#no idea why the cardboard looks so dark in the pictures once I coloured them HAHA

[doctorsiren]

They’re so hard to photograph properly, but I’m having fun

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

I can't lose anyone else

TW: mention of death/loss + panic attack

A tall elderly woman in a long brown wool coat walked down London’s gray streets, wrinkled cheeks pink in the fresh morning air. Heads turned as she passed, eyes staring after her. While she was certainly a beautiful woman, there was nothing incredibly special about her or her clothes, but she radiated a regal aura, almost...magical. Her face was impassive though unreadable, and she seemed oblivious to the awe she induced in others. Minerva was simply too grief-struck and numb to notice. She walked rapidly, hands hid deeply in her pockets, strides long and unwavering, turning around corners, swerving left and right between the throng of Londoners going to work, still unaware of the hiss of tires on the wet asphalt as people turned around to look back at her.

Somewhere between the thousands of irregular footsteps hammering the pavements, the last drops of rain dripping from the roofs and sliding off the tiles, the honks of cars, and the hushed mix of words and languages and conversations rising from the crowd, the haunting notes of a musical partition escaped a lone violin. It came from a young man, with long dark brown almost black hair, clad in black leather, a red scarf wrapped around his neck, and sparkling, youthful blue eyes full of hope. He stood under a porch, the wooden instrument resting on his shoulder under his chin. Minerva locked eyes with the musician and smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile, full of magic and kindness. It was probably the warmest smile the young man had ever seen. Despite that, he had no idea, no way of knowing, that when she turned away and disappeared amongst the sea of unknown faces, her eyes were full of tears and her heart clenched a little tighter in pain. A single thought flashed in her mind through the haze of desolation:

“He looks so much like Sirius.”

***

The building wasn’t particularly remarkable, it looked rather shabby in fact. The dull blue-gray paint was crackled and dirty in some spots, white-framed glass windows detaching themselves on it. The only splash of colours were the bright multi-coloured curtains weaving in the light breeze through the windows on the fourth floor. Minerva took a small piece of parchment out of her pocket, unfolding it.

“13, Athlone Street, London”, it read.

It was the right address. Sucking in a nervous breath, she looked left and right before taking her wand out of her sleeve.

“Alohomora,” she whispered, pointing her wand at the door.

A faint trickle of magic leaked out of its tip, slipping into the lock, gliding between the whirring cogs of the intricate mechanism, unlocking it with a small click. She smiled, satisfied. It was a very simple spell, one she could have easily executed without a wand, but the familiar weight of it in her hand was reassuring, and knowing all of her spell-work was flawless, from the basics to the most complicated skills, still filled her with childish pride and delight.

Minerva pushed the door open and found herself in front of an old, wooden staircase that appeared quite fragile and rickety. Some parts of the wood were chipped away at, splinters sticking out here and there, and others had begun to rot, filling the air with an unpleasant musty smell. Carefully, she went up the stairs, passing locked door after locked door. Finally, on the fourth floor, a single door offered itself to her eyes. It was painted bright red and a rainbow doormat lay in front of it. She knocked. It creaked open, and a tall, slim, young man dressed in a large knitted cardigan appeared. Remus Lupin. The last Marauder.

She observed him carefully: he looked exhausted, dark rings circling his honey-brown eyes speckled with green. He was very pale, and his hair had lost its golden shine, grown longer, ends1 split. He had also lost weight, his shoulders appeared bonier than ever, protruding in sharp angles under the wool, and his cheekbones stuck out harshly, giving his usually soft face a hard, cold air.

“Professor McGonagall! I can’t say I was expecting any visit, especially not at such an early hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He greeted her, smiling weakly.

“Merlin, Remus, how many times do I have to ask you to quit calling me “Professor” and just use Minerva?” She replied, rolling her eyes, falsely lighthearted.

“At least a hundred more, Professor,” chuckled Remus.

“Once a Marauder, always a Marauder, constantly doing it your own way,” she observed, sounding almost amused. “Anyhow, there are some…matters I wish to discuss with you. May I come in?”

“Of course, sorry,” he answered bashfully, stepping aside and letting her in, leading her through to the living room. “Would you like some tea?”

“That is a very kind offer I will gladly accept.”

She sat down on the couch, folding her hands in her lap, back straight, waiting, apprehensive, while Remus disappeared in the kitchen. In front of her, one of those new, fancy muggle boxes which showed moving pictures and emitted sounds rested on a low table.

“Televisions,” she remembered they were called.

Next to it, a record player stood proudly, surrounded by boxes upon boxes full of vinyl discs protected by their colourful thin cardboard covers. Books lay strewn everywhere, some askew in shelves, others stacked on one another on the floor. Patchwork quilts were neatly folded over an armchair, and a couple of sketchpads peeked out between the books here and there. A vase full of half-dead red tulips, Sirius’ favourite flowers, of course, ruled over the coffee table on which stood an empty coffee mug. But what captured Minerva’s attention above everything else were the framed pictures which hung by the dozens on the walls, occupying every available centimetre. There were traditional muggle photographs, still and unmoving, but there were also wizard-moving pictures. Most of the time, they showed Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter, occasionally joined by Lily, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, Molly, Arthur, Frank, and other friends from Hogwarts. There were photos of them in the Gryffindor Common Room, others in Hogwarts’ hallways, others on the Quidditch Pitch, others near the Black Lake, some in their dorm room, and a couple from Hogsmeade. There were a few photos of Remus with his family at home and by the sea, and one of Sirius and Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. And, there was also a series of neatly ordered photographs, seven in total, hung up one above the other, displaying the Marauders in the Transfiguration classroom. She knew them all too well. She had taken those, every year, at the end of the last term, exactly an hour before the Hogwarts Express would depart. Minerva had watched these boys grow, year after year, become adults, and now…two of them were dead along with one of her favourite students, one of them was in prison, and only one remained.

“I apologize for the mess, I only arrived a couple of hours ago and Sirius seems unable to maintain any order in our apartment without me,” said Remus, interrupting her thoughts, handing her a steaming mug of tea.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, taking a sip.

“I found a box of biscuits, feel free to help yourself,” he added, gesturing to the metal tin he had brought with him in which lay golden-yellow butter biscuits. “So, what did you need to speak of so urgently?”

“I…,” she hesitated. “Have you read the news from the Wizarding World recently, Remus?”

“No, I had none available where I was and today’s newspaper hasn’t arrived yet. Why? Did something happen?”

“Merlin, I am so, so sorry, my dear boy, but—“

A sudden sob broke through her words.

“Professor,” gasped Remus worriedly. “Are you all right? Should I get you a tissue or something?”

“N-no,” she cried, “stay.”

She sighed deeply, dejected, before attempting to deliver the dreadful news again.

“I—“

“Minerva,” interrupted Remus, “while I am dreading whatever you must tell me, I need to hear it. It’s fine, I have been through a lot, I can handle it, I’ll be all right.”

“James, Lily, and Peter are dead, Sirius is in Azkaban,” she blurted out, burning tears sliding down her cheeks.

“What?”

Looking at him compassionately, Minerva took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice, and began recounting the events from the start. Remus listened wordlessly, staring at her in dumbfounded shock.

“No,” he whispered, as soon as she finished. “No, this isn’t possible, Sirius would never murder James and Lily. No, I refuse to believe this…”

He shook his head violently as she sat quietly, waiting for the outburst.

“No,” repeated Remus with more conviction. “Tell me the truth, Professor, what actually happened?”

“That is the truth, I am so sorry,” she replied softly.

“TELL ME THE BLOODY TRUTH!” He roared, standing up.

His teacup fell out of his hand, shattering on the floor. Fragments of china flew everywhere, peppering the floor and sofa. A small piece grazed Minerva’s hand, scratching her pale skin. A few droplets of scarlet blood oozed out of the thin wound. Remus looked around as if suddenly realising what he had done, and sat back down abruptly, burying his face in his hands.

“This can’t have happened, I know Sirius, I’ve known him for almost 10 years now, the man I love would never murder his best friends in cold blood, he simply isn’t capable of that. Please, tell me the truth,” he begged desperately.

At that moment, he appeared so fragile, so weak. It was almost as if he would break into a million pieces if anything so much as a light breeze would blow over him. He shook and shivered, every limb trembling brutally, as his breath quickened drastically. Sensing the impending panic attack, Minerva put her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to face her, gripping him tightly.

“Remus, look at me,” she whispered soothingly.

He did not react, staring blankly past her before shutting his eyes tightly as he began to suffocate, panting heavily.

“Remus look at me, I’m here,” she repeated, harsher this time. “REMUS LOOK AT ME!”

It was as if something inside him had switched off as if his consciousness wasn’t there any longer. At loss, she took out her wand, pressing it against his temple, and said:

“Spiritus remedium!”

A warm wight light briefly illuminated the room. Remus opened his eyes, his frantic breathing slowly regaining its normal pace.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Of course, my dear. Do you…want to talk about it?” She asked, looking at him concernedly/

“No…thank you but no. I just need some time for myself right now, be alone for a while, understand, and come to terms with whatever this is,” he replied, turning away.

“Remus,” she began hesitatingly, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. “I know we haven’t exactly been very close lately or spent a lot of time together, after all, you did know me as your teacher for most of your life. Nevertheless, it is precisely because of that that I’m concerned about you. I’ve watched you grow into the wonderful young man you are now, and…I just can’t lose anyone else, not you.”

He met her gaze glistening with tears, and a look of understanding passed between them. They both knew what was at stake here, and they both knew they probably wouldn’t survive any more loss. In some ways, they only had each other left now. Student and mentor. Friends. To some extent, mother and son. No, they definitely could not lose anyone else, especially not each other.

“Take care, Remus,” said Minerva finally standing up, wrapping herself in her coat.

“You too, Minerva.”

She left the colourful apartment and all its pictures and former happiness behind, disappearing in London’s grey streets, just another nameless human being. This time, heads did not turn as she passed, or maybe they did but she never even fathomed it, as all she thought of was the funeral.

[babysizedfics]

virgil virtually never gets rid of any gifts ever, but especially not gifts he receives when he's little. which leads to a bunch of random piles in his room like: here are all of the pretty rocks ro-ro has given him. and here are all of the flowers that daddy has tucked behind his ear. and here are all of the pen caps that vee pulled off of mama's pens bc it was a pretty color. and sometimes he just picks one item from a pile and just holds it with him the whole time he's little bc he Loves them

combinging both of these concepts because i have an IDEA

patton keeps a scrapbook for the family and takes a ton of pictures, roman keeps all of his drawings and stuff from when he is little, logan likes to keep records of notes about virgil's regression and some on roman's littlespace too purely for research purposes although not really because aometimes when he's not feeling very happy but is too shy to ask his family for affection he will read back through his reports to remind himself of how much love they all share

but virgil doesnt keep anything from when he's regressed, he doesn't like to identify with his baby things, he never used to keep colouring books he used to just print colouring oages then throw them out straight away once he was big again because he struggled so much with accepting his regression that he just wanted to forget about it

and he insists that he doesnt like keeping things from his little time and the family is a bit disappointed but won't push his boundaries, if he wants to throw away the drawings that patton hasnt stuck in the scrapbook then thats his decision

until one day patton is looking for something in virgils room and finds a big cardboard box under his bed that's incredibly heavy

he opens it, seeing as it was labelled 'spare clothes' and patton was searching for a sweatshirt that he suspected virgil had stolen (he wouldn't have taken it back in all honesty, he just wanted to know where it was)

and he finds a massive collection of memorabilia from virgil's regression

there's a big messy stack of paper which patton flicks through, realising it is literally every single colouring and drawing virgil has ever done, including some that roman had done but deemed unworthy of his own collection

and theres one of romans toy cars, the purple one that he had 'lost' but that he had quickly forgotten about because honestly he had about thirty

and there are so many pen lids, mostly purple, some pink, a few dark blues and reds, which makes patton giggle at the amount of times he had been looking around the floor trying to find pen lids and having to make ones out of tin foil until they could get more pens

and a little bag of random puzzle pieces (patton snickers a bit because logan had been convinced that people were breaking the summoning rule and thats why his puzzle pieces were going missing) most of which had some kind of images on them that baby vee had liked such as little bunnies from a woodland scene puzzle and a piece with a black kitten from a city at night puzzle

and there's dried daisies from the time patton tried to teach him how to make a flower crown, which didnt go amazingly so just ended in baby vee throwing daisies into the air like confetti with light giggles

theres the pretty smooth rocks that roman gave to baby vee to help calm him down when he accidentally touched a yucky texture

and there's the cards that they all made for virgil for his first birthday celebration with him (which they made sure was the first birthday he actually enjoyed)

and theres a broken crayon from the time roman accidentally stepped on a bunch and patton kissed his aching foot better with raspberries that made roman squeal with laughter

and theres the lid from the crofters loganberry jam patton had used to bake logan's birthday jam cookies while his little ones helped (roman) and watched (virgil)

and there's a decorative bookmark logan had been using for the space book he read to vee that had mysteriously gone missing when the book was finished

patton takes an hour or so to quietly rifle through the box

he knows he shouldnt have been doing it but he couldnt help himself from diving headfirst into all of the memories that he thought virgil had forgotten, since his regression is so all encompassing he can hardly ever recall what happened

but here was proof that virgil kept the memories safely stored in this box, close to him

patton wipes away his tears, his cheeks aching from smiling so much and slides the box carefully back to its hiding spot

and, of course, patton finds his hoodie peaking out from under virgils pillow (and he just smiles and leaves it there, happy that it could clearly bring comfort to virgil)

he didnt tell virgil that he found his little collection, he knew that if his baby wanted to tell him about it then he would in his own time

it actually takes nearly a year for virgil to do so, and by then there's three boxes and so many more memories, and the whole family sit together and go through them and nostalgise together one night

and even though virgil is mostly grownup during the evening, patton doesnt let him off of his lap and doesnt stop kissing his cheek and tearing up everytime he thinks about how many memories theyve all made together and how many many many more will come

[rolorules]

Tanjoubi Omedetou, Niisan!

Part I

"Evening, Commander! Better be on your guard, he's particularly moody today."

Villetta Nu, who had just exited the lift that had taken her to the secret OSI control room raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you for the warning, Victor, but I think I know how to handle him."

"Good for you, Commander. Well, good night, then."

Villetta entered the room that was filled with control panels and screens that, among other things, showed footage of the hundreds of cameras that were hidden all across the premises of Ashford Academy. The panels were manned by a single fair-haired OSI agent whose name she had yet to memorise. Unlike Victor, he looked more annoyed than upset, and the reason for that was obviously the only other occupant of the room. And Victor had been right. Rolo, who was lounging on the sofa, looked dark and brooding. A casual observer would simply have interpreted this as anger and reacted like the blonde agent, who shot Rolo a nasty glance, musing that the one thing child actors and child assassins have in common is that they start getting troublesome once they hit puberty. Villetta Nu, however, had achieved at least some basic understanding of the teenage boy's inner workings, so she guessed that something else was going on.

"Good evening, gentlemen! Anything to report?"

"Good evening, Commander! Nothing to report. We're just sitting here having a good time," the agent said sarcastically, exchanging another mean look with Rolo, who also returned Villettas greeting, gave her a brief nod and then went back to toying with the locket that was dangling from his mobile phone.

"Rolo, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, Commander. I'm just thinking about how to best fulfill my mission."

There was a stifled snort behind Villetta. She looked at the agent, then at Rolo, and said: "I'll relieve you, agent. You can call it an early night."

"Understood, Commander." The agent gave her a grateful look and hurried to the exit, trying not to let his relief show too much.

When the door had closed behind him, Villetta turned to Rolo again and said:

"Now, Rolo, will you tell me what's really going on?"

The purple-eyed boy hesitated briefly, then said: "My big brother's - I mean - Lelouch's birthday is next week, and I still have no idea what to buy for him."

Villetta smiled. "Is that all? Maybe you don't have to buy him anything. Just draw him a picture or something like that."

Rolo gave her a look that seemed to question her sanity.

"What am I? Five?"

"Then buy him a book, he seems to be very fond of reading."

"Yes, he probably knows all the classics. He is very smart and learned, especially for his age."

"Excellent."

"But I am not," Rolo sighed, "so I wouldn't know what to pick."

"Or maybe," Villetta's inner teacher said, "you could buy him a treadmill. He could really do with some exercise."

"I don't want him to hate me - yet." Rolo smiled, beside himself. "If Lelouch wanted to do sports, he would simply attend your lessons rather than skip them, don't you think?"

"Fair point." Villetta conceded, slightly annoyed. "Maybe you should ask his friends from the student council."

"I have considered that. But as his little brother, I should know him better than they, and I should not have to ask them for help. But I overheard their conversations concerning his birthday."

"And?"

"Well, Rivalz wants to invite him on a trip with his bike to Mount Fuji (which will mean more trouble for us, we'll probably have to wire the bike - or Rivalz). Of course I could borrow it from him and do the same, but that would be boring. President Milly says his birthday party in the evening will be her gift, but it's more like a gift to herself because she loves to throw parties, and Lelouch and I are celebrating his birthday in the afternoon anyway. Miss Shirley says she won't give him anything because it would be embarrassing. Plus, she wouldn't want her gift to be drowned in the sea of presents Lelouch is going to be showered with by all the other girls on campus."

"She, too, has a point." Villetta nodded knowingly. "Maybe you should not think too much about it and just buy some off-the-mill gift."

That suggestion made Rolo look exceedingly unhappy.

"Now what's the matter?" asked the P.E. teacher/soldier/secret agent, who felt increasingly like an agony aunt.

Rolo hesitated briefly, then asked: "Did you ever feel obliged to someone who is technically your enemy?"

He could have sworn that the commander was blushing, but dismissed the thought as ridiculous.

"Why - where does that even come from, Rolo?"

"Well, my big brother, I mean Lelouch, he gave me a present for my birthday. It was not actually my birthday, of course, but his sister's. But anyway, it probably was pretty pricey and I'm sure he put a lot of thought into it. So I feel that I should give it my all and find a great present for him, too. Is that wrong?"

Villetta Nu looked at Rolo's mobile phone and the heart-shaped locket that had been dangling from it for about a month and which the boy assassin would hardly ever let go. Realisation dawned on her, and her heart once again broke a little for the boy with the sad purple eyes.

"I don't think you're in the wrong here, Rolo. On the contrary, one good turn deserves another, as they say," she replied, trying not to think of a certain member of the Black Knights, "and it also benefits our mission if you take your role seriously, just don't forget that you are not really Lelouch Lamperouge's little brother, but an agent of the OSI."

"I will not, Commander!" Rolo replied.

"Good. I think you should go now. Lelouch is probably already waiting for you."

"You're probably right, Commander. Thank you. Maybe I have another idea whom to ask, but that can wait till tomorrow. Good night."

"One more thing, Rolo," Villetta said as he was about to leave the control room. She hesitated to break it to the boy, but went on: "You realise that Lelouch probably had his sister Nunnally in mind when he bought that gift, don't you? So don't let it affect you too much."

"I do and I won't commander." he said.

Too late. he thought.

While the elevator was taking Rolo to the ground floor, he was trying to sort his feelings.

His sister Nunnally. Did she even have a cellphone?

Part II

"Your name is Rolo, right? It's been a while."

"It has indeed, Lord Kururugi."

"No need to be so formal. How's the Vincent doing?"

"He's a great piece of machinery. I am eager to try him in actual combat."

"Don't be," Suzaku said, smiling at the fact that Rolo referred to the KnightMare Frame as "he". "How can I help you?"

"Well, allow me to put it bluntly, My Lord,  given the fact that you and Lelouch used to be childhood friends, I was hoping that you could help me find a suitable birthday gift for him."

That request caught the Knight of Seven off guard, so his immediate response was: "Oh right, December's not far away." Pushing aside his mixed emotions, Suzaku went on: "I'm not sure if I can help you. I used to pray at our shrine for him on his birthday. Apart from that, I mostly gave him something that I had made myself. like a nice calligraphy of his name, or a wooden katana sword that I had carved myself."

"That's amazing, Lord Kururugi."

"I know right?!. I had made one for myself too and wanted to have a duel with him, but he did not like that."

"Of course not, it involved physical activity." Rolo remarked drily.

"True." Suzaku grinned. "That hasn't changed, apparently. His sister Nunnally would knit dolls for him that looked like the three of us."

There she is again. How did she even do that?

"But what he liked best, I think," Suzaku went on "was a Shôgi set that I had made from cardboard and plywood, but he had to leave it behind when we escaped from home during the war."

"That's something like Japanese chess, right?" Rolo said. "I'm not surprised. That sounds like a game Big- Lelouch can actually win. And he certainly likes to win."

"You seem to have gained a pretty good understanding of Lelouch's personality," Suzaku replied, "but it's not just the winning that Lelouch likes. He likes to win knowing that he has outsmarted the enemy. That's his way of ascertaining superiority."

"You're right. I have often seen this when - "

"Rolo, you're okay?"

"Yes, more than okay. Thank you, Lord Kururugi. You have been a great help."

"I have?! That's good to hear. Then please keep me updated on the situation in Ashford."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Like I said, no need to be that formal, once I return to the academy, you will have to call me Suzaku anyway."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Goodbye, Rolo."

"Goodbye, Lord Kururugi!" Rolo said, suppressing the urge to bark "ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

Part III

The door of the Lamperouge Brothers' apartment opened and in came a bunch of plastic bags filled with teddy bears, gift-wrapped parcels, sweets and colourful birthday cards, followed by Lelouch Lamperouge, who was trying hard not to drop them. "I told them not to," he exclaimed, "I told them last year they shouldn't have, but they never listen."

"This is Valentine's Day all over again," a panting Rolo said while entering after his "brother". He was carrying a huge cardboard box filled with similar items. "Where do you want me to put the presents, Big Brother? Do you want to open them right away?"

No, please put them in my room, Rolo. I want to celebrate with my little brother first. We can open the gifts later."

"We?"

"I hope you'll help me." Lelouch grinned. "This is too much for a single person."

"Fine, Big Brother." Rolo said when he put down the box on Lelouch's sofa. "But please let there be no panties this time."

"I don't mind the panties," Lelouch's grin widened to that peculiar Lamperouge smirk, "as long as they are for boys. We have to live on a tight budget after all."

Rolo, who did not want to hear about tight budgets or tight panties, said "Let's celebrate. You get the tea, I get the cake."

So the cake was brought forth. It was a collaborative work of the Lamperouge Brothers. Lelouch had taken care of the dough, Rolo had done the icing. The cake had the obligatory 17 candles, and inside the circle that they formed, there was something like a smiley with light-purple eyes and light-brown hair featuring two cowlicks. Above the emoji there was a huge speech bubble, saying "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIG BROTHER!" Which, incidentally, was exactly what Rolo said at that point.  

Lelouch laughed in delight (and amusement because of Smiley Rolo, given that the original was not really much of a smiler, except now). "Thank you so much Rolo, you could not have made me happier."

"I hope I can, Big Brother, I still have a present for you when we've finished our tea."

So fifteen minutes later Lelouch was fiddling with the ribbons around a parcel that a nice lady from a shop at the Omatosando Mall had dilligently wrapped in expensive-looking paper. After Lelouch had removed the wrapping, he held something like a small, slim suitcase in his hands. He gave a quizzing look to Rolo, who was eyeing him nervously.

"Just open it."

"It's a chessboard!" Lelouch said enthusiastically, examining the foldable board and the figures. "These are great, theý look refined and modern at the same time. I particularly like the king. This is just perfect. Again, thank you, Little Brother. That must have cost a fortune! How long did you have to save your allowance for that?"

"You're welcome, Big Brother. It really wasn't that much of a deal." Rolo (whose "allowance" came in the form of a credit card with no limit, courtesy of the OSI) said and grinned smugly.

"I challenge you to be my first opponent, Rolo! The clash of the Lamperouge Brothers. A duel for the ages. But beware, I'll show no mercy!"

“I wouldn't have it any other way," Rolo replied. "I accept your challenge."

That was of course not totally true, Rolo mused, while Lelouch was arranging the pieces on the board. Before he had come to Ashford, he had known next to nothing about chess, how to move the pieces on the board at best, but his brother had taught him a lot about the game, and he had also read a few books about it, even joined the Ashford chess club for a while, so that he would at least have a fighting chance against Lelouch. Still, he was no match for him, but Lelouch would at least go easy on him for the first ten minutes or so, firstly, because he did not want to frustrate his little brother too much, secondly, because it allowed him to enjoy the prospect of victory a bit longer (Rolo always thought that this was how a cat felt when it had caught a mouse and played a little before the kill).

What Lelouch did not know was that his gift had a second part in the form of a tiny chess computer that Rolo had also bought. This model had allegedly defeated a chess world champion and allowed you to enter a start setting and go from there. Rolo's plan was to use his time-stopping Geass, should the need arise. He did not want to cheat to win though, only to provide his brother with a bit more of a challenge. The victory, after all, was part of the gift.

"Ready, Rolo?"

"Yes, Big Brother!"

"Happy Birthday!" Rolo said softly one more time, rather pleased with himself and the world.

[theangrypokemaniac]

Contests Part 2/2

6. Loser Jessie

Screechy harpie Jessay has even more of a raw deal than Mavis and Dawn of the Dead.

From the outset I knew she'd never be champion, but she ought to rise above the tiresome berks clogging up procedure.

Sufficient popularity at Pokémon Towers ensured the girls were allotted coverage of all their award ceremonies. They had a moment in the sun.

What has Jessie in comparison?

I can't recall Hoenn, but I don't expect it was much.

Sinnoh however carried naught but a single paltry episode.

This for a main character.

This for someone there from the beginning.

This for an ardent fan favourite.

This for a wench who, should we include all her various mutations, has featured in more installments than either of 'em.

But no, treat Jesseee as worthless, even lower than Dawn's groupies. It's not like anyone watches it for her.

Looking back, it's obvious what they were intending to do come Unova.

What's the score then?

• One paltry Contest on screen.

• A couple happen elsewhere, marked by a few seconds per mention when the script oh-so generously moves away from the thrilling main plot.

It's gotta be the small-town concerns for Jessuhleenuh, nothing major. She deserves no better.

• One won by James, so not hers. Press her inadequacy upon us!

• One obtained as a gesture of pity from Kate Middleton.

And how did that work? What's the good of allowing 'Dawn' entry again?

She'd already qualified. If winning here, that gives her six, therefore there aren't enough Co-ordinators for the culmination.

And when Jessie showed up with a Ribbon recorded as belonging to Dawn, how was she taken as fulfilling the quota?

The slapdash way these Contests are run!

God forbid Jess should be shown as excelling at anything. It must be scraping into the final undeservedly.

Bitch gotta know her place.

7. Bumpkin Jessie

...

Ain't no description I can give that don't rhyme with 'hit', or variations of the theme.

You thought the shafting Jessica got coverage wise was bad enough? Yer ain't heard the 'alf of it.

Sinnoh was a period of peak Moron Team Rocket, where the one surprise was how stupid they could be.

You may remember an early episode when James designed her clothes for the catwalk. She thought it'd complement his work by applying lipstick all across her mug.

Obviously Jessie would do that, clueless as to how make-up functions.

Come on kids, she's thick!

Even at that numskull nadir it's difficult to comprehend anyone choosing this get up without severe duress.

Picture the scene: you debut on stage, before an audience of thousands and television cameras, in an event preoccupied with superficiality.

What do you wear?

• Giant, oversized glasses out of fashion since the Seventies.

• Bootlace tie last worn in the nineteenth century Wild West by a barman serving sarsaparillas.

• Colour scheme of brown and orange, the nation's favourite hues.

• A man's old shirt fraying at the cuffs.

• Voluminous apron dress.

• Massive yellow bows last seen decorating an Easter Egg. Always a winner.

• Heavy, clod-hopping boots.

• PIGTAILS!!!

Even the name is unattractive.

Ah yes, very common for those under six. Unheard of later.

You have reached puberty haven't yer Jessie? I can't tell anymore.

They couldn't get enough of that combination in Cosmo, which is why it's no longer in print.

Not only is Jessie denied success, she's deprived of the chance to be pretty in a realm where nothing but that carries weight.

Worse, given how her face disintegrated, this is the best she's been for five generations.

Yeah, because the inbred milkmaid style is such a good look, eh?

SEXAY!!!

8. So Long, Tsundere

Remember tsunderes? What happened to 'em?

The curse of Pokémon was draining the well of inspiration too quickly, throwing away interesting characters as mere guests.

This is particularly noticeable regarding the ladies. Back then, we got Misty, Jessie, Jessibelle, Cassidy, Aya, Giselle, Tyra, Sabrina, assorted crones Brutella, Nastina and Lacy, plus Joy, Jenny and Dame Ketchum provided parental authority.

How did a series that began with ball-breaking birds like that end up with insipid, glassy-eyed dullards like Zuhreena, Banana Lana, Marsh Mallow and Lilliput?

Ooh, Zuhreena is a pwincess!

Ooh, Banana Lana bwows big bwubbles!

Ooh, Marsh Mallow wuvs phallic waddishes!

Ooh, Lilliput won't pwet wanimals bwecause of Secwet Pain!

Can you imagine such weak specimens finding any place in the anarchic atmosphere of the classics?

It's SO boring!

Where's the punch? Where's the human spirit?

Where's the entertainment gone?

This squishy attitude began in Hoenn. Misty left, Jessie's hair symbolically changed from volcanic red to pink, and Contests introduced a cuddly theme where glitter glue and sequins are top priority.

Every sharp corner, every jagged point has been filed smooth. Now its substance hasn't the hardness to even develop edges, not when it's all cushions and candyfloss, where catching Pokémon rests on them deigning to grant permission, rather than 'avin it out.

Tsunderes, exuding untamed charisma and independence, besides a soupçon of danger, simply don't fit the cardboard box we habit now.

Nor do yanderes, kuuderes, tsuntsuns, or even derederes. It's just nothing but smiley-smiley creeps.

I wouldn't mind any of these tropes as long as there was some sign of colour to be had.

9. The Sacrifice of Misty

Misty bid farewell under the feeble justification that the lack of a longterm goal made her vulnerable to sacking.

Such a line uttered as if her own choice, being beyond them as writers to invent a purpose.

This implied her replacement would have an exciting quest aiming for excellence, something just beyond Misty's capabilities.

What did we get?

Dressing up and collecting Ribbons!

Is that...is that it? Is that the great idea? Is that all the girls are worth?

I lost Misty for THIS?!

Perhaps it makes no difference. By Hoenn they'd rendered her a leaden blandness sucked dry of all that made her special.

Going by the greasy-toothed bastardisation that swanned up in Alola, Misty was simply too wild for the safe, stifling atmosphere of today.

Her departure ensued she remains frozen as a funny, beloved presence, unlike those she left behind.

Now there was a lucky escape, as once the fanny-flapping starts, the bints have it on the brain.

May had Max to beat on the side, but Dawn developed monomania.

Hardly an episode went by without some reference to Contests, or how today's plot spurred her on to the next opportunity.

Yer need help, love!

Rather than Ash's new friend being a fascinating person who so happened to enter vanity projects, the competition defined them to the exclusion of life.

It is but moths drawn to the candle flame waiting to engulf them.

Contests are this world's version of Tom Riddle's diary: they promise sympathy and validation, but they eat your soul.

Like Tumblr.

10. Completely Unoriginal

Seems to me it wasn't so much Misty had no goal, it was more that Contests were the supposedly hot concept wedged into an existing property.

If earlier aspects failed to accommodate the invader, the onus certainly wasn't on the new kid to change. Oh no, stuff it in and chop off whatever gets in the way.

In the eyes of the post-Shudo regime, Misty was too volatile to last, and so had to go.

What idiots.

She's a tsundere. The softer, more feminine side is a defining component.

Would it really have been so problematic to retain her as an entrant? If Jessie can, why not?

Even if failing to fit, so what? Since when was established characterisation a barrier?

Isn't twisting likeable folk into unrecognisable pods the modus operandi of the writers?

That canon is immaterial, and must always give in to whatever fancy they currently have?

Well then, what's the big deal in infantilising Misty to promote it rather than pensioning her off?

Viewers will be more invested in the challenges awaiting a familiar face rather than a stranger.

What reduces the above to the risible is the original Misty and Jessie both participated in the Princess Festival.

All Contests are is that very scenario on repeat and robbed of all meaning.

Think about it:

• Beauty round

• Battle round

• Jessie loses

Same bloody thing.

Not only have I got to suffer this draining spectacle, it's got the nerve to possess not one iota of fresh ideas!

Contests are a low rent rip-off. The Princess Festival had a worthy reward in the shape of one-of-a-kind Dolls.

It'd already been revealed that ordinary Princess Dolls were ruinously expensive, therefore the special Pokémon edition have to be priceless.

What d'yer get for the trouble of a Contest but a bit of plastic tat taped to bargain basement frippery?

And they demand you get five of 'em!

Contests themselves were then resurrected as Showcases, although mercifully slimmed down to only three, with the emptiness ramped up in compensation.

Perhaps ironically, Princess Versus Princess is one of my favourite episodes. I love its critique of female avarice and accurate portrayal of clothing sales as reminiscent of the zombie apocalypse.

I don't mind the Festival as a single adventure, but I may have felt less favourable had it been a constant presence.

Except it isn't the competition at stake. This is a framework to explore Jessie and Misty as people.

Through its device we learn their history and therefore how they came to develop as the girls we know.

The setting serves as an opportunity for both to confront the misery and isolation of their childhoods, with the promise of overcoming that old torment with the balm of victory.

In the final, they aren't so much battling an opponent as fighting to be free of the past.

The tragedy is only one can be granted that reprieve. The other must remain unhappy in the ruins of memory.

It matters, unlike vapid Contests, where posturing is king. What depth can they provide in comparison?

Despite identical content, they are inverse counterparts, with the Festival presented as merely a light affair concealing a rather dark tale of neglect.

Contests however are paraded as this worthy nourishment for body and mind, a major point in one's journey towards enlightenment, when all they really amount to is an organ grinder and his monkey arsing about for the slack-gobbed plebs.

Bread and circuses.

Best of all, Misty won, not some side twat, as it should be.

Note how Jessie dressed: in delicate, vivid robes and golden decoration. The boys thought her beautiful.

Not as a gormless dweeb you'd cross the street to avoid!

And why the need to disguise herself anyway?

The Twerps had no issue with Jessie of Team Rocket joining the fun back then, so what happened?

At least she received the consolation of gaining Lickitung as a friend, with James and Meowth desperate to comfort her.

What do Contests bring? Sod all!

[littleshebear]

Little Bird chapter 4

pt 1 | pt 2| pt 3

Ao3 Link

-/

Eva Levante meets a remorseful Amanda while Zavala gets a letter.

-/

Eva Levante has come to visit and thus, the orphanage’s common room is in a state of organised chaos. The Festival of the Lost will be upon them soon so Miss Eva has come to help them get started on decorations. Extra tables have been brought in and they’re already a riot of colour, covered in paper, glitter and foil. A few glue sticks roll off desks and begin to dry out on the floor, casualties of short attention spans and the excitement of an interruption to the usual monotony of their days.

Amanda sits in a corner away from the worst of the ruckus and looks down at the blank papers in front of her with an increasing sense of despondence. She’s not familiar with this celebration at all. Miss Eva had said it was to remember those who had been lost, “with joy and sorrow.” Amanda doesn’t feel like she needs reminding what she’s lost and while she understands the sorrow part, the joy aspect of it seems unattainable to her.

She glances around the room to try to glean some ideas from what the other children are doing. She sees mock candles rendered in cardboard, burning with ‘flames’ of orange tissue paper. Many of them create paper mock ups of some sort of round, orange vegetable she doesn’t recognise, only to then draw leering, grinning faces on them. It’s creepy. Why would anyone want that on their wall?

One of the other children spots her lack of activity and calls out, “Hey New Girl? Why aren’t you making anything?”

New Girl . It’s been months but she’s still “New Girl.” Amanda suspects that barring some major disaster in the City, she’ll always be the New Girl in the orphanage; refugees just aren’t arriving in the City anymore. She hears the stories, how she was the last to pass through the gates, how there’s no one left outside. She hears the jibes and cutting questions. Did you get lost? How could you miss the Traveler, it’s not like it’s tiny . They don’t say that to her face anymore, not since she channeled her frustration at their ignorance into her fists. She’d been put in detention for a week after that but it had been worth it. When her teachers sagely advised that fighting was wrong and asked if she’d learned her lesson, she’d nodded dutifully and said yes but that was a lie. There was nothing to learn, she was right. Those bullies had no idea what it was like out there. They had no right to pass judgement, no right to make fun of Ma and Pa or the rest of the caravan. They’d done their best.

That familiar, yet altogether unpleasant ball of heat starts to build inside her and spread up, through her chest, to her face and behind her eyes. She takes a deep breath and pushes her anger back down. She decides she wants nothing to do with this Festival of the Lost nonsense and opts on engaging in a totally different project. She sifts through her materials and picks out a piece of light yellow paper; not too garish, not too offensive, then picks out a dark blue crayon from a pot on the table. She wanted black but this is closest to that colour she has available to her. She leans over the table, nose nearly to the paper and begins to write, her little brows furrowing in concentration. After a while, she sits up to stretch and think about how to continue. It’s then that she notices Miss Eva standing over her, smiling and inquisitive.

“Do you not want to make decorations, dear?”

Amanda shrugs and covers the paper with her arms.

“Are you drawing a picture?”

She shakes her head. “Writing a letter.”

“Oh,” Eva says, with that exaggerated interest that grown ups always do when they don’t understand something a child is doing. “Who are you writing to, dear?”

She feels her cheeks warm with a blush as she suddenly feels very silly. “Commander Zavala.”

“You know the Commander?” Eva’s interest seems far more genuine now as she pulls up a chair beside her.

“Not really,” Amanda explains in an embarrassed mumble. “I made him mad.”

“Oh, what could you possibly have done to make the Commander angry? I can’t imagine that.”

She lists the all the things she could have possibly done to irritate Zavala and counts them off on her fingers. “Uhhm, I tried to steal from Executor Hideo, I keep running away from the orphanage and I snuck into the hangar and hid under a table.”

“Ah,” Eva tips her head to the side in agreement. “Yes, well. That would probably do it. He didn’t frighten you, did he?”

“A li’l bit, he’s pretty scary. But it’s okay, the monsters are scared of him too.”

Eva threads her fingers together and leans towards Amanda, her expression of quiet amusement switching to one of concern. “What monsters?”

“The ones outside,” she states matter of factly. “Y’know. The bad stuff beyond the walls.”

Eva nods seriously. “I do, dear. I do know.”

Amanda looks up from her writing with saucer-wide eyes. When she speaks it’s a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Have you seen ‘em too?”

“I was a refugee.” She hazards laying a hand over one of Amanda’s and looks gratified when the child doesn’t flinch. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“The others ain’t seen ‘em. They don’t get it.”

“Is that why you run away?”

Amanda pulls back and makes a big production of neatly folding the finished letter in half. “This place gives me a stomach ache,” she finally answers with a shrug.

“Well. Maybe we can do something about your stomach ache,” Eva begins in an indulgent tone. “But you mustn’t run away. It’s not safe, that’s why Zavala gets mad. It’s his job to keep people safe.”

“I know,” Amanda smooths down the paper one last time before scrawling Zavala’s name across it. “That’s why I’m writing him.”

-/

Eva pops her head around Zavala’s office door after knocking. “Are you busy?”

Zavala raises an eyebrow in response. His expression is stony but the amusement is there for those who know where to look. Eva covers her mouth with her hand to stifle the embarrassed giggle that emerges.

“I’m sorry my friend, silly question.”

His expression softens and he beckons her in, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing for now, all is well in the Bazaar,” she fishes a piece of folded, bright yellow construction paper out of her bag before she takes a seat. “I’m here as a messenger today.”

Zavala accepts the ‘letter’ with a confused frown. “What is - Ah. I see.” He smiles softly to himself as he reads, despite the childish scrawl and the myriad spelling and grammatical errors.

Dear comandur Zavala,

Sorry for trying to steal from exek execkyu Hidayoh. Stealing aint right I know that.

Im sorry I keep running away from the orfanage. I dont mean to worry no one, I just get I just dont like being cooped up. Sorry for creeping into the hangar. I didnt mean no harm. I wanted to see the ships. I like ships. When I grow up I wanna be an enj engani someone who fixes stuff. I hope I didnt get no one into troubble, can you tell the hangar folks that Im real sorry if I did?

Thank you for walking me back,

Amanda Nora Holliday.

Zavala finishes reading and fixes Eva with an incredulous look.

“I haven’t read it,” Eva holds up her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t know what it says, it wasn’t addressed to me.”

“How did you get it?”

“Sometimes I like to pop over the orphanage, for the children. Give them something to do, break up the monotony. Their little lives can be so regimented. Amanda asked me to give this to you. I couldn’t say no, she seemed so earnest and,” she summons her most matronly smile for Zavala, “Very concerned that she had made you mad.”

“Am I really that intimidating?”

“You can come off as rather brusque, I won’t lie.”

“I had no intention of frightening her, I just-”

“You worry,” Eva points out in a gentle interruption. “I know.”

Zavala takes a moment to glance over the letter before speaking again. “How did she seem to you?”

Eva’s smile fades. “A little isolated perhaps? I don’t think the other children understand her. Refugees are a rare thing nowadays. And she said the orphanage gives her a stomach ache.”

Zavala frowns, while Eva gives a sad smile at his puzzlement.

“‘I have a stomach ache’ is little girl-speak for ‘I’m afraid,’” she explains. “And she was less than enthused about the upcoming festival.”

“I don’t think it has been that long since she lost her parents. It’s likely still very raw for her.” He stares off into space, tapping the letter on the edge of his desk, lost in thought.

“I can keep an eye on her if you’d like?” Eva offers, breaking through his distraction.

“I didn’t ask-”

“I know you didn’t,” Eva chuckles, “You’re obviously worried about her but you’re a busy man. I often call into the orphanage, it would be no trouble for me.”

“You’re very kind, Eva, thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s no trouble,” she assures him, rising from her seat. “Have you considered my suggestion? About bringing the Festival of the Lost to the Tower?”

“You think it advisable to expose Cayde to dress-up games and sugar highs?”

“A small price. It would be good for you. You Guardians were lost once, too.” Eva opens the office door and cocks her head. “Think on it. For old Eva.”

“I will,” he nods indulgently.

Eva makes to leave before turning around to face him again. “Have you been crocheting lately?”

Zavala meets her gaze. There’s warmth and compassion there but Zavala knows it’s so keen and perceptive she could almost be an Awoken. “When I have time.”

“You look stressed.” She wags her finger at him as though he were a truculent child rather than a centuries-old immortal. “Make time!” She insists before showing herself out

[thelightningawardsofficial]

Review | K A T H A R O S

Judged by Shawn (Snowwhitewolf09)

Category: I'm Not A Mary Sue

[ Author: ArimaMary ]

>Title (5/5): I'm a sucker for Greek and Latin words, and Katharos is a word I find to be on the beautiful side of the Greek language. The title itself gives much of the work immediately, the chosen word obviously being a reference to Kiyoshi's emphasis on purity. Ergo, readers know what to expect the story to revolve around. However, I like the charm that it has to it, a lingering sense of mystique that persists.

>Summary (7/10): It's short and sweet, and manages to summarise what Katharos is. I am just docking a few points because I feel that you could have added a bit more to give a better picture of the story and hook readers. I also wouldn't really call Kiyoshi an 'average student' of Teikoku, since he seems to be more of an outcast if he gets flack for being a "foreigner".

>Plot (22/25) -> [17.6/20]: The overall plot is straightforward, and there aren't any twists and turns that make it complex. It might not be an intriguing stand-alone story, but since the book is a spin-off that is supposed to highlight the character and philosophy of Kiyoshi, I'm lenient regarding that matter.

I like how each chapter shows an important part of Kiyoshi's personality. They are well-picked, highlighting different facets each time, and adding a little bit more background on why Kiyoshi thinks like this or acts like that. I didn't feel a 'filler chapter' and that gives you quite a boon. The pacing was also adjusted enough to show the perspectives, though perhaps it leans a bit to the slower side.

The way I see it, though it is in third person, the narrator is attuned with Kiyoshi, appropriately moving slowly where Kiyoshi would be slow himself, like the almost-drooling-over-Kidou scene. Sometimes, it would feel a bit dragging, but that doesn't affect it too much, since it is covered with splendid character portrayal.

I didn't give you full points because the plot didn't make me crave to know what would come next (Partially because of the speed, and partially because there wasn't really much action to be looking out for), and it feels a tad lacking in events due to brevity and (I assume) the focus.

Regardless, the plot itself managed to bring out Kiyoshi's character with events, dialogue, and the pacing, so kudos to you.

>Characterization (18/20) -> [13.5/15]: I've little to say other than you've done great with Kiyoshi. After going through some of the chapters, his actions seemed to become easy to understand, since his character had been shown well. I enjoyed seeing his convictions and his vulnerabilities, as well as his view on 'purity'.

If purity is staying true to oneself, I find Kiyoshi to be creating many exceptions: he is merely staying true to what he feels at the moment, believing that it is his true self. He says rather early that he needs nobody else, reinforcing what he felt at the time. Later on, he shows that he actually is rather lonely, and convinces himself to mend his relationship with Keima. It's an interesting, yet utterly desperate (fitting of his character), way to view purity.

I do have a problem with how he saw Teikoku as his Paradise, as the earlier outburst gave me the vibes that he was not exactly fine with his place in school. Considering his vulnerable side that is shown later on, such irritability rubs me off as the result of having a negative view of the people in his school. Perhaps he frequently convinces himself that Teikoku is Paradise (which is why he also had his view of Teikoku changed into some sort of place of dark deals). Maybe it just strikes me as odd.

Keima is also well-done, but I honestly feel like he just seems a bit lacklustre before he talks with Kiyoshi about mending their relationship. That said, I look forward to seeing a bit more of him.

Grammar and Writing Style (13/15): While I did spot a few sentences that were oddly constructed (either run-ons or have pronouns that seemed to be ambiguous) and 'Hachidan' alternated with 'Hachi-dan', that is not what I want to mainly discuss.

The way you unfurled Kiyoshi's character was made effective by the well-written descriptions and the use of figurative language/symbolism. Of course, the most prominent would be the mention of the Garden of Eden, as it was what summed up Kiyoshi's motivations.

I also appreciated the use of 'Kin' as a human face for weakness and past mistakes, as though I am not sure who this Kin is, Kin has come to personify concepts that Keima and Kiyoshi find negative. I also particularly liked how his box of dreams was a literal cardboard box that had his hopes and dreams contained within—now that he was dead-set on following them again, they did not need to be boxed up and kept to the side anymore, but brandished. The hissatsu of Keima comes to me as a sort of representation of his reformation—Cortana was the blade that had its tip cut off, similar to how the once forceful Keima was trying to cut off his 'edge'—and makes me think of how much he contrasts with Sir Tristan of the Round Table (Tristan being the sorrowful Knight). He also had the Tristian-Igraine relationship with Kiyoshi back then, as Tristian married another person named Igraine, but always compared her to his first love.

It was a little hard to catch, but I saw a subtle "light at the end of the tunnel" derivation which made me read again just to make sure. As Kiyoshi was doubting whether or not he would actually be able to reach his dream through these dirty methods, walking through uncertainty, he drew nearer to the end. That was where he would face his dream. The scene was a transition from doubt to hope.

There's also this little bit that gives me a better view of Kiyoshi and Keima's relationship. I didn't get it at first, but I then realised it after studying up the names. Kiyoshi was the dragon to Keima's knight back then, reflected in their names Ryuugamine and Keima. Kiyoshi was the one who challenged Keima's moral code.

The mention of a red oni brought into my mind the 'red oni, blue oni' trope. The red oni is a symbol of passion and desire, or simply emotions. The red oni within Kiyoshi was being quenched, the void of loneliness being filled with the forgotten feeling of having someone to complete you.

I had to dock points for the little mistakes and some portions with descriptions that seemed to be a tad long, but those are just minor problems.

>Originality (9/10) -> [4.5/5]: Okay, I docked a point for the Teikoku Spy trope, and the lack of much things that are 'shockingly original'.

However, I will say that Kiyoshi himself is someone I find to be original in some ways amongst IE fanfiction characters. His desperate view of purity is something I haven't really encountered, and I find his foreign blood to be uncommon (Though Suabara also has foreign blood). I also liked how Kiyoshi was learning Killer Slide, a hissatsu that doesn't get much love, as it usually is seen as a show of brutality.

Also... Kiyoshi's later motivation for being a spy is refreshing to see. It was first much like desperation, but later on hope and optimism. Guess Keima did rub off on him.

>Feels Factor (14/15): I have to say, you made me feel much for Kiyoshi. He reminds me much of a friend of mine, and I sometimes I would be whelmed by Kiyoshi's shows of his desperation to cling to purity and what little bit of his dreams he has left. His mother was portrayed well enough for me to almost want to slap her across the face, while the contrasts made between Kiyoshi and Keima's backgrounds made it much more difficult to not feel anything for the blond.

I felt less for Keima, though it was to be a given since he was not the focus. Nonetheless, your words managed to make me connect with his doubts about how he treats others, though I feel like there could have been a bit more to him.

Seeing Kiyoshi come to terms with his dream and his interactions with Keima was a blessing. You averted one of the things that I find too often—a spy doing it because of some threat. You gave Kiyoshi a positive reason to become a spy, which is not to prevent damage to himself, but to finally reach his dreams that had been suppressed.

I had to dock a point because of Keima and how I wasn't particularly craving to know what would happen next, but that's minor.

🅞🅒 🅡🅔🅥🅘🅔🅦 -> [➊➍.➊/➊➎]

>Name(5/5): Ryuugamine means "dragon's peak", and is not too odd of a surname. The contrast with Keima's name gives it a little bit more substance, though the name itself isn't telling of too much. Additionally, I thought of the Seiryū, and how its connection to Wood fitted soundly with the elemental affinity of Killer Slide.

Kiyoshi's name reflects who he is, as well as the ideal that he strives to achieve. Ultimate purity, stainless, at all costs. Kiyoshi's name means "pure," and is fitting.

>Appearance (6/8): I get enough description from Kiyoshi to have a general idea of what he would look like in a crowd, but details of his physical appearance aren't as focused on as Kidou Yuuto's.

I like the little detail that he likely has some pimples on his face, as it makes him look more human in a world where practically every character looks like their face never needed cream nor shaving their entire life.

I had to dock points for the scarcity of description. Aside from the colour of his hair, the presence of red-rimmed glasses, and his pimples, there is little else. His physique nor skin colour isn't touched upon, even his eye colour isn't something I've found.

Furthermore, I cannot seem to get around him being called foreign-looking because of his blond hair, considering the fact that there are many who also have blond hair, and that green hair isn't anything odd.

>Personality(10/10): Kiyoshi's personality is definitely well-developed and well-shown. I've already touched most of this in the Characterisation, so it'll be redundant here. You've done a good job of showing how strongly he clings to his idea of purity. Especially that fixation on Kidou, that is almost unsettlingly detailed.

The development of Kiyoshi's character with Keima as the trigger was pleasing. Early on, he was against having friends, and came off as an individual who was fiercely independent. Just as he was back then, according to his talks with Keima. But talking with Keima showed that Kiyoshi still had the capacity to truly connect; it had only been boxed up and put to the side like his dreams.

>Strengths and Weaknesses(11/12): His vulnerabilities are well-exploited. His desperation made him lean to Kageyama, and his hesitation to act upon his passion was made apparent many times. You managed to show Kiyoshi's weaknesses and bloodily ripped them out for people to see.

His strengths don't really shine all that much, though they do show themselves. The most prominent is his dedication, especially to his own idea of purity and his dream. Kiyoshi's skills were mentioned or shown, though not particularly highlighted—he has great body coordination, notable skills with technology, and a commendable cooking ability. It's a bit hard to see, but Kiyoshi also has a sort of childish charm at times that slips through the cracks.

>Interaction With Canon (10/10): It doesn't wreck or affect canon all that much, and happens at a time when Teikoku likely would have sent spies to Kidokawa, so no problem here.

>Relationships With Canon Characters (5/5): It's mostly Kidou, and they share a relationship I see as something that wouldn't be off. Kidou maintains an attitude towards him that is like most Teikoku subordinates, while the crush that Kiyoshi has doesn't seem to far of a stretch considering his status and charm.

Kiyoshi's relationship with Kageyama isn't expanded much, but it can be seen that he has a pretty... typical relationship with the man. It is not odd, rather it is something that is reasonable given Kageyama's notorious reputation. Kiyoshi seems to see him as the blood-stained path that would lead him to his dream, the evil benefactor that offers him his deepest desire. He sees that Kageyama is shady, and Kiyoshi seems like he does not want to concern himself with the Coach anymore than he has to, but he is willing to put those aside for football.

[Raw] 74.6/100 + 47/50 [Scaled] 88.7/100 [Final] 88.7%

Banner by -artxyuki

[smolstrawberrychara]

Klance Au Month - Day 6 - Supernatural

I’m not sure how I got to writing a fluffy kid fic when my initial idea was an estate agent trying to sell a haunted house lmao, but here we go! 

Tiny Little Ghost Hunters

Some kids collect bugs. Keith collects ghosts!

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683712

Lance swung his legs on the large wooden chair, gulping down the last of his burger. It was warm. And the sun was bright. He’d abandoned his cap ages ago – it made his forehead wet – but that meant his eyes were suffering now. The plates shone like mirrors and he squinted at the picnic table. Didn’t mum say there would be another kid? So why was he stuck here eating with boring adults who talked non-stop about how nice the neighbourhood was and kept asking whether the Kogane’s needed anymore help moving in?

“Lance.” Came a commanding voice beside him. “Eat your tomato.”

“No.” Lance mumbled, folding his arms and frowning down at his knees. Tomatoes were gross. And Veronica was being bossy.

“Lance.” His sister repeated, sending him a glare. “You're being impolite.”

“Don't care.” He said, throwing his head to the side. Who was Veronica to tell him what to do? She was still a kid like him. Five years meant nothing. He hated being the youngest.

There was a growl and then Lance’s arm was yanked violently upwards.

“OW!” He yelped, ripping it back.

“That hurt.” He spat into her face. Then he shuffled to the edge of his seat and pouted down at the grass. “Moronica.”

Veronica let out a harsh gasp. “What did you just say?”

Lance sneered up at her, “I said, Moronica.”

Hah. His sister hated that name. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, anger bright in her eyes. Lance gave a smug wiggle. That’ll show her.

“MOM!”

Argh, she was such a tattle tale.

“Lance is calling me names!”

“Hey! She-!” Lance cried but was quickly interrupted.

“Lance.” His mother snapped, piercing him to the spot with a glare. “Be nice to your sister.”

Lance sank into his shoulders as he waited for the woman to turn back to her conversation. As soon as she did, he shot back to Moronica, tongue out in the universal sign of defiance. Veronica seethed. Before Lance could even flinch, her arm flew out like a whip and his skin screamed as it got caught in a pinch. Lance squeaked, wriggling to the edge of his chair and away from the demon. Sisters were the worst. He hated family barbecues.

Rubbing his arm, Lance looked around the foreign garden. The grass was yellowed, dandelions popping out in random places and there were those sharp weeds that attacked Lance’s feet like bear traps everywhere. He frowned. It was like this whole place was designed to offend him. Lance leaned out further, peering behind him. There were dark green bushes sat around in patches, masking the exposed soil surrounding an apple tree. And underneath it was a boy. He had plasters on his knees, a cut on his face and a red jumper tied around his shoulders like a cape. He was sneaking. Lance could tell by the way his knees were bent close to the ground as he crept forward.

Lance hopped down from his chair.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, peering over his shoulder.

The boy jumped. Whipping around, he threw dark wide eyes at Lance before shoving a sticky palm over his mouth.

“SHUSH!” He half shouted before turning back, leaving his hand there. Lance craned his neck to follow the gaze but the boy didn’t let up. “You’ll scare it away.”

A mess of black hair was blocking Lance’s view and he shook his legs impatiently. What would he scare away? He wanted to push the kid down to see. But if he was telling the truth then Lance might miss whatever the thing was. He decided it best to play along and nodded against the palm. The boy finally released his face and began unscrewing the lid of a large jam jar Lance hadn’t noticed he’d been clutching. Then he turned around, bent his knees, tightened his face in concentration and, like a cat, he leapt forward.

“A-ha!” He yelled, throwing the jar to the dirt. He scooped the lid against the soil, lifting it up to the sound of gravel scattering. Then he turned around, grinning widely. “LOOK!”

Lance gasped. Inside the glass was an orb. A large white circle with a wispy tail – like smoke from a birthday candle. It hit the edges of the jar with sharp clinks and seemed to have shiny black eyes like pebbles freshly born from the sea. Lance pressed his face to the window.

“Woah.” He breathed, steaming up the glass. “What is it?”

“Ghos!” The boy announced proudly, “think it was a moth.”

The ghost of a moth? Lance stared in awe, squishing his nose against the surface. Then the jar pushed hard against him and he found the other boy’s eyes on his, warped like a fish’s. “Wanna see more?”

More? Excitement rushed through Lance like a tidal wave. “Yeah!”

The boy sprang back. Then the coolness was ripped from Lance’s face and the jar getting tucked carefully under a chubby arm. Lance’s hand was caught by another and he was grinning again. “COME ON!”

Then he was running. Cutting straight across the grass, he fell after the boy, arm straining against its socket.

“Keith, honey-”

“Sorry mom, can’t talk. Busy.”

Lance felt his cheeks tighten as the boy, Keith, refused to stop. He tucked his face into his collar, trying to hide the giggles. His heart was racing by the time they hit the back door. Keith let him go to tug at the thick plastic handle and heave it aside. Then his hand was smothered in heat once again and Lance being pulled inside.

The two ran past the looming kitchen counters, ducked under the wooden dining table and whooshed past the cardboard boxes piled high in the lounge. Keith pulled open another door at the end of the hall and suddenly they were plunged into darkness. Lance found himself clattering down hollow steps that creaked with every foot. He clung to Keith’s arm, slowing suddenly. He didn’t like the dark. Or stairs. He held Keith’s arm for support as he carefully began climbing down, scared his foot would fall between the wooden slats. Keith fidgeted ahead of him, jumping down the steps one at a time and bouncing on his toes whilst he waited for Lance to join him. It threw him a little off balance, but Lance refused to let go. He didn’t want to lose his chance at seeing more ghosts. When they eventually got to the bottom, Keith rushed them around the corner. Lance’s breath left his lungs as he caught sight of why. He dropped his arms, jaw falling slack.

In front of him, was a glowing wall full of ghosts. Haphazard shelfs made from broken slices of wood and large pointed nails held up hundreds of jars and bottles filled with the same tadpole-like creatures as they’d found in the garden. Some spun like tornadoes, whipping silver against their tops, whereas others were like fish bobbing in their tanks, softly glowing like lava lamps.

Keith crawled up on the stool in front of the desk, carefully placing his latest find on the table top. Then he tugged over a thick book and flipped over the heavy cover with a thud. Lance wrapped his fingers around the table ledge and pulled himself up, tiptoeing to see the pages. The corners were wrinkled, tears and creases lining the paper. But Lance was too distracted by the content to mind. He let out a gasp as he found each page covered in sketches of the creatures on the shelves, all painted in delicate watercolours. Thick inked writing titled each page and little notes surrounded the pictures like diagrams in a science book.

“Classification.” Keith explained, sliding a smaller notebook out from under a mess of rustling papers. He grabbed a crayon from a pot and stuck a finger to the page.

“This one. Moth.” He said, flicking through the jotter. “Can tell by the genie tail.”

Lance nodded, peering between the book and the rooms latest addition. It did bounce off the glass like how a moth bounced off a lampshade. Keith’s crayon began earnestly scraping against paper, and Lance scooted over to watch. His tongue slipped out of his mouth as he drew letters, writing the date, location and type. Then he looked at Lance.

“What d’ya wanna call it?”

Lance blinked, pointing to his chest. “Me? Name it?”

The boy nodded and Lance sucked in a breath. He got to name the ghost? That was a big responsibility. And a great honour. Pride swelled in Lance’s lungs as he accepted. Wracking his brain for a suitable candidate, he chewed on his thumb, brows furrowing to the point he was sure he could see them. He needed to get this right. And after a moment of painful deliberation, Lance reached an answer.

“Lance two!” He cried. “Because I’m Lance too!”

Keith grinned, eagerly adding the information to his log book. “Perfect.”

Then he looked back up at the shelves above. “You wanna choose a spot for Lance two?”

He got to choose a place for him to live too? Lance couldn’t contain his excitement, bouncing eagerly on the spot. Keith shuffled over on the stool and helped him up. Then they both crawled onto the table to stare up at the jars. There were so many. Some contained single clouds, others multiple dandelion clocks that spun around each other in a game of chase. Keith must have been collecting for years. Lance breathed in awe as he tried to find space. Then his eyes landed on the perfect spot. Three shelves up, there was a blue plastic bottle, containing a long spindly ghost that resembled an eel. A couple of dried flowers fell on the wood next to it and there was a decent gap between it and the next jar which contained a pearly coloured, jelly-fish type.

“Got it.” He announced, pointing to the space. Keith gave him a nod of approval before passing the jar containing Lance two over. Lance took it in both hands, taking a steadying breath. Okay Lance Two, he thought, time to meet your new home. Then he reached up. The jar clattered against the shelf below. Lance wasn’t quite tall enough. He stepped back with a huff, glaring at the wood. It was not going to win today. So, he stretched up to his limit once again, grabbing onto the shelf for balance. Attempting to haul himself up, he didn’t quite get the boost he’d hoped for. Instead, the wood flipped upwards.

Lance stumbled back with a yelp. The world tumbled around him, shining objects flying. The sound of shattering glass filled the room as white wisps tore through the air above him like shooting stars. He let out a screech. The ghosts! They were escaping!

Lance scrambled to sit back up. Above him, the shelf was empty. The desk around him was covered in tiny shards like diamonds. And most importantly, there were no whooshy wisps. Lance felt his eyes turn into pools. He looked to Keith who stared back open mouthed. Lance’s eyes overflowed. His throat felt tight and he let out a sob, burying himself in his hands. He’d let the ghosts escape.

“Are you okay?” Keith asked, carefully tiptoeing closer. “You want me to get my dad? He’s a firefighter ya know.”

Lance shook his head, scraping at his cheeks.

“m’not hurt.” He said, hiccupping as the emotion jumped up his throat. “It’s just- all your hard work.”

The tears spilled once again, and he was sobbing hard into his palms. Keith’s beautiful collection. He’d ruined it.

“It’s okay.” Keith said, landing at his side. He reached out to pat Lance’s arm and Lance finally looked up.

“It’s okay?” He asked, shoving his sleeve against his nose and staring up at the boy’s dark features.

“Mmhmm.” Keith hummed, giving him an encouraging smile. “We can just start again.”

Lance blinked against the tears, watching as Keith reached his hand out. “Together.”

Lance felt is cheeks pinch near painfully. Together. They could collect them together. He rubbed his knuckle against his eye one last time, relief flushing out the tears. Then he took Keith’s hand, squeezing the warmth as he got to his feet.

“Together.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Your brand part 2

Genre: Tattoo Artist AU, smut, romance

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Taehyung x Reader

Warning: No warnings apply

Summary: ''Let me ink your ink your skin like you've inked your brand on my heart.''

For Ana, my partner in crime and source of inspiration.

What should have been a simple outing to get a tattoo at the most well-known tattoo shop in town, Ink Borough, results in being engraved by the biggest name in the world of ink and boss of the parlour, Kim Taehyung. However, getting a tattoo can entail a whole lot more than one might think.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Masterlist

Thoughts are briefly distracted from the painful prospect through the refreshing breeze and straying drops of fountain water that are refreshingly spraying the bare skin of my arms, one of which shall soon have a memory engraved into it by an artist with, suspected, hidden motives.

Although, it is clear he wants to have a drink together, albeit it on the job. Normally, one would not even consider doing such a thing, but something about Taehyung makes me do the opposite of what is seen as common sense. The two cups filled with bright red strawberry smoothies next to me obviously the evidence of that.

There are still ten minutes to go before the hour has passed, but if I simply sit here and do nothing more doubtful thoughts may slip in, causing me to contradict my own words in the end. I refuse to let that happen, partially because I do not want to grant the artist the knowledge of being right after all.

I stand up from the white marble bench, pick up the cardboard holder with the beverages, and head back to Ink Borough through the streets filled with tourists and locals who enjoy the warm weather. 

However, whereas they let themselves be warmed by the sun, I am doing quite a pretty good job doing so myself by unintentionally feeding a probably unnecessary fear.

Taehyung has not budged an inch since I left, sitting barefoot and cross-legged on the leather sofa in the exact spot, lost in sketching. Next to him lays a heap of papers torn from his purple notebook in the meanwhile, the finished options for the tattoo. His latest work joins the rest when I put the smoothies on the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

'You're early,' he remarks with a hint of humour. 'Don't tell me you're now actually looking forward to the needle.'

'Ha ha, very funny,' I retort sarcastically. 'I brought something to drink.'

'Strawberry smoothies.' His deep voice turns thoughtful when he glances at the refreshments. 'My family has a strawberry farm down south.'

'Really?' When you take a look at him, take in the predictions on his skin, the least you would expect is for him to be a farmer's boy.

'Yeah, can't say that I have tasted one in any sort of variety for a long time though.' A hint of a past trouble glazes over his eyes. 'Huh, funny.'

'Is there a reason for that?'

'Wouldn't you like to know, detective.' And we are back to the snark. 'Anyhow,' he gestures to the various drawings of phoenixes, 'see if you find any of them to your liking.'

Drink in hand, I place the pile on my lap. Page after page is filled with a sophisticated design of the mystical creature ascending from either a pile of ashes or the residue dancing around them. Some do not have the dust of its former body included, merely the impression it flies upwards.

After going through the stack, I find the perfect design. With a smile, I turn to him, once more almost bumping my head against his. The grin instantly transforms into a snarl. 'Do you have to be so close? It's uncomfortable.'

He feigns offence. 'I am only observing your reaction, Y/N. Nothing unseemly.'

'Sure.' Now it is my turn to be sarcastic.

'Funny and knows how to use sarcasm. Y/N, I may just start to like you.'

'Nothing unseemly,' I remind him.

'Would that angry face change if I did?' He leans back, lip caught between his teeth, expression smug.

An effort to offer a reply that fails, an averted gaze focused on the chosen symbol, a brief hush in which the heat is very tangible though it is uncertain whether it is due to summer or wild thoughts.

'Although, I do quite enjoy your current expression.' He takes a sip of the smoothie. 'You should drink as well before you pass out on the chair as I am doing the outline. That is if the cotton dabbed with alcohol already won't do the trick.'

'You find it really amusing, don't you, teasing me so much because this is my first time.' Gaze turned fierce and courage regathered, I snap my head up to look Taehyung in the eye.

'Calm down, Y/N. I'm just doing it because I like you and want you to feel more at ease about this big commitment.' He holds his big hands up as if I am holding a gun, ready to shoot him. Which, in some way, I am, completely fed up with his sass. Yet, hearing him say he likes me in that manner makes me think he does not simply say it to every customer, be it newbies or more experienced persons.

'Don't say that, you say that to everyone.'

'Y/N, I don't-'

A careful smile. 'Taehyung,' his eyes widen when he hears me say his name so kind-heartedly. 'Or better said: "person who handles the decorating tools",' I correct myself, the humour back in my voice, 'can we get started before I seriously run away?'

A square smile, a playful glint in dark eyes. 'I can bind you to the chair if you want.'

'Didn't know you're into bondage.' The remark has passed my lips before I even realize what I said. The rise in temperature is now certainly due to inappropriate imaginations.

Heartfelt deep laughter nuances the meaning one may find in the comment. 'I'm not, though I can't say I ever tried it,' he adds casually. This man is bad news when you try to preserve your sanity, but it is already too late in my case, the realization has dawned too late. 'However, there is one question I need to ask before we begin.'

'Which is?'

'Colour or classic black and white?'

'Colour. Life isn't black and white, so why would the piece of it I carry with me be?'

'You sound like a friend of mine, he's also a bit of a philosopher. But it'll take longer, just so you know.'

'I would almost believe you want me out of the place as soon as possible.' I give him a challenging glance, awaiting his response as I take a sip of the strawberry beverage.

'And lose my favourite target?' He shakes his head, locks of his hair sway with the movement and tempt me to run my hand through them. Fortunately, I am able to will them to keep holding on to the plastic cup between my fingers. 'Shall we get started?'

'Yeah, good idea,' I agree lest the conversation takes a turn for the worst. However, a voice deep inside says it would not mind if it did.

The alcohol soaked cotton feels chilly upon my skin as Taehyung cleans it, the gloved slender fingers of his left hand lightly supporting my right underarm. Afterwards, he removes any hairs, both visible and invisible, with swift movements of a disposable razor. Maybe it is part of the standard procedure, maybe it is not, but he lets his fingertips languidly glide over the prepared skin, almost in what can be called an appreciative manner. If that is indeed the case, it is not minded at all and in fact let it cost me all my might to prevent the goosebumps from rising, thus betraying what he does to me. It becomes even more difficult to do so when he places the stencil on my forearm and wets it to transfer the design in its entirety. The pressure of his digits reminds me of his grip on my wrist and the sensations that caused.

'You're awfully quiet,' he comments as he peels the soaked wet paper away. His eyes meet mine, wondering what has suddenly silenced me.

'Just watching you work is fascinating.' To add a flair of faked nonchalance, I shrug.

'And I haven't even begun in earnest,' he chuckles.

I bite my lip, initially placing the reply in a context which absolutely does not apply at the moment, and cast my gaze downwards at the outline of the phoenix. 'Sorry if it makes you feel awkward.'

'It's fine, Y/N. If anything, I-' A pause followed by a strangely confident answer. 'I like your eyes on me.'

Abruptly we lock gazes. 'What?' I ask.

'What?' he repeats the enquiry.

'Anyhow,' a scrape of the throat, 'do you like the placement?' He nods at the outline. 'Take a look in the mirror, see the overall picture.'

I get up and walk to the tall mirror opposite the chair matching the fake leather sofa to admire the soon permanent piece of art. In the reflection I can see Taehyung preparing the equipment, filling cups with ink and one with clear water. For a second his gaze strays from the tattoo machine to my backside and takes in my figure, every curve revealed by the lack of coverage summer clothes cause. The instant he notices I am on to him, he shifts his focus back to the original task. He takes a sip of the smoothie, hoping it will help, but nevertheless seems to have a bit of trouble.

'You like it?' Unconsciously, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, his stare slightly arrogant due to the pride he has in his work. Yet, the ring in his deep voice can also easily be placed in another context. A context that resonates a pleasant stir within me.

'Love it,' I reply, corners of my mouth curled up into a small smile to hide what he does to me.

'You didn't pick the most painless of spots, so this may hurt throughout the entire time,' he informs when I sit down again.

I pick up the smoothie cup I placed beside the seat and take the last sip of courage, after which I return the empty version of it to its spot on the brown linoleum floor. 'I guess it's time to be brave then.'

In spite of the ointment to smoothen the skin, it is as he said. The needle penetrating and marking me with ink feels as if the fires of Hell are burning in my veins, searing the pure skin away to leave black lines behind.

It is agony at its finest, but also forms an unexpected source of pleasure. Somehow, in a wicked sense, it is as effective as a drug to have Taehyung engrave me with his brand. The careful yet tight hold his fingers have on my arm, gradually climbing up, and his concentrated dark eyes on me feed the frenzy. Especially each time he glances upwards from the tattoo to check how I am doing, the corners of his mouth curled up into the sliver of a satisfied grin when he sees how desperately I am trying to stay strong.

'Just tell me when you need a break. Don't want to make you cry,' he comments shortly when we have passed the halfway mark, briefly interrupting the process.

'As if you could.' Sarcasm has slipped in to hide the stinging yet bearable hurt, but he must be aware of my true feelings since he likely has experience with newbies that play it cool. Or try to do so, anyway.

'I wouldn't. Even if I did, I'd try my best to comfort you.' A rose-coloured flush tints his cheeks. Rapidly his stare shifts from me to the machine next to him.

Absolutely baffled I look at the snarky guy turned marshmallow. 'Did you just- are you flirting with me?'

'Guess you'd know if I do, right? You're a grown woman. Surely you recognize it when a guy is falling for you.' Feigned arrogance betrays his true thoughts.

'Are you?' I ask to test the water.

'Who knows? Maybe I do, maybe I don't.'

'You said you like me.'

'Let's just crack on, okay?' The return of the whirring and sensation of the needle interrupt the conversation and he is concentrated on the tangible part of his world of ink.

The pleased grin soon changes into something indescribable as we progress into the colouring stage, when the tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes and soft moans caused by conflicting emotions begin to spill from my lips every now and then, despite the endeavours to hold them in. It is desire and pain combined, a toxic potion I can drink any day. At least inhale its scent, as I do now. No longer able to mask it.

He changes as well the more the phoenix appears on my skin. Charisma fades, vague sonorously mumbled words meant to not be heard mingle with my utterances whenever they escape, a lush lip is caught between bright white teeth more often, awkward movements on the stool to hide a growing desire that hopefully will remain unnoticed but does not as it grabs my attention more than once, making the want for him greater. The tight grip relaxes, fingers undeniably wanting to stray but instead worshipping the piece of me they currently have within reach.

Moreover, Taehyung smells it too, without a doubt, but nevertheless tries to finish what we started. Focus weakens, dark glossy eyes trailing to the source of the new scent of a twisted nature until he remembers what he is doing and has priority.

After going on like this for another hour and a half, neither of us saying a word, the silence filled with images of his gaze regarding me in other ways than only this one and him occasionally uttering curses or barely audible groans of the word "baby" falls from his lips, the tattoo is finally completed. The gorgeous phoenix is bigger than intended and covers my forearm as it rises in a storm of scarlet red tinted with hints of gold and amber, ascending into the pastel sky, black ash falling from its wings and tail.

A deep sigh that contains a hidden impatience. 'Go have a look up close.' He nods to the white wall opposite us.

I walk to the mirror on the other side of the space to regard the tattoo, this new piece of me, and the overall renewed tougher image it creates. The only signs of vulnerability are the tears which are still present.

Fingers that are not my own rest on the underside of my arm, a big hand on my hip, a broad chest forms a wall to lean against, a hard heat source touches my behind, a husky deep voice speaks.

'What do you think?' Taehyung's gaze locks with mine in our reflection and although the question is meant to estimate my opinion on this symbol behind which hides a story, the tone he uses is out of place and his eyes look at me in anticipation.

'It's beautiful.' Gently I let my digits caress the reddened sensitive skin, secretly enjoying the last bit of remaining pain.

He bends forward to whisper in my ear, his warm breath making it seem as if the room temperature rises a few degrees. 'Just like you.'

'Taehyung-' His hands trail slowly up and slip underneath the fabric of my top, digits tracing a path to the edge of the black bralet that is concealed underneath it. A grunt falls from his lips when he rolls his hips and I meet the action by leaning into him.

'Can we go to the back office? The bandaging supplies are there.' An absolute ridiculous argument since I spy the needed tools for the treatment on the counter behind the chair, but chose to say nothing of it. Instead, I simply nod and follow him.

The tiger caught its prey, the phoenix all too willing to let it lead her to a new death.

[ginsherrywasathing]

White

Characters: Sherry//Gin Word count: 1480 Excerpt:  >>He tried to imagine her final moments. Had smart, composed little Sherry been very afraid when all her silly hopes had died with the sinking countdown? [...] Gin savoured the idea of her anguish.<< read on:  FF.net // Ao3  Red// White // Black // Grey 

by: @spaceghetti-queen

He didn’t know how many times the words “Train Explosion” had appeared on the TV screen that evening, but it was quite late when a pretty newscaster announced for the first time that the accident had not claimed any casualties.  

After that, Gin turned off the TV and drained his remaining drink. Whatever the authorities said, there was no doubt that Sherry was dead. Nobody could’ve had survived the explosion, not while being as close to the bomb as she had been. He tried to imagine her final moments. Had smart, composed little Sherry been very afraid when all her silly hopes had died with the sinking countdown? Had she despaired upon realizing that nothing could’ve saved her then -no equations, no reasoning? Had she finally accepted that she’d played a game she’d been doomed to lose from the very beginning? Gin savoured the idea of her anguish, even though it was more likely that Sherry hadn’t seen the sudden blast of the explosion coming at all. In one moment she’d been there; in the next she’d ceased to be. That was all there was. It had been the perfect kill.

He stared at the blank TV screen. And yet there was no body…

“Of course not.” He said out loud. There were no remains of her because she’d gone up in flames. Whatever parts of her had been left after the explosion were now ashes in the wind. Sherry was gone for good, wiped out by white light. He’d won their little game, but why had the feeling of victory yet to set in?

Annoyed Gin got up from the couch to pour himself another drink. What did it matter if he felt something or not? That damned woman was dead as she’d been supposed to be for the longest time. Wrongs had finally been set right; so why did the already fading memory of her face keep haunting him?

Gin emptied the glass in one gulp only to fill it anew immediately.

The sudden urge to actually see her face overcame him then. Yet there was no body to look at, no physical proof that she’d ever existed.

Except… Gin remembered that one photograph. He walked over to his desk, which was still a mess since he’d moved places in a hurry after Sherry’s betrayal. But he knew it was there somewhere. Gin began digging through some loose papers until he found the picture he was looking for. He regarded the woman in the blurry image. It didn’t show the expressionless mug shot that could be found in the Organization's database. He’d taken it himself only a few months ago; weeks before everything had gone to hell. He took the picture and went back to the couch where the memory of the night it had been taken returned to him.

The city is painted white that evening; another snowfall has just set in. She has linked arms with him on their way home from some late dinner together. They walk in comfortable silence until she suddenly stops dead in her tracks.

“Take a picture.” “Of what?” He follows her gaze to the window display next to them and almost groans when he spots the root of her excitement. It’s some life-sized cardboard cutout of that stupid football player she likes so much. “Take a picture of me standing next to Higo!” She demands again. He raises an eyebrow at her but he’s already taking out his phone.

She looks left and right to make sure there aren’t any witnesses before she places herself in front of the window display. Then she puts on one of her rare girlish smiles. He takes a picture of her and the cutout, then another. There’s snow in her hair, her pale face and nose are flushed; the light from behind the shop window illuminates her slim figure in the dark. It’s a rather silly picture, but she’s smiling and what else could the night offer to capture but her?

“You’re blushing like a little school girl.” He comments while she is changing her pose. “It’s a survival response of my body to the cold. It constricts my blood flow to non-essential areas -like the face- and redirects it towards more important organs -like the heart- in order to preserve body warmth.” Her smile fades into the solemn features of a teacher lecturing her pupils. It coaxes a low chuckle out of him.

“Why, I think your face is definitely one of the more essential areas of your body.” She frowns at him but he knows it’s just a way to hide her amusement. “You’re so shallow.”

He shrugs. “Do I need to take more pictures or are you done?”

“Only if they’ve turned out good.” Slowly she’s coming back towards him. The snow crunches beneath her careful steps, while her breath raises up into the air like the cigarette smoke she despises so much.

“They would’ve turned out better without that ugly cutout.”

She gives him a dirty look. “Jealous, again?”

Just then he takes another shot of her. It turns out blurred but it captures the natural elegance of her movements; the slight blush on her cheeks which is now coming rather from the cold than from embarrassment. Yet, she’s looking at him with that not yet vanished half smile. Blurred or not, he thinks this picture is perfect.

She comes to a halt in front of him and reaches for his phone to inspect the taken images. Instead of handing over the device he grabs her by the wrist and pulls her to his body.

“What would I be jealous of,” He asks laying his hand around her chin. “I think I’ve far more qualities than that piece of cardboard.”

“Oh?” There’s mischief in her eyes when she angles her face towards his. “Keeping me warm seems not to be one of them.”   She shivers to emphasize her words. Then he bends down to kiss her.

Her lips are indeed cold as a ghost-touch against his own, so when he breaks off the kiss he lays his arm around her waist to keep her close.

“Let’s go home and change that.” Covered by darkness they walk through the white city.

Gin snorted before crumpling the picture in his hand, with the other he drained the remaining drink. What a fool he was for chasing ghosts. It was true; once he’d desired her. He’d respected and cherished her. For whatever it was worth, perhaps he’d even loved her. Once.   But it didn’t matter now and it would never matter again. She was dead and even if he hadn’t taken her life with his own hands, he’d killed her. He’d murdered her the second her sister’s heart had stopped beating. A life for a life, that’s how it always was; it was a currency he understood. Yet it was all wrong. He’d never intended it to be her life that restored the balance but now she was gone.  

And even though there was nobody left to mourn over it, there should at least have been a body that could be dressed in white.   But there was none and it bothered him more than he would be able to admit with less alcohol in his system.

Gin threw the crumpled picture on the coffee table and walked over to the window.

It had become late, but it was a special day and he didn’t want to waste any minute of it. Or so he told himself. He looked out of the window, the memory of a winter’s night still clear on his mind. For a moment he imagined a light snowfall to set in, which was foolish since it was summer. There wouldn’t be any snow, it was impossible.

And there was no body either… No proof that she was dead.

Overlooking the city he allowed himself the idea of her being there somewhere -alive!- even though Gin doubted she would stay that close around. He wondered where a dead woman would go and if he knew, would he follow?

“Fool.” He said and pulled the white curtains shut.

Deep down, Gin knew the answer the same way he knew why there was no cursed body.  

The last bit of alcohol went down his throat when he opened the Organization’s database and went to her profile. Sherry’s austere face greeted him but he didn’t look at it for too long.

As expected, they hadn’t changed her status yet. Deleting the word “alive” next to her name, he considered replacing it with “unknown”. It would be the sensible thing to do, but instead Gin watched the black characters of the word “deceased” fill in the blank space.

The dead should rest undisturbed, especially when they were ghosts.

After all, white was the colour of new beginnings and they started off best concealed by darkness.

[moma-jo]

Vintage from the 1980s

Ships from a small business in

Read the full description

Canada

Materials: home video, vinyl, cardboard cover, vhs tape, cartoon, full color

Description

Dave Fleischer -Director Cast -Mae Questel -Voice Jack Mercer -Voice Crew-Max Fleischer-Producer-S Seymour Kneitel-Animation Director Copyrighted in 1989 by the ABM Group Distributed by The ABM Group, 260 Midland Ave, unit#5 Scarborough, Ontario, M1S1P8. The ABM Group was a Canadian home video distributor from Ontario. They were one of Canada's largest video companies in the early 1990s. This VHS was one of the first movies that ABM put into production. The sticker on the VHS tape is handwritten as well, which shows that it was one of the first. Approximate running time is 30 minutes, color What you see is what you get-ASIS. Don’t have a VHS anymore, so could not test it. The cartoon begins in an orphanage, where the orphans are all asleep in the dormitory, waiting for Christmas morning. Just then the clock chimes, and a puppy in the place of the cuckoo jumps out, slides down a ramp, and licks one of the orphans. The first orphan wakes up to shout to the others, "Merry Christmas, everybody!" They all jump out of bed and make their way to the hall, where they grab the toys from their stockings and get ready to play with them. However, they discover the terrible truth that the toys are old, worn, and already broken when they completely fall apart. The orphans are traumatized, and they burst into tears over having no other Christmas presents. Meanwhile, Professor Grampy is outside, riding through the snow in his outboard motor-driven sleigh. He hears crying as he passes the orphanage, so he parks the sleigh, runs to the door, and peeps through the window to see the orphans wailing and tearfully heading back to their bedroom. Grampy feels distressed for the orphans and starts to think of a way to give them a better Christmas. He puts on his "thinking cap", and the lightbulb on his cap blinks, meaning that he has an idea. He sneaks in through the kitchen window and starts making new toys out of household appliances, furniture, and other kitchen paraphernalia (a washboard, a roller shade, the works of an old alarm clock, etc). While the orphans are still crying in the dormitory, Grampy dresses up as Santa Claus (with bent stovepipes for the boots, a red tablecloth for the jacket, a pillow for the weight, a strop for the belt, a picture frame for the buckle, and a red purse for the hat), grabs a dinner bell, and surprises the orphans by ringing the bell and shouting, "Merry Christmas, everybody!" The orphans instantly stop crying, brighten and excitedly rush out to play with their new toys. Grampy completes the scene by making a Christmas tree out of green umbrellas. He places it on top of a phonograph, decorates it, and gathers all the orphans together. As they sing, a giant 1936 Christmas Seal stamp appears on the screen, showing Santa Claus and a "Holiday Greetings" message. When it was first produced, they promised it to be 100% guaranteed to have high quality videotape and recording; so I wonder how long their guarantee it??? The pictures on the cover package are color enhanced artist reproductions of the 1936 actual cartoons. Christmas Cartoons is a registered trademark of “The First on the Block Video Group” They created a series of 6 videos. This VHS is meant for only the serious collector that knows how to restore old magnetic tapes from Vintage VHS’. Other sellers will tell you they tested the tape, which is a bad thing to do unless you know what you are doing, this is why: THE GOOD NEWS I researched the internet on this specific VHS and found that there are not more then one or two out there available to be Sold as they were quickly replaced by a larger company “Classic Cartoons” that bought out the original producers of the video and made thousands of them for sale. You will see many of them available for sale, the front of the cover has Santa Claus looking back as you as he drops off his presents. I also want you to know that I kept it in a temperature-controlled environment and dry storage in a dark place. The cover is in excellent condition with very little wear. Check out the pictures THE NOT SO GOOD NEWS” Even if you take incredibly good care of them, VHS tapes will eventually deteriorate. By the very nature of their components, VHS just wasn’t built to stand the test of time. There are several factors that cause VHS tape to degrade, a key one being that the magnetic charge needed for them to work is not permanent. Magnetic particles gradually lose their charge, in a process called remanence decay. The rate of decay will depend on the exact chemistry of the particles used, but if it does happen you can expect some colour shift towards weaker hues and a loss of detail overall in your footage. Good thing I never tested this tape; as I wanted to give it to you in its original state so that when you, the collector, attempt to make it work, you know it was not played around with... Research generally indicates that magnetic tapes like VHS and Hi8, stored well, will experience 10-20% signal loss, purely from magnetic decay, after 10-25 years. Given how long VHS has been obsolete, chances are that this tape has already reached, if not exceeded, this time frame. Ref: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_Comes_But_Once_a_Year

[notwithout-mymuse]

Fic: Misfits and Wanderers 8/8

Fic in which Robert and Aaron accidentally become secondary dads to almost every kid in the village. No mentions of the current SL because positivity is fun.

Split into 8 smaller one-shots because my thoughts ran away with me. All parts with be tagged fic: misfits verse.

With thanks to @mrshiftysugden, @portinastorm, and @stulot

Part 1 – Noah

Part 2 – Gabby

Part 3 - April & Leo

Part 4 - Kyle

Part 5 - Sarah & Jack

Part 6 - Arthur

Part 7 - Samson

Part 8 - Epilogue: Christmas

A/N: Thank you so so much to everyone who has left comments/kudos/likes on this story. I've really enjoyed writing it and it makes me so happy that other people have enjoyed it too. I'm definitely interested in adding to this verse in the future, so if there are any scenarios or character combinations you would like to see, then feel free to leave a prompt either here or on AO3 (I'm itswheremydemonshide10 there too!)

--

The Mill buzzes with excited noise, the smell of warm gingerbread permeating the house. Liv had decided the day before that they needed to put some Christmas decorations up, which is how they ended up with a house full of kids helping them decorate.

Liv has April on her shoulders, so that she can reach to hang some tacky, brightly-coloured paper chains. Aaron is sat cross-legged on the floor, a string of tinsel around his neck, helping Noah and Sarah to work out which baubles to put on the tree first. The fire is on, and the radio is blasting cheesy Christmas songs, and Robert couldn’t be happier.

Once the decorations are up, and they’ve gorged themselves on mince pies, they all collapse in the living room, the start scene of The Grinch on the TV. However, Liv snatches the control before Aaron can press play.

“Before you start that, we’ve all got an early Christmas present for ya both.” Liv says, pulling a large box out from behind the sofa, covered in red, shiny wrapping paper and a glittery gold ribbon. “Careful, it’s fragile.”

“Liv if something jumps up out of this and smacks us in the face I’ll kill ya.” Robert tells her, not able to hide his suspicion as he pulls the box towards them.

“Oi. I’m trying to do something nice here.” Liv snipes back.

Robert notices that as he and Aaron start tearing at the wrapping to reveal a brown cardboard box, that it’s not just Liv that looks sheepishly excited, all of the children do.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re all in on this?” Robert asks, causing them all to grin, Kyle giggling nervously.

The box is full of bubble-wrapped mugs, and not just any mugs, but specially made ones. Each one has a photo printed on the side of one of the children, their names imprinted on the other side.

“They’re for when we stay over, so we can all have a mug of our own!” Sarah announces.

“It’s our way of saying thank you too, for looking out for us.” Gabby tells them.

Robert looks across to his husband, and sees the same soft, emotional look in his eyes that he knows are reflected back in his own.

-

They end up with a living room full of sleeping children that night. Aaron tip-toes through the maze of sleeping bags and pillows, trying not to disturb any of them as he heads for the spiral staircase, more than ready to crash into bed after the chaos of the evening.

There’s a line of gloves and socks hanging in a line in front of the fire, to dry them out after the epic snowball fight they had hosted in the back garden. The snow is still falling thickly outside the window, the harsh winter really hitting hard now. It’s why Aaron had sent a group message out to all the kids’ parents, to tell them that the children were all welcome to stay over, so that they wouldn’t have to battle through the snow in the dark to get home.

Gabby tosses from one side to the other, having bagged herself the big sofa again (and Aaron thinks that they really need to start a rota system for who gets the sofa each time, to prevent arguments). Noah snuffles unpleasantly into his pillow and Aaron makes a mental note to give him some more medicine in the morning, because his cold doesn’t seem to be shifting anytime soon, and the last thing they need is the other kids catching it too.

“Night-night Aaron” a small sleepy voice mumbles, catching Aaron with one foot on the bottom step.

“Night Jack, get some sleep buddy!” Aaron whispers back as loudly as he dares, before creeping up the stairs.

Robert’s already in bed reading when Aaron reaches the bedroom, hair scruffy and slightly damp from his shower and all he wants is to crawl into his husband’s warm arms, so as soon as he’s shed his clothes in favour of pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt and brushed his teeth, that’s exactly what he does.

Robert smells clean and fresh, the scent of his poncy rip-off shower gel more comforting than Aaron will ever admit. He curls up next to Robert and nuzzles his face into his shoulder.

“They all settled?” Robert asks absentmindedly, flicking to the next page of his novel, before stretching his arm to settle around Aaron’s shoulder to hold him close.

“Yeah, finally.”

It’s moments like this that make Aaron realise how much marriage has changed him, because he’s pretty sure if he could travel back in time, his younger self would cringe at the sight of him and Robert right now. They’re the picture of domesticity, curled up together in bed like this. It’s one of Aaron’s favourite things to do at the end of a long day, because Robert’s always soft and unguarded like this and he can just relax and unwind, the rise and fall of Robert’s even breathing under his cheek soothing.

Aaron thinks that perhaps this is what his counsellor meant when she had talked the week before about allowing himself to have quiet moments to let his mind settle. He thinks he likes it.

“Do you ever wonder how we got here?” Aaron asks after a few minutes of contented quiet.

Robert understands straight away that Aaron isn’t just musing on the fact that they’re sitting in bed, because he reaches for his bookmark to mark his place, and puts the book on his side-table. He shuffles until he’s lying down on his side, face-to-face with Aaron, before responding.

“How do you mean?” Robert asks quietly. He waits, lets Aaron gather his thoughts without any pressure, content to run his finger-tips up and down Aaron’s arm in delicate, nonsensical patterns, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“Robert… right now we have a living room full random children, none of them are ours, but they just… act like they belong here, you know? I’m not complaining, not at all, but… I mean I never imagined that this would be my life, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t either…” Aaron tails off, not really sure where he is going with this, not sure if it really matters.

Robert seems to mull Aaron’s words over before responding.

“Well, true. But I never would have predicted that I’d end up married to you either…maybe things are better when they just happen naturally ya know?” Robert’s hand threads through Aaron’s hair as he speaks, and he presses a chaste kiss to his husband’s lips before his continues:

“And it’s kind of nice, when I think about it. None of those kids have really had easy lives, for one reason or another, if being here with us nutters makes them happy, then we’re doing a good thing, right?”

It still hits Aaron hard sometimes, the depths of Robert’s heart that most people never even get close to, because they’re buried under so many years of isolation, denial, anger, and fear. Even though they’re married now, and know each other better than anyone else, it still feels like a privilege that he gets to know Robert in this way.

“Yeah, I think it’s a good thing.” Aaron responds eventually. “Sometimes, I just look at them and see myself ya know? I mean the situations are completely different, thank god, but I just remember when I was a kid and how desperate I was for someone to notice, to listen, to care… I’d never want any kid to feel like that if I could stop it.”

Robert closes the gap, so he can rest his forehead on Aaron’s. Their warm, minty breaths becoming one.

“That’s what makes you such a good man Aaron, and why you make me want to be a better one… all of that pain and misery and loneliness - and it just made you kind.”

Aaron has no idea how to respond to that, so he goes with humour instead.

“Why do I have a feeling that’s a quote from one of your nerdy sci-fi shows?”

Robert pulls back with a quiet snort of laughter.

“Well, actually…”

“Never mind, I don’t wanna know!” Aaron cuts him off before he can get going.

Robert and Aaron are content to drift after that. Small snatches of unimportant chatter, a few soft kisses, all in the warm embrace of each other’s arms.

Tomorrow will be chaotic again. Robert will get up first and make the kids tea and toast with Liv, while Aaron showers. Then it will be a rush to get them all home, a mess of backpacks, lost socks, spilt tea, and arguments over the bathroom. Someone will undoubtedly leave something behind, a jumper on the back of a chair, or a phone down the back of the sofa. Noah might join them for another night, depending on what Charity is up to. April and Leo will be back for their usual visit on Thursday too. They will all return at some point, some sooner than others.

But both Robert and Aaron know the door to the Mill will be open to them, at any time of the day or night, for any reason.

And most importantly, the children all know that too.

[yesdanielblisslove]

Just how to Find the Right Designer for Your Interior Design and also Decorating Projects

Searching for an interior developer or interior decorator can be frustrating if you are uncertain which designer you require for the extent or your task. Are you building, refurbishing or moving and also need expert recommendations? Are you intending to sell your residential property and uncertain how to get ready for the first examination? This record provides you response to frequently asked questions in relation to interior design, interior decoration, colour consulting as well as home designing. It will certainly aid you finding the appropriate designer for your interior decoration and embellishing tasks and also at some point create your individual style in your home. What is the distinction between an indoor designer and an indoor stylist? You might have asked yourself this concern currently when dealing with a building or restoration job. Do I need an indoor designer, an interior decorator, a colour specialist or an interior stylist? The answer is that it relies on the extent of the task. An indoor developer is a competent specialist that is designing interior environments according to your instruction. The interior designer either changes what currently exists (remodelling) or supplies a totally new design for a room (brand-new develop). In this instance the interior designer works closely with the architect and comes in at a beginning of the project. Interior developers function either along a group in layout firm or on their own. What is the job of an interior stylist? An interior stylist is a designer or expert in an area conditional stylishly, particularly style or interior design. An interior stylist cultivates or keeps any type of particular style and also in many cases stylist are finders, keepers and collectors of attractive things. The indoor stylist can aid you locating your own style, creating lovely interiors that are one-of-a-kind as well as purposeful. This can be achieved with the easiest things and does not have to be costly. The only thing you need to do is maintain your eyes open to lovely things in nature, architecture, layout, galleries, art, exhibits, publications, fabrics as well as traveling. There is only one regulation: Only accumulate or buy points that mean something to you! How does a colour appointment job? The colour appointment focuses on developing a colour scheme for a specific area or space or the whole home according to your briefing. A professional colour professional can assist you with interior and exterior color scheme. Before developing a colour scheme for you the colour specialist should always talk with you concerning the mood as well as environment you would love to achieve in your room. He will certainly clarify to you the distinctions in between the paint business and their products as well as choose the best product for your needs. After designing the color scheme you will get a written suggestion including a requirements sheet and also brushouts prepared for your painter to begin. Why is it vital to inquire from a developer when choosing colours? Colour is the most effective device when it concerns non-verbal communication and the design aspect that makes a space come active. Colour brings originality in an area as well as it is one of the most useful tools to understand when finding your own style. Leatrice Eiseman, Executive Director of the Pantone Color Institute, says in her publication Pantone Guide to Communicating with Color: "Among various other usages, shade boosts as well as works synergistically with all of the senses, signifies abstract ideas as well as thoughts, shares dream or wish fulfillment, remembers afterward or place as well as creates a visual or psychological action." When choosing a colour for a room or residence it is very important to think about the mood as well as ambience you wish to achieve. Is it a dark space or flooded with all-natural light? In which direction is the area dealing with? Exactly how are the proportions? Do you live in a small apartment or a modern freshly developed home with open strategy living locations? All this needs to be considered when selecting colours for a space. If you are bewildered by the selection of colours available - yes, there are thousands on the marketplace - exactly how can you begin locating your personal colour scheme? For some people it is a much longer journey, for others it comes a lot more naturally. One of the most important point is to take a while, open your eyes, walk around your house as well as absorb the colour mixes you see. Then start gathering all the pieces you love. This can be anything from old porcelain, traveling keepsakes, pictures, art work, clothes, tear sheets from magazines, fabric examples, stationary, a collection of stones, plumes or glass things. And don't neglect nature as inspiration for a color scheme (inside or outside). If you live near the ocean, shades of blues and greens can be utilized to connect your inside with its surroundings. Flowers, butterflies, stones, shells, driftwood are superb ideas for palette. When you have gathered all your cherished treasures in one spot, play around with the items, team them by colours and you will certainly see a colour combination emerge. This "moodboard" is a fantastic base for your indoor designer, indoor stylist or colour consultant to aid you producing an individual as well as personal area, a house that reflects that you are and a location that you love coming home to. Stylist's pointer: Before you begin repainting constantly acquire an examination pot as well as paint a big sheet of paper or cardboard (one square metre) with your colour. Tape it to the walls in your space as well as research it for a number of days. Take a look at it in daylight and also synthetic light. This is extremely crucial as colours change depending upon the light, the alignment of the space, various other colours in the space and also spatial aspects like furniture as well as artwork for example. What is the difference in between a colour and a designing appointment? The colour assessment focuses on developing a color scheme for a certain room or room or the whole home according to your instruction. A professional colour professional can help you with interior and exterior colour schemes. The styling appointment concentrates on creating a certain (Your) design in your home or simply on answering all your inquiries concerning colours, design, furnishings sourcing and positioning, art sourcing and placement, screens of your collections, devices, percentages in a space, lighting and so on . Once more it is crucial that the developer listens to what you would like to achieve (instruction) and also makes sure that he recognized what you want (debriefing). Do not allow the interior designer or indoor stylist talk you into something you do not like! Just how do I increase the result of my designing assessment? Are you preparing to colour, revamp or remodel, however do not recognize where to begin? Do you have great deals of inquiries concerning palette, furniture placement, how to show your collections, books or various other cherished points? Are you not exactly sure whether to remodel with your old furnishings and accessories or to remodel and produce a make over? Do you need ideas where to source furniture and accessories, used pieces or antiques? If you prepare your initial examination with your stylist correctly, you will certainly get answers to all the inquiries you have. Here are my tips just how to maximise the outcome from your designing or colour assessment: - Be clear what you would such as the end result of the appointment to be. - Decide which area or area you want to concentrate on. Is it only one space or the entire home? - Prepare on your own with tear sheets from interior design magazines like Real Living, Inside Out, Belle or Vogue Living. There are plenty on the market so choose the one that talks to you most and also begin accumulating web pages of whatever you such as: color scheme, furniture, accessories, room designs, rugs, flooring, wallpaper, ornamental things and also every little thing that speaks to you. If you do this for a couple of weeks you will plainly see what you like and also find your very own individual design. have a peek here interior design west vancouver bc Business Address: 1880 Fir St #101, Vancouver, BC V6J 3B1 Phone: (604) 688-5487

[joroanblog]

Just how to Find the Right Designer for Your Interior Design and also Decorating Projects

Searching for an interior developer or interior decorator can be frustrating if you are uncertain which designer you require for the extent or your task. Are you building, refurbishing or moving and also need expert recommendations? Are you intending to sell your residential property and uncertain how to get ready for the first examination? This record provides you response to frequently asked questions in relation to interior design, interior decoration, colour consulting as well as home designing. It will certainly aid you finding the appropriate designer for your interior decoration and embellishing tasks and also at some point create your individual style in your home. What is the distinction between an indoor designer and an indoor stylist? You might have asked yourself this concern currently when dealing with a building or restoration job. Do I need an indoor designer, an interior decorator, a colour specialist or an interior stylist? The answer is that it relies on the extent of the task. An indoor developer is a competent specialist that is designing interior environments according to your instruction. The interior designer either changes what currently exists (remodelling) or supplies a totally new design for a room (brand-new develop). In this instance the interior designer works closely with the architect and comes in at a beginning of the project. Interior developers function either along a group in layout firm or on their own. What is the job of an interior stylist? An interior stylist is a designer or expert in an area conditional stylishly, particularly style or interior design. An interior stylist cultivates or keeps any type of particular style and also in many cases stylist are finders, keepers and collectors of attractive things. The indoor stylist can aid you locating your own style, creating lovely interiors that are one-of-a-kind as well as purposeful. This can be achieved with the easiest things and does not have to be costly. The only thing you need to do is maintain your eyes open to lovely things in nature, architecture, layout, galleries, art, exhibits, publications, fabrics as well as traveling. There is only one regulation: Only accumulate or buy points that mean something to you! How does a colour appointment job? The colour appointment focuses on developing a colour scheme for a specific area or space or the whole home according to your briefing. A professional colour professional can assist you with interior and exterior color scheme. Before developing a colour scheme for you the colour specialist should always talk with you concerning the mood as well as environment you would love to achieve in your room. He will certainly clarify to you the distinctions in between the paint business and their products as well as choose the best product for your needs. After designing the color scheme you will get a written suggestion including a requirements sheet and also brushouts prepared for your painter to begin. Why is it vital to inquire from a developer when choosing colours? Colour is the most effective device when it concerns non-verbal communication and the design aspect that makes a space come active. Colour brings originality in an area as well as it is one of the most useful tools to understand when finding your own style. Leatrice Eiseman, Executive Director of the Pantone Color Institute, says in her publication Pantone Guide to Communicating with Color: "Among various other usages, shade boosts as well as works synergistically with all of the senses, signifies abstract ideas as well as thoughts, shares dream or wish fulfillment, remembers afterward or place as well as creates a visual or psychological action." When choosing a colour for a room or residence it is very important to think about the mood as well as ambience you wish to achieve. Is it a dark space or flooded with all-natural light? In which direction is the area dealing with? Exactly how are the proportions? Do you live in a small apartment or a modern freshly developed home with open strategy living locations? All this needs to be considered when selecting colours for a space. If you are bewildered by the selection of colours available - yes, there are thousands on the marketplace - exactly how can you begin locating your personal colour scheme? For some people it is a much longer journey, for others it comes a lot more naturally. One of the most important point is to take a while, open your eyes, walk around your house as well as absorb the colour mixes you see. Then start gathering all the pieces you love. This can be anything from old porcelain, traveling keepsakes, pictures, art work, clothes, tear sheets from magazines, fabric examples, stationary, a collection of stones, plumes or glass things. And don't neglect nature as inspiration for a color scheme (inside or outside). If you live near the ocean, shades of blues and greens can be utilized to connect your inside with its surroundings. Flowers, butterflies, stones, shells, driftwood are superb ideas for palette. When you have gathered all your cherished treasures in one spot, play around with the items, team them by colours and you will certainly see a colour combination emerge. This "moodboard" is a fantastic base for your indoor designer, indoor stylist or colour consultant to aid you producing an individual as well as personal area, a house that reflects that you are and a location that you love coming home to. Stylist's pointer: Before you begin repainting constantly acquire an examination pot as well as paint a big sheet of paper or cardboard (one square metre) with your colour. Tape it to the walls in your space as well as research it for a number of days. Take a look at it in daylight and also synthetic light. This is extremely crucial as colours change depending upon the light, the alignment of the space, various other colours in the space and also spatial aspects like furniture as well as artwork for example. What is the difference in between a colour and a designing appointment? The colour assessment focuses on developing a color scheme for a certain room or room or the whole home according to your instruction. A professional colour professional can help you with interior and exterior colour schemes. The styling appointment concentrates on creating a certain (Your) design in your home or simply on answering all your inquiries concerning colours, design, furnishings sourcing and positioning, art sourcing and placement, screens of your collections, devices, percentages in a space, lighting and so on . Once more it is crucial that the developer listens to what you would like to achieve (instruction) and also makes sure that he recognized what you want (debriefing). Do not allow the interior designer or indoor stylist talk you into something you do not like! Just how do I increase the result of my designing assessment? Are you preparing to colour, revamp or remodel, however do not recognize where to begin? Do you have great deals of inquiries concerning palette, furniture placement, how to show your collections, books or various other cherished points? Are you not exactly sure whether to remodel with your old furnishings and accessories or to remodel and produce a make over? Do you need ideas where to source furniture and accessories, used pieces or antiques? If you prepare your initial examination with your stylist correctly, you will certainly get answers to all the inquiries you have. Here are my tips just how to maximise the outcome from your designing or colour assessment: - Be clear what you would such as the end result of the appointment to be. - Decide which area or area you want to concentrate on. Is it only one space or the entire home? - Prepare on your own with tear sheets from interior design magazines like Real Living, Inside Out, Belle or Vogue Living. There are plenty on the market so choose the one that talks to you most and also begin accumulating web pages of whatever you such as: color scheme, furniture, accessories, room designs, rugs, flooring, wallpaper, ornamental things and also every little thing that speaks to you. If you do this for a couple of weeks you will plainly see what you like and also find your very own individual design. have a peek at these guys interior design west vancouver bc Business Address: 1880 Fir St #101, Vancouver, BC V6J 3B1 Phone: (604) 688-5487

[emikostudio2018]

Emiko Sheehan 213.463 Fine Arts Research Seminar  Martin Patrick

One Lonely Moonchild transmits 70’s Disco vibrations, in hopes of your company.

Is it the Gravity of Darkness that pulls one mind close to another? When there is nothing but longing, can one find comfort in the dark? Gravity is different on the moon, where weight escapes, emotion floods the soul, like the rising and falling of the tides.

This semester I have been exploring through space and time, to bring you the finest experience of a moonchild, low on energy but way high with potential, reverberating sound and colour through a late 70’s disco space vibe. ‘wow, what a change from last year’s work Emiko’ is what you might be thinking, and that wouldn't be wrong at all. This year I have let go of all standards, and preconceived ideas about what I thought good art should be, and what I should be making, this is the era of me making whatever the fuck I want.

I’ve never really had a solid idea in my mind of what kind of artist I want to be, or even just being an artist. I don’t think being an artist or fine art holds the same value in my mind as some of my other peers, maybe. I ended up studying art by convenience really. I didn’t enter the degree with great hopes and aspirations to be an artist, I wanted to do this degree because it looked fun. It’s malleable and creative, which seemed very attractive to me at the time, little did I know that I would be faced with critical theory and self analysis that would destroying any ignorant delusion and blind enjoyment of every kind of media, art and people that I encountered, and there’s no going back to sleep once you woke......it’s not a bad thing though, just more work, that I think makes you a better human probably anyway.

Is this what makes a good artist though? thinking critically and consciously, seeing creative possibility, questioning one's daily life, their environment, the world, the universe. The world is the artists oyster, the universe is the artists seafood chowder. This kind of artistic critical engagement with the cosmos can open portals to good art I think, it can also open portals to existential crisis’ and a cynical glum with the world. For me it leaves me with a niggling feeling of dissatisfaction. I don’t particularly like this human reality, and it shows no signs of redemption. A quick mention to some of the shit things in the world would be; Empiricism, capitalism, consumerism, racism, actually all hierarchical tendencies, waste, pollution, and then all the stuff that spreads from those things... This is not a kind world, this is a human world. It makes complete sense for people outcasted and rejected by society, or those systematically disadvantaged to then reject their reality and look to fictitious predictions of the future, and alternate worlds for comfort and hope. I live a reasonably good life, I’ve never had to go hungry or be homeless, I have a family who love me and good friends, mostly I’m in good health, I get to go to university, I have a loving beautiful man, it's a good life. But I hate the capitalistic systems of the world we live in. I hate systematic racism, I hate the continued effects of colonisation, I hate superiority of knowledge, and established hierarchies, and i feel the effects of these things, not immensely, but enough. This niggling feeling can grow and shrink depending on the day, or the situation, but they never fade, and maybe this is why I am so attracted to science fiction and fantastical stories.

My interactions with sci-fi, happened by chance. I never notice the genre and thought, there’s something I like and want to know all about, probably because it is so broad and hard to define. I haven’t read any of the big classical sci-fi names, I entered through the back door, it just happened that my ex-boyfriends mum was a huge Ursula Le Guin fan, and she successfully converted me to Le Guinism. At a formative time of my life, Le Guin help me to work through a lot of socio-political issues and ideas, and to think critically about them. Through made up worlds with close to home narratives, Ursula Le Guin highlights political issues that we have on earth—such as binary gender norms, and capitalistic greed—as way of critique. This is one of my favourite tools of science-fiction. You can use this fiction to overtly deal to matters in our realities.

One point of difference with Ursula Le Guin than other science-fiction writers, is she does not tell stories of the future, and shies away from the term futurist[1]. So much of science-fiction is prediction of what could happen in the future, given the right/wrong technological/scientific advances. But Le Guin says that she only ever writes about the present, because all we have is the present. I’m guessing her Zen buddhist beliefs, and the tao ching, work their way into this self-analysis.

I think, like most things, I have a very left of centre approach to sci-fi. Being Maori, and having gone through the majority of this degree, somewhat deep in critical thought about art, media, and people in general, I’m always sceptical about what I read/watch/listen to, and like most things, there is a mainstream, dominant voice in science-fiction, which is….. two guesses…...that white male centricity. In some cases, science-fiction has given (fictitiously) justification for ‘othering’ certain peoples and claiming ‘normality’ for some [2]. Narratives that talk about alien invasions, and humanity bonding together for the greater good, can, if you look closer, permit ideas of racism and/or segregation. Scientifically defining what is ‘alien’ or ‘only 2/3rds human’ has lead to nasty behaviors amongst us human animals. This is ofcourse not always the case, and part of the greatness about Sci-Fi is that is can also work in the other direction and highlight issues of racism or classism etc. or dismiss them completely. As a fine arts Major, I am constantly looking at the world and how to respond. Thinking about how to incorporate science-fiction or science-fictiony themes into my art, leads to many fun mind games, basically because there are no limits, or the sky’s the limit, aaaayyyyeeee.

Ursula Le Guin pushed at the boundaries of science-fiction, when there weren’t many celebrated female writers. One of my favourite quotes of hers—which is from her fantasy series, rather than her more classically sci-fi books—is from The Earth Sea quintette, where Tena is talking to Moss, they are discussing the power of men, and Tena asks about the power of women? Moss gives the answer, that is the answer that the patriarchy like to bestow upon women, that women’s power and magic, it is mysterious, who knows where it begins and ends, it is deeper than the roots of trees, and goes back into the dark, who dares question the dark?... to which Tena replies, “I will! I lived in the dark long enough, and I will have the light too!”[3] In this conversation, Tena is answering back to the place that men have left for her, and saying yes, but I’ll will have what you have too. This is what Ursula Le Guin has done in so many of her books, she knew what she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to say it.  

I guess this is what makes science-fiction so exciting for me, it is a place that exists, but has no rules, and is free for anyone to use. Movements such a Afrofuturism—or over this side of the world Astronesians—are spaces where minority communities have taken advantage of what science-fiction has to offer.

In a world, a global society that was not built for them, minority groups, such as blacks in America, and people of the pacific, have built their own narratives and worlds through the use of science-fiction, constructing alternative realities. This was what Sun Ra did, around the 1950’s in Chicago. Sun Ra would play with his Arkestra, a big jazz ensemble and preach his vision of peace[4]. Sun Ra had an experience with some extraterrestrials, where he was teleported to Saturn, told to quit university and embrace his alien status to teach America and mainly black people in America how to teleport to saturn, where Sun Ra set up a colony that was peaceful and welcoming to everyone one. He taught his disciples to construct their own narratives through music[5].

Underneath all my experimentations this semester has been a base of writing, and thinking about writing my own narratives and alternate realities. This seemed like a logical step for me, since I started the year off with the main ideas in my head expanding from the idea of ‘Astronesian’ and ‘Space Māori’. It also seemed like a good idea, because I find studying very difficult and fitting my unique creative process into the structure of the 12 week semester doesn’t always work for me, so why not just make up my own shit, and do whatever I want, because who says that I can’t? Collecting terms like ‘Astronesian’ and ‘Space Māori’ gives me a way to feel comfortable in expressing my discomfort, and weird outcast tendencies, I mean you could do this with any genre and area of art, I’ve just chosen a sci-fi approach.

I first heard Coco Solid using the word Austronesian when she came and put on a show in the engine room a couple years ago. I was inspired by the way she approached an exhibition, it wasn’t like anything I had seen before in that space. I volunteered to help, and when I got there, there was big roles of brown paper, printed pictures of coco cream and a life size print out of Steven Adams. I was asked to make a waka out of cardboard and shiny chrome plastic material. Coco Solid wanted a chrome waka like on the cover of The Patea Maori club single, Aku Raukura, a great example of some Space Māori art. The time that Coco Solid had the engine room for was mostly spent most constructing the huge wall collage of things that tied Māori traditional legend to modern day legend’s such as Steven Adams (Coco loves him). The wall had a fresh flavour, a solid political and social stance, while also being fun and collaborative. Coco Solid, just did what she wanted, and everyone else rolled with it. This was an experience that showed me how someone can be in the ‘art world’ and still do whatever they want, not having to necessarily follow the standardised formula of an exhibition. This wasn’t like a hugely defiant exhibition, but it was very much a fun time that coco solid constructed. Using the art system to her advantage aye.  

I often am confronted with responsibility, and privilege. I feel like, because I get to spend all of my time making art, and living pretty comfortably, I should be using my time to like, give back to the community or something. I want what I’m doing to be useful and to cause no harm. I think these are good things to keep in mind when making art, but what I need right now, is to develop and grown in myself, have some me art time, and make the things I want to, self love and care, spiritual connections.

So this has sent me on a path of completely new work. its pretty classic Emiko, to up and start a new art practice, that I don’t really know anything about. I begun this semester making video based art, and have ended up in performance, both areas of fine art that I hardly have any experience in. My familiar element is that I am still writing poetry and prose, but even writing as a practice I’ve only been doing seriously for a year. I feel like a child, I’m not quite sure what I’m doing. In this environment, where I have so many resources available to me, why would I only stink to one area of art making. I want to try everything, maybe I’m just indecisive. It sometimes does leave me feeling like I only know a little about everything, but not actually good at anything. In past years, I’ve tried very hard to make things, that I think will be good, and smart, have a political stance, uphold Māori values, I am still doing that, but not overtly. This year, I’ve opened up myself, and I’m serving up all the raw bits of my creative energy, following my spirit journey.

My spirit journey has led me to performance art. When I was in high school, I use to play in a band, I was never that good, but it was fun. My boyfriend at the time—who was also in the band and a natural musical genius—would sometimes make me feel incompetent in my music abilities. After a messy break up—where we probably both made each other feel pretty incompetent as humans—I was left feeling pretty insecure about playing music and performing. Though I think that performer/entertainer inside me has just been hibernating, and maybe now I’ve come full circle. This is the year for indulging all my inner kinks, and not giving a fuck about ex boyfriends.

My final performance for studio this semester was working with themes of isolation, space, the moon, dancing, and language, and of course a telling of these things from an astronesian point of view. It takes me a while to form a coherent idea or narrative of my work, at the beginning of the semester, I only knew that I wanted to go to space with my creations. I looked at artists such as Coco Solid, the Witch Bitch collective, The Pacific sisters, Lisa Reihana, Rosanna Raymond, Patricia Grace, Ursula Le Guin. I began by trying to create fully formed ideas and narratives of how I might put some Maori in space, but that ended up being very difficult. I already knew that I am not someone who creates a complete picture before construction, I work more organically, small particles reveal themselves into the light and slowly come together to form something whole from the dark. I had to step back and send out my aspirations into the cosmos, become an open vessel for celestial vibes to flow in.

This was no easy task, the harshness of this reality has strong gravity, I worked hard at my meditation, with little success. Then I was visited through telepathic fate, by a distant celestial relative. She was from a world very similar to ours, a planet and moon close in size to our own. This wahine lived on the moon of her world, too far away from the earth to have connection to anyone, but close enough to feel all the activity and love and heartache of the people on her earth. This moonchild explained to me that we were like an isotope, we had the same chemical properties, but existed in physically different planes. The moonchild told me how her moon rotates on a interdimensional frequency which picks up signals from any number of planets in the universe. The moonchild had had contact last with our earth in 1978. Sun Ra had actually picked up her frequency, our planet happened to be positioned perfectly to receive her vibrations. The moonchild and Sun Ra exchanged stories and philosophies, culture and relatives they both encountered on their astrological travels. The moonchild played me back a mixtape she had from 1978, amongst the songs on it were; September by Earth wind and Fire, Zodiac Lady by Roberta Kelly, Toon Poo by Yellow Magic orchestra, Oh Honey by Delegation and Diamond in the back by Curtis Mayfield. The moonchild told me of how she was so thankful for the multiplicity of communication she can have with other worlds in the universe, but often loneliness and melancholy brought attention to her isolation on the moon. her longing to be with other people on earth was sometimes overwhelming.

It seemed fortuitous that meeting this moonchild coincided with critique week, and I was able to use this experience to feed into my studio practice. Different to Sun Ra and other Afrofuturist, my performances have not been about preaching a message, or predictions of a better future. Within science-fiction there lies a lot of futuristic thinking, be it utopia or dystopia, but I make no predictions of the future in my work, not yet anyways, My relation to science-fiction, rather than being of the future, is that it is celestial, astrological. It is science-fiction on a personal level. Softcore, space bodies. No advanced technologies, except the moonchild’s moon I guess. This might fall under Arthur C. Clarke's third law, that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic [7].

In the Moonchild’s words, I found many similarities within my own life. Often feeling distant and disconnected from my Japanese whakapapa, because I don’t know that side of my family. I feel like I am away on a moon, not close enough to have grown up ‘Japanese’ but also feeling very ‘Japanese’ at times unexplainably, genetics huh. And then of course the effects of colonisation and not knowing my Māori culture very well, going through the stages of being ashamed of being Māori, understanding where that shame came from, understanding why many Māori are disconnected from their whakapapa and then being proud to be Māori and having to actively engage and learn about my Māori culture—which I am still doing—because so much of it was pushed into the dark. These themes fed into my final performance.

What is in the dark must be a terrifying beautiful collection of things. When the Nazi’s burned thousands of books, they sent them violently in to the darkness. When Maniapoto tribes were under attack and were going to be defeated, they buried their war atua, Uenuku, safely put him in the dark, and he waited there until it was time to come back into the world of light. All the unnamed emotions and inaudible experiences lie in the dark. Though, this is not the kind of darkness a scientist would talk about, but scientists don’t know anything about the dark anyway. We humans know so much about the light, and what lies in the light, but we know nothing of the dark, only what it is not, yet darkness is the biggest entity in our universe. It is undetectable, but because of its gravity, we know it exists [8].

I have been thinking about dark matter and dark energy, the unknown in so intriguing to me. I thought that where science is failing, spirituality must come in, and all this darkness cannot be perceived by scientific technology and thinking, because it is a matter of the heart. The darkness is the love of the universe, eminence and unpredictable, it is the force that unites. The collective consciousness of love that reaches beyond time and space. I found this idea transmitting through my mind one night, and then did some soul searching on google to see if other people have had this idea as well, which they have, I am not the only one [9]. I also found one hypothesis, a scientific one, that dark matter and energy is the gravity of a parallel universe, where there can be no communication between the universes, except for the gravity leakage [10], and this makes sense, because we know from Interstella, that gravity can defy space and time.

Dark matter as the gravity of alternate universes, and dark matter as the uniting love of the universe are both very interesting ideas and things to think about as my art practice continues………….this is the kind of process I go through when I make art. I have let go, and let gravity take me on my spiritual space cadet voyage.

Cited Works

[1] Le Guin, Ursula K.

Words are my matter, writing about life and books, 2000-2016

Easthampton, MA, Small Beer Press, 2016.

[2] Womack, Ytasha L.

Afrofuturism, the world of Black Sci-Fi and Fantasy Cuture

Chicago, Lawrence Hill Books, 2013.

[3] Le Guin, Ursula K.

Words are my matter, writing about life and books, 2000-2016

Easthampton, MA, Small Beer Press, 2016.

[4] Womack, Ytasha L.

Afrofuturism, the world of Black Sci-Fi and Fantasy Cuture

Chicago, Lawrence Hill Books, 2013.

[5] space is the place

Sun Ra, John Coney

1974.

[6] Aku Raukura, Patea Maori Club, album cover.

Joe Wylie.

[7] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clarke%27s_three_laws

[8] https://futurism.com/images/what-is-dark-matter/

[9] https://www.veteranstoday.com/2014/06/13/dark-matter-and-energy-is-really-love-and-the-urge-to-unite/

[10] http://www.physics-astronomy.com/2015/03/is-gravity-from-parallel-universe.html#.WyNSZlOFPOQ

Bibliography

Coco Solid (Jessica Hensell).

Cokes. Kuini Qontrol, 2018.

http://www.cocosolid.com

DeGrasse-Tyson, Neil & Goldsmith, Donald

Origins, fourteen billion years of cosmic evolution

New York, Norton & company Inc. 2005.

Grace, Patricia.

“Moon story”

Small holes in the silence.

Penguin group, 2006, p. 111-118.

Hau’ofa, Epeli.

“Our Sea of Islands.”

A New Oceania: Rediscovering Our Sea of Islands,

edited by Vijay Naidu, Eric Waddell,

and Epeli Hau’ofa.

School of Social and Economic Development,

The University of the South Pacific,

1994, p. 147-161

Ihimaera, Witi.

Sleeps Standing: Moetu.

Translated by Hemi Kelly,

Penguin Random House New Zealand,

2017.

LeGuin, Ursula K.

The Lathe of Heaven.

St Albans, Panther Books Ltd, 1974

Le Guin, Ursula K.

Words are my matter, writing about life and books, 2000-2016

Easthampton, MA, Small Beer Press, 2016.

Matamua, Rangi.

Matariki: The star of the year.

Auckland, Huia Publishers, 2017

McEvoy, J.P & Zarate, Oscar,

Stephen Hawking, for beginners

Cambridge, Icon Books, 1995.

Meredith, Courtney Sina.

Tail of the Taniwha.

Auckland, Beatnik publishing 2016.

Ngata, Sir Apirana,

P. Te Hurinui editors.

Nga Moteatea.The Polynesian society inc, 1959.

Whaitiri, Reina, and Sullivan, Robert

Puna Wai Korero: An anthology of Maori poetry in English.

Auckland University Press, 2014.

Wilson, Sophie, and Taipua, Dan.

Aotearoa Futurism part one:

Space Maori and Astronesians

Aotearoa Futurism part two:

South Pacific Futurists

www.radionz.co.nz

2015

Womack, Ytasha L.

Afrofuturism, the world of Black Sci-Fi and Fantasy Cuture

Chicago, Lawrence Hill Books, 2013.

https://fafswagvogue.com

NZ on Air,

2018

Stuff about Dark Matter and Dark Energy.

https://futurism.com/images/what-is-dark-matter/

https://futurism.com/neil-degrasse-tyson-universe/

https://www.veteranstoday.com/2014/06/13/dark-matter-and-energy-is-really-love-and-the-urge-to-unite/

http://www.physics-astronomy.com/2015/03/is-gravity-from-parallel-universe.html#.WyNSZlOFPOQ

[backbenchershq]

How to Find the Right Designer for Your Interior Design and Decorating Projects

Looking for an interior designer or interior decorator can be overwhelming if you are not sure which designer you need for the scope or your project. Are you building, renovating or moving and need professional advice? Are you planning to sell your property and not sure how to get ready for the first inspection?

This document gives you answers to frequently asked questions in regards to interior design, interior decorating, colour consulting and property styling.

It will help you finding the right designer for your interior design and decorating projects and eventually create your individual style in your home.

What is the difference between an interior designer and an interior stylist?

You may have asked yourself this question already when facing a building or renovation project. Do I need an interior designer, an interior decorator, a colour consultant or an interior stylist?

The answer is that it depends on the scope of the project.

An interior designer is a skilled professional who is designing interior environments according to your briefing. The interior designer either modifies what already exists (renovation) or provides an entirely new design for a space (new build). In this case the interior designer works closely with the architect and comes in at an early stage of the project. Interior designers work either along a team in design firm or on their own.

What is the job of an interior stylist? An interior stylist is a designer or consultant in a field subject to changes in style, especially fashion or interior decoration. An interior stylist cultivates or maintains any particular style and in most cases stylist are finders, keepers and collectors of beautiful objects.

The interior stylist can help you finding your own style, creating beautiful interiors that are unique and meaningful. This can be achieved with the simplest things and does not have to be expensive. The only thing you need to do is keep your eyes open to beautiful things in nature, architecture, design, museums, art, exhibitions, books, textiles and travel. There is only one rule: Only collect or buy things that mean something to you!

How does a colour consultation work?

The colour consultation focuses on creating a colour scheme for a specific room or space or the whole house according to your briefing. A qualified colour consultant can help you with interior and exterior colour schemes.

Prior to designing a colour scheme for you the colour consultant should always talk to you about the mood and atmosphere you would like to achieve in your space. He will explain to you the differences between the paint companies and their products and choose the right product for your needs. After designing the colour scheme you will receive a written recommendation including a specification sheet and brushouts ready for your painter to start.

Why is it important to seek advice from a designer when choosing colours?

Colour is the most powerful tool when it comes to non-verbal communication and the design element that makes a space come alive. Colour brings individuality in a space and it is one of the most useful tools to master when finding your own style.

Leatrice Eiseman, Executive Director of the Pantone Color Institute, says in her book Pantone Guide to Communicating with Color: “Among other uses, color stimulates and works synergistically with all of the senses, symbolizes abstract concepts and thoughts, expresses fantasy or wish fulfillment, recalls another time or place and produces an aesthetic or emotional response.”

When choosing a colour for a room or house it is important to think about the mood and atmosphere you would like to achieve. Is it a dark room or flooded with natural light? In which direction is the room facing? How are the proportions? Do you live in a small apartment or a contemporary newly built house with open plan living areas? All this needs to be considered when choosing colours for a space.

If you are overwhelmed by the choice of colours available – yes, there are thousands on the market – how can you start finding your personal colour scheme?

For some people it is a longer journey, for others it comes more naturally. The most important thing is to take some time, open your eyes, walk around your home and absorb the colour combinations you see. Then start gathering all the pieces you love. This can be anything from old porcelain, travel souvenirs, photographs, artwork, clothes, tear sheets from magazines, fabric swatches, stationary, a collection of stones, feathers or glass objects.

And don’t forget nature as inspiration for a colour scheme (interior or exterior). If you live near the ocean, shades of blues and greens can be used to link your interior with its surroundings. Flowers, butterflies, stones, shells, driftwood are fantastic inspirations for colour schemes.

Once you have gathered all your beloved treasures in one spot, play around with the pieces, group them by colours and you will see a colour palette emerge. This “moodboard” is a great starting point for your interior designer, interior stylist or colour consultant to help you creating an individual and personal space, a home that reflects who you are and a place that you love coming home to.

Stylist’s tip: Before you start painting always buy a test pot and paint a large sheet of paper or cardboard (one square metre) with your colour. Tape it to the walls in your room and study it for a couple of days. Look at it in daylight and artificial light. This is very important as colours change depending on the light, the orientation of the room, other colours in the room and spatial elements like furniture and artwork for example.

What is the difference between a colour and a styling consultation?

The colour consultation focuses on creating a colour scheme for a specific room or space or the whole house according to your briefing. A qualified colour consultant can help you with interior and exterior colour schemes.

The styling consultation focuses on creating a certain (Your) style in your home or simply on answering all your questions about colours, style, furniture sourcing and placement, art sourcing and placement, displays of your collections, accessories, proportions in a space, lighting etc.

Again it is vital that the designer listens to what you would like to achieve (briefing) and makes sure that he understood what you want (debriefing). Don’t let the interior designer or interior stylist talk you into something you don’t like!

How do I maximise the output of my styling consultation?

Are you planning to colour, redecorate or renovate, but don’t know where to start? Do you have lots of questions about colour schemes, furniture placement, how to display your collections, books or other beloved things? Are you not sure whether to redecorate with your old furniture and accessories or to renovate and create a new look? Do you need inspirations where to source furniture and accessories, second hand pieces or antiques?

If you prepare your first consultation with your stylist properly, you will get answers to all the questions you have. Here are my tips how to maximise the output from your styling or colour consultation:

• Be clear what you would like the outcome of the consultation to be.

• Decide which room or space you would like to focus on. Is it only one room or the whole house?

• Prepare yourself with tear sheets from interior design magazines like Real Living, Inside Out, Belle or Vogue Living. There are plenty on the market so choose the one that speaks to you most and start collecting pages of everything you like: colour schemes, furniture, accessories, room layouts, rugs, flooring, wallpaper, decorative items and everything that speaks to you. If you do this for a couple of weeks you will clearly see what you like and find your own personal style.

• Keep your eyes open to the beautiful things around you: nature, architecture, design, museums, art, exhibitions, books, textiles and travel.

• Make sure that your stylist is listening and explain what you want to achieve with your styling project, what you would like a room to do for you and what mood you would like to create in your space.

And finally one of the most important things: Don’t let the stylist talk you into something you don’t like! You have to live in the space and you need to feel comfortable and at home! It is all about creating your home with your personal touch.

How do I find my own style?

The answer is as simple as this: explore the world around you and appreciate the beauty that lies within everything you discover!

Keep your eyes open and your mind excited! Discover and appreciate the beauty that surrounds you every day! Find inspiration in nature, buildings, shops, exhibitions, museums, art, events, markets, magazines and of course books.

One of my favourite books I spotted in a museum shop is called: How to be an explorer of the world by Keri Smith. On the back it says: “At any given moment, no matter where you are, there are hundreds of things around you that are interesting and worth documenting.”

A stylist’s tip: always carry a little notebook and a pen with you in order to be able to sketch, doodle and write down what you discover.

Keep all your findings, notes and pictures in a folder or box and keep searching for at least four to eight weeks. Then start to group things by colour or theme and you will discover what your style is. And there are no rules. It is all about finding what you like!

Books for your inspiration

This is a list of books that I personally own and love! They are all a fantastic source of inspiration and creative ideas for your home.

Sibella Court: Bowerbird

Shannon Fricke: Sense of Style

Megan Morton: Home Love

Holly Becker: Decorate

Susanna Salk: Be Your Own Decorator

Geraldine James: Creative Walls

Hans Blomquist: The Natural Home

Is it necessary to seek advice from a stylist when I want to sell my property?

If you plan to sell your house it is worth investing in a styling consultation. A professional property stylist can help you to achieve maximum impact when presenting your home to potential buyers. A property stylist will help you to get ready for the first inspection by giving you advice on how to style your house with what you have. He will help you with colour schemes that attract potential buyers. He will also advice if you need rental furniture to style each room according to its function and help potential buyers to envisage themselves in the space. Property styling is all about creating a wow factor in key areas of your home and help the buyers to envisage themselves in your space. Once the styling is done don’t forget to book your stylist for the real estate photography shoot to make sure everything looks perfect on this day!

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