring at you, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“What's wrong, are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head as though you were a shy child. You smirk, playing along and nodding very slowly before he continues.

“I see. You should know, however, that you are very talented.” At the compliment, you snort in disbelief, shoving the sketchbook and pencils back safely in your satchel.

“Please.” You sigh. “I know I'm no Picasso, and certainly not talented.”

Finished with packing your art supplies, you are reminded of the reason you are here. A blush of shame appearing on your cheeks, you turn to Namjoon, a bit guiltily.

“And I’m also not known as the bird to rise before the worm.” RM seems a bit confused before you stand and bow to him in apology.

“I am so sorry for being late today. You see I….”

Remembering the receptionist's words from before, you decide to keep the reason to yourself.

“....I have nothing to say for myself. I'm sincerely sorry.”

“Please, there’s no need for that,” Namjoon responds, standing himself and tapping you on the shoulder.

At the touch, you stand straight, only to find an extremely tall man standing before you, looking more intimidating than before. Heart beating fast you gulp, stepping back a bit.

Luckily, he doesn't notice your act of distance and just smiles at you before continuing.

“After all, I was late as well, so let's call it even, huh?”

You smirk and nod, thankful that he’s not too angry about it, but it doesn't completely erase your guilt.

“But now that you mention it….” Namjoon starts and intrigued, you glance up to see him back up a bit as well.

Confused, you raise an eyebrow before he holds out his hand to you.

“My name is Kim Namjoon, I’ll be your boss during your time here. First and foremost, welcome to BigHit entertainment, I hope you enjoy your time working here with us.” He introduces himself, warmly.

Catching on, you take his hand, shaking it gently, and trying to ignore the fact that yours is much more like a child's compared to his.

“Hello, Mr. Namjoon! It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my name is Lin Yen and I look forward to working with you!” you respond, returning his grin with one of your own.

After you're finished introducing yourself, he releases your hand and steps back, taking your satchel in his hands and handing it to you.

“Well, Ms. Lin, are you ready to begin?” He asks, and you accept the offer, hiking the satchel on your shoulder before looking up at him in expectation.

“Where do we start?”

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: first day at work is finally starting, yall excited? eheheehehe get ready for some namjooon and yen moments to come

chapter 10 here

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[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 1

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

Chapter by @maerynn-blog​

Gabriel Agreste’s death had been sudden, and unexpected.

Only a few months before the premiere of his first-ever women’s apparel collection, the famous fashion mogul had succumbed to a violent stroke at his home office in the early hours of the morning, apparently while busy reviewing the latest designs that had been submitted to him.

Few could state without lying that they would miss their boss. Gabriel had proven on more than one occasion to be solely driven by results and success, with no consideration whatsoever for his employees. Even fewer could say honestly that they would miss the man, for his late years had only cemented the cold and heartless facade he had forged throughout the years, setting the image of an implacable leader in stone despite himself.

Over the years, he had even alienated his very own son, with whom he had fallen out of touch as soon as Adrien had been old enough to stand up for himself and make his own decisions. Persistent rumours throughout the years suggested that Gabriel had disowned his son as a result of his desertion of the company, but seeing as Adrien found himself the sole owner of Gabriel following his father’s sudden passing, either those rumours were wrong or Gabriel had forgiven his only heir somewhere along the way.

Which could have been fine if the company had been left in capable hands, which, unfortunately, wasn’t the case. Gabriel Agreste had never entrusted anyone with his company’s well-being or any important decision regarding his brand. Even his almost lifelong personal assistant, Nathalie Sancoeur, had been merely blindly obeying orders without ever questioning them for most of her employment with Gabriel, and yet, she probably would’ve been the most qualified person to assure a smooth transition.

Coincidentally, Nathalie had gone into a well-deserved retirement only a few weeks before Gabriel’s ultimate demise, around the same time Gorilla hung up his luxury sedan keys and moved away to the seashore, admittedly to catch up with his growing-too-fast grandkids.

That meant that the week following Gabriel Agreste’s passing was pure chaos as far as Gabriel’s remaining staff and stockholders were concerned.

The artistic team was left without a leader to guide them, ideas and designs going nuts and wild without anyone to organize them and separate the wheat from the chaff.

The accounting team was going crazy dealing with the sudden and massive increase in resignations, the suppliers’ incessant calls wondering if they’d ever get paid, and the stockholders demanding answers about the uncertain future of the company.

The company’s lawyers were for the most part completely unreachable, busy as they were trying to figure out what exactly were the ramifications of their CEO’s sudden death. Who would take over the company if Adrien Agreste chose to surrender his notoriously unwanted position? Would he choose to sell the company to a third-party? And if he did, what would that entail? What would happen to the collections already out? The works-in-progress?

Above all, as the head designer of the upcoming brand new women’s line, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was probably the most sleep-deprived, stressed-out, and overall most exhausted employee amongst the entirety of Gabriel’s staff. The young woman had spent the better part of the past week trying to coax any ideas out of the designers working under her with mixed success, only to discover that by Friday night, all but her and her assistant either quit or transferred to the men’s department, leaving Marinette to work on her collection alone.

The rational part of her brain wanted to leave as well, bury herself beneath a pile of luxury fabric and only come back up once everything had been cleared out and dealt with because as things currently were, everything in her life was going to shambles.

At twenty-five, a rising star yet a dropout from ESMOD due to an unexpected exclusive apprenticeship under Gabriel Agreste himself, she was sharing a pitiful two-bedroom apartment with Alya and Nino, desperately trying to gather enough savings to get a place of her own. Her salary as Gabriel’s head designer of the upcoming women’s department was more than decent, but it still wasn’t enough to live on her own in the centre of Paris close to work. Mostly because the line she was heading was experimental and any salary raises were dependent on its success at Fashion Week at the end of summer that year.

Going back to her parents wasn’t an option Marinette entertained, and so she had no choice but to put up with the ups and downs of living with a very in-love young couple, whereas she had yet to go on a second date, let alone have a boyfriend. Alya was relentlessly picking on her about that, pointing out mercilessly how she was married to her job, and wondering how in the world “fashion” would give her children. Usually, Marinette would shrug and effortlessly shift the conversation to another topic, but lately, the dangerous cocktail of exhaustion and anxiety for her future in the industry brewing up within her, coupled with Alya’s growing irritation toward her friend’s numerous disappearances and secrets, had sparked more than one nasty argument between the pair of best friends.

As a result, Marinette was carefully avoiding going home as much as she could.

She had spent the week running up and down every corridor, making sure the collection would come out without a hitch despite being carried over by a boat without a captain. She worked herself to the bone, overcompensating for the huge loss the team had just suffered. Marinette spent her days putting out fires, avoiding catastrophe after catastrophe, and devoted her evenings to working on designs, bringing them to completion, going home way past any decent hour every single day, making sure every design was on point, that every garment was sewn up to par.

It had truly been a week from hell as far as she was concerned.

Even without her less than ideal housing situation, she still would’ve stayed late every day. Her mentor, her boss, was six-feet-under, but Marinette couldn’t envision letting him down. Even if Gabriel definitely lacked warmth in his social interactions, he had taught her so much over the last few years, she felt that the least she could do was to hold down the fort for him. He had given her an unexpected opportunity by putting her in the head designer’s shoes, had believed in her against all odds, and the very idea of betraying his trust, even if he wasn’t there to witness it anymore, was making her sick to her stomach.

Even if staying instead of leaving the boat meant encountering Adrien Agreste in some corridor sooner or later.

Pushing that idea as far away as she could, Marinette knelt in front of her dress form, carefully hemming one of the designs she and Gabriel had been working on last. They had talked about this dress only a few hours before his unexpected death, and she wanted the final result to live up to his expectations; an homage of some sort.

Refusing to look at the clock, knowing it was already way later than what would be deemed reasonable, Marinette took a step back, admiring her work. The dress was gorgeous, flowing nicely around the dress form, but it was lacking that little playful flair Gabriel had been envisioning for it.

Struck with a sudden idea, she promptly rose from her work station and marched to Gabriel’s office, as she had done countless times before. She knew for a fact that he kept a nice assortment of satin ribbons in there, specifically a pretty pink velvet one that would add just the perfect touch to the garment.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was to find another living being in Gabriel’s office.

A familiar mop of blond hair was sprawled out on her late boss’ desk, broad, muscular shoulders slumped, accompanied by a loud and desperate groan.

Marinette paused on the threshold for a second, her heart caught in her throat, wondering if she could get away with picking up the ribbon she needed without being seen. That brief hesitation was her demise. As if feeling her presence in the room, the man looked up, and green eyes bore into hers, widening in surprise.

Marinette couldn’t hold back a gasp at the sight of the man that had haunted her dreams for so many years. Sure enough, he had aged a bit since the last time their paths had crossed, but the years had been kind to him. His face had shed the roundness of his youth, bringing out a sharper, more angular jaw. His hair was a bit darker than it used to be, with a low fade haircut that accentuated his older, more mature appearance.

A single word kept replaying in Marinette’s mind at the handsome sight in front of her: danger.

Realizing she was gaping at him, Marinette mentally slapped herself across the face and promptly slipped back into her professional shoes. “Oh, I’m really sorry, Monsieur Agreste,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking as much as she heard. “I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone in the building, otherwise I would’ve never barged in like that. I just need some supplies and then I’ll show myself out.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, Adrien silently watched Marinette tiptoeing through the room with the ease of someone who was more than accustomed to her surroundings. She opened a nearby cabinet without hesitating and foraged within, her entire torso disappearing into the apparent mess of fabrics and various sewing furniture. Less than thirty seconds later, she emerged victorious, holding a roll of the needed ribbon.

She looked at him again. His face was glazed over with a mix of sleepy confusion and disorientation.

“I—Sorry for disturbing you, Monsieur,” Marinette whispered. “Goodnight.”

Turning her back on him, she walked toward the door, failing to escape before he called.

“Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

With a sharp intake of breath, she spun on her heels, facing him again with widening eyes. “I’m sorry?”

Adrien rose from his seat, rounding the heavy desk promptly to close the distance between them. “You’re Marinette, aren’t you? We went to school together, back in Mlle Bustier’s class, with Nino and Al-”

“I remember you perfectly well, Monsieur Agreste.”

He stared at her in silence, matching her guarded expression. “So you ended up here after all?”

She sustained his gaze, her voice cold and professional, “Yes. Despite you, Monsieur Agreste, being a major ass toward me. Can I, please, get back to work now?”

His whole expression tensed as he carefully eyed her. For a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, but then he deflated, sighing pitifully. “Very well. I still have these fabrics to pick anyway, and not a single clue about what I’m doing. Have a nice evening, Marinette.”

Marinette froze, her heart stilling in her chest.

Deep down, she knew she shouldn’t care.

Adrien’s problems weren’t in any way her own, and if someone had seen fit to put a physics teacher in charge of an entire fashion house, well, so be it. She had no say in the matter. Someone probably had decided to give him that menial task to keep his sheer incompetence away from what really mattered, an initiative she could only applaud.

But on the other hand, Gabriel had always been a man she admired greatly despite his cold facade, and the years she had spent working by his side hadn’t changed that. He was a brilliant designer and had literally dedicated up to his very last day to his art. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting Adrien ruin his father’s hard work—even if it was only ordering lousy fabric—not if she could help it. She had worked too hard to let him get in the way, and if she had to help him to earn herself the freedom of running her line like she wanted to, then she’d do it.

She glanced at the papers scattered on the desk behind him and frowned. “Don’t buy anything from Cosetti; he holds the weirdest grudge against your father for refusing to incorporate chiffon in the 2015 winter line. There’s a good chance he’ll try to scam you. Berkley’s might be more expensive, but I’ve seen swatches of the silk and it's severely lacking in quality. Zinya’s cheaper, better, and their seller is a real sweetheart.”

Adrien stared at her, dumbfounded, and it took him almost a full minute to find his voice again. “But—but, why would you help me? After—”

Marinette walked past him, shoulders tensed and a determined spark in her eyes. “Believe it or not, some of us actually rely on this company for a living, and I’m not letting it sink without putting up a fight. What else do you need to make a decision on?”

The young man blinked, and his professional persona kicked in. He joined her on the other side of the desk to show her the supplier submissions, tentatively pointing out what little progress he had made. Her tone toward him was cold yet polite as she effortlessly picked up where he had left off, giving him cues on their current relationships with various suppliers and broadly showing him the ropes of managing a fashion empire. Soon enough, Marinette pushed the last submission toward Adrien for a signature, got up, and grabbed her spool of ribbon.

“Marinette?” A little awkward but he looked at her as if she’d just saved him from a sinking boat in the middle of an ocean. “Thanks, I wouldn’t have made it without you, and—”

“Don’t,” Marinette cut him off. “I helped you only because my job is on the line. Good evening, Monsieur.”

She left Gabriel’s office in tense, stubborn silence, neither of them willing to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

***

Later that night, Ladybug landed atop the Eiffel Tower, sitting beside her partner on one of the higher beams with a soft sigh.

He peered at her, surprised. “I thought you said you were going to lay off on the patrols for a bit?”

She stared at the horizon for a minute, a comfortable silence falling between them. His question still hovered, unanswered, but he knew her well enough to figure she was trying to organize her thoughts. Nearly a decade of knowing each other meant that most things could go unsaid between the pair.

Eventually, she scooted closer to him on the beam, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, a comforting gesture that had become customary between them. She lay her head on his shoulder, sighing again.

“What’s wrong, Bug? Won’t your roommate be mad at you for disappearing again?”

She scoffed, reaching for his free hand and lacing her fingers through his. “I’ll get an earful once I get home for sure, but I needed this. I need a breather with my best friend, my safe haven.”

He tensed a bit, hearing those words, “That bad?”

“This last week has truly been hell, and I missed you like crazy.” Ladybug sighed softly.

Chat Noir groaned inwardly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “This boss of yours is some special kind of a jerk if he left you guys with so much trouble upon quitting.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she was insulting Gabriel Agreste’s memory by letting her partner tarnish his reputation freely like this, but with news of his sudden passing all over Paris, and the fact that Chat Noir knew fairly well that his partner was working in fashion, there was no way she could set the record straight without giving away some compromising clues.

Instead, she settled on answering quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss on his cheek, “It’s not like he had a choice. He had urgent personal matters to attend to, and we’ll be alright… eventually.” She trailed off, her eyes following his to their very own private view of Paris. “How’s your relative?”

Chat Noir squirmed uncomfortably beside her, and she instantly regretted asking the question that had been burning on her lips for the past week. But ever since he had shown up unfashionably late to a patrol because of a mandatory trip to a hospital, she had been worried about that relative of his who was close enough to the superhero to warrant an immediate visit at the hospital, but in the meantime far enough that he was barely fazed by the whole ordeal.

“He…” Chat Noir began slowly, carefully avoiding her gaze, and in a sudden flash of clarity, she understood. The sick/injured relative wasn’t part of their world anymore, and her dear kitty was grieving in his own very personal way.

“I’m so sorry, Chaton. Can I do anything for you?” she cried, twisting in his embrace, so she sat in his lap instead of beside him.

He gave her a forlorn smile that looked every bit a fake on his handsome face. “Don’t worry about me, my Lady. I’ll manage. Get back to your roommate, things are bad enough between you two as it is. I’d like for you to survive the week, you know.”

She hated to admit it, but Ladybug knew he was right. If last week was any indication, they would probably get in an awful fight as soon as she set foot in their apartment.

But this?

Chat Noir’s unwavering support, his kind words, and reassuring presence over the last decade? The familiar warmth of his arms wrapped around her?

It was worth it, and a thousand times more.

Smiling softly, she eyed him playfully, “And when did you become the voice of reason between us two?”

“Ever since you started to believe working eighty hours a week was healthy. Go home, and get some sleep. You’re barely able to keep your eyes open.”

She leaned on him for a second, taking in his warmth. “Alright, silly cat. See you around?”

“Of course, my Lady. Now, go before she snaps at you again.”

Ladybug quickly pressed her lips against Chat’s cheek, and with one last small smile and an all-too-brief hug, she took off into the night, leaving her counterpart to his silent musings on the tower.

Next >

[deliriumsdelight7]

TMI Tuesday

Happy Tuesday, everyone!  Last week I finished my first ever... well, I guess I can’t call it a WIP anymore, can I?  Tattercloak is officially finished, and uh... I’ve gotta say, the mixed feelings I have don’t really bode well for me finishing future works.  I’m proud of myself for sticking with something long enough to actually conclude it.  But I look at it now, and it’s... it’s done.  I look at it, and it’s no longer a lump of clay to be molded however I want.  It’s been fired in the kiln, and what I’m left with feels both immutable and fragile.  There’s some remaining creativity to be had in glazing (which is a shitty analogy for revising/writing a second draft), but the shaping process is finished.  I’m sort of... grieving that?  I guess?  

Not that I plan on letting these feelings get in the way of finishing other works.  I’m currently working on the next chapter of FFA, hoping to get it out by sometime over the weekend.  I didn’t get as much progress done as I’d hoped; I’ve only got about 1,500 words done when I’d hoped to get at least twice that done over the long weekend.  But I’m making progress!  I’d say I have enough to offer one single snippet if asked, but no more.

Once this chapter is done, I plan on starting the Heavy Rain AU.  I foresee that going very smoothly (although just saying that has probably jinxed me), because the story is already written.  That story will definitely have more of a focus on Gold’s relationship with his son, but there will definitely be Rumbelle.  But the first chapter involves me writing something that’s going to be physically painful for me.  

Finally, I’m also working on outlining a “marriage of convenience” AU for California Solo, where Lachlan doesn’t wind up getting deported.  I’ve never actually outlined before, but a friend pointed me toward the “snowflake method” and I’m really excited about the results.  It really helps to keep me from jumping headfirst into yet another WIP before I’m damn well ready for it.  I’ll be interested to see if this helps me to keep a tighter narrative than Breaking Cycles, which definitely has a tendency to... meander.

Anyway.  Yeah.  That’s what I’ve got.  Hit me up with questions if you’ve got ‘em!

[sworn-unbeliever]

09 - Lush

((I think this one is more ‘plush’ than ‘lush.’ Another silly throwaway idea that became longer than I expected. How did that happen? Also, this is the house of my free company, Eidolons, home to old friends and wonderful people. The place is on Sargatanas, Goblet, 18th Ward, Plot 38. Reonora and Alto are also my chars. Rosemary is Reonora’s retainer, but the character belongs to @abeat​. Also, the martial arts style they’re doing here is Wing Chun. Relevant link!))

wc: 1,782

Darkness and stars canvased the sky by the time Teremy returned to the place he currently called home. Feymarch. Owned by the free company Eidolons. “Beware of cats,” said the tagline. Mostly because except for the odd couple of hyurs, a viera and a lalafell, the free company denizens comprised of mostly miqo’te. Cats. He was a cat. He fit the description.

Especially the beware part. Right now, as his mood had long sank alongside the sun, neither his intentions nor his instincts could be held responsible for anyone that dared to approach him right now.

The day had started off as usual with a training schedule that lasted from dawn until dusk. Most of the time people left him alone and that was fine by him. Only after dusk set in than suddenly people remembered that Teremy existed.

And was a gunbreaker. Among other things. But first and foremost, a tank.

And stupid him to not put his foot down their requests of help. He just had to dive headfirst into combat for anyone in need. He just had to let foolish ideas take over--ideas such as how all their various excursions sounded like fun.

Fun. Hah. His body now found itself at the point where he could no longer delude himself of that.

“Oh, you’re young. You’ll shake it off in no time,” said one of the party members.

“Shake it off. Good one.” Teremy went through the motions of using the warrior skill. Had his brother been here, Jeremy would have pointed and clicked a finger gun. Had Teremy done that, he would have had his gunblade in his hand and fired an actual bullet. Bad idea in progress.

His usual controlled gait ambled like a zombie fresh out of the grave as he stumbled into the house. Not caring who saw him in a state of disrobement, he threw off his clothes and took a shower. He stumbled back upstairs wearing some fresh clothes of his usual monk attire, and made a beeline for what he believed to be straight to his room. His mood and nerves were shot beyond all hell and only the piano could satisfy his ire. Even if he ended up falling asleep on the piano lid, just like during his beginning days of training.

Teremy trudged towards what he believed to be his room. His eyes had started glazing over, obscuring most of his vision. When he stepped into the room, all he could see were bright lights, a cheery light-blue wallpaper with some dark patches near the bottom, and the scent of light perfume. Various types of lush couches spread around the room, creating a couple of sitting areas. Teremy felt tempted to collapse on any one of said couches until he found the most comfortable chair worthy of his slumber, but instead, his sights locked onto the lushest bed he had ever seen. At the far left corner laid a round canopied bed of pure luxury.

Nevermind what in the nine hells made a bed appear in his room. Or couches. Or plants. Or cheerful spriggan-splotched wallpaper. A bed. A bed that called his name. His bed now.

From his position at the center of the room, he vaulted directly onto the bed, changing trajectory in mid-air. By the time he landed on the bed, his left side touched the soft mattress. He sank into the middle of the bed upon collision and then sprang back up approximately halfway. He chuckled softly and happily like a small child. Who cared how stupid he sounded. Naysayers could go to hell. Lying in place, he shut his eyes and purred loudly, a small smile creeping on his lips. Eventually his purrs ebbed away into soft, rhythmic breathing.

‘If this bed is karma’s reward for a hard day’s work, then hell fucking thank.’ was the last thing he thought before he became dead to the world.

* * *

“... there’s not much to see here as this is merely a room where I keep extra furnishings, but feel free to look around,” said the voice of Reonora Aestethe as the half-keeper opened the door to her room.

The client, a green-haired viera named Alto Aria, ducked as she crept in, her shoulders hunched and hands apologetically in front of her as though feeling nervous to enter. Behind them, out of their line of sight but not out of their hearing was Reonora’s retainer, a blonde lalafell named Rosemary.

“Should anything catch your interest, just tell me what you wish for and I’ll put it outside for you to pick up.” Reonora continued.

As though anticipating the client to point at anything and to remember what was in her room in the first place, Reonora scanned the terrain. The usual couches. Table of fruit. Some plants and pretending to be hidden behind an oriental partition. The usual glade bed.

And one brown-haired miqo’te curled up on top of it.

Out of shock and a sudden surge of overstimulation, Reonora covered her mouth with both hands and let loose a soft gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Alto asked.

“N-nothing, it’s that… ah…” A million thoughts swirled around Reonora’s mind all at once. What if Alto wanted that bed? The ceiling was too low for Reonora to tip the bed over, let alone lift over her head and slide Teremy off. Would him being there make the bed less desirable to have, much like sitting on the warm seat of a chair? Either way, Reonora was with a client and would prefer to have the seeker out of the room.

‘What was his name again?’ Reonora tilted her head. ‘Right, Teremy. Right. Like ‘Jeremy’ but with a T.’

Reonora approached by the left side of the bed. She now faced his back and reached over to gently his shoulder. “Teremy…”

Before her hand touched him, Teremy whirled around and grabbed Reonora’s wrist.

Thanks to Reonora’s own strength, she jerked her hand away and pulled herself free, but not without wringing her hand afterwards. She should have figured by his attire, but his grip alone confirmed that he had some kind of martial arts training. Nevermind his ability to stop attacks in his sleep. She narrowed her eyes and said softly, “Teremy, I’m not trying to attack you. I just have a client here--” She reached over to touch him again, this time faster.

Reonora’s hand barely reached the halfway point before Teremy and his iron grip clutched her wrist again.

Reonora pulled her arm away again. Huffing childishly, she perched on the edge of the bed and went to grab her shoulder, this time allowing her battle intent shine free. As expected, he blocked and deflected her arm with his right hand.

Then suddenly, Reonora felt a sudden flash of battle aura come her way. She barely dodged to the left just to have Teremy’s fist nearly collide onto the side of her head. Instead, Reonora heard a snapping sound and felt a burst of air brush against her cheek. Had that punch connected, Reonora would have heard a bell ring three times for sure.

“P-perhaps he’s not really asleep after all?” Alto brandished her conductor’s baton. “I don’t see why you couldn’t just leave him there. It’s like invading a cat’s personal space. A-a pet cat, I mean! I mean, um...”

Had Alto said those words moments before, Reonora might have listened to her. But now, professional face off. Petty face on. Teremy’s eyes remained shut, his body relaxed, and now satisfied that his ‘threat’ had been dealt a fist of justice, he returned back to his resting position of before. He was asleep, but to be able to fight like this in his sleep…? And more importantly, to attack Reonora who had no intention of attacking him in the first place! The white-haired miqo’te clenched a fist. For the first time in a long time, she allowed her annoyance to take her over.

‘I recognise this fighting style.’ Reonora thought. ‘Emphasis on close combat in close quarters. Simultaneous attack and defense. Linear strikes to attack specific regions to knock the opponent off balance while maintaining balance themselves. Yes, it must be that style. Most likely because he wants to move as little as possible while still defending himself.’ Reonora turned to Alto and Rosemary. “Ah, please give me one moment as I try to get this unwelcome house guest off the merchandise. Health and safety hazard and all.”

Alto waved her hands. “No, that’s okay, you don’t have to--”

Too late. Reonora struck Teremy in his sleep, only to have her punch simultaneously blocked and attacked. But she was ready and deflected his own strikes. Countered. And countered. Then countered again. Their hands weaved together as though wrapping around each other, not wanting to let the other gain the better of each other. Sticky hands. Alto and Rosemary watched, the viera scratching her cheek, the lalafell tilting her head, both unsure as to how to help or what to do. Or that Reonora was attacking a sleeping young man. Or to have said young man successfully fending her off in his sleep. Finally, after what seemed like a stalemate, Reonora sighed. Annoyance quelled, her client’s requests finally reached her ears. She hopped off the bed and bowed towards the viera.

“My apologies for that unsightly display.” Reonora bowed.

“It-it’s all right. I mean, I understand. Usually in places that sell beds, people are discouraged from sleeping on the display?” said Alto. “At any rate, that bed looks lovely. I would like one commissioned for my own free company.”

Reonora raised one foot and clasped her hands in joy. “Thank you very much! My co-workers and I shall get started on the commission right away.”

However, once Reonora had set her mind off of something, said thought churned in her head like an annoying buzz. And her mind still clung onto that sleeping miqo’te and her subsequent pride as a martial artist herself. She turned back to glance at Teremy, who had rolled over and curled up on his left side like before. His left hand held his head, his right hand draped somewhere in front of him.

“Aw, let him sleep. He’s even defending his territory... with martial arts... while sleeping...” Alto giggled.

Rosemary nodded. “Once a cat chooses their spot, it’s their spot.”

Reonora sighed. “You’re right. I’m no different either. Ah well… let sleeping cats lie, I guess.”

The next afternoon when Teremy finally woke up, the seeker found himself on the receiving end of Reonora’s wagging finger, narrowed eyes and stern words. Teremy admitted he honestly had no idea what she was talking about. After all, he had been sleeping the whole time.

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Torch - Chapter 5: January

[corlitoviscom-blog]

TED Talk editorial design (pulling imagery from the transcript)

The transcript drew out a lot of imagery through key words and interesting technical language. I felt the transcript was the most inticing of all the TED Talks I had watched and read through.

I decided to go through the transcript and highlight the areas of interest. I then took these ideas through to the next stages of research and visual design.

Whilst reading through my transcript, I was analysing the text. I found the context to be close-to-home, almost relatable information about beings and places and things I could relate to and visualise with ease. As I read through, I would be able to create images in my head which would follow the transcript smoothly from idea to idea.

I found this to be quite interesting in itself, how I was visualising a thought process of Pawlyn within my own head.

I felt the talk more closely drew in the attention of adults, more appropriately 20-30 year olds with active awareness for the natural world. These are the type of people who would get behind this talk and help to promote the ideas Pawlyn has put across.

I'd like to start with a couple of quick examples. There are spinneret glands on the abdomen of a spider. They produce six different types of silk, which is spun together into a fibre, tougher than any fibre humans have ever made. The nearest we've come is with aramid fibre. And to make that, it involves extremes of temperature, extremes of pressure and loads of pollution. And yet the spider manages to do it at ambient temperature and pressure with raw materials of dead flies and water. It does suggest we've still got a bit to learn. This beetle can detect a forest fire at 80 kilometres away. That's roughly 10,000 times the range of man-made fire detectors. And what's more, this guy doesn't need a wire connected all the way back to a power station burning fossil fuels.

These two examples give a sense of what biomimicry can deliver. If we could learn to make things and do things the way nature does, we could achieve factor 10, factor 100, maybe even factor 1,000 savings in resource and energy use. And if we're to make progress with the sustainability revolution, I believe there are three really big changes we need to bring about. Firstly, radical increases in resource efficiency. Secondly, shifting from a linear, wasteful, polluting way of using resources to a closed-loop model. And thirdly, changing from a fossil fuel economy to a solar economy. And for all three of these, I believe, biomimicry has a lot of the solutions that we're going to need.

I'm going to talk about some projects that have explored these ideas. And let's start with radical increases in resource efficiency. When we were working on the Eden Project, we had to create a very large greenhouse in a site that was irregular and continually changing because it was still being quarried. Examples from biology provided a lot of the clues. For instance, it was soap bubbles that helped us generate a building form that would work regardless of the final ground levels. Studying pollen grains and Radiolaria and carbon molecules helped us devise the most efficient structural solution using hexagons and pentagons.

The next move was that we wanted to try and maximize the size of those hexagons and to do that we had to find an alternative to glass. In nature there are lots of examples of very efficient structures based on pressurized membranes, so we started exploring this material called ETFE. It's a high-strength polymer. And what you do is you put it together in three layers, you weld it around the edge, and then you inflate it. And the great thing about this stuff is you can make it in units of roughly seven times the size of glass, and it was only one percent of the weight of double-glazing. What we found is that with such large, lightweight pillows, we had much less steel. With less steel we were getting more sunlight in, which meant we didn't have to put as much extra heat in winter. And with less overall weight in the superstructure, there were big savings in the foundations. And at the end of the project we worked out that the weight of that superstructure was actually less than the weight of the air inside the building.

I think the Eden Project is a fairly good example of how ideas from biology can lead to radical increases in resource efficiency. And there are loads of examples in nature that you could turn to for similar solutions. For instance, you could develop super-efficient roof structures based on giant Amazon water lilies, whole buildings inspired by abalone shells, super-lightweight bridges inspired by plant cells.

So now I want to go onto talking about the linear-to-closed-loop idea. The way we tend to use resources is we extract them, we turn them into short-life products and then dispose of them. In ecosystems, the waste from one organism becomes the nutrient for something else in that system. One of my favourite examples is called the Cardboard to Caviar Project by Graham Wiles. And in their area, they had a lot of shops and restaurants that were producing lots of food, cardboard and plastic waste. It was ending up in landfills. Now the really clever bit is what they did with the cardboard waste.

They were paid to collect it from the restaurants. They then shredded the cardboard and sold it to equestrian centres as horse bedding. When that was soiled, they were paid again to collect it. They put it into worm re-composting systems, which produced a lot of worms, which they fed to Siberian sturgeon, which produced caviar, which they sold back to the restaurants. So, it transformed a linear process into a closed-loop model, and it created more value in the process. I know it's a quirky example, but I think the implications of this are quite radical, because it suggests that we could actually transform a big problem – waste – into a massive opportunity.

In the Mobius Project, we're trying to bring together a number of activities, all within one building, so that the waste from one can be the nutrient for another. We would have a restaurant inside a productive greenhouse. Then we would have an anaerobic digester, which could deal with all the biodegradable waste from the local area, turn that into heat for the greenhouse and electricity to feed back into the grid. We'd have a water treatment system treating wastewater, turning that into fresh water and generating energy from the solids using just plants and micro-organisms. We'd have a fish farm fed with vegetable waste from the kitchen and worms from the compost and supplying fish back to the restaurant. And we'd also have a coffee shop, and the waste grains from that could be used as a substrate for growing mushrooms. So, you can see that we're bringing together cycles of food, energy and water and waste all within one building.

The final project is the Sahara Forest Project. During the evolution of life on the Earth, it was the colonization of the land by plants that helped create the benign climate we currently enjoy. The converse is also true. The more vegetation we lose, the more that's likely to exacerbate climate change and lead to further desertification.

And if you look at some of the organisms that have evolved to live in deserts, there are some amazing examples of adaptations to water scarcity. The Namibian fog-basking beetle has evolved a way of harvesting its own fresh water in a desert. It comes out at night, crawls to the top of a sand dune, and because it's got a matte black shell, is able to radiate heat out to the night sky and become slightly cooler than its surroundings. So, when the moist breeze blows in off the sea, you get these droplets of water forming on the beetle's shell. Just before sunrise, he tips his shell up, the water runs down into his mouth, has a good drink, goes off and hides for the rest of the day.

If you look closely at the beetle's shell, there are lots of little bumps on that shell that are hydrophilic; they attract water. Between them there's a waxy finish which repels water. The effect of this is that as the droplets start to form on the bumps, they stay in tight, spherical beads, which means they're much more mobile than they would be if it was just a film of water over the whole beetle's shell. So even when there's only a small amount of moisture in the air, it's able to harvest that very effectively and channel it down to its mouth. An amazing example of an adaptation to a very resource-constrained environment – and in that sense, very relevant to the kind of challenges we're going to be facing over the next few years, next few decades.

We're working with the guy who invented the Seawater Greenhouse. This is a greenhouse designed for arid coastal regions, and the way it works is that you have this whole wall of evaporator grills, and you trickle seawater over that so that wind blows through, it picks up a lot of moisture and is cooled in the process. So inside it's cool and humid, which means the plants need less water to grow. And then at the back of the greenhouse, it condenses a lot of that humidity as freshwater in a process that is effectively identical to the beetle. And what they found with the first Seawater Greenhouse that was built was it was producing slightly more freshwater than it needed for the plants inside so they just started spreading this on the land around, and the combination of that and the elevated humidity had quite a dramatic effect on the local area. It was like a green inkblot spreading out from the building turning barren land back into biologically productive land – and in that sense, going beyond sustainable design to achieve restorative design.

We were keen to scale this up and apply biomimicry ideas to maximize the benefits. An important biomimicry principle is to find ways of bringing technologies together in symbiotic clusters. An ideal partner for the Seawater Greenhouse is concentrated solar power, which uses solar-tracking mirrors to focus the sun's heat to create electricity. And just to give you some sense of the potential of CSP, consider that we receive10,000 times as much energy from the sun every year as we use in energy from all forms – 10,000 times. The kind of synergies I'm talking about are, firstly, both these technologies work very well in hot, sunny deserts. CSP needs a supply of demineralized freshwater. That's exactly what the Seawater Greenhouse produces. CSP produces a lot of waste heat. We'll be able to make use of all that to evaporate more seawater and enhance the restorative benefits. And finally, in the shade under the mirrors, it's possible to grow all sorts of crops that would not grow in direct sunlight. The idea is we create this long hedge of greenhouses facing the wind. We'd have concentrated solar power plants at intervals along the way.

Some of you might be wondering what we would do with all the salts. When you evaporate seawater, the first thing to crystallize out is calcium carbonate. And that builds up on the evaporators – gradually getting encrusted with the calcium carbonate. We could take that out and use it as a lightweight building block. And if you think about the carbon in that, that would have come out of the atmosphere, into the sea and then locked away in a building product.

The next thing is sodium chloride. You can also compress that into a building block, as they did in a hotel in Bolivia. And then after that, there are all sorts of compounds and elements that we can extract, like phosphates, that we need to get back into the desert soils to fertilize them. And there's just about every element of the periodic table in seawater. So, it should be possible to extract valuable elements like lithium for high-performance batteries. And in parts of the Arabian Gulf, the salinity is increasing steadily due to the discharge of waste brine from desalination plants, pushing the ecosystem close to collapse. We could evaporate the waste brine to enhance the restorative benefits and capture the salts, transforming an urgent waste problem into a big opportunity. Really the Sahara Forest Project is a model for how we could create zero-carbon food, abundant renewable energy in some of the most water-stressed parts of the planet as well as reversing desertification in certain areas.

So, returning to those big challenges that I mentioned at the beginning: radical increases in resource efficiency, closing loops and a solar economy. They're not just possible; they're critical. I firmly believe that studying the way nature solves problems will provide a lot of the solutions. But perhaps more than anything, what this thinking provides is a really positive way of talking about sustainable design. Far too much of the talk about the environment uses very negative language. But

here it's about synergies and abundance and optimizing. Let's make progress with what could be the most exciting period of innovation we've ever seen.

Thank you.

(Applause)

[sarahjtrash]

Overwhelming

Elriel, 1.3K, Rated T

A/N: This has been sitting on my computer for forever. It’s something a little different, and it’s based on a Tyler Knott Gregson poem (Link at bottom of post). Enjoy.

A flower curled around her arm as she sat completely still. A whisper of darkness, a small light, and budding fire flooded her vision. Nothing she saw was actually in front of her. Though, she could feel her Shadow sitting nearby.

He murmured something to her, something meant to help her understand her visions. Nothing worked, except for him sitting next to her. The blurry visions became slightly clearer and slightly less overwhelming. The Fox had tried his hardest, yet she knew that whatever he offered would never be enough. She wished it were, for then there would have been no rejection and little hurt.

But, Shadow understood being misunderstood. He coaxed thoughts out of her gently, probing her to disclose what she saw. He knew she wasn’t losing her mind, even when she believed she was. He said her name gently to pull her back. A small smile drew along her face.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, “It was not much.”

He nodded like he knew, and one of his small, dark friends curled to whisper in his ear. A blush. 

“That’s alright,” he amended, “one day it’ll work. My abilities took long to master, let alone for others to understand.”

There it was again. A need to be understood. Sometimes, she desired for the flowers to envelop her completely and drag her into the earth. Blend her into the ground and hide from existence. His shadows, it seemed, believed otherwise as they slowly tucked one of her hairs behind her ear.

She dreamed that Shadow would somehow brush her like that with his own hands. Though, she knew that whatever scars laced them prevented him from reaching for anyone. So, they stayed in their stagnant place, her supposed ignorance and his fear of something more.

As their time progressed, the Flower’s vision became darker. Reality became harder to distinguish, even when Shadow tried to help. She felt like she was swimming, more so than before until her life felt invaded with everything that could happen.

Dinners would be full of long stares at nothing, seeing but not participating. Distantly, she could hear their murmured voices raise concerns at her state. To which Shadow would placate their fears, and she would shine a small smile in what she hoped was his direction.

The clanking of forks and spoons and knives resumed after he said something about her. This small moment of lucidity would be a reprieve to the cataclysmic images rendered by her subconscious. Sometimes, the power became too much, and she would pass out. The others would cry and hiss at her actions, but like a miracle, once Shadow placed his hands upon her form, she would drag herself back.

Her life became a never-ending projection of shadows, not like his, creeping in on everything. 

A shadow around a glass. A shadow around a pillow. A shadow around a dagger. A shadow around her finger. 

Their curling form seemed to follow her everywhere she went. Though when her Shadow finally came, he would drag every unknown away until her current life never seemed so bright.

Around him, she was finally able to tend to her flowers properly. Even when blinded by the most prophetic visions, she could still feel her way through them. Hydrangeas would ask for water. Petunias would beg that she pull the dead flowers. Roses would gently guide her hands to show her what thorns needed to be removed. But when her Shadow came, she could finally see what she was creating.

They burst with color and shape when he arrived. She knew it was not that they hid themselves, but more that she could finally see what her ministrations reaped. All her love and devotion that she never once whispered to Shadow represented itself in these gardens, but it felt safe that he would never know. That the garden was really for him. 

When she saw her own creations she understood how her family rarely raised questions about her health. 

 They’d seen her work and assumed it was her method of coping. A beautiful and complete method of coping.

A small frown grew across her face at their misunderstanding. The idea that this garden was for someone who was already a flower like her. 

Shadow asked her what she’d been seeing. 

“A Garden,” she whispered, thinking of Shadow sitting next to her, “A garden filled with too many words unsaid.”

Shadow returned the next day, like always. Behind her, he could see the way her spine curved sharply, and he feared that her habitual position would one day keep her curled in on herself forever. Slowly, she turned to look at him, and his breath hitched slightly in his chest. Her eyes were glazed over, so he knew she wasn’t seeing him, not really. Even though she was long gone, the weight of that gaze and smile made his heart pound.

Their lessons never reaped much. She would try and conjure a depiction of what made her eyelashes flutter, but it was never anything conclusive. He would just remind her to keep trying and that most of what was to be learned must come from within her. 

Though week after week, she would always be in the same spot even as her own garden crept towards her.

She could feel her family tromping through her work, trying to find her enveloped somewhere.

Shadow knew exactly where she hid, though. He understood that her garden kept growing, and she would not move. And so if she was engulfed, it was not to hide, but more forgetfulness that flowers would keep growing. He sat next to her, tentatively allowing his own shadows to wrap around her, gently warning her of his presence.

“They search, but they will never find,” she'd said.

Slowly, he nodded.

“I think I understand a little more now.”

Again, he nodded.

“Shadows are almost all I see. I feared blindness for a long time, but I know that I was wrong.”

He knew that a loss of eyesight was not impossible as a Seer. Many ironically lost their vision to an ability to see. He dreamed that this would never happen to his own Flower. Though, the idea of shadows flooding her made him panic slightly, for she should not have to suffer like him.

He reached with one of his own wisps to wrap around her, to which she placed her head upon his shoulder. Every inch of his body tensed with the intimacy, but relaxed as her scent rolled over him. His arm ached to stretch around her. Maybe he could initiate some touch, here where no one would ever be able to see. So he let himself have that much. 

 His arm snaked across her back, and she breathed, “Finally.”

Since that day, he came and wrapped her in his embrace and her visions would subside completely. The first time it happened, she feared that they may be gone forever. For no matter how much it separated her from others, it was a reason for her Shadow to return. However, he seemed not to mind as he sat quietly with her every day and tucked her into his side. Neither remarked about how her eyes rarely fluttered or glazed over anymore. But, she could never keep existing like this without saying what she knew was true. 

“Please don’t leave,” she whispered.

“I would never,” he replied.

They sat in silence until he broke it, delicately.  “I am yours. Always. What does it feel like knowing that?”

She smiled. “Amazing. Overwhelming. Warm.”

“For the first and last, Good. For the second,I am sorry.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s how it should be. So much love it is overwhelming. Always.”

Shadow blushed at that, but he knew in his heart that it was true.

Here’s the poem

[arleendoeswords]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Arrow (TV 2012) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Characters: Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak, Roy Harper, John Diggle, Lyla Michaels, Malcolm Merlyn, Thea Queen, Laurel Lance, Quentin Lance, Sara Lance, Barry Allen Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Family, Domestic, Action/Adventure, Romance, Alternate Reality Summary:

Nothing so far, not the island, not the Undertaking, not Slade could have prepared Oliver Queen for the earth-shattering year awaiting him. Who knew regaining your humanity could be so hard?

Chapter 1: Announcements

Felicity Smoak was pretty confident of her abilities. However, the dilemma of knocking on the door while juggling a large bowl full of her famous eight layer dip (the eightieth is a secret, she often said with a wink) in one arm and the twelve pack of beer in the other, confounded her.

She stopped for a moment and kicked the door with her sneaker.

John Diggle opened, his smile wide and welcoming, "Hey there."

She answered his smile with one of her own. "I come bearing sustenance," she lifted the bowl to his eye level, "and adult beverages." John chuckled and took the beer from her.

"Thanks," he said and moved away for her to walk in.

John's place before the return of his ex-wife Lyla, had always struck Felicity as a bit austere. Digg's apartment had felt lived in, but a bit solemn. Muted colors and serious lines, much like the desert he spent in during much of his time in the Special Forces. However, now as she walked into the apartment and headed for the kitchen, she could see splashes of colors around the rooms. A dark red pillow on the recliner. A wonderful throw full of chaotic blues, greens and oranges spilled over the dark brown of the leather sofa. A new piece of abstract art, bold and full of rough strokes adorned the dining room wall.

Lyla already was making her mark.

Happiness swelled in Felicity's heart. Good, John needed a woman's touch. Need color on his sofa and his life.

Her smile didn't fade when she and Diggle walked into the kitchen and saw Lyla trying to shove something into Roy's mouth.

"Come on, Roy. It is only a bit of spinach and artichoke. It isn't rat shit."

Roy grimaced and Digg laughed, "Well now he definitely won't try it. "

Lyla stuck out her tongue at him and didn't protest when John reached out and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to him.

He took a bit of the concoction off Lyla's fork, "Hmmm, not bad-definitely not rat shit."

Lyla swatted him on the chest and both of them laughed.

Roy's face shuttered and Felicity's own grin faltered watching the fleeting moment of pain grace his face.

It had been two weeks since the war ended. And a little more than a week after returning from China to find Roy beating his fists raw on the broken dummies still standing in their old ruined lair.

The letter Thea left on the floor next to him. He hadn't heard them and didn't even respond when Oliver tried to stop him. Roy kept hitting and when he noticed who was stopping his fists he turned them on Oliver.

For a second, everyone feared the Mirakuru had left some long-term effect on him and he was in the middle of another episode. Then Felicity saw the letter. She picked it up and read the note. Horror and anguish for Roy flooded her and she knew he wouldn't stop until he dropped. Running to the dismantled cabinet, she found what she was looking for and came back to the fighting men. Roy slammed into Oliver, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Felicity stabbed Roy with a knockout dart. Thankfully, Roy was human again because he froze mid-swing and like a marionette doll with his strings severed, collapsed on the mat next to a panting Oliver. "What the hell just happened to him?" Oliver rubbed his temple where Roy landed a lucky right. Confusion and hurt warred in his blue eyes. Burning tears itched behind her eyes and she could not speak, knowing how much the letter would hurt him as well. At her expression, Oliver's face grew pale, "Felicity?"

She handed him the letter. As she feared. He didn't take it well.

After reading the letter, Oliver looked at her. His face devastated and stricken.

He left for a few hours. Afterwards, when he returned to a hungover Roy nursing his raw fists, he didn't berate the younger man. Instead, he went to him and said, "I am sorry. It is my fault. We will find her." Roy's eyes bright with tears, but gave Oliver a hard nod and jumped up to pick up the mess he made of dummies.

Oliver didn't say anything and helped him. Through it all, she could only stare and pitched in to help in silence.

Finding Thea proved a little harder than expected because since finding out she purposely left, Felicity still hasn't been able to track Thea down.

Roy didn't ask her about her progress. He only trained and trained, and then trained some more. The single-minded devotion he currently exhibited reminded her too much of another man driven by despair and demons. "It is my fault," he told her not a few days before after another failed attempt to find Thea.

"No-" She tried to say more, but Roy cut her off as if she never spoke,"If I had just told her the truth…" Roy trailed off, his eyes glazed. Secretly, Felicity agreed-not that it was his fault, not that-but the telling the truth bit. Of everyone already in the loop about Roy and the Arrow, Thea should have been first.

Not that she could actually voice that unpopular opinion with Thea's very overprotective, worried brother within earshot.

That was a topic she would have to address with Oliver another day and time.

Back in the present she pulled a cold beer from the case and handed it to Roy, "Here," she said. His signature lopsided smile graced his face and he tipped it towards her in thanks. Grabbing one for herself, she toasted and they both took a swig.

Today was the first day since coming back they had had an afternoon without scrambling from one thing to the next.

"Where's your roommate?" Felicity asked, taking another sip, enjoying the cool liquid going down her throat.

Roy shrugged. "He had a lunch meeting with Walter. Said would be here after."

After they found Roy, Oliver decided to stay with him at his place in the Glades. Roy didn't protest too much, which meant two things to Felicity-one, he didn't want to be alone or two- he was too depressed to care who lived with him. She thought it was a combination of the two, but Oliver had given her a knowing stare and a nod. He wanted to keep an eye on Roy. He felt responsible for the boy's pain. It broke her heart to see them suffering for the same reason in different ways.

Thankfully, the arrangement had worked out so far because Roy was still alive and Oliver hasn't come to the lair breathing fire.

At least not about Roy and Thea. That topic was reserved for getting his family's company back.

Oliver spend most of his time these days with Walter and lawyers trying to figure out what they were going to do about Queen Consolidated. Everything was still up in the air and there wasn't any real leadership heading up the ship at the moment. The shareholders were all up in arms and even Walter was having a hard time from keeping them from dismantling the company. Oliver kept cursing his idiot act of signing it over each day that went by and the need to make a clear and concise course of action soon was stressing him greatly. All of then knew if he didn't do something soon, Queen Consolidated wasn't going to be around very soon.

It was part of the reason for this gathering today. That, and Diggle was finally going to let them know the big news the couple were withholding.

By the way they were intertwining their fingers and the intimate looks, Felicity had a pretty good idea what it could be, but couldn't wait to hear it.

A knock broke through her reverie.

Oliver was here.

She took another swig of her beer and steadied herself.

Diggle opened the door, and both men gave each other a pat on the shoulder as Oliver walked in. You would think they hadn't seen each other for months instead of last night. But then again, a number of things had changed with Oliver in the last few weeks.

It was as if the crisis with Slade, the death of his mother, him almost giving up his life, caused a hyper-awareness of his surroundings and the people around him. He had touched and laughed and smiled more in the last fourteen days than in the last two years Felicity has known him.

Seeing him lighter warmed her soul in ways she didn't want to examine.

It overwhelmed her at times, the quiet joy of seeing this light come over him at different moments. Watching and actually embracing everything around him. A swell of something heavy and full would surge up her body and she often would blink back tears.

Like now.

Take another sip,she told herself and looked at the ordinary granite counter-top.

John looked towards them and motioned for them to come to the living room.

Everyone settled on the chairs and sofa, except for Roy who sat on the floor propping his elbow on the table, dipping another chip into Felicity's dish.

"Man, Blondie, what's in this! It is great." His big eyes crinkled at the corners as he bit down.

She laughed. Sometimes it has very easy to forget he was still young. But moments of this, with him on the floor and making noises while chowing down, snippets of the boy came through.

Diggle cleared his voice and said,"Well, now that we are all here, there are a few things Lyla and I wanted to discuss with all of you."

Oliver bent down and took a chip and some of the dip. "What about?" and then ate it. He blinked and stared at her in amazement. "You made this?"

Felicity snorted, "Yes, but why don't we hear about what John and Lyla want to tell us. My dip can wait."

Roy coughed.

Annoyed at her damn double entendre mouth, Felicity ignored Roy, Oliver's amused half smile and focused on John.

"You were saying?"

John gave a small shake of his head and threaded his fingers with Lyla's. Felicity stared for a moment at the beautiful contrast of his dark skin against Lyla. Almost like yin and yang.

"Well," he said looking over at his ex, "Lyla and I were wondering what you guys were up to this Friday?"

Excitement spiked in her stomach. The looks they were giving each other, like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar and not even caring.

They wanted to drag this out, well she could do it do. Teasing, she said,"I don't know guys. I mean I have TONS of job offers to go through. I don't think I will be available on Friday. But if it is really important, I think we can work something out." Winking, she bent down and took a bit of the dip.

Flavors explored in her mouth. Damn, it really was a good. She smirked to herself. At least her mother had taught her one useful thing.

Lyla smiled, "We were hoping you all could come to the courthouse with us."

"I knew it!" Springing up from her seat, Felicity hugged them both. "Congratulations! I am so happy for you both!" John and Lyla laughed, then Felicity noticed a lack of bodies. Still hugging John, she looked behind her to see Oliver and Roy sharing similar confused expressions.

Exasperated, Felicity huffed, "Really, guys. Courthouse? Ex-married couple living together." Still no recognition. How the hell could they be so oblivious! "They are getting married!"

Shock and happiness simultaneously appeared on Oliver's face. Both men rose and gave hardy congratulations and hugs.

"There is one other bit of personal news we wanted to share." Lyla said. Her smile softer, almost vulnerable. Dig have her a similar expression.

Something akin to deja-vu skirted through Felicity, which was impossible because if what she suspected was right, this was not something she had ever experienced before.

Thought it was life altering. For them and for the team.

"Is it big or small news." Felicity asked, hating that her voice came out in a hushed whisper. Diggle's dark eyes turned soft. So many emotions swirled there, love, respect, fear, hope. He inclined his head to her in a slight nod and said, "Right now small, but will be big at some point." His words held a tone of reverence and awe.

Tears swelled and spilled from her eyes. "Oh, oh!! Oh god! I am so happy for you both. So happy." She grabbed Lyla's hand, not surprised to see she was crying as well. A baby. A small, beautiful human being.

Again, Oliver and Roy were clueless. This time, the moment was too beautiful for her to be flippant with them.

She looked at Oliver, really looked at him in a way that she hadn't for two weeks. Letting herself hold his gaze and drown in their blue depths.

The words came out in a whisper, laden with emotion, "They are having a baby."

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 56 – Beyond the Rubicon

A while ago

The oh-so-tantalizingly-prolonged race with the Dark Spear had led Lunark to the sea, and she belligerently sprinted across the surface of water as restless as her heart.

She did not take a second of rest for the duration of her days feigning a hunter famished for weeks, who has at last spotted a prey and is thus pushing her legs with extraordinary strength, her life undoubtedly bound with no future if she is to miss her last chance.

And then one day, she entered a marine region with artificial outline of landscape looming in distance.

‘Is that a human city?’

No, looming was an overstatement; the image was barely there for Lunark to discern, stationed too far away and eliciting from her a squint.

Based on which Lunark determined Dark Spear did not include the city in its itinerary of destruction.

Which she scratched from her head when Dark Spear suddenly slowed down.

“How tenacious. We didn’t think you’d actually chase us for days, without any sleep or meal.”

“You should have known that tenacious is my nickname. You must have been watching inside him.”

Lunark and Dark Spear darted murder at each other, having stopped at a coral reef nearby, which was in fact within the vicinity of Lunark’s “personal dining spot” she had stopped by when she had to take Yuhyung from Rael.

“Tsk, perhaps that’s why this guy has fallen for you. We shouldn’t have expected you to tire out and give up. And now, we shall make sure you will never again be a thorn in our path.”

Dark Spear began to emit thick purple-black wind from head to toes even before it could finish its sentence.

Giving her neck a forceful snap to shake away her hair chaotically fluttering about, Lunark clenched tight her fist adorned with fur and nails projected as results of her shift.

Bam!

Pow!

Wham!

In stark contrast to the cloudless weather, ear-splitting cacophony that was by no means short from an exemplary case of a thunderstorm warning decorated the heaven and the water, fists splintering seawater into pieces, crooked fingers scarring the air with invisible slashes.

As the battle progressed, Lunark and Dark Spear dispensed as much blood, sweat, and aura as they could muster.

Which eventually led to Dark Spear’s triumph.

Crombel is dead, and without Raizel or Muzaka at the scene, Lunark was practically facing off against the world’s top-tiered power, amplified with Crombel and pieces of his Blood Stone.

And with Frankenstein’s body under Dark Spear’s command, Lunark could not be upper-handed; she never was.

“Now you see whom you picked a fight with? Huh? You must have forgotten due to the fact that we’ve served as Frankenstein’s weapon, but we are calamity! A catastrophe! A walking ball of cataclysm that no one could or should dare to wield! We have at last seized a chance to set free the stockpile of our hatred into ruination! We will never let any soul ruin our chance!”

Discharging its centuries-old hatred and grudge through Frankenstein’s lips, Dark Spear drove itself even harder against Lunark.

The werewolf warrior did her best to fight back, but her standing was broken down from the point her offense was turned into desperate counter.

In the end, Dark Spear landed a pregnant blow that punched a huge hole into her furry body, so big it was a wonder its owner’s guts and bones did not trickle out, and with a critical splash Lunark sunk into the sea, engulfed by pieces of blood-red corals.

‘No... I can’t let this... End here...’

Lunark tried so hard to keep her eyes locked upon Dark Spear’s dark purple face, snicker-snapping at her how she will be a wonderful meal to the aquatic inhabitants, but having lost too much blood her body dogmatically vetoed her order.

In truth, her body was devoid of enough power to veto her thoughts, for the only parts of her body that were currently functioning were her brain and heart.

The two organs, begotten with unidentical roles, shapes, and locations, were madly firing much-weakened neurological signals and cardiac pulses, consumed by a single knowledge.

I am weak.

I am too weak.

I am too weak to stand against the Dark Spear.

Salty mixture of blood and water slipped through Lunark’s fingers, and on the contrary to what was happening to her body, somewhere deep inside her heart – or somewhere that cannot be dubbed deep inside her heart, closer to the very essence of an entity called Lunark, where a soul should be, if to be described in words – was growing increasingly clearer.

Like a full moon revealing its countenance behind the clouds finally thinning.

Or like the tip of an ice-glazed mountain donned sharper and sharper by razor-like wind and snowstorm.

I need more.

I need more power.

I need far greater power.

RIGHT NOW.

That was the last thought Lunark came up with before she closed her eyes.

Or rather, it was an obsession.

Or rather, it was a heart-aching wish.

*****

Thud.

‘...What?’

Thud. Thud.

‘Is this... A heartbeat? Is it mine...?’

Thud. Thud. Thud.

‘But... It feels different. It feels too unfamiliar... And poised...’

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

‘And most importantly, it’s powerful.’

The pounding that was knocking past her eardrums and auditory cells onto her wholesome figure was enough to tell her – instinct being nowhere near the definition of this phenomenon, closer to an enlightenment or a sign – that the source of this heartbeat possessed tremendous power and will that she could never fathom.

And it was beckoning her.

Do you want power?

She heard a voice whispering.

‘...Who is this?’

She could not ascertain whether it was a man or a woman that was speaking to her; however, for some strange reason she was positive that the lord of this voice was already her acquaintance.

Do you seek power?

‘...Who are you? Why would you tell me this...?’

She attempted to part her eyes, but neither her eyelids nor her eyelashes were connected to her mind.

Everything felt dreamily numb; Lunark imagined perhaps this is what people mean by drifting somewhere between life and death.

Or perhaps it was no imagination.

She could swear she was plummeting into the deepest pit of water; nevertheless, at the same time she could swear her breath was at utmost comfort, with her body growing warmer, her head becoming more crystalline.

It was as if she was diving into the bosom of the sun.

The only warmth and silkiness she has ever felt was available during only one case – when she was with Frankenstein, feeling her heart tingling in whatever way possible.

‘Frankenstein.’

Her mind recalled the man whose body was taken over by Dark Spear, probably walking the path of massacre by now.

Then she recollected how she ended up into the mouth of the endless ocean, and her heart thundered inside her with a great thud.

‘I must save Frankenstein. And I need power that eclipses that of Dark Spear powered up by Crombel and the Blood Stone.’

The train of her thoughts was assigned a new destination like turning on a switch.

Follow this mysterious voice.

Reach out to this voice.

And take the power spoken by this voice.

And so save Frankenstein.

Lunark felt her fingers unrolling, like a flower petal kissed by sunshine.

But then a voice held her back in a haste.

Are you mad?

Are you willing to take the power you haven’t even read the manual on?

Are you going to give up your singularity as a pure werewolf, a one-of-a-kind you have remained as for the past centuries?

You have stayed free from body modification! You have made nurture of your pristine power as your greatest value and the trail of a warrior!

Prior to her submarine descent, she would have snapped into senses and withdrew her hand.

Notwithstanding, as she continued her underwater soar into the abyss that was whipping its pitch-black tongue at her, Lunark was enveloped in the ripples of rumination just as thick.

Never in her life has she found her determination losing its ground – determination to put faith in only her natural-born power.

But here she was, losing her ground for first time ever.

Her mind, trapped in her submerging body, was gazing at the Rubicon, with a dice in her hand.

She knew that the second she embraces the power from this voice with unknown source or identity, Kentas will be the only werewolf to carry the title of a werewolf perfectly clean of acquired body transfiguration.

From this point and on, her essence as a werewolf, identity as a warrior, and breathing history as Lunark could be devastated from the roots.

Which is more important? Everything that has ever made me who I am? Or Frankenstein?

That was when her heart and mind, so far struggling in unison to get her back to motion, became split once again, ejecting themselves to opposite directions, coercing her to follow.

Her head shrieked at her –

I am a werewolf. I am a warrior. I am Lunark. I am nothing without these names.

Her heart resonated in counterattack –

But now I can no longer imagine myself without Frankenstein.

Her agony was deep, but her choice was swift.

Her hand moved, driven by what was left of her power.

It tossed the dice that was rolling about within her, to go ahead and open itself wide and call forth.

‘Lend me your power for a bit... Just a little bit. Help me save my beloved.’

To her surprise, she could instantaneously feel glee – glee so striking that her heart throbbed.

It was not her; the voice that was talking to her was in glee.

A bit.

I shall endow you with my power for just a bit.

Now go. Go and redeem Frankenstein.

Outburst of aura collected itself in her grip, as if the world’s entire warmth shrouded her.

Feels like I am holding a mini-sized sun in my hand, thought Lunark with a fuzzy head.

The next moment, the aura tinted with the same crimson color conveyed by the coral reef that provided the stage for her face-off against Dark Spear unleashed its wings ever so valiantly.

Her hand curved like the talons of a falcon gripping its kill, to grasp the blood-red aura as explosive as a living volcano.

At the same time, every corner and crook of her body was struck by power like a lightning, and her tattered abdomen grew back at an accelerated rate, as time has reversed itself.

And Lunark’s eyes flashed open.

Her pupils, originally as pink as the pretty wolfsbane flowers she used to deliver to Frankenstein, were stricken with circle as red as the aura that amassed upon her.

As red as the wings of a phoenix, breaking through the darkness to announce its majestic, grandiose return.

*****

Meanwhile, in Lukedonia

“Sir, what is the meaning of this?!”

Ludis released a rushed shout, retrieving his Izarok, its defense art disabled by the Dark Spear’s attack.

A fatally wounded Central Knight brought him news that Lukedonian boundary was trespassed, and he did not hesitate to scurry to the shoreline.

And he was horrified, witnessing a dark-purple body trashing about like a lion slaughtering a pack of rabbits.

He first summoned Izarok to protect Lukedonia, but he was no match at all.

Other heads of clans bolted out of their doors, due to the depth and intensity of the power that no one on earth would be able to ignore.

“How many times do we have to tell you that Frankenstein is asleep? Well, forget it – this would do the trick for those who just won’t listen!”

Seira, Regis, Rosaria, and Ludis were petrified in nervousness, as they had to strive to keep standing, even with their soul weapons in their hands.

Pow...!

That was when an echo reverberated far away.

Everyone, Dark Spear included, turned their heads to pinpoint the origin of the imperial vibration, to open their mouths wide in shock.

For they spied a bloody pillar of light blazing upon the marine body not far from Lukedonia.

And that was not the sole reason why they were awestruck.

“This power...!”

“Impossible!”

“There’s no way he would’ve known what is going on here...”

“But this power definitely belongs to...!”

On the other hand, Dark Spear remembered whom it had thrown into the sea where the red pillar of light stood, because of which it scowled in response.

“Don’t tell me...!”

(next chapter)

Now it’s time for round 2! XD As I’m posting this chapter, which features Lunark’s showdown against the Dark Spear, I completed writing the conclusion to Rael & Yuhyung’s part. Of course, there is epilogue-ish parts waiting to be composed, but now I can definitely feel that the ending for this fic draws near. And I’m so excited to see it happen in the future. :D

[alchemisland]

Another tasty slice of something something.

The creative fires are roaring. Evidently my progress pleases the Muses, or perhaps the Norns blindly weave my progress. Either way, I have someone to thank for this spate of artistic inspiration. I've spoken briefly already about Lucretia, part two of that expected very soon. Shout out rebloggers, evidently pilgrims of exquisite taste, of respectable caste and shapely formed as if in alabaster molded. Never before congregated online such a troupe of tasteful tarts, you're all appreciated.

Also in the pipeline or very close to completion is Wizards and Lizards, a new fantasy horror type short story. Clocking in just over 5K words at the finish, it's the shortest short I've managed to write, and it took some fucking whittling. I'm in agreement with Robert Graves, cut every bastard mercilessly, leave only the prime beef. I do fall in love with these winding sentences though. The story involves two wizards discussing the events of the previous night, when a foul tempest stirred from the lungs of hades to collapse the patchwork chequy exhibition tent serving as a circus these ten years past. Shiree, a mysterious seer, embittered by his lowly position in the troupe prays vengeance on all mummers, and Bozo, the clowniest clown that ever clowned. His body, as if hewn from oak, stretches the multicoloured garb to its widest extent. Fists like glazed hams crown his thick wrists like a hammer head. Both men wonder, what is next?

Finally something not horror but still horrifying, two bits of World War one fiction, a rare pleasure of mine. See what happens when a Tommy is tossed to a strange land. Lost and terrified, he stumbles across valleys of riven flesh and pillars of dessicated bones, a hideous winged creature hunting above on frayed leather wings. The second a war, not unlike the great war, has raged for a thousand heads on a faraway trench world. A globe of twisted razorwire and chalklike craters that shelled the landscape mountainous. A planet so foul, so poisoned, so fond of hate that ochre clouds surround its somewhere with the volume of lethal toxins administers. Still the last ragged resistance find ways to continue, the struggle endless, their goals no longer clear, their leadership divided and formed into rebel phalanxes. What hope remains?

That's 'Like Lanterns', 'Trench' and 'Wizards and Lizards' coming for your ocular perusal with the quickness.

Love and endless gratitude,

Mike

Also currently reading

[celestialfading]

Unknown

I don’t remember everything, still; but I remember most of the life I lived after coming here.  Everything was unfamiliar, yet felt as if I’d been here before.  The land, the dirt, even the air seemed different.  I knew I had traveled to another realm, but I hadn’t realised it would feel so awkward.  Lying in the damp grass -- assuming the dew was just settling -- I knew things were going to be incredibly different.  I had followed her from my realm to hers and I never stopped to think of what kind of impact that may have.  I remember my parents telling me about my older brothers leaving; but only after begin affected by the curse that plagued my family.  The Shadow Heart (as I called it which now sounds a bit childish) was always a looming threat that made us wary to stay morally in bounds.  

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that coming to her Earth was best thing for me.  We were children and in love; but whenever it was which I assumed was somewhere in the late 1700’s, a sixteen year old girl and a seventeen year old boy really had nothing to fear here especially when the boy had been seventeen for countless earth years.  There was no concept or strict progression of time so why not be seventeen for as long as you wished?

Time moved quickly past us as we continued our life together.  From attempting to gain her mother’s approval -- she saw myself and Katherine as devils because of my greatly diminished magic in this world and her tiny grasp on the concept -- to taking up jobs near what was to be or was then New Orleans to moving North where we settled for a time near a small town that had long been forgotten.  I didn’t know as much as I felt I should have on the subject, but what little my father had taught me of farming allowed up to live in a certain quiet, comfortable, remote area that suited us for quite sometime until Annalise came.  

Mother was the one who oversaw my “home economics” training at the palace, but she never prepared me for my first child.  We had no clue Katherine was even pregnant for a while until she began to show.  

I was told, when a woman was pregnant, she would begin to glow and I thought that was the silliest thing.  The trees and plants and water glowed with a certain bioluminescence, but never had I heard of a man glowing in any sort of way save for when using particular sorts of magic.  Mother , then, informed me that pregnancy was a sort of magic.  To this day, I can understand the concept of the whole process as magic which I never thought I would accept as such since I still find it rather stupid to admit.  Katherine’s smile was always so unbelievably gorgeous and made me weak in the knees, but her smile while she carried Anna was something even more beautiful.  After Anna, we moved elsewhere as we began to find our current home a bit suffocating.  Not that it was a small place.  I think we just wanted to find a more open location to live in.  

We found it in a sort of open wilderness further North which I believe was somewhere East of Montana.  We settled in a rather large valley of sorts with mountains surrounding up to the back of our newly built house.  I remember the layout nearly perfectly.  Then, it was a rather large home with two sturdy, heavy oak doors and two floors.  The bottom room was what they would call now a “great room” consisting of the living room and kitchen (which wasn’t very much since most of our cooking and food storage was kept outside in a separate section) and the second floor was our living quarters.  Katherine and I had a room with a slanted room over our bed and windows placed in where we could see the stars at night and the rain fall down on us when it rained.  

Something about the rain. . .  For reasons still unknown to me to this day, every time it rained, Katherine’s eyes would glaze over as if she were about to cry and she would sit or lie and gaze out over some unknown memory or landscape I couldn’t see.  I did, however, catch her crying sometimes and I would merely sit with her.  She always told me that the rain made her happy and we played out in it numerous times.  I never did understand and it never changed anything about us.

There were three more rooms on the second floor of the house.  One was a sort of office I felt I needed but never used, and two more were bedrooms.  Anna slept right across the way from us.  There wasn’t a hallway, simply a landing that wrapped around the middle section where the stairs came.  I believe the second bedroom was a guest room of sorts, but it went unused; probably even after we left again to a new location.

This house was smaller and the layout is still a bit fuzzy, but I remember feeling incredibly at peace here.  This was the home where we discovered Anna’s magic.  There was a small stream near our house that was surrounded by a thick forest of pines.  She was about three and held her hand over the water just as calm as you please when a swirling tower of water rose to meet the palm of her hand.  I hadn’t used in so long and Katherine had stopped longer than that so we weren’t exactly expecting our daughter to pick anything up.  I suppose with my blood, it was somewhat inevitable.  Little Emily came about when Anna had just turned five.  While Anna was thin and had long, light blonde hair, Emily had dark, raven hair like her mother.  Where Anna was outgoing and social, Emma was quiet, shy, and tended to stay behind her mother’s legs when in town which sat just a little over two miles away.

Anna was definitely my girl.  She wanted to do everything her Papa did.  She would follow me out into the forest to watch me hunt or fish or whatever I planned to do that day.  Emma was her mother’s child.  Staying inside to be close to Katherine.  She did not like to be social to active and she remained as thin as Katherine.

Three years later, we had William.  My boy.  I loved my daughters so, but Will was my boy.  I cannot express how excited I was to have a boy.  Not because he could carry my bloodline -- Anna or Emma could do that -- but because he was my only boy.  He was a bit like both of the girls.  He had his shy side, but once he got going, he was going and going fast.

Anna loved to cause trouble and create distress for Katherine I think she was seeing how far she could go before I became as distraught as my wife.  I remember one instance incredibly clear.  I was off hunting or collecting firewood and I heard Katherine calling for me.  I heard her give a small shriek before and I was already moving back to the house.  I arrived and found Katherine looking up into one of the only great oaks that lived in the near vicinity to find Anna and Emily with Will in his bassinet in the highest branches of the tree.  Apparently, Anna had been practising her magic and levitated Will into the tree along with Emma who had begin being taught what magic Anna knew.  

Time moved on and we found a new place to settle.  I think we continued North and I’m still unsure how much time had passed.  I was nearly forty years we were married but we appeared only in our mid twenties.  My magic may have been diminished, but it was still very prominent in our lives and it affected every aspect of it even only slightly.  Anna was nearly fifteen, Emma was eleven, and Will was approaching seven.  Anna and Will trained with me most days in the martial arts styles taught by my father and sometimes with makeshift sword which were really only long sticks.  Emma, as stated before, wished to be more with her mother and would cling to her.  

The house was just a bit larger than our previous one; and this time, we had neighbours.  Benjamin and Rebecca Thomas lived a few stone throws away and had a son, Edward.  Maybe this is rather pointless to say, but Anna was quite taken with Edward.  Benjamin and Rebecca had become great friends and we thought the world of their son so we really didn’t see any harm in his courting our daughter.  In fact, we encouraged it.  Katherine and I thought it would be difficult for our children to find and start families of their own and we were fortunate with the Thomas’.  Emma and Will teased Anna endlessly and we were all the happier for it.  I, myself, found hours of great amusement with this pastime.  We were certainly happy and had been.  Rarely was there anything to worry about or be upset over.  But I knew balance had to be set straight.

We had had problems in the past with other folks thinking us as devils and demons and whatever else.  We’ve been chased and antagonized for living as we do and living as isolated as we were; and there were still those who went out of their way to cause of grief.  The night they came for the last time was what drove me to embrace the Shadow Heart.  The curse that plague me for countless however many earth years it was in my realm had finally broken through.  The Thomas’ attempted to deter the townsfolk, but they were adamant that the demon family must be burned and so they ended the lives of our friends.

We saw their torches chase the darkness from the forest before they were on us except, other had already approached without our knowing at set the house aflame.  We stood on the balcony of the second floor as the fire-starters retreated like bloody cowards and I leapt from my perch and took off running.  A family trait that I carried across the realms with me was the ability to shift into the form of a wolf as my father could a lion.  I took off in my alternate form and burst through the mob approaching, hoping to have them chase me; but somehow they were prepared for it.  I don’t know how, but they seemed very much aware of my abilities and my family’s magic.  I remember coming around back to the house to find it completely engulfed in fire and my family nowhere to be found.  I knew I had heard them leap to the ground and I also knew that Katherine had led them away in the form of a white wolf -- The first time in years she had employed magic.  They had vanished while the torch light retreated from the area.  I followed.

My favourite things about my family were just the certain, little things each one did.  They way Anna called me Papa when she wanted to cuddle even as she had gotten older and entered womanhood.  The way her crystal blue eyes pierced and melt your heart.

I loved how Emily’s brown eyes were soft and kind and she was always smiling.  Even when she was nervously hiding behind Katherine’s legs, she was smiling and taking in everything around her.

Will was strong and he was always wandering about learning everything he possibly could.  He was seven years old and he was so brilliant and curious with a heart full of that childlike wonder I doubt ever would have faded.

And Katherine. . .  I loved absolutely loved every little thing about her.  Her tiny, upturned nose that twitched when she caught my gaze around the room.  Her little dances she would perform and then wait for me to perform back.  The way her body molded to mine as we curled into bed together to listen to the nightly thunderstorms.  The way the sun would caress the pale skin of her sheek in the early morning and I would just watch her in awe as she slept.  She wasn’t just beautiful or breathing taking; she was everything in my life and world.  I relinquished my rights to the Corinthian throne and everything that entailed.  I left my family and friends I had learned and lived, and fought beside, and grown up with to be with this incredibly soul.  Her laugh. . .  It was just so intoxicating.  Her kiss. . .  It took my breath away every time.

I came to the clearing the townsfolk had set up prior to their coming after us.  I remember searching hours for my family and the people who took them.  As I said before, they seemed to know everything about us and not even the Thomas’ were informed.  And I never told anyone save for my wife and some of her family while I lived with them where I had come from.  Thinking back now, I wouldn’t be surprised to know it was her Mother.  Jacqueline Dubois.  She loathed me from the moment I entered their life.  Even before when Katherine would enter my realm through her dreams and then later tell her parents about the Prince Johnathan William Korellis Silver that she so greatly held affection for.  

There were four large wooden stakes in the ground where three men stood about laughing heartily.  The stakes were occupied by four human forms.  Two were longer than the others and the men continued laughing and prodding the burning figures.  I remember lunging at the first and tearing out his throat while being stabbed by another’s spear in the ribs.  Flashes of death and blood splatter flickered before me until they were dead and I moved, wounded to the largest of the burning figures.  I pulled it down beginning to sob hysterically and cradled my burned wife in my arms.  I focused what I could to the forefront of my palms and gently caressed her ashened cheek.  I remember crying over and crying softly, “No, no, no, please, no.”  Her blacked face began to clear and form back into its former beauty.  Her eyes fluttered and I heard her voice, nearly inaudible.  I’m sure she told me something along the lines of “don’t give up”  or “don’t worry”, but I never heard her before she died again.

Then there was darkness and it enveloped me completely. . .

[michellechanliveproject]

Final Pieces and Evaluation

These are my final pieces that will showcase in the exhibition at Margaret Street room G.04; a series of terracotta pinch pots covered in symbols and doodles using a black glaze to represent the individuality, personality and characteristics of each unique pot.

The making process of this series was very quick because I decided to form 6 terracotta pinch pots a week before the deadline and glaze them without biscuit firing the pot first, which is a risky process if the pots have air bubbles the glaze would splash on other people’s work in the kiln. I also left the terracotta dry over a heater in my room which the technician said it wasn’t a good idea because the materials have a memory of knowing the object is being naturally dried and forcing it may distort or crack the shape. Another downside is the pots had to be fired over the weekend and the earliest day to collect them is deadline day; this was due to my indecisiveness that got in my way throughout the project.

At the start of the course I thought ceramics would be the most enjoyable to work with because it involves being hands-on and you decide your own path of making whatever you want. The introduction session into the process of throwing clay, forming pinch pots, learning to use the potter’s wheel and how to glaze your work felt really easy to handle and understand after much practice throughout the weeks.

Soon all the experimentation and lessons we studied on would work towards designing ideas for the final piece and end exhibition near May and this got me slightly nervous at first as I knew deciding what to make has always been difficult, either between natural forms I studied in my last project or cute/kawaii pots I researched on Pinterest but the latter got me interested to create several colourful test pieces which I was happy to make.

During the project I encountered problems like developing ideas, time keeping and forming decisions leading up to the final few weeks. After experimenting with 2D facial features of animals and other themes for some time, I’ve been talking to Jenny and Mark on my current progress and they suggested couple ideas that were different to my own which made me question if to give them a go considering the amount of time left. I looked at the artist Thomas Schutte and Etruscan pottery they recommended me to think about that led up to this point in forming 2 large contrasting series of ceramics I had to make a final decision on.

Due to my lack of judgement and considering the long making process within ceramics I should’ve made better choices and planned ahead of time what I wanted to do so I wouldn’t have to deal with all the rushing. However in the end I enjoyed learning and experiencing something new like ceramics as I never tried it before, besides having a toy version as a kid but it doesn’t count. The final product itself is very pretty with the patterns adorned around the terracotta; if I had a finer brush I could paint more details on but the pots look fine as they are. Hopefully the terracotta will be ready before deadline or else I’ll use the other pots in its place. Ceramics has broaden my ever growing artist skills further as a student in which I may want to try and learn more on the subject in the future.

[xpetrichorum]

EIGHTH WEEK

This week I got quite a lot done and took quite a lot of pictures. I got my re-imagined glaze tests back, and they turned out pretty nice. I don’t like the color, it’s definitely not what I was going for, but the drips look fantastic. I might keep this recipe around and experiment with different colorants to see if I can find a color I like. Besides that, I threw some more things for my 30″ and assembled some more of it from the pieces I threw last week. After that, I plan on using some more slabs to balance out the few slabs I used before. As I go up the neck of this piece, I want to use smaller pieces and more thrown pieces.

We also made some tests with mason stains! I had pansy purple.

And, I went out to the wood kiln and got to see what it was all about for the first time. I’m pretty excited to fire in it at some point.

So here are the new tiles! The drips are awesome!

And here is my current progress with my 30″, with the thrown pieces from last week added at the top

Here are the pieces I threw:

And finally, here are my mason stain tests and a shot from the wood kiln!