#charcoal roof colour

[erbodd]

A Wolf's Eye

This little story is meant as a present for an artist I admire, who became a friend and someone I respect and care for a lot. I first wanted to draw something, but I’m better at writing than drawing. I’m no “writer” though, by any means, and probably write stories like a 15-year-old with too big a will for happy endings and sugary love.

This is based on something I used to do when I was a very bad student at school. I’d ask for some imposed terms I have to use. Not just mentioned in a description but integrated into the story in a coherent manner. When I did that at school, I would even ask for the hero of the story, and once wrote the marvellous adventures of a mouse. But for this one, I gave myself the courtesy of choosing the protagonists. One would expect Pelle and Varg, but they’re much better in their hands than mine, so I went for the pair I’m the most comfortable with.

Here is what I asked for, and the perfect answers @plusvanity gave me : 

A colour: titanium white An animal: wolf A country: Sweden An household / everyday use item: a warm blanket A season: winter A song with lyrics OR specific lyrics: For Emma - Bon Iver

-Me before starting it : This is going to be so easy, I was already planning for winter and the lyrics are so fitting! -Me after writing about 50 words : Fuck me…

______________________________________________________________________

The sunset was stretching its golden beams across the landscape. Sat on the roof of the cabin, basking in the fainting warmth of the sun, was a blonde haired man. His eyes were closed and his mind was wandering. Winter had a way of sneaking memories in there, mostly bad, sometimes good. He shook his head to push any unwanted thought away. He wanted a clear mind so he could come up with new lyrics.

Being alone and just looking at nature was a good way to do that. He would often do it as an escape, since his younger years back in Sweden, and the habit has stuck with him. However, it was less and less of an escape and he truly enjoyed these rides now. It helped that the scenery was different from what he was used to, bringing something fresh to his sore mind. Yet, Norway was similar enough to Sweden in its decor to give him this sense of home and comfort that his old home didn’t give him anymore.

He would admire the landscape, see it move and change to become what he wanted. From a warm orange sunset, he would imagine a dark blue cloudy sky instead. All those beautiful evergreens, he would picture them dead with charcoal black bark. Where there is a house, in his mind it would turn into a castle made with old grey stones and lit by torches. In a window, there would be a shadowy figure cloaked in darkness, its watchful eye towering the scene. It would be cold, rough and gloomy, just the way he likes it. Later, he would pull out some paper and sketch his visions to turn them into something more tangible. He would scrap many, but some would be true to the images in his mind and worthy of keeping.

The sound of a door opening and some steps coming from the porch underneath him tore him from his reverie.

“Pelle? It’s getting dark, where are you?” “Up here” he answered, waving his hand. “Why are you on the roof?” he asked, slightly annoyed to have to step out in the cold. “The view. Come join me” he offered, pointing at the ladder. “I don’t deal with heights very well. Can’t you come down?” “You make me come down.” he dared him.

Øystein groaned and left, slamming the door shut, enough to make the wall and the windows shake. The blonde chuckled. For some strange reason, his friend’s temper would always bring a smile to his face. He resumed his contemplation but now, his mind was blurred, like an old television that got stuck between two channels. He sighed and climbed down carefully. Night wasn’t yet covering their part of the world, so he made for the trees instead of going home.

He walked on a path he knew as it was too late to venture in any new direction. His steps were confident, each one taken exactly where he had to in order to avoid a cavity here or a stump there. This allowed his mind to wander once more, free from any other thought. It was one of these moments ; your mind is invaded by a melody, it’s nostalgic, distorted like an old record, and it feels eerily familiar even if the name eludes you. There were no words, only notes that escorted his stroll in the forest.

He stopped and blinked a few times, adjusting to the unexpected drop in daylight. It felt as sudden as an eclipse, plunging the forest in darkness right after he realised he had wandered away from his regular path, too lost in thought. He fumbled carefully, going from a tree to another, taking slow steps until there was no tree left so he had to walk blindly, both hands in front of him.

Tripping on a shrouded obstacle, he ended up with his hands and knees in the cold snow. He was about to get back to his feet when he heard a low growl. As far as he knew, there were no dangerous predators in this forest, he would have noticed by then. But the sound filled him with a sense of dread he never felt before. Daring to lift his head, he looked around and was met with two bright golden eyes surrounded by titanium white fur that almost blinded him. The creature’s outline started to appear inch by inch as Pelle got used to the obscurity. It was a wolf, a huge one, and it was only a few feet away from him. He was frozen in fear save from the slight tremor the cold gave him as it crawled into his skin from his hands and knees.

The wolf started to inch closer and closer at an agonisingly slow pace when all it had to do was pounce on him to tear him up. Pelle hoped this was a dream or an hallucination, that he got lost in the forest and was now slowly dying of hypothermia, his mind protecting him by creating this weird fantasy. The wolf came close enough to sniff him and circled him before it sat, his mesmerising gaze locked on Per.

“We trip, we fall, we get up and try again until darkness becomes light and there is nothing left to fuel our fears. Only then can we live. Only then we are free.”

His voice was deep and distant, like the echo of an ancient deity that took pity on Pelle in his dying moments. The wolf came to his side, its icy fur grazed Per’s body and it took him a few seconds to understand it was offering help. He held onto him and lifted himself up, realising the cold had numbed his legs so much that they were shaking as he straightened up. The wolf retreated into the depths, leaving him alone with his freezing body and clouded mind.

A faint light caught his eye in the distance. Unconsciously, he knew he had to go that way. Gradually, it became brighter and his path was visible. However, he kept his attention to the source, understanding his surroundings from sole peripheral vision. From an unknown shape, the light became a rectangle. A door. A strange figure appeared in its frame, it was short, had long hair and wore a cloak of sorts. It came out from this divine gateway and seemed to float above the ground. Taking his steps at the same time as the figure, Per circled it like a predator would with its prey, avoiding the light and placing himself to the side of whoever it was.

“Pelle! It’s really cold now! You’ll freeze to death!” “No, I won’t” “Fuck! Don’t startle me like that!” “Sorry, I won’t do it again.” he promised, his playfully smile hinting otherwise.

Øystein opens his arms to invite Pelle inside. He meant inside the house, Pelle understood inside his arms. So that’s where he went, sliding his arms around the Norwegian and laying his head on the guitarist’s shoulder.

“You’re cold!” “And you’re nicely warm.”

Giving up, the shorter man wrapped his singer with the blanket as best he could, shielding him from the cold.

“Come inside, please.” “Were you worried about me?” “...Always.” he answered in a whisper.

He noticed Øystein was blushing. Or was it only the cold? Pelle didn’t care, he found it cute. He’s warming up already, but from the inside, from this foreign feeling of being cared for.

In the distance, the wolf was watching. His fur so white made him stand out from the fainter tone of the snow. As the wanderer he is, the lone wolf invites to explore the trails yet unblazed. Would Per understand this sign? Would he travel on this foreign road? Only time would tell, but Pelle would not forget his fall into the uncanny valley any time soon.

[merryfortune]

DNA Evidence

Written for the Rarest of Rare Pairs Fic-a-Thon on Dreamwidth

Prompt: Any: any/any(/any+) femslash - sharing lipsticks 

Title: DNA Evidence

Ship: Chiyomaru/Masquerena

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! TCG

Word Count: 2,030

Rating: T

Warning: None 

Tags: Denial of Feelings, Pining, Unhygienic, Indirect Kiss

   “Again?!” Pla-Tina snapped at her.

   Chiyomaru winced but did her best not to. It didn't exactly reflect well on her if she flinched when her superior yelled at her, after all. Instead, she gingerly lifted her hand.  

   “Yes, ma'am, the target got away,” Chiyomaru suppressed a whimper and tried to talk like a soldier, “but we did collect some DNA evidence of her. Could be useful.”

   Said DNA evidence was inside the plastic baggie that Chiyomaru was holding. The item in question was a tube of lipstick, colour presently unknown but its outer shell was a muted, charcoal black with mauve linework. The brand had been scratched off by something, possibly a screw driver based on the pattern of the rivulets. It was a feeble attempt at hiding identity.

   “We have enough of that girl's detritus, rookie.” Pla-Tina snarled. “Dispose of it.”

   “Understood.” Chiyomaru chirped.

   She stashed the baggie inside of her pocket again and saluted Pla-Tina. Her heart raced. She hated being scolded (read: verbally abused) by her superiors. She really, truly, genuinely did her honest and earnest best and this was the thanks she got for it? It completely ruined her already bad mood.

   After all she was the reason the infamous I:P Masquerena had gotten away again.

   Everything with her was a fumble. There was something about her that caused plans to fail, it was as though she were a magnet for Murphy's law, turning everything she touched into a Saturday morning cartoon. Every rave against crime turned into a slapdash sprint off the edge of the nearest building's roof. Chiyomaru's memories of every twist and turn blurred until it just snowballed to get snapped at by her superior but hey. At least she had a souvenir.

   One that she was meant to throw in the trash and Chiyomaru tried. She really did.

   She got home, back to their dormitories. It felt good to be back. The familiar sight of the dark hallways and darker rooms was calming. She unlocked her room and stood in front of her waste bin. She stood in front of it and went through the mental list of what she needed to do.

Throw out the lipstick. They didn’t need it.

Have a shower. None of the rooms have ensuites though.

Rest up for a better, more refreshed mind. Just so she could do her chores tomorrow? No thanks.

   Chiyomaru sighed to herself. She drew out the bagged lipstick from her pocket. She lifted her hand. She held the baggie by the knot at the top of it. She didn’t move her arm despite willing herself to do it. Chiyomaru tried to move her muscles, inch by inch, instruction by instruction but no matter how minute the order or how she tried to will herself, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to do it despite her determination. 

   She tried over and over again but despite having that mental list, she didn’t have the mental fortitude to go through with it. Not one item off it.

   So, Chiyomaru gave up. Annoyed that even now, she couldn’t go through with orders like a well-oiled machine. Chiyomaru turned away from the waste bin and looked out to her room, her shoulders relaxed and she threw the lipstick baggie onto her bed. That came easy to her as she defeatedly kicked off her shoes and changed into her pyjamas. She threw her uniform onto the floor and flopped into bed face first. 

   Complete and utter full depression mode.

   For all of two minutes.

   Chiyomaru growled to herself. She couldn’t be anything but a goody-two-shoes, it seemed so she dragged herself up and tidied her room. She simply could not with the idea of having dirty laundry on the floor. No way! She bent down, picked them up, and gave them a sniff test. Ew, rank, and promptly decided they needed to go into the laundry basket so she balled them up and dunked them into her bamboo basket.

   Then she returned to bed. Angrily. In the way that only someone going through the motions of grief could be angry. She was angry at herself, angry at her boss, angry at her coworkers, but she was furious with her rival.

   Rival was, truly, the only word for I:P Masquerena.

   They seemed like they were on equal footing. They were both newcomers on the scene as newbie cat burger and fresh-faced S-Force recruit. Masquerena’s first heist had even been Chiyomaru’s first night on the job and something illicit clicked when their eyes first met and made contact. Masquerena blew a raspberry and Chiyomaru blew a gasket right back at the disrespect.

   The back and forth between them was clumsy and personal. Everything about Masquerena made Chiyomaru irate. She was silly and klutzy, made bad feline puns and was always toppling over head over heels. She was the worst thief in the world! Yet she had bested Chiyomaru - and by extension, the rest of the S-Force - every time through sheer dumb luck.

   Even tonight. Chiyomaru kept coming back to their farewell as Masquerena once again got away with a USB stick full of passwords to various museums’ security systems throughout the city, how she disappeared over the edge of the building. She was gorgeous. The way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, the cheeky glint to her teeth as she smirked like a cat. Only to screech as she crashed into an awning below before making her inelegant getaway.

   Classic Masquerena in some ways and it was beyond irritating. She was witty but always the butt of her own joke. She was sly and flexible but a klutz. Unlucky in all the luckiest of ways. She was sweet and personable and probably could have been an influencer if she really wanted. Everything about her epitomised the city and how different it was to Chiyomaru’s country roots but it drew her in all the more.

   She wondered. If circumstances were different, could they have been friends? Surely not. Chiyomaru proudly had a stick up her bum and Masquerena was openly more free-wheeling. Instead of being beaten down at a job increasingly turned into a dead end, what if it had been school or university or literally anywhere else where they first met. Regrettably, however, Chiyomaru came to the same decision as she peered into the rabbit hole. 

   Ultimately, she was a hall monitor and Masquerena was a rebel at heart. It didn’t matter if they were playing games or committing crimes, they were a pair with irreconcilable differences.

   Everything about Masquerena got on Chiyomaru’s nerves, after all. Her shiny, glossy hair, her air-headed nature, the sound of her voice which meandered between too cute and too cacophonic. It made Chiyomaru’s heart pound the more and more she examined the gap between herself and that gosh-darn thief. 

   Chiyomaru sighed. She wanted to sleep and ideally never wake up. She could only imagine the long list of chores she would have to do, not to mention corporal punishment or extra training, additional duties which would only aim to demean her. It would be the literal worst.

   Chiyomaru closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. She got underneath her covers, smushed her face into her pillow and tried to ignore the face of Masquerena that she kept seeing amid the phosphenes. Her bedding was thin and well-worn. The room was draughty, too. She drew her knees up to her chest and jostled her foot against something.

   Oh. That’s right. The lipstick. It was still in the bag and it was still on her bed. Why did she even throw it over here? Why couldn’t she put it in the trash where it belongs.

   Well, with it on her bed, Chiyomaru didn’t want to sleep so she pulled herself up again. She could already feel her hair sticking out at odd angles with bedhead. She leaned over herself and grabbed the lipstick. 

   She examined it through the bag. It was roughed up but to a country girl like Chiyomaru, it seemed super bougie and even taboo. Only the showgirls and theatre girls wore makeup in her village and none of them were young like her so it seemed so weirdly foreign to her. 

   Chiyomaru let her curiosity get the better of her. She shouldn’t but what did it matter? She had picked it up out of the gutter on the roof. It had slipped out of Masquerena’s back pocket when she half squatted over the edge of the building, like a superhero and making the calculations of if she should stay or if she should go. 

   Chiyomaru ripped the bag open. The plastic was tougher than she thought it would be but she was able to it and the lipstick fell out, landed in her lap, in the folds of the blanket over her. She balled up the plastic and put it in her bedside drawer. Tomorrow morning, if she could, she would put it in the bin. Like she should have already.

   Then Chiyomaru did the next step.

   She uncapped the tube of lipstick and she gave the bottom of it a swivel so the lipstick would rise up past the rim of its casing. The lipstick was kind of a shade of brown but it also reminded Chiyomaru of the colour purple. A really dusty shade of it with some nude tones mixed in. 

   She could imagine it on Masquerena’s lips. They were… cupid bow shaped. Cute and well taken care of, not dry at all like her own. Their shape was remembered by the lipstick and… experienced by Chiyomaru for the very first time as she applied it to her own.

   The feeling of the smear was alien to Chiyomaru. It was a thick texture but not chalky, it was softer than that. She sighed as she imagined it was Masquerena’s hand guiding her and that it was-

   No, that was too far.

   Chiyomaru’s ears burned and her eyes snapped open. What was she doing?! Fantasising about her foe?! How dare she. Uncalled for, unthinkable, unhygienic, even.

   But it was an indirect kiss, nonetheless.

   She couldn’t take it back, and she only made it worse as she tried to wipe it off her lips. The substance was stubborn, it turned to dusky streaks on the back of her hands as she frantically tried to deny it and the faraway kiss of Masquerena. 

   Chiyomaru’s stomach knotted and she held on tighter to the lipstick. She couldn’t throw it away, she couldn’t even fling it into the far corner of the room in disgust. She just couldn’t. Her eyes welled up with tears as she grappled with contradictory feelings.

   She wanted to do right by her village, her ideals and her convictions but this shining city that once glowed with all her hopes and dreams… It was all grime underneath. The higher the pedestal the deeper the shadow behind it, or something like that.

   The tears she shed streaked down her cheeks and Chiyomaru gritted her teeth so as to not warble like a crybaby child. She gave up. To hell with tomorrow, let it happen, she deserved it. She was far more rotten than her superiors would ever know.

   She hid under her covers and stuffed her hand, tube of lipstick and all, underneath her pillow. She smashed her face into it, trying to rub off more of the lipstick but it stayed firmly put despite what she did to it. She clenched her eyes shut tight and begged to tear ducts to freaking stop it. Amazingly, that worked. It was a shame demanding that she fall asleep didn’t, however.

   She held the lipstick harder. Until she could feel the imprint of it, and her nails, inside the palm of her hand, that she could feel how she was white knuckling it. Chiyomaru all but curled up into a ball as she wrestled with these feelings. The events of tonight replaying in her head over and over again instead of sweet dreams. 

   Until fine. She cracked. She would admit it. Chiyomaru hated her job, she hated her boss but she hated how she liked Masquerena more. 

[fionajames]

Hello Fio if youre feeling up to writing more of the tcw circus au could I get a mutual pining barrisoka from that universe?? Thank you so much :]

circus barrisoka

HELLO GUYS IM BACK!!!!!!!!!!

I really love this au but like, i have writers block so i apologise for it being so short <3

request people, im back and want more!!!

Ahsoka stretched out her limbs as she jumped down from the caravan’s roof, landing swiftly as she did. She bounded to meet her friend - Barriss - who stood with a grin beside her own caravan. Barriss had long black hair - always made into tight, thin braids - with dark charcoal skin, glowing green eyes and black freckles on her cheeks. 

“That was amazing, Soka!” Barriss told her confidently, high-fiving her friend. Ahsoka beamed and turned her hand in an attempt to hide her growing blush. “Really well done!” 

Barriss was a magician in the circus, her motherly-figure Luminara being the psychic. They were closely knit. Barriss moved to walk with her friend as Ahsoka grabbed Arsev from his stable, Barriss waving to her friend Gree. He waved back with a smile. 

“What are you going to do in your performance today?” Ahsoka asked her friend eagerly, turning to her with a grin. Barriss tapped her chin with her index finger thoughtfully, beaming widely. 

“I’m going to make Beedee disappear,” she decided, spotting the small red Irish setter puppy. Cal - a thirteen year old boy with scruffy ginger hair, green eyes and light skin - pulled his puppy closer and glared playfully at Barriss. Beedee must have been a cross because he was rather small - even for a puppy - but looked completely Irish setter. 

Ahsoka laughed as they continued walking, Cal glaring daggers at them all the while. She draped an arm over Barriss’ shoulders playfully and missed the blush covering the girl’s face. Ahsoka glanced at her friend - oblivious to the obvious blush - as she admired her features. The sparkle in her eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her dark lips. Barriss - in turn - admired the glimmering blue watching her, the contrast of her skin and the markings, the natural purplish rose colour of her lips. 

They were admiring each other rather unsubtly, but no one disturbed them. Not even Anakin, who was watching from the front of the ring, waited patiently for Ahsoka to return with Arsev. 

The ride could wait, he thought. This is much more important.

yes, bd-1 is a irish setter. ive decided it, and no one can stop me. and yes, anakin is barrisoka's number #1 shipper, just like ahsoka is anidala's number #1 shipper.

have a great day/night everyone!!!!!!!!!!

<3 request!!!

[illiath-the-fae]

Art Screed...

I love seeing stuff about learning to draw/paint/whatever from published artists, always makes me think "what-if?" about my own skills.

In my case, in the dim-dark early days of the pre-public-internet era, I took some university-level art courses. During one of them, I asked the professor about using a computer for some of the work (this was waaaaaayyyy back btw, think "Commodore Amiga, the powerhouse of animation!"). Her response was simple "none of the finalists for the end-of-year art judging have been on a computer, maybe it'll happen in the future, but not now". So I went back to my 8'x3' (yes, feet) canvas and continued working on my final piece.

Fast forward until around 2021, and I finally buy myself an inexpensive (for me... around $200USD) screen-based art tablet. I wish I had tried it far earlier as I had the money to buy even a really nice one since around 2005-2006, and it's really helped me rediscover my interest in art. In the early years there, I was too poor for art supplies. Even buying a sketchbook would have meant I could not afford to eat for a week, so I stopped doing art, even sketches, because doing so would waste paper I might need for something my other skills did that put food on my table, or keep the roof over my head. So I basically didn't do art at all for most of those 30 years, other than CAD, or fixing stuff that marketing sent over for websites, or fixing fricked up websites.

However, I have a grounding in colour theory. I learnt how to draw using charcoal and paper. I learnt how to sculpt. How to work with clay and fire in a kiln, work with glass and create stained glass using lead linings, and more. I had all those skills, and I just didn't do art, at all, because I was stuck in a mindset of "I need these tools to do art and they're expensive", but today, there are inexpensive screen tablets that let me do drawing, and even some limited (to me) painting.

This sort of ends with an interesting point. With modern electronics, it's possible to make drawing and painting accessible to far more people, however there much to be said about using whatever materials you can to just do art, for your own sake, that it's hard to put it into words. But don't define yourself, or your art, or others art, by the medium, art has throughout history been done with what's on hand, because the artist felt a need to create and used whatever they could to get it done.

I guess, if I wanted to put a TLDR on this... When created by a mind, there is only "True Art".

And yes, even if it's a traced image, or photo that's been modified by an algorithm at the direction of a person, or a banana taped to a wall, a play put on by four years olds, or music made with bottles and rocks in a parking lot, or the finest piano concerto in a large performance venue, it's all art.

[e-carlease]

But what models can you choose? As at August 2024, there are two key options to consider including:

Long Range Single Motor - from £59,990 this standard model benefits from the plus pack for Harman Kardon premium sound, HUD, Zinc Deco, Pixel LED lights, powered-operated tailgate, auto-dimming exterior mirrors, rear control screen (for the passenger), 12-way adjustable seats, power reclining rear seats, heated front/rear seats and steering wheel, 3-zone climate control, air filtration and 22kW AC charging. The car also includes camera-based interior mirror, LED interior and exterior lights, rain sensing wipers, automated crash protection, hill hold and descent control, 10.2” driver LCD display, 11-exterior camera system, 15.4” central display, wireless smartphone charging, adaptive cruise control, insurance telematics, launch mode, dashcam, keyless entry, alarm and battery preconditioning; and

Long Range Dual Motor - from £66,990 this allows you to get the Performance pack including the 22” Performance alloys.

Colours include Magnesium (free) or the chargeable Snow, Electron, Storm, Space and Gold. Inside, you can go for the Charcoal or Mist with the Zinc deco or upgrade the Nappa leather. In terms of packs, you have the Pilot Pack (Piot Assist and change assist), Pro Pack (21” Pro wheels and Swedish gold seats) and the Performance Pack (22” alloys, Engineering chassis tuning, Brembo brakes and Swedish gold accents). Other options include the Electrochromic glass roof (which replaces the standard panoramic roof), body-coloured lower-claddings and the privacy glass. You can add the fully-electrically retractable towbar too.  

But how does the Polestar 4 perform - is it a good EV?

Long Range Single Motor - The RWD SUV option will have a 94 kWh usable battery which will offer 0 – 62 times of 7.4 seconds, 112 mph top speeds and 200 kW (or 268 hp). Expect a combined winter range of 260 miles with warmer weather allowing for 350 miles. On charging, the 22 kW AC max will allow 5 hours and 15 min 0 – 100% charging times with the 200 kW DC maximum allowing 31 minute 10 – 80% times. A cargo volume of 526L is available with this car. It has a vehicle fuel equivalent of 131 mpg. This option can tow 750kg (unbraked) and 1500kg (braked). There will be Bidirectional charging with the V2L announced for this option. A Heat Pump is standard and

Long Range Dual Motor - the AWD SUV option will have a 94 kWh usable battery which will offer 0 – 62 times of 3.8 seconds, 124 mph top speeds and 400 kW (or 536 hp). Expect a combined winter range of 245 miles with warmer weather allowing for 325miles. On charging, the 22 kW AC max will allow 5 hours and 15 min 0 – 100% charging times with the 200 kW DC maximum allowing 31 minute 10 – 80% times. A cargo volume of 526L is available with this car. It has a vehicle fuel equivalent of 123 mpg. This option can tow 750kg (unbraked) and 1500kg (braked). There will be Bidirectional charging with the V2L announced for this option. A Heat Pump is standard.

[kelptea73]

Welcome back gamers today were going to be counting down the top ten best shades of grey so let's just jump right into it

At number 8 we have slate, the somber grey of the stone. She's up on roofs god bless and she's taking the raiinn. Slight blue tones but with the rain, folks slate grey

At number VII we have Spanish grey. En honor a que es gris español, voy a escribir esta parte en español. Desafortunadamente, no sé nada en español, así que confío estúpidamente en el traductor de Google. ¡Soy un idiota! ¡¡Yay!! Gris español para todos

At number 10 we have, *sighs* we have charcoal. Now I know what you're thinking, "that's not a grey, that's like, black or whatever", and yes! I agree! Precisely what I was thinking my good fellow. Alas, upon my research of searching 'names of greys' online, they assured me charcoal was a grey. So I shall air my grievances with everythinh to do with charcoal, right her right now, for your inconvenience. Put simply, it's entire existence is centered around its death. Of course, it was still spectacular. A spectacle to be sure, ablaze with passion and vervent worship of the energy it's giving to whatever cause. That is in the burning of wood, but here we have it's body not blessed with the returnal of ashes. Here we have a disgraced corpse. You it up and then drag it across a page. It scratches horrible as it tries to cling to any further life it can provide. It rasps horrible across the surface as it tries to give one last chance of legacy. It's horrible. It feels horrible it sounds horrible and whatever you can achieve with the humble pencil you can achieve with charcoal. "But," you interject, "it was first. Artists of time forever used this ancient technique to envoke their feelings and experiences. This enough should surely be enough to make you grace it with the amicable tone one would give politely to a respected figure who, despite your grievances, is a beloved member of the community." You're probably right, as you are with most things. Alas, the sheer abrasiveness of it is enough for me to loathe it. Charcoal grey folks. The embodiment of human power, the domestication of fire.

At number nine, we have gainsboro. Quite frankly, I don't want to say I hate any colour. Hating a colour is a fruitless endeavour, as the image of colours coming together to show something else is much greater than the sum of their parts. Let us play specific situations for stupid little arguments though, a game everyone is familiar. Paint. Imagine painting a room with gainsboro grey. Why would you do that to yourself like it's lifeless on its own. "Ohh but I live the minimalist nature of it, cleanliness is next to godliness and everything." I can understand the appeal of living in a hotel but that's your own home like, you're not going to have someone else changing your sheets for you but you're still going to have to suffer the same poor decor and cuck chair in the corner. Anyway. Gainsboro grey, kinda lame on its own.

Number 6\6 let's see here, getting to the more epic ones. This may be cheating but going to put amorphous grey here. It's more so a texture from what I can find but it's neat. It's like a ps1 texture spread out into a rug it's lovely. Give it up for amorphous grey she exists in multitudes

5 number, first of its name, cadet grey. Such a wonderful colour, a wistful coll toned grey. If I was painting a room a single colour I would much happily rather it to be enshrouded in cadets grey instead of the tyranny of gainsboro. Better than it in every single way, it's like mornings in winter, still full and dreary but with something to reflect upon.

Number 4, trout grey. I was wondering why I was spelling it wrong for ages typing this, there's a u. Not troat. Anyway. Troat grey, what is there to say other than it's epic. It's even hot a fish in the name that's the pinnacle, the summit, the holy peak of radical names. Troat grey reminds me of a classy trout showing you his studio apartment that he just got done up. He gestures to the record he's playing, the classic by Takao Uematsu, straight ahead. He tells you, "Yknow good chum, my cousin is on the front of that. Haha small world out there." "Your cousin's a salmon?" "yeah, it's a long story but he's a good man at the end of the day." "?" "?" see? A lot said, but nothing was spoken. He's a man of means and layers, such an intriguing figure.

Number 3, ash grey. Ash grey is famous and bewildering, she's enchanted us with her looks for eons. The embers twinkling in her hair as she reminds us what comes at the end of the day. Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust. Unlike charcoal, she's the result of something finished. No half measures. So silky and smooth. About the journey, not the destination. She will always be there for you once it's done. She's so famous in fact, that they made a whole series about her. She features much in the hit series dark souls, among many others I'm sure. A celebrity, yet she's so huble about it. A queen forsooth.

Number 2, anchor grey. You stare into the depths. That's anchor grey. Stalwart and strong. That's anchor grey. Conjuring up images of the pure weight and majesty that could hold a ship in place. That's anchor. The essence of all metal, and the standard it should all strive to uphold, anchor metal. Ever seen an anchor beached ashore? It's massive and unimaginably heavy. Should a something within a room be painted with such a grey, it would command attention. It ensures reliability. That's anchor.

And finally, number 1, we have Payne's grey. The grey that inspired this list in the first place, Payne's grey has taken hold of my imagination since I first encountered it in a watercolour paint set. "Payne's grey is a dark blue-grey colour used in painting. Originally a mixture of iron blue (Prussian blue), yellow ochre and crimson lake, Payne's grey now is often a mixture of blue (ultramarine, phthalocyanine, or indigo) and black, or of ultramarine and burnt Sienna. The colour is named after William Payne, who painted watercolours in the late 18th century, who most likely developed the colour while trying to produce a mixer that was less intense than black. Payne's grey was deemed an obsolete term in the early 19th century, but is still used by artists today." quoth the Wikipedia. Such beauty and versatility. It's beautiful AND useful, no one could ever hope to have the best of both worlds as does Payne's grey does. Function and fashion! Splendid colour

[druidx]

Describe a character by turning out their pockets

Here is the 3rd of the writing exercises from this post for Farren.

Tagging op of that post @davycoquette as requested :) & @aquadestinyswriting as per

–––

"Alright," Elo said in a low voice as she pulled back from spying around the corner of the warehouse. "The girl's tied to a chair in the middle of the space. The boss is behind her, and he's got two goons either side. I don't know how we can play this in a way that doesn't get us both shot-up." Farren beckoned her to move further back so they could talk better. "I've got an idea." "Yeah? It better not involve me climbing the building to get to the skylight, because I know I'm good, but I'm not that good." "Nope, no roof climbing." Farren was starting to turn out his pockets, looking for something. Onto the ground went his green leather tobacco pouch, warrant card, wallet and a pack of black tablets - activated charcoal. "If you're suggesting going in via the canalside, it's your turn to get dunked for a change." Farren snorted. "No, Bug. No swimming, neither." The pile on the ground was swiftly filling up, joined by his keys, a selection of writing implements, notebook, a pack of gum, some random string and a handful of bullets. "Well what then?" "A distraction." "What're you gonna offer them a beer?" Elo idly flicked the bottle opener that had joined the pile. "Hold y'horses." A blister pack of unidentified pills, loose notes and coins mixed in with receipts and ticket stubs, a screwdriver and a toy car joined the pile. "Why do you have a car in your pocket?" Elo picked it up, examining the battered and cheap tin-pressed toy. Farren took it out of her hand and placed it aside from the pile, and smirked at her. "Cuz I'm pleased to see you?" With an affectionate huff, Elo rolled her eyes. "You're such a child." "But at least I know where my marbles are." He grinned as he held up a few green glass glass balls, their insides swirling with colour. These he placed next to the car, along with a roll of electrical tape. Elo flopped against the warehouse wall, taking a quick look around over her partner's head, checking the coast was still clear. When she looked back, a pocket knife, a handful of hard candies and a pack of Fun Snaps had joined the piles. "I'm gonna get you a swiss army knife for your birthday. Cut down on half this crap." "It would make room for more crap," he mused, then held up one of the candies. "Fruit drop?" Elo gave him a level look. "Really?" "I know you crunch yours. You'll have finished it by the time I'm ready. Besides, you'll want the energy." With another exasperated huff, Elo took the fruit drop, as Farren started putting some items back into his pockets. Then he set about with the electrical tape, making a string of marbles and Fun Snaps, which was tied to the toy car. Finally, a pair of bullets and some more Fun Snaps were taped to the car. "Check your weapon," Farren said, creeping with his contraption to the open warehouse entrance. As Elo pulled her gun, he charged up the little car's pull-back-and-go mechanism. "Ready?" "10-4" Farren set light to the end of the string and placed the car down. It rocketed across the floor, the marbles causing a racket. As the flame caught the first bundle of gunpowder it exploded with a crack, sending the marble clattering away. The goons spun around, guns pointing all ways. Farren drew his own gun and motioned for Elo to start their rescue.

[townandcountryroof]

A Palette of the Past: 10 Roofing Colours That Define Historic Homes

When you go to different places, it is impossible not to find a historic home. They can be seen everywhere, giving the place a different look and vibe. Their roof can already tell you so much about the age and significance of the house, especially its colour and style. To help you visualise a historic home, here are some roofing colours you will commonly see in historic homes according to Newcastle roof painting professionals:

Slate Grey

When you look at historic homes, one of the roofing colours you will notice is slate grey. This colour is dark grey with hints of blue or green. It is a natural inspiration for roofing, flooring, and even decorative applications that you will commonly come across in old homes. It is versatile and gives homes a sophisticated aura, like in Victorian homes.

Terracotta

Terracotta is another colour for roofing historic homes, especially those with Spanish colonial and Mediterranean architecture. You will easily notice it because it resembles the colour of natural clay which also has the same name. When you see it, it makes the place look warm because of its undertones, like reddish-brown to orange-brown. This traditional and timeless colour has been influencing architecture for years, giving it a years-old ambience to the home.

Charcoal Black

When it comes to timelessness and sophistication, nothing can ever beat charcoal black. This deep and rich shade of black creates richness and drama in the home. It can also pose some dramatic effects because of its slightly matte and muted appearance. Aside from roofs, walls and floors can also take advantage of this colour, matching everything homeowners put and buy in their homes.

Forest Green

Historic homes, like Tudor-style homes, give importance to nature, so it is no surprise that forest green is a known colour. It conveys a sense of tranquillity and connection to the entire home and to people who will look at it.

Weathered Wood

Weathered wood is a natural wood tone commonly used in historic homes. It looks like it has been aged and weathered by exposure, but the quality is still as good as new. Its natural appearance of greyish-brown or silver-grey tone can show the effects of various environmental factors. It is rustic and vintage, making it popular for interior and exterior use.

Whitewash

Whitewash colour is loved by many because it makes the place look light and bright. It might look washed out or faded, but its natural texture and grain are what make it unique. It gives historic homes some traditional and rustic aesthetic, so it is common in interiors and exteriors. Blending it with different colours is also not difficult because they can match everything perfectly.

Cream

Historic, even modern homes, still use cream colours for their interiors and exteriors. Popular during the Edwardian era, it gives the home warmth and cosiness. The softness of this colour can also complement different colours you have in your home, making everything look belong and match. From historic to traditional to classic to modern to minimalist homes, you can never go wrong with this colour.

Ocean Blue

If forest green can make historic homes reflect forests, this shade of blue is for the ocean. Ocean blue makes the home look calming and relaxing, promoting a soothing atmosphere through the roofing. It is refreshing to look at, like Victorian seaside cottages, so it is no wonder people stop to look at them when they pass by a historic home. It is timeless and has lots of symbolism, like peace, stability, and tranquillity.

Ruby Red

If red is something you fancy having on your roof, historic homes have already used it. This intense shade of red can make Victorian homes look full of richness, vibrance, and luxury. Old homes that have this colour on their roofs scream drama and elegance.

Mustard Yellow

Yellow is one of the colours often overlooked in homes, but historic homes say otherwise. This warm and earthy shade of yellow enhances the mood, making people feel more lively and positive. Whether you apply it indoors or outdoors, you can never go wrong with it.

Historic homes, no matter how old they get, can impact modern architecture. These colours on their roof are just a start to understanding the place better and what they represent. The message is clear: never ignore your roof and its colour. They are just as important as the other parts of your home.

[studio-narrative-animation]

Wk 6/7 + STUVAC - Backgrounds Colouring, not design I took on the background and colour role (we split role):

Changed the composition for Acland beautiful garden background and played with blues, greens, yellows, purples, and orange. I gave the grass and house textures by stroke lines. (Mobile drawing app IbisX paint) (29/03 - 09/04/24)

Played with blues and greens to create the cold/cool ominous night and distorted sky. I used charcoal-textured and soft-pressured air brush, and gave the roofs textured lines or else the roof looks bland alone. (Adobe Photoshop) (10/04/24)

In the animation, the black pit scribbles will go over the empty patch in the night background, which I had to key out the whites of Prajit's scribble animation and increase the threshold in Adobe After Effects.

----- Week 7 was mostly on Sound Brief. - Giving our sound designers somewhat the kind of music and mood for our animation which include references to Last of Us and ambience found in nature and surrounding environments. -----

Mary (29/03 - 10/04/24)

[promemorie]

Echo Lake, 1998

Peter Doig

Echo Lake is a large, dark painting of a scene at night. Like many of Doig’s paintings of the late 1990s, it is landscape in format, with a composition based on horizontal bands of colour overlaid with detail. The painting is bisected by a line of white representing the shore of a lake. Above it is a band of earth and scrubby vegetation painted in white and pastel colours. This area is illuminated by the headlamps of an American-style police car located at the centre-right of the image. The bright lights on the car’s roof are roughly level with the top of the vegetation. Above this point, filling the top third of the painting, is an area of purplish black. A few twinkling lights suggest distant habitations. On the right side of the painting, the trunks of trees growing above the shoreline are partially illuminated. Their branches extend up into the darkness. They are compositionally balanced by a telegraph pole on the left side of the painting at the level of the road on which the police car is parked. A man wearing black trousers, a white shirt and a narrow black tie (presumably a policeman) stands at the lakeshore looking out of the painting towards the viewer. His hands encircle his face and his mouth is an o-shape indicating that he is shouting out into the dark lake. The title suggests that nothing comes back to him but his own voice. The bottom half of the painting represents a blurry mirror image of the landscape above the shoreline. This mirrored reflection provides the visual version of an echo. Images reflected in water are common in Doig’s paintings. Doig has commented that ‘reflections function as entrances to other worlds’ (quoted in Bonaventura, p.15). His painting Ski Jacket 1994 (Tate T06962) consists of two abutting canvases bearing scenes which mirror each other as a compositional device. Doig makes his paintings from photographs derived from a variety of sources including family snapshots, books, newspapers, magazines, prints, postcards and film stills. The photographs are usually put through such processes as sketching or painting over, collage and repeated photocopying, before they reach the state from which the painting is derived. Doig frequently creates several versions of an image as both large and small paintings as well as more intimate works on paper using various media. Echo Lake is based on a still photograph Doig took from the cult horror film Friday the 13th (1980, director Sean S. Cunningham). He has made several paintings based on this image, including Canoe Lake 1997-8 (The Bailey Collection, Toronto), Untitled (Canoe Lake) 2000 (private collection) and Study for Echo Lake (Screaming Cop) 1999 (private collection, Florida). Related works on paper are Echo Lake (Reflection) 1999 (watercolour, sugar and ink on paper, private collection), Study for Echo Lake 1998 (colour photocopy on paper, private collection), Canoe Lake 1999 (oil and charcoal on paper, private collection) and Canoe Lake 1999 (watercolour on paper, private collection New York). The etching subtitled Canoe Lake (Tate P11545) in the portfolioGrasshopper 1997 also belongs to this series. Doig typically applies oil paint in a variety of consistencies, ranging from thin washes which seep into one another to areas of thick impasto. His paintings are about the sensuous materiality of paint as much as the figurative subjects which they portray. He has commented: 

People often say that my paintings remind them of particular scenes from films or certain passages from books, but I think it’s a different thing altogether. There is something more primal about painting. In terms of my own paintings, there is something quite basic about them, which inevitably is to do with their materiality. They are totally non-linguistic. There is no textual support to what you are seeing. Often I am trying to create a ‘numbness’. I am trying to create something that is questionable, something that is difficult, if not impossible, to put into words ... I often use heightened colours to create a sense of the experience, or mood or feeling of being there ... I think the paintings always refer back to a reality that we all have experience of ... I am using ... natural phenomena and amplifying them through the materiality of paint and the activity of painting.

(Quoted in Scott, pp.15 and 17.)

Doig has cited an early influence as the famous ‘zip’ paintings of American artist Barnett Newman (1905-70) in which a vertical band of light colour bisects the painting’s usually monochromatic ground. In Echo Lake the narrow strip of white paint representing the shoreline provides a horizontal version of Newman’s format. The figure of the policeman calling towards the viewer opens the picture plane out into a vast imaginary space beyond the painting. His shout recalls The Scream 1893 (National Gallery, Oslo) one of the best known paintings by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch (1863-1944). With its sinister atmosphere and dark emotional register, Echo Lake stages generic fear, distress and unease in a contemporary setting.

[fixupmyhome]

https://www.salmonsolutions.co.uk/stainless-steel-roofing/greencoat-plx/

[designdekko]

Flow House in Toronto, Canada by Dubbeldam Architecture + Design

Dubbeldam Architecture + Design unveils Flow House, a semi-detached Victorian house in midtown Toronto that has been reconfigured for a creative couple and their children. The transformation of the 130-year-old home included adding additional living space on the back and top of the home, improving connections to the outdoors, and updating the interior and rear yards for contemporary living. The traditional front façade remains, while the interior is now a meaningful reflection of the family’s unique personalities, vocations, and shared experiences.

Also Read | 10 kitchen design ideas inspired by farmhouse style

Though less than five meters wide, with an added area of only 230 square meters, the home now seems much larger through a strategy of compression and expansion. Narrowed interstitial spaces enclose, creating a feeling of constriction, then open to larger spaces with lofty ceilings. And there are moments of surprise and delight – the merging of interior and exterior spaces, the introduction of natural light in unexpected places, and the playful sculpting of elements that establish an organic quality to the home.

Referencing one homeowner’s profession as a ceramicist, the notion of tactility and craft permeates the home through materials, forms, patterns, and textures. Suggesting a complementary hybrid of Scandinavian and Mediterranean influences, the wood cabinetry, screens, and flooring in warm white oak are accented by concrete and Carrara marble sinks, antiqued brass fixtures, and hand-moulded clay pendants. A clean backdrop of white walls and shelving provides a blank canvas to showcase the family’s collection of art, tapestries, and sculpture from local artists, along with artefacts gathered during travels abroad and the owner’s ceramics. Colour animates the interstitial spaces of the home – terra cotta tiles are laid in a herringbone pattern in the entry foyer, and a wall of geometric cerulean blue tiles defines the bar between the kitchen and dining room.

Also Read | How to select a dinnerware set that matches your home decor?

Underpinned by an aesthetic of fluid contours – a deliberate contrast to the rectilinear floorplan – the house’s interior elements appear sculpted rather than built. The helical staircase connecting all four floors is a focal point that expresses the home’s sense of flow. Awash in natural light from the skylight above, the winding balustrade and natural oak treads cast shifting shadows throughout the day.

Also Read | Tips to care for your houseplants this winter

“Curvilinear forms are employed throughout," says firm principal, Heather Dubbeldam. "Arched openings between rooms incite anticipation as they frame views of what lies beyond, resonating with curved walls, display nooks, the kitchen island and banquette, further enhancing the house’s sculptural sensibility.”

In addition to utilizing the latest sustainable systems and materials to promote well-being, large windows and skylights provide abundant light, natural ventilation, and connections to the outdoors. Mahogany-framed, floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors on the third floor provide access to a roof deck, while a similarly lofty door in the kitchen opens to the furnished back patio.

Also Read | Kareena Kapoor Khan’s new home in Bandra with European styled decor & wooden detailing

Similar spatial strategies continue in the design of the rear yard. The volumes of charcoal-coloured panels that comprise the new rear façade are stepped back on multiple planes to create a roof deck and recessed entrance. In the back garden, compression and expansion are further explored through narrowed planting beds that open to wider spaces designed for play, dining, and relaxation. The wooden pergola, brick pavers, and ochre outdoor furniture are a nod to the various temperate climates the family has experienced together. At the same time, the landscaping of lush plantings provides interest year-round.

Also Read | Timber hybrid office ensemble EDGE Suedkreuz Berlin

Technical sheet

Location: Toronto, Ontario (The Annex)

Size: 2,500 s.ft. | 230 s.m.

Architecture/Interior Design/Landscape Design: Dubbeldam Architecture + Design

Project Team: Heather Dubbeldam, Andrew Snow, Krystal Kramer, Scott Sampson, Gigi Presently, Omkar Kulkarni

Contractor: DDF Contracting Ltd.

Consultants: Blackwell Structural Engineers

Photography: Riley Snelling

Source Link

[gwaeddblaidd]

Feed the Wolf Chapter 4: Monster (Excerpt)

I return to the waking world with what feels like an electric shock coursing through my system. I would’ve jumped right out of my skin if it weren’t for the restraints keeping me tied in place. Wait, restraints? I look down. I find myself sitting upright in a chair, my arms pinned to its own by cold metal chains wrapped around my wrists and torso. I jerk my arms upwards, testing the hold of the chains, but find that they’re wrapped very securely. Whoever tied me up… This isn’t their first rodeo, that’s for sure. My mind races. What is this, a kidnapping? If so, who would even have a reason to kidnap me, let alone the nerve? It just doesn’t make sense. I’m no one at Nevermore, a loner amongst my own kind and just another werewolf to everyone else. My family is relatively unknown and I’ve never made any waves, so what the fuck is going on?

A deep breath calms my hundred-mile-an-hour stream of thoughts, the logical part of my brain demanding silence; wild speculation will get me nowhere. The last thing I remember is falling asleep next to Enid. Where is she, anyway? A procession of dark thoughts floods my mind and again the pragmatist in me is forced to put an end to the speculation, forcibly shutting up the voices of my anxiety, fear and dread. Such emotions serve a purpose, whether we care to admit it or not, but right now they’re a hindrance above anything else. Much like the fight-or-flight response, I need to direct my limited supply of energy to where it is most likely to be of use. The intrusive thoughts can wait until later; all I need right now are the facts. My senses are coming down from their heightened states due to the passing of the full moon, leaving my perception of the world somewhat hazy. But, if I focus, I know that they won’t fail me.

First: touch. When I wolfed out, I was naked, but now I find myself fully clothed, if a little messily. My jeans aren’t buttoned and my shoes feel loose, the laces presumably untied, and I’m not wearing the jacket I brought with me to our meeting. If I had to guess, I’d say that someone else must have dressed me, and they didn’t care enough to do the job especially well. Even without the jacket though, it’s clear that these are the clothes I was wearing before wolfing out – not the spares from my rucksack. I left those in Enid’s bathroom, meaning whoever dressed me must have had access to her and Wednesday’s room. Aside from clothes, I don’t feel any injuries – well, at least not any new ones – which suggests I wasn’t taken by force. Was my wolf lured here? Or, was I carried when I was asleep?

Second: sight. I find myself in a small room, the floor, walls and roof all made of old, greying wood. Daylight streams in from frosted, paned windows at the top of the large double doors ahead of me, painting the room in a slightly eerie blue light. The walls are plastered with drawings and paintings of all manner of media; ink, oil and charcoal chief among them. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a standing easel holding a large canvas, its contents covered by an old sheet plastered with brush marks and paint stains. The floor, too, is practically rainbow-coloured due to the blots of pigment painting the planks. Clearly, this is an art studio of sorts. The question then, is whose?

Third: taste. A somewhat distant metallic taste is present in my mouth – blood, but it isn’t mine and it isn’t Enid’s. In fact, the blood isn’t that of a human or any outcast breed; it’s that of an animal. That’s a relief, for sure, though I’d rather my mouth was clean lest it distract me from my surroundings. As I breathe in, the air is surprisingly fresh. I taste the morning dew on grass nearby, as well as hints of soil and fallen leaves compacted on the forest floor. So, we’re out in the woods, then? Knowing that doesn’t help all that much, though; Jericho and Nevermore both are surrounded by thick swathes of woodland on all sides, so I could be just about anywhere within a several mile radius of the town.

Fourth: smell. Art supplies dominate the palate of the room, the air thick with the scent of paints, chalk and other artsy stuff that I can’t pick out by smell alone. Slightly less prominent is the scent of flowers, spices and minerals; whoever owns this place must dabble in the mixing of their own pigments. More subtle still is the smell of mould and slightly rotted wood. Although the room isn’t clean, it is tidy for the most part, but it seems the owner has failed to address such structural issues as rotting support beams in the ceiling. If I needed any further confirmation that the room is its own free-standing structure, mould and rot in the rafters – say, due to a leaky roof – is more than enough.

Fifth and final: hearing. The room is silent. The area outside the room is silent. As far as I can tell, nothing but silence exists for miles. Either we’re in the middle of nowhere, my estimate for the time of day was off, or both. If we are in the woods as I suspect, though, why can I hear no signs of wildlife? Even if most woodland animals, prey and predator both, had fled the area due to my scent, I would still expect to hear the morning chatter of birdsong. Birds have never really avoided me like mammals do, and I can’t help but wonder what would have caused their vacation. As I shut my eyes and hold my breath, straining my ears to pick up on the slightest sign of life, I hear it. It’s not especially significant, but I can hear someone, or something, breathing. The breaths are shallow but measured, coming from some distance beyond the door in front of me.

I fight the urge to call out for help. If it’s an animal, there’s not much point; if it’s a person, there’s a decent chance they’re responsible for my current predicament. Even if the breathing does belong to my kidnapper, does remaining silent help me at all? Is it better to let them know that I’m awake so that we can move on to the torture, murder or whatever else they have planned? I consider what I know so far. I’m chained to a chair in what I can best describe as a shed converted to an art studio, and so far as I can tell there’s nothing I can really do to escape. My wolf is sound asleep, having tired itself out during the full moon, so I can’t rely on its strength to aid me. The shed is somewhere out in the wilderness, and it appears to be mid-to-early morning based on the colour of the light and the smell of dew outside. The only living beings in the vicinity are myself and whatever’s breathing outside, a deathly silence having fallen upon our surroundings. So, what do I do? What can I do?

Footsteps. They’re so very quiet and distant, but the sound of dried leaves and twigs crunching underfoot is unmistakable. The falling of feet comes closer, the breathing growing louder in tandem, and I realise that my solitude isn’t going to last much longer. I count the steps as the distance between us closes. Ten steps. Fifteen steps. As the eighteenth footstep graces my ears, a shadow comes into view through the window – it’s definitely a person. I hear the sound of metal against metal – perhaps a key entering a padlock – followed by the fumbling of a chain that soon drops to the ground with a hollow thud. A hand grips the door handle and the wood begins to creak. I brace myself for the worst. The door opens outwards…

---

Title: Feed the Wolf

Fandom: Wednesday

Rating: T

Chapters: 7 of 12

Links: AO3, FF.net

Summary: As the dust settles on the Hyde incident, Nevermore is slowly but surely returning to a calmer, safer state. But for those involved, the scars may take a while longer to fully heal. Gelert Davies, a half-werewolf student, has always kept himself out of trouble as best he could, but a chance encounter will test his resolve and force him to face parts of himself long abandoned.

Tags: Enid Sinclair, Wednesday Addams, Original Character(s), Enid Sinclair/Original Male Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Wolf Instincts, Loss of Control, Injury Recovery, Self-Hatred, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Courting Rituals, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, Eventual Romance, Family Issues, POV First Person

Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day! :)

[trinitybuildingsystems]

Timber frame structures: benefits and drawbacks

In most cases, "timber frame" refers to a system of panelized structural walls and floors made of small-section timber studs and covered in board products. The wood frame distributes vertical and horizontal loads to the foundations. It is often not used to refer to timber-engineered structural structures or post and beam buildings. A-Frame house plans have steeply sloped roof lines that slope down to the foundation line to resemble an "A" in the literal sense.

If the structural shell must build quickly, if the ground is very favourable, or if the design requires greater structural spans, timber frames may be the best alternative. Should be considered following benefits and drawbacks of timber frame construction.

Quickness of construction

Can build Prefabricated timber frames on site more quickly than an equivalent brick and block structure. As a result, interior trades like plastering and electrical wiring can start working earlier in the construction schedule because the interior will spend less time outside. If the structure covers in dry plasterboard, the moisture content of the timber frames must be allowed to stabilize after it is weatherproof. The time needed for mortar drying is typically shorter than this.

Modern rustic house plans use traditional style guidelines while giving them a slight twist to accommodate current trends and lifestyles.

However, timber frames could need more time for their design and manufacturing, resulting in a longer delay before work can start on site.

Brick and blockwork may need to wait while we can build timber frames in cold weather.

Quality

Off-site manufacturing can enable higher quality to obtain than in the less controlled settings of a construction site. The on-site erection of prefabricated timber frames is typically handled by the suppliers as well, allowing for completion in the controlled environment of the factory.

Beautiful house plans with a timber frame are what you should build. View floor plans to find inspiration for the construction of your ideal home.

Heat transfer efficiency

Compared to masonry structures with a thinner design, timber frame constructions often have higher thermal performance.

Timber frame construction has a lower thermal mass than masonry, allowing faster heating and cooling of the enclosed spaces.

Condensation

Condensation can form on surfaces or in the spaces between the layers of a structure's envelope, usually due to air transferring from the warm interior to the calm exterior and reaching its dew point within the fabric of the building.

Designers of wood frame constructions must add a vapour barrier between the lining of the inner wall and the insulation to prevent vapour from passing through, unlike cavity wall construction, which allows water to trickle down the inner face of the outer leaf and drain away.

The colours mutes in modern rustic homes.

Fire danger potential

Although masonry and steel frame structures can collapse if exposed to high temperatures for an extended period, there is a belief that timber frame constructions are more susceptible. However, when wood burns, the outer layers char and turn into charcoal, which acts as a heat-insulating material and does not burn. This demonstrates that the timber centre is protected from damage.

The boarding used to wrap the frame and fire stops put to restrict spread into the cavity can provide further fire protection for the structure.

If timber frames are correctly, and during construction, fire risk can grow before fire protection begins.

Conclusion

A long-lasting home produced by the designed building process, which also removes the need for months of back-and-forth travel to the construction site. Visit Trinity Building Systems if you are interested in the distinctively modern prefab home kits. Please make an appointment with the professionals and give them the reins.