#we have WILDLY different views on art almost all of my art is prints

[lepetitfruit]

I have just discovered that my father is Very Against art prints. Which. Fascinating stance to take

#he claims they have no value and im just like????? the vaule is in the beauty my guy. #just because they have little resale vaule doesnt mean they done have value outside that #we have WILDLY different views on art almost all of my art is prints #petit talks

[johannestevans]

Vizma Riorda, a priest devoted to Oghma, a god of knowledge and truth, meets a young thief who does not lie. 6k. 

Art of Buran was a comission from the tremendously talented Marina, @ vermilion_shade on Twitter. They’re open for commissions right now!

The market in the centre of Merryweather was, as ever, bustling. Crowds milled about the stalls in the square, where travelling merchants had set up for the summer festival, and Vizma walked with her head high, her hands loosely gripping one another in front of her belly, neatly clasped in place.

The crowd parted slightly, for any priest, but especially for the High Priest of the Merryweather Oghmian Order, and she scanned the crowd as she came through, looking for traders selling books or scrolls, although most of them knew the area well enough to drop into the Temple of Oghma as they made their way onward.

The temple would usually pay a small stipend to any who brought new books through and allowed the temple to make a copy of the text for its own library,  and there were few merchants who wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity, but not every trader knew everything. Merryweather was just a dot on a trade route to many, and some merchants didn’t pay heed to the signs or leaflets the Oghmians set out.

It was not, in the end, a merchant that drew her attention.

It was a young boy, clad in blue travelling clothes and a cap, making his way through the crowd and examining people as they went by before his gaze settled on her. She could see the curiosity in his face, watching him as she did in the polished glass of the apothecary’s storefront, and she smiled slightly at the expression of concentrated focus he wore, his brows furrowing together.

It was good, to see a youth inquisitive.

She only glanced away for a moment, but the young man disappeared entirely from view, blending in with the crowd. It oughtn’t have been too difficult, with how little the young man was, scarcely coming up to the chest of most of the elves and humans passing him by in the crowd, and yet the speed with which he dissipated entirely from view was…

She wouldn’t have noticed it, she didn’t think, had she not noticed the young man in the crowd, had she not been more alert. Vizma felt the ever so slight difference in the movement behind her, felt the tug on the fabric of her skirts, and her hand whipped out to catch the young man by the skinny wrist, pulling it up hard.

It forced him up onto his tip-toes, his cap falling back, and he stared up at her face, his lips pressed loosely together, his eyes slightly wide. There were freckles scattered all over his face, dusting his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead, the most she’d ever seen on one person’s skin, and the colour of them was almost the same as the dun-brown of his flat, lifeless hair.

She arched an eyebrow, waiting for the young man to say something, to defend himself, but he remained silent, his expression unchanging.

“What are you doing, young man?” Vizma asked, not relaxing her grip on his wrist, but he wasn’t struggling, and nor was he looking wildly about the square for some way to escape, as most children in his position would be.

His brows knitted together, his mouth twisting somewhat. “Picking your pocket,” he said slowly, as though it were a stupid question. “Unsuccessfully.” He spoke Common naturally, his accent a little more northern than Merryweather, but it certainly wasn’t a city accent.

“You understand that most priests don’t carry that much money on them?”

The knitted brow knitted further. “I didn’t want money,” he said. “You have a book in your pocket. I wanted to see what it was.”

Vizma stared down at him, taking this in, and she managed to suppress the smile that threatened to bubble up as she slowly let his wrist down, allowing him back onto the soles of his feet as she reached into her pocket with the other hand. He made no effort to pull away, his focus on the blue-dyed leather of it as she held it out. He hesitated as she let him go, glancing up at her face, but then he took the book out of her hand, examining its cover before parting the pages.

His eyes moved fast over the page, but it wasn’t the scrambling of an illiterate pretending he understood the paper in his hands: the boy could read, and he studied each line of the cover page before reading the first of them… then flipped toward the back, scanning the indices. He was obviously well-accustomed to the handling of books, and she glanced back to the bookseller, searching for some family resemblance between him and the boy, but there was none that she could make out.

His clothes were well-made, and not the overworn, obviously secondhand clothes of a beggar or an urchin, but they weren’t well-tailored to his body, and there was something uncertain about his wearing a blouse too large for him and a cardigan that was obviously too small. His trousers fit him, but the boots seemed a little too large as well, and the leather of the latter seemed to be of a much higher quality than the rest of his clothes.

“You’re a priest of— Ooghma, then?”

“Oghma,” Vizma corrected. “Rhymes with dogma.”

“Oghma,” the boy repeated, not looking up at her face and remaining concentrated on the pages of the prayer book. It was a collection of prayers and blessings, as well as a few excerpts from the holy texts, and without context or previous study, no doubt they seemed as if they branched across a maddening array of topics, but if the boy found them confusing, it didn’t show in his face. He glanced up from the text, his thumb pressed loosely to the symbol printed upon the page, and to the silver amulet she wore over her breast: a carved scroll, Oghma’s symbol.

“Most young men wouldn’t admit to thievery, even when caught,” Vizma said.

“I don’t lie,” the young man said. “Do you need this? Surely as a priest, you would have all this memorised from rote use alone?”

“Perhaps so,” Vizma said. “But that book is not for my use alone. If someone asks me a question, what help will it be if I just recite a passage? Better to sit down with the questioner and allow them to see it written on the page. What’s your name?”

“Buran Highfield.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“Your family are merchants?”

“They sell things, sometimes,” Buran said, paging through the text and examining in detail a prayer of thanks to Oghma – it was the prayer most devotees said before going to bed, and it was one of the most worn page in the book, undoubtedly. “But no, they’re thieves.”

“And they let you wander strange towns?”

“Not let me, no,” Buran said. “That’s my father over there, the frantic looking man in the blue travelling clothes. He doesn’t want to start calling for me because it’s too suspicious, but I’m not wearing the clothes I was wearing this morning, so he’s struggling to find me in the crowd. It helps that I’m talking to you, of course.”

Vizma took this in, once more struggling not to laugh, and she looked toward the man Buran had nodded to. He was a broad man, somewhat shorter than Vizma herself, with the same dun hair as his son, and she could see the panic on his features as he searched the crowd from the top of the square’s steps.

“It doesn’t bother you that he’s so worried?” Vizma asked.

“He’s always worried,” Buran said. “One becomes inured.”

Vizma put her hand over her mouth, turning her face away, and then she raised her hand, waving toward him. The broad man looked from her to the little figure beside her, and he began to rush forward through the crowd. He went very pale as he approached, the natural ruddiness leaving his cheeks, and it made his freckles stand out all the more.

“Mr Highfield,” Vizma said.

“Buran,” he said, catching the boy by the shoulders, and Buran looked up at him, still holding the prayer book neatly in his hands. Expectantly, he raised his chin, and he didn’t look at all surprised as his father tilted it slightly further up to look at his face, then leaned one way and then the other, apparently examining his son for signs of injury.

“We told you not to wander off,” Highfield said, desperately.

“I didn’t wander,” Buran said. “I moved with purpose.”

“And to meet us at midday if you did.”

Buran shrugged. “I was busy.”

Highfield looked anxiously at Vizma, and his hand squeezed Buran’s shoulder a little bit more tightly, although judging by the boy’s expression, it wasn’t tight enough to really bother him. “And what have you been speaking with this priest about?”

“Mr Highfield,” Vizma said again, and put out her hand to shake. Highfield took it, his palm dry but his grip a little bit too tight to be relaxed. “You’re passing through Merryweather as part of the merchant train, I take it?”

Highfield opened his mouth, glanced down at his son still buried in the prayerbook, and then met Vizma’s gaze.

“We’re moving toward Planton, to the east,” he said, sounding as though he were measuring the words very carefully. “We’ve been selling furs along the way, but I’m a bard, so I’ve been playing music along the way too, of course.”

“Big family?”

“No, no,” Highfield said, and Buran raised his head, frowning at his father.

“How many brothers and sisters do you have, Buran?” Vizma asked.

“Ten travelling with us,” Buran said. “Seventeen overall. I’m the youngest.”

“A family we need to go back to,” Highfield said, and now as he squeezed Buran’s shoulder, the boy noticed, and frowned pointedly at his father’s hand. “Thanks very much, Mother, very nice to meet you, I’m sure, but we have to go—”

“Mr Highfield,” Vizma said as Highfield moved to pull his son away, “I would like to speak with you about your son.”

“Look, I don’t know what he told you,” he said, and she didn’t miss the way he glanced behind her and about the market, pin-pointing where the guards were stationed at the square’s main entrances, “but my son tells people all sorts of things, often gets taken away with silly flights of fancy.”

“I do not—”

“Hush, Buran,” Highfield said, with desperation.

“I would like to speak with you and Buran’s mother,” Vizma said. “This isn’t about your thievery.”

Highfield set his jaw, just slightly, and Vizma took a step forward, smiling slightly. “Why don’t I walk with you, Mr Highfield?”

“Yes,” he said, resigned. “Why don’t you?”

---

The caravan was set apart from most of the others in the merchant train. It was two fairly big roofed carts, each of them very well taken care of, the wood painted all over with complicated murals and little portraits, with curtains hanging over the doors and opened windows. A few other tents were neatly set about the clearing, and over the fire bubbled a pot of stew, a few more cast iron pots set into the fire itself. Four horses were grazing alongside, a few chickens pecking about the fire, and she did see a few children rushing back and forth.

Buran couldn’t be older then nine or ten, and these children were around the same age, four of them running and tumbling in the grass. It was plain they’d been taught acrobatics: they leapt over one another and did complicated cartwheels, walking on their hands as well as they did their feet, and their laughter rang out over the clearing.

Others were milling about the fire, two young women who looked to be about sixteen playing a complicated game of strings she couldn’t follow, their hands were moving so fast. Now that she looked at them more carefully, she could see that some of the children had the elvish features, their eyes larger, their colouring darker and richer, their ears pointed, but that others looked more human, as Buran and his father did.

This was explained by the two women who moved back and forth in the camp, one of them a tall, strong-shouldered human with plum-coloured cheeks, and the other a shorter elven woman, a wood elf. When they saw the three of them approaching, both of them immediately abandoned their work by the fire and rushed over, the elven woman dropping to a crouch in front of Buran and putting her hands on his hips to look at him, the human putting her hand in his hair and pulling his head back to look at him.

Buran obediently moved his head one way and the next, raising his arms upon being prompted, and then showing each of his palms to the elven woman when she pressed at his hands.

“Are you hurt? At all?” she asked, and the boy sighed long-sufferingly.

“Not to my awareness,” he said.

The elven woman swore under her breath, taking him by the hand, and Buran went along as she led, complaining in fluent Elvish the whole of the time, that he didn’t need to be checked over, that he was perfectly well.

He never let loose his grip on the prayer book in his hand, and finally the other woman turned to Vizma, seeing her for the first time. The glance to her husband was subtle, and although Vizma didn’t quite catch the movement of the man’s hand, she was aware that non-verbal signals were being passed between them.

“My name is Vizma Riorda,” Vizma said, putting out her hand. “I’m the High Priest of the Oghmian Temple here in Merryweather. I was speaking with your son back in the marketplace.”

“My name is Rena,” she said slowly, “and you’ve met my husband, Wendell. Our wife, Eline…” She gestured after the elf as she led Buran up into the caravan, and Vizma watched two more elves come out from the caravan, young, lanky boys who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, talking at length with another adult man. He didn’t look like the others, his hair pure black, his skin seeming opalescent in its pallor compared to the other elves about the camp.

“You seem so convinced that your son is hurt,” Vizma said. “You think he would lie?”

“He wouldn’t lie,” Rena said. “But he… He doesn’t always notice, when he hurts himself. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to speak with the three of you about your son,” Vizma murmured. “He tells me he doesn’t lie.”

“He makes things up,” Rena said immediately. “Very strong sense of imagination.”

Vizma smiled, drawing herself up to her full height, her hands still neatly clasped before her. She didn’t allow her expression to change, retaining the slight quirk of her lips, and both Rena and Wendell drew back slightly.

“He picked my pocket,” she said mildly. “Said that he came from a family of—”

“Listen,” Rena said sharply, pointing into Vizma’s face, “my son—”

“If I wished for any of you arrested, Mrs Highfield, I would have called for the guards to join me, or perhaps to look into the papers for the furs you’ve been trading in town, to search your caravans for stolen goods.”

Once more, Wendell’s skin had gone very pale, and Rena kept Vizma’s gaze, a challenge in her eyes. “I suppose you could have,” she said tightly. “But we are not thieves, we are not—”

“I don’t mind if you are,” Vizma said, interrupting cleanly. “I am not interested in your crimes, Mrs Highfield. I’m interested in your son’s potential.”

“Potential?” Wendell repeated, and Vizma watched the young man come out from the caravan. The other adult elf caught him by the shoulder, speaking to him seriously, and Buran nodded at whatever it was he was saying. He tried to pull away, but the elf caught him by the chin this time, gripping him by the jaw and making Buran look up at his face, not letting him break eye contact or get away.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Vizma suggested.

The inside of the caravan was surprisingly spacious. Bedrolls were very neatly set against one wall, beneath the bench that made up one side of the caravan’s wall, and Vizma sat upon one of the chairs that was set neatly in place, alongside Eline.

She was a full-blooded wood elf, it was plain to see, as she lacked the softened features of her children, and she kept glancing toward Buran, who sat on the bench between Rena and Wendell, still focused on the book under the hanging lantern that lit up the caravan. Vizma could see the resemblance between him and his parents either side of him.

The other elf had stepped inside, and stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his lips loosely set, his gaze focused on Vizma.

“Seventeen children between you,” Vizma said. “It’s a lot to keep track of. Even with, what, seven, having grown up and left to pursue their own lives?”

“You told her that?” Rena asked.

“She asked,” Buran said.

“For the love of—” Rena muttered, pressing her fingers tightly to her mouth as if to prevent herself from saying more, and Buran rolled his eyes.

“Compulsive honesty in a family of charlatans,” Vizma said softly. “Where does that come from, do you think?”

“Is there a point to this interrogation?” asked the other elf. His voice was low and silken, and Vizma looked from his face to Buran’s. For the first time, the young man looked genuinely uncomfortable, his grip a bit more tight on the prayer book.

“The boy is intelligent, capable, he reads well. He’s a skilled pickpocket, it seems, and stealthy enough to avoid the entirety of his family when he chooses, but if he won’t lie, I imagine that’s difficult for you. I imagine compulsive honesty can prove dangerous, if your son is questioned by the wrong person.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Buran muttered.

“He’s our son,” Eline said sharply. “What business is it of yours whether he’s dangerous or not?”

“I should like to take the boy into our order as a novice,” Vizma said. Silence rang out in the little wooden caravan, and she saw Rena’s hand curl in Buran’s hair, pulling the boy to her breast. Buran grit his teeth, letting his mother pull him closer, but then he softened, just slightly, reaching up and touching the back of her hand with his fingers.

“No,” Rena said.

“Listen to what she has to say,” Eline said slowly.

“Eline—”

“Are you thinking about Buran, or our lives without him?” Eline asked, raising her chin slightly, and Rena gripped more tightly at the boy. Buran’s expression was one of shame more than anything else, and he was staring at the book in his hands before looking to Vizma.

“What does a novice of Oghma do?” he asked slowly.

“Read,” Vizma said. “We expect our postulants to be able to move about our libraries with ease, to be able to read fluently in at least three languages, and ideally to be able to play an instrument, or have some skill with specialist tools. We would prepare you for that potentiality – you would learn alongside the other novices, primed with as many skills as you were able to learn. The worship of Oghma is the worship of knowledge, and in its acquisition; equally, it is in the spreading of that knowledge to others: our treatment of our novices reflects that.”

“I wouldn’t have to lie to anybody?” Buran asked.

“No,” Vizma said. “In fact, our order values honesty above many other values, although most of us lack your dedication to it, I’m sure.”

“Do you lie?”

“Frequently.”

“Why?”

“Different reasons. At times, lying is advantageous, for myself and my order; at others, it’s simply kinder, where the truth will do more harm than good. Sometimes one deceives merely by being silent when the question is asked.”

“I am familiar with the premise,” Buran said icily.

“The boy sustained some spell damage when he was a young child,” said the male elf, with more condescension than sympathy. “It has rather deadened his nerves, thus why he doesn’t always notice when he injures himself. No doubt deception is beyond his capabilities.”

Buran set his jaw, even as Eline shot the other elf a dark look, and Wendell aimed a hand gesture at him that Vizma guessed was an unpleasant one.

“You want us to abandon our son here?” Rena asked.

“I want you to give your son the opportunity to pursue a vocation he seems tailor-made for. It’s a short life for a thief who will steal from you and then tell you what he’s done, when pressed. It seems plain to me it isn’t lack of ability that prevents you from lying, Buran, but lack of desire.”

“He’s only ten,” Wendell said. “He can learn—”

“I don’t wish to,” Buran said.

“You’d rather we leave you here so you can become a priest?” Wendell asked, sounding pained. Buran’s expression was unchanging.

“I’d rather not be asked to lie all the time,” Buran said. “The priesthood doesn’t bother me.”

“You don’t care about us, then?” Rena demanded. “You don’t want to stay with your parents, your brothers and sisters? You care so little about us that you’d choose life in a dusty old library over spending time with us?”

“I don’t see why I can’t care for you from the library in question,” Buran said. “What does proximity have to do with it?”

Vizma felt for Rena and Wendell. Both of them looked hurt in their own ways: Rena flinched, then stiffened; Wendell reached up to rub at his eyes, which looked just slightly red. Eline’s expression changed more subtly, her lips down turning at their edges, but she reached for Buran rather than leaning away from him.

The boy allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet, letting her press her lips to the side of his temple. “I would be permitted to write to you, I presume,” he muttered. “I don’t see why it’s any different to Helena and Alex, or Eloise, or—”

“The difference is that they’re all adults,” Rena said. “Men and women in their own right.”

“No,” Wendell said. “We’re not abandoning you to a priesthood.”

“Very well,” Vizma said, standing to her feet. “I’ve made my proposition, but I appreciate that your boy is yet young. Family is important to you, I see that.”

Resignedly, Buran held up the prayer book, half-read, and she shook her head.

“You keep it,” she said. “Perhaps one day you’ll come back to us.”

Every other child was gathered outside of the door of the caravan when Vizma stepped out, and she looked between them all, the contrast between the paler, human children and the darker-skinned half-elves, all of them with cold, solemn expressions, their mouths scowling.

They parted to let her go, and he felt their stares on her back as she went.

---

It was a week later that Keel Howe, one of their initiates, knocked on her office door, and brought in a somewhat disheveled boy with a cut on the side of his neck and grazes all over his hands. His shoulder was held stiffly at one side, and Vizma gestured for him to sit down in front of her desk.

“Will you get one of the healers in here for me, Keel?” Vizma asked, and he nodded his head, stepping out. “You realize you’re injured?”

“I landed on my shoulder when I climbed under the border wall with the next kingdom over,” Buran said. “Fell down a ditch.”

“Do your family know where you are?”

“I told them I would come back when I first had opportunity. I had opportunity. So, unless they’re idiots—”

“And when they come back for you?”

“They can’t, for a while,” Buran said. “There was difficulty at the wall with our papers, and Uncle Soren managed to smooth it over, but they wouldn’t be able to come back through for at least a few months without it raising additional suspicion. They’d have to go all the way around to come back through, and they want to make the summer festival in Constantown. So, unless one of your priests wants to drag me over the border…”

“Gods above,” said Brother Chestra as he entered the room, and Buran stood up from the chair, allowing himself to be looked over. “What happened to you, lad?”

“Fell down a ditch. Walked quite far. You’re a cleric?”

“I’m a wizard,” Chestra said.

“But you’re a dwarf.”

“That I am. Palms up. You’re familiar with healing magic?”

“Yes. My uncle is a wizard.”

“He any good?”

“His main focus is in illusory magics, but he’s healed me of a lot of ills.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t do magic.”

“You want to?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like how it feels, and I’m not good at it.”

“You don’t want to get good at it?”

“I’d rather read.”

“Quick tongue, haven’t you?”

“I suppose.” He let out a low noise as Chestra drew magic over the cuts on his palms, his neck, and his face, healing them up neatly before he reached for the young man’s shoulder.

“That hurts?”

“Feels odd.”

“It shouldn’t do.”

“I’m sensitive to magic.”

“Spell damage?”

“Yes.”

“What from?”

“My brother accidentally hit me in the back with a lightning arrow when I was five.”

“Where’d he hit you?”

Buran moved his other hand to the small of his back, and Chestra whistled under his breath.

“It’s a miracle you can walk, lad. You sure it was an accident?”

“He cried quite a lot after, so, yes.”

“He cry more than you did?”

“Yes.”

Chestra laughed, which Buran seemed genuinely surprised by, leaning back, and he looked at Vizma for help, but Chestra was focused on fixing his shoulder, now, pressing on the strained muscle until it settled smoothly back into its place.

“You joining us as a novice?”

“Yes.”

“You have any questions for me?”

“How long have you been here? Were you always a healer? What drew you to Oghma? What—”

“One at a time, maybe?” Chestra asked, smiling slightly, and Buran looked as disarmed as before, his lips pressed together, but then he nodded. “I’ve been here in Merryweather sixteen years, been a sworn brother for a hundred-and-forty-four. Used to be an adventurer, got the call, took up healing instead of offensive magic.”

“The call?”

“Went into a dungeon, got to the end, picked up a scroll, thought it was a spell. It was an Oghmian scroll – compelled me to return it to the temple it had come from. Trekked about six hundred miles… liked the look of the place once I got there.”

“That seems deceptively simple.”

Chestra glanced at Vizma, arching his bushy eyebrows, and Vizma could only shrug in response before Chestra said to the boy, more sagely than was really in his character, “Matters of faith often are.”

The boy took this with grave focus on his face, nodding his head.

“Where did you get this boy?” Chestra asked.

Vizma opened her mouth, but Buran was already answering. His explanation was curt, delivered without unnecessary trim, and he seemed all but incognizant of the expressions that crossed Chestra’s face in the face of it.

“Should I take him to the head of novices, or…?”

“First, he can write a letter to his parents,” Vizma murmured. “But— Ask Roland to clear a space for him, would you?”

Chestra nodded, clapping Buran hard on his now-healed shoulder. Buran looked at him blankly in retort, and once more Chestra did his best to hide his laugh as he left the room.

“Your parents are going to be very hurt,” Vizma said.

“They would hurt more if I got them killed,” Buran said bluntly. “I don’t like to lie. I don’t want to do it. If someone asks me a question, I answer it. It’s better for them, if I’m here. They will see that.”

“Why choose such a devotion to truth, if it’s at odds with your family’s safety?”

Buran hesitated, opening his mouth, closing it. His eyes searched the air between them, as if trying to grasp hold of an answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I won’t lie.”

“Can you?”

“I expect so.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never tried?”

“I’ve withheld answers. Not often. I’ve avoided people who I know will ask questions I don’t wish to answer.”

“But you couldn’t, for example, tell me a ball was blue when it was orange?”

“Why would I?”

“Very well, if your brother was hiding from a guardsman and you knew where, would you tell him where he was?”

“Yes.”

“Even if that meant putting your brother in harm’s way?”

Buran fidgeted, but then he nodded.

“You’ve done that before?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I stabbed the guard through the ribs, punctured his lung.”

Vizma stared at him.

“From the back,” Buran added, as if this was the missing point of clarification that made it acceptable.

“You wouldn’t say that that was some deception? Hiding from him that you were going to kill him?”

“He soon found out,” Buran said.

“The god Oghma,” Vizma said, “does not ask of us to be morally good, or morally bad. There is no specific behaviour he asks of us except to value knowledge in all its forms. With that said, I would ask that you not murder anybody in the foreseeable future.”

“I will endeavour not to,” Buran said seriously, and Vizma once more pressed her lips tightly together, swallowing the laugh that threatened to make itself known.

“Let’s look at that letter to your parents,” she murmured, and reached for some parchment from her desk.

Buran’s handwriting was messier than she would have expected, printed in block script rather than in cursive, but his spelling was good. The former would only improve with time.

---

It was seven years later, at the age of seventeen, that Buran swore his vows as a brother.

The ceremony had been done in the morning, and Buran had stepped from the bounds of the temple to meditate for a time elsewhere. He had written to his family, Vizma knew, because several wrapped pages of barely passable handwriting had gone out with the rest of the outgoing post.

If she asked him, he would tell her where he’d been, and what he’d been doing.

She wouldn’t ask today.

“Come sit with me, Brother,” Vizma said, and Buran glanced up at her, but nodded his head, ascending the stairs toward her. He looked well in his vestments, well-suited to them, to the black cloth and the silver ropes about their waist, the silver scroll he wore around his neck. In his pocket, Vizma knew, was the same prayer book he’d taken from her so many years before.

She poured port for the both of them, and he took his glass, but didn’t drink from it right away. He didn’t care much for concentrated alcohol, and rarely drank any, but this was as good a time to celebrate as any.

“What now?” Vizma asked,

“I still have a few crates of the books from the Chapel estate to go through,” Buran said. “The vast majority of them are copies of books we already have, but there are a number of rare edi—”

“Buran,” Vizma said, and Buran stopped. “I meant in a broader sense than work here in the temple. You’re a sworn brother, now – you could travel to other temples, to any of the monasteries… There’s nothing exciting you’d like to do?”

“Exciting,” Buran repeated, as though it were a foreign word to him.

“I have been waiting for you to commit to the priesthood,” Vizma said. “You’ve noticed the Oghmian order has a mix of races, a broad mix of different sorts of people. Artisans, scholars, bards, ex-adventurers – all sorts contribute to the ranks of our acolytes.”

“Yes,” Buran said. He said nothing else, staring at her in that disconcerting way of his, not yet sipping from his drink.

Seven years as a novice and then a postulant had done little to improve his capacity for conversation. On matters of technicality, he came alive – he would ask a hundred thousand questions in succession, if it were about some sort of device or mechanism, history or story, but general talk did nothing for him, and he made no effort to appear it did.

Buran lacked the penmanship to be a suitable scribe, whether it was to recopy old volumes (some crumbled and were difficult to read, and needed to be rewritten for the sake of legibility) or to take down oral tradition. He had a tremendous capacity for learning music, but although dexterous with his viol, he played woodenly, without feeling. He was… difficult for others to interact with.

He answered questions, certainly. He answered them curtly, in neat detail, and rarely shared extraneous details if they weren’t asked for. It was mostly the librarians and the clerks who did the best with him, and the more straightforward clerics treated him like a reference book, which Vizma was fairly certain he preferred to being treated like a person.

But he was rude, and standoffish, and did not enjoy it when people talked to him about morality, or emotion. He preferred to be given a task and then complete it, ideally with as little interaction with others. It was not to say that he didn’t like to exert himself physically – he was one of the more acrobatic members of the priesthood, and he had fast reflexes, enjoyed using his tools, enjoyed playing music.

He didn’t like to play games. Very occasionally, he could be drawn into a complicated game, if one of the right people needled him into it – he mostly enjoyed card games with several hundred arcane rules to them, or multi-level chess games – but he mostly preferred to observe the behaviour of others, ideally from afar.

Sometimes, Vizma thought, he wanted to get closer. There was something in the way he leaned forward, very subtly, in the way he studied certain people when they spoke, and seemed at a loss once he’d run out of questions to ask.

“Buran, you’re a thief,” Vizma said.

“Yes,” Buran agreed.

“You’re proficient with a wide array of thieves’ tools, a craftsman with a set of lockpicks. You’re stealthy, you’re an admirable pickpocket, you’re a great safecracker.”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t thought about using those skills to acquire books for the order?”

A flicker of light showed in Buran’s eyes, and after a moment’s pause, his lips curved ever so slightly at their edges. It was a small smile, a gentle curve of the lips – she had never yet seen Buran show his teeth when he smiled, and for that matter, had never heard him laugh – but on Buran’s face, it made the constellations of freckles shift on his cheeks, made him look all but alight with his enthusiasm.

“I would like to,” he said quietly.

“Good,” Vizma murmured, and held out her glass. Buran stared at it, uncomprehending, before he glanced to his own glass, and then – the motion unnatural and awkward, as though it needed rehearsing – he clinked their glasses together, and sipped at his port when Vizma drained hers.

“Vizma,” Buran said quietly.

“Yes, Buran?”

“Thank you,” he said. “Very much.”

Vizma smiled. “It’s always a good thing,” she murmured, “to have a brother acquisitive.”

---

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[athingthatwantsvirginia]

The Steinbeck Agreement

PART TWENTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of familial physical/emotional abuse please read with caution, serious angst, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Ella makes some major changes in her life, and Jess reluctantly returns to town for his mother’s wedding.

The afternoon light streamed golden through the diner windows as Liz and Luke came in, Ella leaning on the counter with her sketchbook in front of her. Too enveloped in the drawing of a field of murderous daisies, Ella didn’t even register what they were talking about until she heard them mention her name.

“...maybe Ella could do it,” Liz said, tilting her head at the young woman with dark eye makeup and EAT ME printed across her shirt.

“Hm?” Ella asked, looking up from her sketch with furrowed brows.

Luke rolled his eyes at her distracted nature. Ever since she’d moved out of her childhood home, she’d been in a worse mood, focused almost solely on her terrifying drawings. He’d had to tell her a couple times to make sure to keep the sketchbook off the counter when there were children present.

“Be a flower girl,” Liz said, a big, dreamy smile on her face. She was dressed in a long, floral red dress. “Most of the Renaissance fair crowd doesn’t have small children. But if we’re gonna have a wedding, we’re gonna have a real wedding. Can’t be a wedding without a flower girl.”

“Sorry, whose wedding?” Ella asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, sweetie.” Liz had a high, wispy voice that reminded Ella of the fairies she used to imagine playing in her mother’s garden. “We’re having it right out in the square next week. It’s gonna be beautiful, all our Renaissance fair friends will be there, and it’ll have this great medieval theme! And you could be the flower girl!”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ella began with a shy smile, but Liz only waved a dismissive hand at her, continuing.

“I can loan you one of my fair dresses,” she said excitedly, not picking up on Ella’s doubtful expression.

“Yeah, Ella. You can finally perfect your whole Bride of Frankenstein look,” Luke teased. His expression was far more pleasant than Ella could have predicted. Happy. Happy, in its simplest form, looked so strange on Luke. The past few months had seen the true finalization of his divorce and his having to watch Lorelai date some rich snob from her father’s company. But the news seemed to brighten his mood inexplicably. She was sure the laughter at her expense wasn’t exactly a drag on the day either.

Rolling her eyes, Ella shot him a pointed glance. “Y’know, you would be lost without your best waitress.”

“I’m quaking in my boots. Besides, I’ve got Lane working for me now, anyway.”

Though she narrowed her eyes at him, she could think of nothing more to say. He was right. She would never quit on him. The diner was more of a home to her than anywhere else in the world. Hell, it had almost single-handedly fed her during the worst few months of her life. Along with Lorelai’s frequent feasts of junk food.

“I can just see it, Ella! It’ll be so much fun and you’d look so beautiful!” Liz exclaimed, grabbing one of Ella’s hands in a pleading gesture.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella did her best to protest. She still wasn’t Liz’s biggest fan, despite wherever it was that she stood with Jess. The alcohol, the neglect. But Luke seemed not entirely angry about the match, especially considering his view on TJ when the two had first been introduced back in February. And Liz’s smile was so large, so radiant. Her eyes were desperate and almost kind. Heaving a huge sigh, Ella nodded. Luke was much more than her boss. And he gave a smile so rare when she agreed. She would do it for Luke, she decided. In fact, it was the least she could do.

.   .   .

Sat on the lumpy couch in Lane’s living room, Ella found herself smiling just a touch. The band, finally named Hep Alien, was getting better with every practice. Though the room was piled high with dirty clothes and video game equipment, and it remained cluttered no matter how many times Ella tried to clean it up, she was beginning to get more comfortable. Her king mattress was so old anyway, and sleeping on the plaid couch wasn’t much different. As she had run from the only house she had ever known, she’d packed as much as she could into her station wagon, which had once been her aunt Julie’s. It wasn’t like her old room fit much anyway. Mostly, the backseat was filled with her records, books, clothes.

Loud music making her ears ring, she sketched Lane behind the drums, living the way she had always wanted. As fun as it was watching band practice nearly every night, Ella was eager for her summer classes to start. If she played her cards right, she could graduate a year early with art as a minor. Ella’s mind drifted to the night she left, the day after she finally finished her first year of college. And, over a modest celebratory dinner, the conversation had drifted, as it always did, to the future.

.   .   .

two and a half weeks earlier

Tugging with one hand at the ends of her hair, Ella felt an odd mixture of distasteful nostalgia and happiness in her stomach. The lasagna tasted exactly as her mother’s had, and Ella knew Fiona had followed the recipe, scribbled in the back of the ancient cookbook, exactly. But she would keep quiet. Fiona truly seemed proud of her, beaming and giving her a hug the moment she walked through the door after work. Slowly, very slowly, Ella was beginning to accept it, the motherly love. Though occasionally it still rubbed her the wrong way, it didn’t send her spiralling into anger and melancholy as it once had.

And it wasn’t as though Fiona was a bad person. She had a sunny disposition, glossy hair, expressive eyes. Ella could understand how her father would want to marry her. But she was just too unlike her mother. Would never understand Ella the way her mother had. It still felt like bizarro-world when Fiona tried to give her advice or compliment her on her piano skills. But she could manage dinner every once and a while, and accept pride in her academic accomplishments. She was on the Dean’s List, after all.

Adam pushed his food around his plate as he spoke. From the glances they’d shared, Ella could tell he tasted the same memories from childhood she did.

“We’ve still got about a month, but I really think we can get first place,” Adam said of his mathlete competition. His voice had gotten deeper, and he was finally growing taller. Ella could tell he would end up looking a lot like Noah.

“That’s great,” Jake said, nodding with a half-smile.

“Really is,” Fiona echoed, grinning widely.

As silence fell on the four of them, forks scraped on the Corelle plates and throats were cleared. Awkward silences had quickly become staples of family dinners. Eventually, Jake began twisting his wedding ring and looked straight at Ella, who sat at his left side. The light in the peach kitchen was bright despite the cloudy darkness outside. The May evening was humid and buzzing with cicadas.

“And what about you, Ellie?” Jake asked.

Looking up carefully, Ella put down her fork and faced him. “What about me?”

“Do you have any prospects for the summer? Besides the diner?”

She shook her head. “No. Unless Patty needs me to fill in. Might start painting more. I’m thinking a small easel would fit pretty well near the window in my room.”

Narrowing his eyes doubtfully, Jake tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know. Seems like a waste of money.”

“Why?” she asked instantly.

“We don’t have to discuss this now,” Fiona interjected patiently.

Adam looked down at his plate as he ate.

Jake breathed a frustrated sigh through his nose. “You’re majoring in history. You’re living with us for at least three more years. I don’t think now’s the time for pipe dreams.”

“Hm,” Ella nodded, giving a thin, vicious smile. “It’s funny you say that. When mom was alive, you always thought I should put as much time into my art as she put into her music.”

“You were a kid. Things change. The best you can hope for is being a history teacher at Stars Hollow High, and you have to be happy with it,” Jake explained with cold logic in his voice. His eyebrows were raised in condescension.

Ella’s cheeks heated up. “Oh, so all this time you’ve just been humoring me? Telling me I had talent?”

“Not exactly. But you’re not O’Keefe, either.”

“Never said I was,” Ella snapped, standing up from her seat. “I can't do this right now. I’m buying my fucking paint, dad.”

“Hey!” he shouted, rising from his own seat and following her as she stormed into the living room towards the hall entrance. “Don’t you use that language with me, young lady!”

“Why not?! Might as well let you know how I actually talk if you’re gonna let me know how you actually feel!” she yelled back, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Jake rolled his eyes at his only daughter. “Toughen up, Ellie! You’ve only got so much time on this earth and I’m not gonna watch you waste it on your doodles!”

“Oh, and lecturing about the revolutionary war in the town where I’ve always lived wouldn’t be a waste?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least you’ll make a living! You’ll still be around people who love you, who take care of you. You’ll always be near us,” he argued.

Ella let out a bitter, humorless bark of laughter. “People who take care of me?! I’ve been taking care of you for almost five years! All of you! Especially you! When mom died, I was the one who fed us, I was the one who cleaned and tried to cook! And you did fuck-all except drink and lie around crying!”

Eyes darkening, Jake took a step closer to her and she immediately recoiled. “I lost my wife. You will never understand that!”

“I lost my mother!” she screamed, hands clenched at her sides, so hard her knuckles turned white. Angry tears snuck up on her eyes but she swallowed them back to the best of her ability.

“If I’d have known how much you’d bitch about helping out, doing what a daughter should, I never would’ve let you take that job at Luke’s!”

“Doing what a daughter should?” she asked immediately, eyebrows shooting up. Her jaw was set firm with tension.

Fiona appeared from the kitchen behind her husband, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Baby, let’s just all take a minute to cool down.”

“You brother and I needed you and all you could do was complain!” he roared.

Ella scoffed. “You needed me? You needed me to keep you alive long enough for you to find a new wife to coddle you and baby you and cry with you when you told her about your tragic high school sweetheart! Why do you think she hates you, huh?”

Her stomach did a flip when she saw the hurt on Fiona’s face from the corner of her eye, but a fire burned so hot inside her, and she couldn’t keep her words contained any longer. She’d tried to play the dutiful woman of the house long enough.

“Do not talk about my marriage!” Jake warned. “It’s none of your business!”

“Of course it’s my business! It’ll be my business when I have to pick up the pieces once she leaves you!”

“You have always been such a little brat! You were a nightmare to raise for me and for Sophia!” A vein had popped out in his forehead, and he shrugged Fiona’s touch from his shoulder.

“Fuck you!”

Crack! Ella seemed to hear it before she felt it: a sharp, searing pain as his open palm struck her cheek. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in so long, not since she was ten and had mouthed off at the dinner table. A sinking feeling struck her stomach as silence filled the room. Because she suddenly discovered she had always been expecting it. Always knew it would happen again, someday, somehow. And she’d been almost surprised he hadn’t smacked her in the months following her mother’s death. But, the levee had to break. It always did.

She brought a hand to her stinging flesh, and her father stopped in his tracks. Remorse washed over his features and he went to reach out for her. Flinching away from him, Ella felt her fingers grip at her necklace.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry, baby. I told you not to use that language with me. And you know how my old man was about-”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No.”

.   .   .

The final, strong bass note of the White Stripes song Hep Alien played broke her from her memories. She could see the dull sky as she packed up her car the best she could, the night crossing over into morning as she offered Adam a quick goodbye. He’d been upset, but also somewhat calm. And when he’d come to visit her a week later during one of her shifts at the diner, he told her he had always known Ella would leave. From the first night after their mother had died, he’d known. Though he knew it was fruitless to try and convince her not to feel guilty, Adam had told her not to worry. He could handle home on his own, he was confident. He’d never been slapped. And they were both smart enough to understand why.

And when she’d come to Lane in the early hours of the morning, still painfully holding back her tears with the entire contents of her life parked out on the street in the station wagon, she knew everything would change. Lane had welcomed her with open arms, of course. Had seen Ella cry for only the third time in all their years knowing each other. There was something so sweet about her new freedom, but a heaviness still sat in Ella’s heart. Constant guilt and fear for Adam, heartache over her mother, who she still missed everyday. And she felt so lost, it was all-consuming. She didn’t know what the next step was. Would she still be able to pay for college? Would she ever speak to her stepmother again? Would she even stay a history major, if she was lucky enough to continue her education? She had never been more glad for Luke’s, and for her friends. There were few comforts in her life, continued existence as a waitress, or knowing Adam was only a few blocks away in case something ever happened. She clung to the only constants left for dear life. She’d been dreaming of leaving the house for so long, but it managed to be even harder than she thought it would be. A gloomy cloud had been hanging over her for a few weeks, as she walked through her existence with an aimlessness she had never known before.

Clapping some, Ella offered a big smile and watched as Zach, Gil, and Bryan began to talk amongst themselves about the new tattoo Gil had shown up to practice with. Lane excused herself from the conversation only because of the temptation. She wanted a tattoo, really did, but didn’t want to increase the chances of her mother disowning her any more than she already had. Instead, she came to join Ella on the couch, plopping down and putting an arm around her friend. Ella kept her smile and rested her head against Lane’s shoulder. Since moving in, Ella was reminded every day of what a wonderful person Lane was. They came from such different worlds, but never judged each other, always took care of each other, helped each other with their respective escapes. Working together at Luke’s had been even more fun than Ella could have ever imagined. It was a welcome end to the long, lonely year after Jess’s departure, just she and Luke sulking around together. There was a place for sulking, but the time for it seemed to be coming to an end.

“You guys were fucking great,” Ella said, then gestured down to the picture she had just drawn. “You’re a regular Meg White up there. Really.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lane chirped, beaming with pride.

Snorting a laugh, Ella put the sketchbook aside and bit back a yawn. “Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Lane asked, brows furrowing.

It almost made her want to laugh. Over the past two weeks, Lane had asked her that question more than had once seemed humanly possible. “Yeah, Lane. I’m fine. Just a long day. Got roped into being a flower girl.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Luke’s sister. Liz. Have you met her before? You weren’t working at the diner yet the last time she was in town,” she said tiredly.

“No, I haven’t,” Lane replied. “Jess’s mom, right?”

“She is indeed.”

“And why exactly are you filling what is traditionally a role for a girl in pigtails and Mary Janes?”

Blowing out a sigh, Ella shook her head slightly. “I don’t even know. She just sort of told me...didn’t exactly ask. It’s next week in town square, so there’s not enough time. And Luke really seemed like he wanted me to and I just...I don’t know. Maybe she’s a witch.”

“Always a possibility,” Lane nodded, going along with the bit as she always did. “And have you heard from Jess lately?”

Again, Ella shook her head. “He still doesn’t have an actual phone number, and now I don’t either. Not optimum communication conditions.”

“Yeah, that’s not ideal,” Lane said, commiserating.

“I wish it had crossed my mind, but I moved out in about forty-five minutes,” Ella said, fiddling with her necklace.

A guilty look painted her features. But she’d only been out of the house a little while, maybe he hadn’t called.

“Do you think he’ll come for the wedding?”

Ella scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

.   .   .

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything else?” Ella asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Her chewed pencil sat behind her ear, and her hair fell in a loose, hasty braid over her shoulder. One of her booted feet tapped constantly against the tiled floor, and she smoothed over her blue skirt every few minutes. And she only looked half as stressed as Luke. The wedding was in two days, and nearly everything had been dumped on him. As a consequence, Ella had been dealing with the diner business while Luke argued on the phone with vendors who could give him the proper medieval food and decor.

The midday lull had finally come, and Lorelai stopping in was sure to bring a little sunshine. Though she had been pretty overwhelmed herself, lately. The new Dragonfly Inn opening was only weeks away.

Luke shook his head at Ella when he’d finished giving Lorelai the rundown of the week’s events. “Not right now, kid. That was the last call I had to make. At least for the time being.”

“Just say the word,” Ella shrugged, finally letting herself relax a touch, leaning her forearms onto the counter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, am I caught up on everything, then?” Lorelai chimed in, brows raised and eyes expectant.

“Yeah, I’d say so…” Luke began, but the bell over the door jingled.

A familiar scowl appeared in the diner’s entrance, and Jess trudged up to the counter with a finger pointed at Luke. “I’m not paying for a motel, so I’m stayin’ with you!”

Lorelai gasped dramatically and narrowed her eyes at Luke. “Liar!”

As he passed on his way to the stairs, Jess gave Ella a curt nod. She reciprocated, but felt unnerved by his demeanor. Was it shy? Was it angry? It certainly didn’t seem pleasant. They hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, the longest time since he had first run away to California.

“I didn’t think he was coming,” Luke muttered, watching Jess disappear up the stairs. A wistful, fond smile crossed Luke’s lips. “I went to see him in New York.”

“You did?” Ella asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah. It was a total pig sty and he may or may not be a drug dealer. But, hey, at least he came,” Luke said, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and wonder.

Sighing through her nose, Ella looked down at her feet and bit at the inside of her cheek. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, thoughts swimming around and colliding with each other inside her already crowded mind. “Yeah. At least. I’m gonna take my ten minutes. That alright?”

Luke was busy, back to his banter with Lorelai, and only gave a half nod her way. She snickered at how enveloped in each other the two of them were. Without much effort, she slipped behind the curtain and climbed up the stairs unnoticed. Nerves coursed through her, and her heart sped up in her chest. She gave two short, harsh knocks on the window of the shabby apartment door.

After waiting a moment and receiving no response, she rolled her eyes to herself. Who was she to be nervous? He was pretty much her best friend, besides Lane. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. With a new, determined quality to her steps, she walked through the front door and found him just where she expected, on his old bed, nose already buried in a book.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she plastered on a confident smirk and sat down on the end of the bed. She recognized the book instantly, her own copy buried in the pile of belongings in her car: Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck.

“The only author we could ever agree on,” she said, eyeing the book though Jess still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Pretty much,” he replied flatly, biting at his bottom lip as he focused on the words in front of him.

Sighing shortly through her nose, Ella turned to face him fully, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the familiar brown afghan. Jess unconsciously brought his feet in closer to make room for her, his knees up in the air, blocking her view of his face slightly. But she could see his hair, longer still and without any gel.

“See you’ve completely ditched the pompadour look,” she muttered. “Couldn’t handle being mistaken for an Elvis impersonator any longer, huh?”

“My God, you should do stand-up,” Jess said dryly, eyes widening in feigned amazement as he kept reading.

Shaking her head slightly, Ella let a harsh chuckle escape her lips and furrowed her brows at him. “Out with it, jackass.”

“Hm?” he asked dismissively, taking a pencil from his pocket to underline a phrase.

Ella pursed her lips in frustration. “Well, it’s obvious you’re pissed. I say we skip the passive-aggressive theatrics and you just spill it. But, hey, this is a democracy. You also get a vote.”

Rolling his eyes, Jess finally shot a glance over his knees. Heaving a sigh, he shut his book and tossed it into the open duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. In one swift movement, he mirrored her sitting position and tilted his head at her in askance.

“Have you been doing a lot of hard partying lately? Really taking advantage of this college thing? Or have you been avoiding my calls?” he asked, though he wasn’t angry, despite the sarcasm. There was a defeated tone in his voice which surprised her; almost disappointed.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she gave another small shake of her head, and she spoke firmly. “Well, first of all, I’m not required to take your calls. I asked you to call me because you fucked off to California without telling me and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been serial-killed.”

Jess gave a begrudging nod, almost preparing for a dressing down.

“But, no, I haven’t been avoiding your calls, alright? Paranoid much?”

He scoffed, but she cut him off before he could retort.

“I moved out.”

Immediately, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About two weeks ago. Wasn’t exactly seamless, and I bet my dad will disconnect my old line at some point. I’ve been staying at Lane’s with her and the band. They don’t have a phone yet. And you change your number pretty much every week, so it’s not like I could let you know.”

A smile crossed his features. “I’m...that’s great, Eleanor.”

She snorted a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, it’s so great living out of my car and sleeping on Lane’s forty-year-old couch.”

Jess shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“I guess.”

He looked flabbergasted. “I’m so proud of you.”

A blush heated her cheeks and she chuckled breathily in confusion. “What?”

“For moving out. I mean, I can’t imagine it was a quiet affair,” he said, face falling slightly.

Again, she shook her head, glancing down at the space between them on the comforter and clutching her necklace. “No. It wasn’t.”

“What happened?” he ventured without hesitation, searching her face and exposed arms for any yellowed bruises or healing cuts. Sometimes, he could give even Ella a run for her money when assuming the worst.

Ella shrugged noncommittally, throwing a glance down at her watch, then facing him again with a small smile. “Long story. I’ve only got a couple minutes left on break. You gonna be in town for a little while?”

“Until the minute the wedding ends.”

“Okay, we’ll find some time to catch up,” she said, smirking. “Luke tells me you’re a drug dealer now. You’ve gotta let me in on all your behind-the-scenes Scarface facts.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “God, Luke is such a drama queen. I’m a messenger.”

“Nice cover. Very convincing.”

“Don’t you have coffee to pour?” he shot back, defensive.

Snickering, Ella rose from the bed, smoothing down her skirt and apron. “Whatever keeps the guilt at bay, tough guy.”

“G’bye,” he muttered, grumpy, as he settled back against the wall and picked up his book again. But, just before Ella reached the door: “What time are you off, Eleanor?”

“Six-thirty. Luke’s closing up early to play wedding planner,” she said, hand poised over the doorknob.

Jess chuckled. “Pizza at Antonioli’s tonight?”

“Sure. I even promise not to wear a wire.”

The pillow Jess had thrown barely missed her as she exited the apartment, laughing under her breath.

.   .   .

Sighing softly, Ella ran the key along the chain of her necklace and looked down at the half-eaten pizza crusts on her paper plate. The old wooden table in the pizza place was slightly sticky, and carved with the names of various people and couples who had shared a pie there before. But, they could watch the Stars Hollow evening turn from golden to blue as the sun went down, sitting by the front window. Jess had to leave by eight, and it was half past seven by the time the stars came out. Summer had almost come, and the days were long and bright with sunshine. Chilly breezes swept past at night, but it was getting warmer still.

“So...yeah. It only took me about forty-five minutes to pack everything up. Didn’t realize how little stuff I had until I could fit almost everything in my trunk and back seat,” she said, a small, humorless smile on her face.

Jess nodded, rolling a balled-up napkin absently in his hand as he listened, his face stony. “Was it just yelling? Or did he hit you?”

Breathing another long sigh through her nose, Ella bit the inside of her cheek. “Just once. He just slapped me once. He told me not to swear at him, but I-”

“Eleanor,” he interjected, voice firm but gentle. “Once is way too much. Even a slap. It’s way, way too many times.”

She only shrugged. “I know. I mean, of course I know that. It’s just…”

Again, he nodded wordlessly. Jess knew what it was like to have a parent, or a step-parent, who used hurt as a tool. And he knew the confusion. Sometimes monsters wore masks. She didn’t have to say anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ella shook her head. “It’s not your fault. And I’m moved out now, Jess.”

“Right...and I meant what I said. I’m so proud of you, Stevens.” Jess reached hesitantly across the table, and took her free hand in his. Gave it one squeeze.

She flashed him a tiny smile, squeezed it back. Then she disentangled their fingers and tucked her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat and straightening her back. The severity left her features, a new, mischievous twinkle lighting up her hazel eyes. Her chest was less heavy, and she was glad he knew. Glad he could understand with so few words.

“Proud of you too, Mariano. This time, I didn’t have to watch you step out of a sheriff’s car when you got to town,” she smirked, picking up one of the crusts and taking another bite out of it.

He frowned. “Ugh, please don’t mention Andy Griffith. That car is my property. The only reason I even called Luke after I got to Venice was to ask about the car and he-”

Still chuckling, Ella raised her hands in surrender, cutting him off. “White flag.”

Jess offered a sardonic, lop-sided smirk. “And, believe or not, Luke will be the sanest person at the bachelor party tonight.”

“Why are you even going?” she asked, brows furrowed as she took a sip of her water, ice melty from time and the May heat seeping through the splintered wood of the front door.

Shaking his head, Jess glanced down at his watch and noticed he had only ten minutes before he and Luke would have to hop in Luke’s ancient green truck. “I don’t know. Luke mentioned me not wanting to go to Liz, and then she spent thirty minutes babbling until she finally wore me down.”

Pursing her lips, Ella nodded. “Yeah, she’s very persuasive.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at the flower girl,” she admitted, gesturing to herself.

He laughed breathily. “No way.”

“Yep. I’ll be there in the renaissance dress and all. Though, Lorelai said she would make some alterations for me. I’m going over to her house in a little while to sort out the whole corset situation.”

Jess snorted another chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Right back at ya, Mariano,” she teased. “Where on earth would TJ want to go for his bachelor party?”

“It’s a cliché I’m sure you’ll be able to guess on the first try,” Jess said with a dejected frown.

After only a moment with brows furrowed, realization flashed across Ella’s eyes and her expression turned to one of disgust. “Ugh, Jesus. A strip club?”

“I know,” he grumbled. “Believe me, I’ll be there in silent protest.”

“Mouth off to one of the owners if you get the chance, would you? For me?” she asked.

“Will do.”

.   .   .

“I don’t hate my mother,” Jess grumbled to Luke, rolling his eyes slightly.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, crossing his leather-clad arms. Maybe he should’ve known he would get into a fight with TJ at some point, considering his history with Liz’s past boyfriends and husbands. All it had taken was TJ hitting the Austen novel out of his hands, as he read begrudgingly in the low-lit strip club. And they’d come to blows. And Luke was pissed. They were sat down at a table in Luke’s, the diner completely dark glowing only from the streetlamps and twinkle lights in the square. All the chairs, save for the two they sat in, were stacked up on the red tables. Luke was interrogating Jess about why he’d come for the wedding anyway, if he was so mad about it. As if he hadn’t stormed into Jess’s apartment trying to convince him to come only a few days earlier.

“You don’t?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Then why did you come, anyway, if you’re so against your mother finding happiness? And it’s pretty clear you hate me.”

Jess sighed heavily at Luke’s dramatics. “I don’t hate you. I came here because of you.”

“Stop that,” Luke scolded in disbelief.

“You said it was important to you. Remember?” Jess asked, voice tight with annoyance.

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“Oh, I was listening.”

Luke stared at his nephew for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. “So, you don’t hate your mom. You don’t hate me. But, really, all it took was me coming to New York to yell at you?”

Sighing, Jess said nothing. His lips were set in a thin line, and he averted his gaze from his uncle. He ran a hand over his mouth.

Eyes widening, Luke cracked a knowing grin. “You came because of Ella? But, you haven’t been together in...what? A year?”

Jess gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah, but, we still talk every couple weeks. She didn’t tell you?”

Luke snorted. “Well, I remember her chewing you out that first time you called. Telling you to let her know you were alive. But I didn’t know you were really talking.”

Running a hand over his mouth again, Jess gave another nod.

“So?” Luke asked, prodding. “Why’d you need to come here...if you call so often anyway?”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, squirming under the questions. “Since she moved out, she hasn’t been picking up. I didn’t know what happened. I wanted to...make sure. Because…”

“What?”

“I think...I mean...I’m in love with her, alright?” Jess spit out, an anxious bite in his voice.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up, and a flabbergasted look formed on his face. “Wow!...You think you’re in love with her?”

Jess shrugged. “Pretty sure. But, I’ve been thinking that since I was seventeen. And she doesn’t believe in love, anyway.”

Scoffing, Luke shook his head. “I know she says that, but it’s crap. What do you love about her, Jess?”

“Excuse me?” Jess asked, brows furrowing.

Luke rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jess, I think it’s great that you know how you feel. And like I said earlier, I’m not gonna keep trying to change you. You are who you are. And Ella is who she is. If you’re gonna tell her how you feel, you have to do it carefully. And you have to be sure. So, tell me what you love about her.”

Scowling, Jess looked long and hard at his uncle. “What, do you wanna hold hands and skip afterwards?”

“Do you want to do this right or not?”

Finally, Jess relented. “Okay. Fine. I love that she...she’s so passionate. About everything. And she talks with her hands. And she eats peanut butter right out of the jar when she’s sick. And she hums while she works, without even realizing it. She..she cares so much about her friends and her brothers and her aunt and...I don’t know. She does everything for other people. She doesn’t think she’s a people person. But she really is. Even the way she talks to customers...you can really see it.

“And she’s such an amazing artist. She can feel art. And music. I’ve never met anyone else like that before. I can talk to her for hours...or not say anything at all. I miss her when she’s gone. Everything is...just better when I’m with her.”

When Jess looked up again, he found his uncle with a smug smirk. As Jess was speaking, his eyes had taken on a far-off quality. And though he didn’t want to be talking, his lips had started to curl upward at the corners anyway. Just from thinking of her. Luke recognized everything in Jess’s expression.

Jess shook his head slightly, jaw tense, embarrassment swirling in his stomach. “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke said lightly, almost mocking. “I’ve just...never seen that look on your face before.”

Rolling his eyes again, Jess scoffed angrily.

“Alright, alright,” Luke said, fighting off good-natured laughter. “Open two-way communication is the foundation of love…”

#jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano au #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore girls #luke danes #lane kim #lorelai gilmore

[inkbloodpaperandbone]

So this is a follow up to this drabble that is also cross posted on my ao3 account here

On the anniversary of the tsunami Buck gets a new tattoo. This time Eddie and Christopher go with him.

It's been three months since Eddie all but jumped Buck in the station's changing room, unable to hold back his feels upon seeing his son's drawing on his now boyfriend's skin.

It's funny but in hindsight not all that suprising how well they've transitioned from best friends to lovers. It's not exactly smooth sailing, no relationships ever are but in a way very little has changed. Only more kissing and umm other stuff.

In the week leading up to the first anniversary no one at work has braved speaking of the upcoming event. It's a date that marks a extremely traumatic time for both men, and Bobby - both the station captain being cautious about any potential risk of having the two at work on such a emotionally charged day and Bobby the friend, wanting to allow them time for themselves to - had given the two men the day off.

Neither had protested.

The city of LA still bore the scars of that fateful day in the streets and sidewalks of the most affected areas. In the buildings still under construction and renovation to repair the damage left by the water and debris. As the date drew closer new memorials for the dead and the missing where remade. But LA and it's people were healing. No matter how slow.

 

They're healing too, this little family of three they've created Eddie thinks on the morning of the anniversary as he watches Christopher cheerily eat rice crispies giggling around each mouthful whilst Buck dramatically throws away the toast Eddie burnt and proceeds to make more. It's a scene he's seen almost everyday now for the past couple of months but it hasn't gotten old yet.

Christopher still had nightmares, although they were becoming fewer and further between. He was still going to therapy and had even begun swimming again. In the shallow end clinging to his dad or Buck but it's progress.

Since learning that Buck had gotten a tattoo of his drawing Christopher has steadily been filling the Diaz household with new tattoo designs. Crayons and markers have been worn down to unusable stubs and there probably isn't a shred of paper that hasn't been doodled on.

Eddie doesn't mind, and has found himself perusing the arts and crafts section of the local superstore, Buck in tow for new supplies.

The news Buck getting a tattoo in reminder of surviving the tsunami (and the subsequent upheaval of the lawsuit, Eddie's fight club drama and the actual work of just dealing with it all) came during the billionth rewatch of Finding Dory with Buck confiding to Eddie in a low voice as not to disturb Christopher who was lodged between them fast asleep on the sofa, that he was thinking of asking Christopher to draw it.

Of course Christopher took to the task with all the enthusiasm a nine year old could muster- which was a lot.

He and Christopher had spent several nights after dinner huddled around the coffee table surrounded by paper and crayons working on it.

The end result wasn't anything elaborate or big - in keeping with the rest of Buck's tattoos.

Buck had also suggested that they made a day of going to the tattoo parlor on the tsunami's anniversary, to replace a bad memory with a good one.

Christopher finishes with his cereal, he rinses out the bowl as Eddie's taught him before hurrying off to get ready for their outing. Both Buck and Eddie where already dressed, Buck looking over the final design fondly as they wait in the lounge.

The design was three small fishes swimming in a wave.

There's been around ten different versions before now, but Christopher has become somewhat of a perfectionist and had deemed each preceding "not right" and thrown away.

Christopher has been telling everyone, friends, family, school teachers, random strangers in the street, everybody, that he's going to be a tattoo artist when he grows up.

Secretly Eddie worries that Chris will be heartbroken if this latest career dream doesn't pan out, although Christopher is likely to change his mind soon enough. He is nine after all and it's less frightening than his kid wanting to be a firefighter or astronaut. The thought of his little boy millions of miles away in outer space - nope not happening, no way.

Christopher's dexterity is good for a child his age with CP, his handwriting is improving and his art - though Eddie is definitely basis - is great for someone his age. Who knows. Maybe.

Christopher emerges from his room a suspiciously full backpack slung over his shoulder. Buck takes it from him and peers inside. When he shows the contents to Eddie, he can't help but laugh. Christopher has crammed a box of crayons, a paper pad, several power rangers and a couple of handfuls of Lego in side.

Buck slips the folded design inside before scooping up Christopher to carry him to Eddie's truck.

Eddie follows locking up behind him.

The drive to the tattoo parlor is a short one - well short for LA, only a little traffic since the morning rush hour has long since died - they arrive twenty minutes before the booked appointment, Christopher audibly excited as the truck pulls up.

The parlor is situated between a fancy free weight gym and a organic vegan coffee shop, it's larger than Eddie expected, there's a huge mural of flowers and birds in mixed styles reaching out over the shop front.

Glass doors lead into a spacious waiting area with a floor to ceiling shelving unit decorated with action figures and retro toys acting as a divider between said area and the actual work space.

Christopher drags his dad over to the shelves for a closer look whilst Buck confirms his appointment with the cheery receptionist a young guy with a purple mohawk and tattoos on every exposed bit of skin besides his face, he introduces himself as Luka and directs them to the couch to wait on before hurrying off to fetch their artist.

Both Buck and Christopher are practically vibrating in excitement. It's cute Eddie thinks as he ruffles his son's curls.

Chris has got the design stored in his backpack along with his latest sketchbook and some crayons to keep himself entertained. The little boy rummages through his bag whilst they wait, occasionally shoving unwanted items into Buck's waiting hands until Chris triumphantly pulls out his drawing.

"Is this the famous Christopher?" A lilting voice calls out. The owner, a short women probably in her mid-forties, the visible skin of her arms and legs adored with flowers and Disney characters, comes into view around the dividing wall.

She hurried over hugging Buck before turning to Eddie, hand out in greeting, they shake hands quickly. "I'm Mara, you must be Eddie, and you must be Christopher."

She shakes Chris hand too making him giggle.

"Well let's get this show on the road."

Lead into the main shop, Eddie looks over the room, more tattoo inspired murals cover the walls, one of which has a large flat screen TV hanging from it. There are three workstations with cushioned benches, wheeled stools and a desks. One station is already occupied, the burring of an ink gun travels the room.

Mara's station is already partly prepped, the bench and it's adjoining rests wrapped in plastic, several ink bottles line up along the desk. As she sets up her equipment Mara explains each step to Eddie, Buck and Christopher, although Eddie notes that she's directing the conversation to his son. Chris is utterly enraptured by it asking questions and peering closer.

Buck sits down on the bench rolling up his t-shirt sleeve to his shoulder. Eddie takes a seat on one of the free chairs, beside it, laying a hand on his boyfriend's thigh. Christopher comes over and Eddie picks him up to set Chris on his knees.

Christopher's backpack and crutches are leant against the leg of the second chair out of the way.

Mara demonstrates to Christopher how his drawing is printed on to a transfer sheet, " Like the temporary tattoos you can get with sweets,"  she explains, " it'll let me trace the design with my gun so it'll match perfectly with your drawing."

Mara, sitting on her stool, scoots up the side of the bench to were Buck is waiting.

"Okay Christopher now I'm going to wipe Buck's arm.." Buck makes a face at Chris as Mara does so causing the little boy to laugh.

"...where the tattoo will go so that the skin is all nice and clean and then we press the transfer paper on like so.."

The transfer paper is pressed to the inside of Buck's right bicep, Mara rubbing the paper to get it to stick down smoothly.

"Hold that there sweetie." She tells Buck as she moves to ready the ink gun with the first needle before turning back to Buck and starts removing the transfer.

"Now we peel it back and the design should now be on Buck's arm." Mara explains shooting a grin at Eddie and Christopher.

It looks really good already" Christopher chimes as the design comes into view.

"Sure does buddy." Buck agrees flexing his bicep like an old fashioned boxer, Eddie rolled his eyes, good god he loves this dork.

There's a part of Eddie that is still scared by how much love he feels for the man in front of him. Scared by how deeply that love has rooted it's way into his heart.

Eddie has had only three great loves in his life, Shannon, Christopher and now Buck. And each love is very different. Shannon was his first love, a highschool sweetheart turned wife and mother of his child. Despite their estrangement, their fumbled reconciliation and her untimely death that love still lives, though it no longer romantic in nature. A nostalgic love, a remorseful love but still love all the same.

His love for Christopher is all consuming. It is fierce and unbreakable. The love of a parent, wildly protective and proud. A love that for a long time was the only real thing Eddie felt he could show the world. Not just another role to play. Another title add to the list, like dutiful son, loving husband, war hero veteran, firefighter etc, etc.

His love for Buck grew out of the kind of friendship Eddie hadn't had since childhood, an easy friendship (despite the rocky start) that filled in the cracks left by Shannon's abandonment, his parents disapproval, the stress of single parenthood.

It grew as Buck began nudging his way into the life Eddie and Christopher were building in LA.

It grew from Buck introducing him to the godsend that is Carla Price. It grew from the endless random trivia Buck spouted. It grew from their seamless partnership on calls, from joking around with their friends.

Most importantly it grew from Bucks devotion to Christopher, his ability to work out ways to make that little boy laugh, to work out ways to help Chris do the things other kids could do. To have Christmas with his dad despite work. From Buck's sheer desperation to find and protect Christopher during the tsunami to his utter relief he was found alive and unharmed. The fact he loves Christopher so much he didn't think twice about getting a tattoo of a silly little doodle just because.

Eddie thinks of this love as Buck holds his arm still whilst another of Chris' drawings is permanently etched into his skin.

All in all the whole tattooing process doesn't take long given the size and simplicity.

Christopher has charmed Mara and her fellow colleagues who come over to say hi and is reaping the benefits of being a cute nine year old as the adults scramble to accommodate his every whim from choosing what to watch on the TV to being set up at a spare desk to draw when he gets bored to getting a chocolate milkshake from the café next door when the parlor's intern goes on a coffee run.

Eddie hopes Chris will never use his cuteness for evil but doesn't protest the spoiling.

Buck turns out to be terrible at sitting for a tattoo. He fidgets and winces. Makes faces and keeps nearly distracting Mara with random questions and jokes.

But Mara is clearly used to this, barely batting an eye and steadily working on.

When the last of the ink is applied and the the excess is wipe away she gives them a chance to look over the work.

It looks good even as the skin starts to redden, Buck is grinning from ear to ear.

"Pretty great huh Chris"

"Yuh huh." Christopher nods excitedly as he scrambles in for a closer look, hand reaching out to poke at it.

"Does it hurt?"

"It does if you poke it buddy." Christopher jerks his hand back.

"Sorry."

Buck laughs and pulls Christopher into a one armed hug, he looks over the boy's head and gestures to Eddie who moves to join in as Mara comes back to finish wrapping up Bucks arm.

She gives him a well rehearsed run down of after care, joking that she knows Buck knows what to do but that she also knows with his luck it's best to be on the safe side.

By the time Christopher's things are cleared away back into his backpack, buck has already paid.

Christopher shuffles shyly up to Mara and hands her a bit of paper. It's a drawing of a tattoo gun, a bit wobbly but clearly it's meant to be a tattoo gun.

Eddie watches as the woman smiles, a little teary eyed and thanks his son proclaiming the drawing will have to be hung up somewhere in the shop.

Christopher preens.

The day's still young as the trio get back into the car, Buck suggests getting some ice cream which Christopher enthusiastically agrees. Eddie knows that ice cream on top of a chocolate milkshake will mean trouble come bed time. But how can he resist the double whammy of both Christopher and Buck's pleading eyes.

They'll be the death of him for sure.

But Eddie doesn't mind.

Today maybe the anniversary of one of the worst days of their lives, but so far it's been pretty great.

So they go and get ice cream. Christopher will make a monstrousitity of chocolate, whipped cream, sprinkles and gummy bears he won't be able to finish. But will get brain freeze from eating his too quickly and will pester Eddie for kisses to make it better. Eddie will pretend to be annoyed but secretly enjoy his boyfriend's silliness.

Today will officially become a cheat day when Buck orders from their favourite Chinese restaurant too tired to cook after running around the backyard with Chris for hours after they get home.

And when Christopher has finally crashed and has been tucked into bed Eddie will grab a couple of beers and they'll sit and watch nonsense on TV.

It'll have been a good day, better than expected but nothing majorly special. Just the three of them, together happy and healthy and whole.

And if Eddie is honest he can't imagine anything better.

Tagging @evaneddie I finally posted yay!

#9-1-1 #buddie #my fanfic #my writing #urgh i almost had a meltdown over this cuz i had to rewrite the first half after accidentally deleting it #but it's done and I'm finished

[nebula-starlight]

JSE Fanfiction - Fractured (Part 3: Concern)

First: [P] / Previous: [2] 

Log Entry _

The tracking tattoos are now in place on both of them. Even with limited contact each day I can barely stand to see the positivity Subject 2 exhibits. Naturally he knows not of the ruined world above but still...

However, on that note, perhaps I should offer what education I am able to provide to them as a reward of sorts? Neither has been rather difficult lately and I feel terrible about and I see no need to rehash old grievances yet. They deserve a chance to know of what fate befell the others who came before.

—————

He thought trying something different would help possibly encourage Subject 2 to start learning to read. While they likely would never need to use the skill, he was always one for expanding one’s view of the world. However, in their case, he planned to never allow the two to go aboveground and see the ruins of what once existed. There’d be too many endless questions if that were to occur.

So, thus, he reluctantly guided both into a spacious little den he had turned into a shrine that honored the past. In addition to holding several pieces of art from fans long gone, he also housed the shelved logs he’d created on the other discarded subjects. He silently hoped neither would find those but knowing how curious 1-A was...

“What’s this?”

He had to bring up the possibility of that happening, didn’t he? No matter, it was a simple task to envelop the binder in his magic and drift it away from prying eyes. Settling down at a desk, he briefly glanced over which file had been seen before casting it aside. Subject 3-S-1509... the one who never could speak right. Smart, yes, but language had seemed a difficult concept to grasp. Didn’t help that there had been an episode not long before his “decommissioning” and his back had been severely burned to the point of possible nerve damage. Of course that was in the past...

“What?” He spat, suddenly noticing the two sets of eyes that were focused on him as they plopped down on the cold cement floor eagerly. “You think I’d read you some...?”

The idea was insane, far more so than anything he had come up with since being forced underground. And yet, there was a hint of something softer... something he quickly ignored with a soft huff. A different thought, however, swiftly took its place, the corners of his lips briefly lifting in a cruel smile. Well if they wanted a story...

“Alright then. I suppose just this once. Who knows? Maybe you’ll learn something after all.” He opened the binder, the nicely printed pages containing his entry logs crackling slightly as he shifted to accommodate the awkward dimensions on his lap. “Now... Where to start?”

Subject 2 squirmed slightly, pressing closer to his brother for warmth, although it did not deter his enthusiasm. “At the beginning!”

“Uh, bro? Maybe not making him mad is a good start.”

He had to chuckle at their banter despite the annoyance that arose at what was likely only an honest response. “You are right, for once Subject 2. And so I shall... only I warn you this isn’t exactly-“ Shaking his head, he corrected himself quickly before accidentally giving them another term to use to describe themselves. “Never mind that, let’s see here...

“There were eight originally created. All fragmented from my- I mean from a donor soul who no longer exists. Seven of these thrived, or so I thought at first. The eighth was well... deemed brain-dead and forcefully woken to be put out of its misery.” He paused, noticing the slight shimmer present in 2-J’s eyes that he quickly tried to rub away. So his former empathy had been split as well then. Interesting...

“You say seven but why haven’t we seen anyone else here?”

Subject 1’s question was valid and rather thoughtful, he had to admit. Still, he was too curious for his own good. Not exactly reckless but just inquisitive. It reminded him almost fondly of how he used to be years ago before everything was destroyed.

“The others no longer exist. They were removed from the equation once deemed too damaged to continue to be of use.”

“Like us? Will we become that way too?” There was a slight stammer from Subject 2 as though he was still struggling with the thought of another creature dying.

“Not likely. You too already show more promise than the others.” Waving away the subject, he pushed his glasses up further on his nose and tried to return to the story they seemed to want so badly. “And besides, it wouldn’t matter now. No one else knows of this place anyway. All that’s left is just the three of us...”

“You’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?” He looked up from the pages, frowning at the defiance he thought he heard. “What did you just claim, Subject 1? That my words are untrue...?”

Shutting the binder and setting it aside on the desk, he motioned with a hand and pulled the shorter one closer to him with a sharp yank of magic. To the boy’s credit he only seemed startled once at the start, his tattoo glowing bright green as his hung where he could barely reach the floor with the tips of his feet. True to what he expected, however, Subject 2 started to plead for him to not exact punishment on what was surely an unintentional outburst.

“He... He misspoke. Please don’t-“

“Hush,” he ordered, gazing into the strangely narrowed, flickering green eyes staring back at him.

The equally sharp glare meeting his own did surprise him but he managed to avoid showing it and instead scowled in disgust at how the captive tried over and over to struggle himself free. It was truly fascinating to watch... provided the ever annoying higher pitched whining coming from the floor in front of him wasn’t trying to make him deaf.

“Say that again, 1-A...”

The glow was stronger in his eyes now, no longer flickering wildly but now a constant low hum of magic. It was weak of course but it was unmistakable. Well that wasn’t exactly how he hoped to find out they could use magic but he would adjust his plans accordingly.

“What will you do to me this time? You already burned a tracker into my arm. Got anything else ready to torture me with?”

“A challenge? Funny, the last one who openly did that was...” He paused, eyes drifting toward the other still shelved files subconsciously. Clearing his throat, he continued on without acknowledging what had happened. “Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s gone now... They all are gone. And if I hear another word to suggest otherwise...”

Several orbs of green light burst into existence with a snap of his fingers, surrounding Subject 1 who seemed to finally realize his earlier mistake as his eyes widened back out in shock. They were not made to argue his words, only to obey, and the sooner that realized that the quicker things would proceed back to normality.

“Do you understand?” He asked, glancing between both of his creations to see there was no trace of defiance in either’s gaze, only fear and worry for the other. “If so then I believe a lesson has been learned. Oh, and one more thing...”

The floating orbs crackled, sparks flying free and stinging 1-A’s skin as he stiffened and tried not to cry out. He allowed it to continue for several minutes until finally the response he desired came from the mouth of the one he had not considered would be capable of stirring up the faintest shards of pity left in him.

“Stop! Please stop hurting him. I’ll take the punishment. H-He doesn’t deserve anymore pain....” Subject 2’s voice fell, thick with emotion as he slowly got to his feet and squared his shoulders bravely. “Moving hurts him enough as is. Let me bare it.”

“Oh, alright.”

The orbs vanished just as quickly as they had appeared, leaving the floating subject to groan and perhaps even try to speak but went limp instead so that the magic around him was now supporting an unconscious being. Despite the several pockets of darker skin from where the sparks had hit more frequently than others, he looked relatively fine, if otherwise wiped out.

Growling under his breath, he snatched up one of Subject 2’s hands and pulled him hastily from the room as the magic drifted along in front of him. “Come along, you can tend to him once back in confinement.” 

———

“I’m just a waste of space. That’s all there is...”

He leaned forward curiously to listen in on what the camera’s auditory sensors picked up. It hadn’t been long since he left them and yet he had been intrigued enough to continue to watch them.

Subject 2 went to his sibling, taking care to be gentle as he placed his hands on the other’s cheeks. “Brother, no. That isn’t true. Look at me, that isn’t-“

“Then why did he make me? I can’t use magic... can’t defend myself... Maybe one of the others should have been in my place. Just useless...”

He frowned, thinking back to the event earlier. Surely he sensed magic within the boy. There was no other reason his eyes glowed green like they had unless... Unless he was more corrupt than he originally thought. Perhaps he’d have to test for that relatively soon?

“No... It- It can’t be right. Who else would teach me stuff? Or... Or fit just so against my chest like they were meant to be there.”

Even though he was deep in his musings he still heard the stuttered response and, despite himself, a faint smile lifted the corners of his lips. They really did trust so strongly in their brother, didn’t they? It was almost like the trio was...

No, he couldn’t be reminded of that now! Those three had received the full brunt of his wrath for trying to stage a mutiny against him. It’s why he later kept it so only two were awake at a time. But to think 1-A and 2-J had come so close to finding out the truth... That their brothers had each escaped from their own imprisonment and managed to disappear. How exactly he wasn’t sure, it was still blurry whenever he tried to remember that day in particular. Not unlike...

His hands froze over the keys, mind racing as the sound he thought he heard earlier from Anti became clear. It wasn’t the thrum of magic but, instead, the beginning stages of static starting to build. That would need to be shut down sooner rather than later. If that glitch even knew what abilities could manifest as a result...

Well, he had an idea of how to shut any experimentation down fairly quick.

Next: [4]

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #jse fanfiction #fractured #dark times ahead #can i give those boys a hug? #yes the Creator did call 1-A by his name #maybe harder to separate feelings from duty?

[sartle-blog]

Monet: The Late Years at the De Young

  Two years ago, the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco put on a show called “Monet: the Early Years.” To no one’s surprise, it was a smash hit, so they decided to team up with the folks at the Kimbell Art Museum once again with a show that this time features the later works of Claude Monet, focusing primarily on the period between 1913 and 1926.

  The work produced in his middle years--after his youth, when he identified as part of the Barbizon school, and before this later period now on display at the De Young--is probably Monet at his most recognizable. They’re the days he spearheaded the Impressionist movement, when he and friends like Degas and Manet began capturing the momentary, fleeting effects of light and weather with the help of free, loose brushstrokes and radical new compositions. And you definitely know his body of work from this time. It’s the endless sunrises and sunsets, gardenscapes, and various series of Cathedrals and haystacks.

   Haystacks for dayzzz.  

  The first room of the new exhibit lulls you into a false sense of security. “Ahh yes, THIS is Monet,” you say to yourself as you enter the room, full of works from the 1890’s. There may not be any haystacks, but there are many pleasant views of his garden at Giverny, that Mecca for all Monet lovers. This room serves to introduce us to his beloved garden, where he spent the majority of his time for the last two decades of his life.

  The Japanese Footbridge. 1899. National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

  Monet worked on that garden for forty years, and he approached gardening with the same intensity and passion for color as he did his painting. With an artist’s eye, trained from his years of experience painting en plein air, he arranged the flower beds, trees, arches of roses, and his darling lily pond into compositions that would be ideal for painting. He planted red and gold flowers in areas with Westerly views to maximize the effects of sunset. He sprinkled white blooms between darker hued blue ones to create sense of sparkle. He planted pink flowers behind red ones to enhance the atmospheric effects of light at different times of day. He banned plants with variegated foliage because they looked too busy.

  Water Lilies. Ca. 1914-1917. Legion of Honor.

  And perhaps Monet's greatest labor of love was his Japanese lily pond. He fought with local government to divert part of the Epte river just to create the darned thing, which his neighbors protested for fear the exotic plants would hurt their livestock, but won in the end. He specifically chose plants of Japanese and Chinese origin to go in his pond, creating an Asian aesthetic likely inspired by his vast collection of Japanese woodblock prints. He planted bamboo and plum trees around it and built the now famous bridge, adorning it with wisteria. And of course, he filled the pond with lilies, employing a gardener just to dust them off every day and arrange them in attractive positions in relation to each other. If you aren't employing a lily duster, what are you even doing?

  Close-up of Water-lily Pond. 1917-1919. Private collection.

  The exhibit contains two enormous rooms dedicated to these waterlilies, with many stunning grand canvases on loan from such places as the Saint Louis Art Museum and the Marmottan Monet Museum. These lilies are where we start seeing Monet break new ground in territory never previously covered by painters. He plays with the tensions of up and down, surface and depth, sometimes allowing paint to pile up in layers that themselves evoke recession into space, before allowing a single stroke denoting a further-away object to contradict your spatial reasoning. Furthermore, he tilts the canvas up, removing all reference points for the viewer, who can no longer see the shore or bridge, pulling the ground out from under us and leaving us wondering, “Where are we? What is our point of view? Are we in the pond, among the reflections and weeds?”

  Basically what it feels like to stand in front of these paintings.

  No one had ever eliminated reference points to this extent before, except perhaps photographers, so this was truly revolutionary. It wasn’t enough for Monet to just create the Impressionist movement, he had to go and do yet another revolutionary thing!  And from here, I’m just going to say it, things start to get funky. “THIS is Monet???” you may find yourself saying.

  Path Under the Rose Arches, Giverny. 1920-1922. Marmottan Monet Museum.

  His last decade or so was marked by a number of tragedies. At this point, he has outlived the members of the impressionist circle. His second wife, Alice Hoschedé, has been dead since 1911, and his eldest son, Jean, since 1914. His vision is being marred by cataracts, and the first World War has shattered the world as he knew it. The artwork produced during this time is shocking. Yes, the subject matter is still his garden, but there is a radical departure from his previous works. Form itself starts to dissolve, leaving the viewer with an image so abstract it becomes pure sensory experience, almost along the lines of Ellsworth Kelly or Joan Mitchell. In fact, it coincides with the birth of abstract painting in other parts of Europe. Something about that first World War just necessitated abstraction, which is often thought of as a sort of coping method to deal with the trauma it inflicted, for Kandinsky and co. but quite possibly for Monet, too, whose home was close to the front lines.

  The Japanese Bridge. 1918. Marmottan Monet Museum.

  There’s a temptation to dismiss the radical works Monet produced in this time as the product of his vision difficulties, just like all those people who say that you can really tell Beethoven was deaf when he wrote his ninth symphony. It’s a way to not have to confront the challenges the work presents. And while it’s true that those cataracts did alter Monet’s perception of color, the curators of this lovingly-organized show work hard to demonstrate that Monet carefully arranged his paints on his palette so that he knew what colors he was using when, that his brushstrokes and choices were deliberate and thoughtful, and that maybe Monet doesn’t have to fit into that little late-19th century box we’ve stuffed him into. Maybe he was tackling new ground even in the relative isolation of his twilight years. He was still forging ahead even after he created his grand murals of waterlilies as a gift to the people of France, continually reinventing himself. 

Monet's motto (probably).

While the large number of waterlily paintings may admittedly get on some people’s nerves, if you let yourself float into the repetition, the differences will appear, shimmering and mesmerizing, as if a key into unlocking the artist’s meditations. The long galleries of the De Young allow these works to be displayed to their best advantage, and as you turn around in a room full of waterlilies, you’ll feel as if you yourself are in the pond. My only complaint of the show is that it barely addresses the rise of abstraction elsewhere and what exposure Monet may have had to it. (Although it does indeed mention that he detested cubism, and that he wouldn't even look upon it because “it would only make [him] angry.”)  

    Ultimately, the show is a surprising and wonderful investigation of an indomitable artist working despite many setbacks and creating something wildly new even in his waning years. If you can’t make it to Paris any time soon to see the L’Orangerie Museum or the Marmottan Monet Museum, this is the next best thing. Monet’s garden seems to come alive as his model and mistress, lush, breathing, and quivering with every drip of paint, as we follow him in his quest of the elusive views that will make his heart soar even in the face of tragedy.

  The show is a triumph. Also, it’s really, really pretty.

  “Monet: The Late Years” runs at the De Young through May 27, 2019, before heading the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth. More information can be found here.

By: Jeannette Baisch Sturman

#claude monet #french impressionism #impressionism #de young museum #fine arts museums of san francisco #kimbell art museum #art news #art exhibition #serious art history #gardening #san francisco #art museum #press preview #art exhibit

[withinthescripts]

Season 2, Cassette 7: Sree Chitra Art Gallery (1979)

Jeffrey Cranor: Hey, the holidays are fast approaching, so maybe get your podcast-loving friends and/or family members some cool new Within the Wires shirts and a fabulous art print of Claudia Atieno’s “Child With Damsefly”, created by artist Jessica Hayworth. These are available at withinthewires.com. And now, an audio guide of the Sree Chitra Art Gallery, 1979.

[tape recorder turns on]

Hello and welcome to the Sree Chitra Art Gallery. I am the gallery director, Clarissa Nair. If you are listening to this audio guide, then you are currently experiencing our Reflections exhibition. We have dedicated ourselves to find a range of works by some of the world’s most highly regarded contemporary artists. With this exhibition, we aim to confront art’s role of a reflection of the society in which it is created, by featuring a series of works that depict a reflection themselves. If art is itself a mirror, what can we say about what we see contained within art? It is up to each of us to decide for ourselves. All of us at the Sree Chitra would like to welcome celebrated artist and scholar Roimata Mangakāhia to provide her insights on this audio guide. As this series includes two of her own works, we hope you will find a glimpse behind the process enlightening.

[bell chimes]

Humanity has always been obsessed with its reflection. The famed tale of Narcissus is remembered so well, in part because it is the tale of all of us. We look for reflections of humanity in the movements of the stars, in a tree that grows through a trick of chance to embrace another tree, in the cat that defies its stars to become best friends with a dog. We anthropomorphize wildly, perhaps from a desire to feel that we are not alone, that we are not the only thinking, feeling, planning beings in the universe. But because we look so hard for our own reflection, we can never really trust its view. Do otters hold hands when they sleep because of intimacy, or is it simply the instinctive awareness that if they lose each other in the moving waters, they will be more likely to die?

It is a question that doesn’t matter to the vast majority of the population, of course. Who would want an honest answer, when willful ignorance makes the world so much easier to deal with? But it is worth considering the fact that our view of ourselves as we see it reflected in the world around us is subject to the most determined of biases. 

It is not necessary that you consider these issues while viewing this exhibition. You are here to enjoy yourself, after all. And thoughts like this can lead to melancholy. They shouldn’t really when you think about it. The instinctual drive of animals doesn’t lessen the choices and feelings of people, but there are thoughts worth pondering at some point. So perhaps you will save them for some melancholy afternoon, when the sun is low and the air is still and the world demands nothing from you.

For now, let us consider the works on display.

[bell chimes]

One. “Women Alone” by Vanessa Wynn.

I have always believed that Vanessa Wynn has never had the kind of attention she deserves for her work. At the beginning of her career, one or two key critics described her work as derivative, and she became rather unfashionable. With the distance of time, however, and with a bit more information, we are perhaps better placed to question that assessment.

This particular painting features a group of three women. They are similar looking, perhaps sisters, grouped around a pool of water. Notice the bleak sky above them, and the skeletal trees. But the women themselves appear happy and comfortable, with their dark hair shining and their expressions peaceful. The woman in the center even has her eyes closed, not in sleep, but in bliss.

Their reflections in the pool, however, tell a different story. Look into the pool, deeply. All similarity between the three women is gone. The woman on the left has grown tall and imposing. Her hair has a vibrant silver, her face haggard and haughty, her eyes accusing as they gaze out at the viewer. What is she accusing you of? What have you done?

Opposite her, the woman on the left looks faded. Her entire being is cast over with a sheen of grey. There is an absence about her. She gazes out of the canvas, but not quite directly at the viewer. See how her gaze is unfocused. She is small and weighed down by hair that, rather than being the glossy black of her original is a muted, faded brown.

The woman in the middle, the one in sleepy bliss, has changed the least at first glance into this pool. You can see how her hair is still glossy, her arms are still plump, her body still seems relaxed. Her eyes, which are closed in reality, are open in the pool. In fact, they are widened. The irises are bright red and seem almost luminous. The widening of her eyes in a face that still seems calm lends a certain manic energy to the figure, don’t you think?

Look at her eyes. What can she see that you cannot? Do you wish you could see it too? Or is it better not to know?

Painted in wide strokes, the images in the painting seem almost to blend into each other. With a careless glance it’s easy to mistake the reflected image for the real. Look at the painting with great care.

The first time I saw this painting, I took it for the copy of one I’d seen many times before. But this was painted much too long ago for that to be possible.

[bell chimes]

Two. “Self-Portrait” by Roimata Mangakāhia.

It is never easy to discuss one’s won work. It is difficult enough to reduce the grand visions that flow through your head into oil and canvas. Trying to find words to talk about the oil and canvas of it reduces it further still. This is made all the harder naturally when the work in question is a self-portrait. A self-portrait is an inherently introspective work. It is an artist’s attempt to better understand themselves. It is not necessarily an attempt to explain. It is not necessarily an act of communication.

Nevertheless, I started this self-portrait when staying in my friend Claudia Atieno’s house off the coast of Cornwall. I was there for some time, and during that time, I became much better acquainted with the artists I talk about on this guide. The painting was done in my own room in the house, a small room on the top level, with a small mirror. The painting shows my face partially reflected in the mirror. I’m not looking at myself properly. It’s as if I’ve just glanced up and there it is, reflecting half my face back at me. I look casual, careless, as if I am moving swiftly through life. This is just an effect, of course, I studied my attitude and expression carefully as I made this painting.

Study. My. Attitude. My expression. Study it with whatever care you can muster.

Over my shoulder, you can see some of the room. A bed haphazardly made, a chair playing at being a coat rack. A window. It is a simple picture of a simple person in her simple room going about her simple life. But no life is really simple when you pay attention to the details.  

Look through the window and you can see grass leading to the edge of the island, with the sea beyond it. there are a few trees scattered around. At the very edge of the cliff. Slight and indistinct from this distance, just a dot in the middle of a reflection, there is a figure standing, waiting to jump.

[bell chimes] [tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on] [bell chimes]

Three. “The Three Sisters” by Claudia Atieno.

“The Three Sisters” was one of Claudia’s most successful works in the middle of her career. It is presumed to be inspired by Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” and is certainly far from the only work depicting that particular play. The three women are placed around a low pool of water on a bleak moor. Their figures rendered in bold, wide brush strokes, and it’s difficult sometimes to see where one figure starts and one ends.

The women all look alike, comfortable and happy in their barren surroundings. Their hair is long and unbound, flowing in black waves over their shoulders. They smile softly, and the one in the middle has her eyes closed in something like bliss.

The women, or something like them, are reflected in the pool in front of them. Their reflections tell a different story, a story of three witches. One of the witches, as you can clearly see, has grown tall and gaunt, her reflected face distorted by the ripples of the water is full of malice and rage. Her iron colored hair is tangled, and her lips are curled in hate. Opposite her reflection is that of one of her sisters. She appears small and wizened, with a look of great cunning on her face, with a faded appearance. She gives the impression somehow that she is sneaking into the background of your life to wreak havoc without even being noticed. Her countenance is distorted and wry. She looks like a person who likes to hide in kitchen cupboards. You can see her. Do you agree?

The woman in the middle, the one with her eyes closed, is the only one reflected at all close to her original form. Her hair is still a gleaming black. Her face still smiles slightly, her body is still plump and relaxed. But her eyes are open, widened. Her eyes are a terrible blinding red.

Look at her red eyes. What does she see? Does she see her doppelgänger across the room? Is she confused as to who was born first? It is difficult to say what begets what.

Looking at the whole painting, this could be simply a trio of witches from a play. It could be about the inherent duplicitousness of human nature, the attract of serenity we show to the world and the turmoil we conceal. It could be about the risks of trusting anyone too much. Of the impossibility of guessing at someone’s true nature or motives.

What is trust? Can you find it in a painting?

You will think it odd perhaps to have two such similar paintings in one exhibition. “Three Sisters” is considered by many to be one of Atieno’s definitive works, so its presence here is hardly mysterious. As to Wynn’s piece that is on loan from my own private collection, I felt it was important for you to see it. Feel free to pause the cassette and go look at “Women Alone” again on the opposite wall. Or just wail til the audio guide is finished. It is almost finished.

It is an interesting thing to have loved and admired someone so much, to have stood in awe of their work, to have enjoyed their company, to have trusted their integrity. When you lose that feeling of admiration, it is as if you have lost the person themselves. The person you loved is gone, and in their place stands a stranger who wears their skin.

Is it only when someone has betrayed you personally that you are allowed to feel betrayed? If your affection and admiration for someone is bound up in an image of them that turns out to be false, are you not right to feel anger?

Vanessa’s career was ruined by the suspicion that she copied Atieno’s work, but it’s simply not what happened. I do not know when Atieno began work on “The Three Sisters”, but it did not premiere until 1967. “Women Alone” was being painted as early as 1963. I saw it unfinished at Vanessa’s studio in Cardiff. I remember this because Vanessa told me that Claudia Atieno had attended an exhibition of Vanessa’s work at a gallery in Munich. Vanessa and I were young artists, swayed by celebrity. We swooned and smiled about this fortuitous moment in Vanessa’s young career.

Claudia asked Vanessa what else she was creating. Vanessa told her about “Women Alone”. Claudia told her it was a brilliant concept, and that Vanessa was just the artist to pull it off. “But I do not like the title,” Claudia told her. “In art, framing is all.”

I’ll never forget that. Framing is all. I took it to mean that how you title your piece sets the tone for the viewer’s experience. But as I saw “The Three Sisters” go up at the grand opening of the Musem of Contemporary Art in Chicago, I knew she meant framing literally. Getting it on the wall. Get the idea into a frame and it is yours. Framing. Is. All.

Vanessa showed “Women Alone” at a private exhibit in London, and Alphra Bond of The Times ridiculed the young artist, calling her a plagiarist, stealing from an artist too famous to be copied without people noticing. Bond thought Vanessa should have at least taken an idea from a lesser known but more thought-provoking artist. Bond conceded she liked Vanessa’s version better, but the implications of thievery and the fact that Vanessa refused to admit anything, nor apologize, led to fewer and fewer showings of her work.

I bought “Women Alone” from her two years ago. I know its truth. I know what the reflected woman with the red eyes sees.

I’m sorry. This is perhaps a debate for a different medium. We are here to talk about art, after all. But then shouldn’t art concern itself with honesty? A discussion for another time, I suppose. Did you go back and look at “Women Alone” again? Well, do that now.

[tape recorder turns off]

“Within the Wires” is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson, and performed by Rima Te Wiata, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Clarissa Nair was Lily Papkin. [ads] And forget your holiday shopping for your podcast-loving friends and family by going to withinthewires.com and checking out our new T-shirts and Claudia Atieno artprint.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum gift shop, grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about [Hollandaise sauce]. Pick up a poster featuring [Elton John touching your face], and buy a commemorative vase made out of [your own butt].

#within the wires #within the wires transcripts #season 2 #season 2 cassette 7 #Sree Chitra Art Gallery (1979)

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Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House

Earlier this month we took the whole family (dog included!) up to Brooklyn for a few days to put together the space we’ve be designing for this year’s Real Simple Idea House over the past five or so months.

I realize there’s a lot to unpack in that sentence (especially if you missed our podcast episode or Instagram stories about it) so we’ll catch you up right here and show you the *almost* finished space. And explain what’s still left to be done before their big photoshoot for the magazine and tell you about how some last-minute curveballs actually made the room better. And tell you what they do with everything in the house once the idea home is all said & done. That’s a lot of ands, so buckle up because we have a lot to tell ya.

side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | rug | octopus

This is the second year that Real Simple magazine has taken over a home in Brooklyn, assigned each room to a different “designer” (there’s typically a mix of certified interior designers & bloggers & design TV personalities, etc) and then they photograph the finished spaces for their magazine (this one will featured be in their October issue). Here’s last year’s house which we loved following along (especially since our friends Jenny Komenda & Sabrina Soto each got a room in that house.

We were completely surprised & extremely thrilled when they asked us if we wanted to do a room this year – and they assigned us the “guest room/playroom” – which felt just perfect for us (we love multi-function rooms, especially when it involves balancing the needs of both grown-ups and kids… even if the family is imaginary in this case).

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

So since March we’ve worked remotely with the Real Simple team to make this room happen. They sent us pictures (like the one below) and measurements and floor plans, we sent back design plans and a mood board and a floor plan and links to each product selection. Everything had to be approved by their editors (they didn’t want a certain space to feel wildly incongruous with any of the other rooms and they also didn’t want duplicate or too-similar items or ideas from space to space) so it was a fascinating puzzle to put together from afar.

Once everything that we ordered had arrived in the room, we spent one marathon day putting things in place and navigating some 11th hour challenges that are inevitable in these types of projects. We didn’t get EVERYTHING completed (most notably our long white curtains were back-ordered so they’ll go up later – which will completely soften that industrial back wall so it looks a lot more like the rest of the room) but it’s around 95% done in these pictures, and the Real Simple crew will get it to full 100% before their photographer comes in.

And yes, those are our son’s feet poking out in the picture above and our daughter is laying on the bed under a blanket. We decided to make this a big family trip – mostly because we wanted to see relatives and friends in the NYC/NJ area while we were up there, but also because we thought it’d be fun for our kids to see us tackle this firsthand. It was basically one big “take your kids to work” adventure, and they both got into it and started suggesting what they’d like (our daughter even sketched out some ideas on her little magnetic drawing tablet), and they both served as “quality control” to make sure the beanbag was comfy and the rug was soft enough to roll on. In short: it was a ton of fun to have them there.

In any of these combo rooms, there can definitely be a range of percentages when it comes to the balance. For example, sometimes people have a playroom with a futon in it and it’s 95% playroom, and 5% guest room (that futon is literally the only guest room-ish thing about it, and it’s used very rarely).

mirror | side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | poufs | quilt | rug | octopus

In this case, the brief from Real Simple was to make it look mostly like a guest room, so any grown up would walk in and love it and want to sleep there, but to also work in some kids stuff – both hidden (in storage bins, baskets, behind closed drawers, etc) and on display (on open shelves, in lidless baskets, etc). So I’d call this room’s particular percentage 75% guest room & 25% playroom. When you’re tackling a multi-use space like this, do whatever percentage actually works functionally and feels right for your home (remember, this is an imaginary family).

As for pulling this room’s design together, I’ve been obsessed with this daybed for years, so it was the launch point for the whole room as soon as Real Simple said that a single bed was their preference for the space. Picture me punching the air and screaming “I GET TO USE MY DREAM DAYBED!!!!”

light | baskets | daybed | wallpaper | art | poufs | pillows | quilt | rug | chair | table

Daybeds are also great because they can function as both a bed (when it’s in guest room mode) and a couch (when it’s in playroom mode). We also balanced some other needs for both functions with some other furniture choices. A nice big side table with books & mags for a guest along with a reading lamp checks the guest room box, while some large lidded storage baskets on the other side of the bed checked the playroom box (see photo above).

The wallpaper was also sort of a happy accident too. The original wallpaper we had suggested was also very tone-on-tone and I had picked it because I LOVED how playful the pattern was (look how cute!). Since it was still an extremely neutral color palette, but the pattern was fun for kids, I thought it would be perfect for this dual space, but the editors worried it might skew too playroom so we selected this more affordable palm one instead. We love how the room turned out, but I still love the original wallpaper pick too – so if you’re creating a playroom or a kids room, I think it would be so much fun (heck, as a grown woman I’d like it in my space too).

mirror | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | octopus

I am just in love with that octopus, as were the kids. What is it about a big stuffed animal with a slightly dopey expression that steals your heart? Also, some of our pillow fills hadn’t arrived yet so that droopy bolster pillow below is stuffed with spare bath towels. THE MAGIC OF PHOTO STYLING, EVERYBODY! Also this large print from Juniper Print Shop was such a perfect solution (all the right colors, looked great with the wallpaper, and feels like a kid would love staring at it just as much as a grown up – in fact our kids asked us whose house it was – ha!).

daybed | wallpaper | art | pillows | quilt

Another playroom “must” for us is a table or desk that can serve as a craft/art/game space. This room had very little wall space (aside from the bed wall, it was pretty much all windows, closets, and doors) so we knew a floating desk or table was our best bet. A round table is always great in these scenarios and we knew our drop-leaf table would earn bonus points because the leaves can be folded down to make it more compact if needed. Plus there’s room for two blue-gray chairs that can be moved to any of the four sides of the table. Flexible furniture is always a win.

So we just hoped when we showed up that we could make it work, and we love how it looks by the windows. Imagine coloring or doing a puzzle there while looking outside on a gorgeous sunny day. Please also imagine my double wide white flowy curtains because all of that industrial black frame that you see below will be muuuuuch softer once they’re hung. I can’t wait to see the photos from the magazine because it’s going to be yet another demonstration about how curtains completely change a room. Stay tuned…

wallpaper | rug | chairs | table | beanbag

This room is also great because it had two matching closets along the wall to the right of the window above. Why is that great? Well, it was a no-brainer to make one useful for guests (their clothes, a suitcase, etc) and use the other one for kids storage (games, books, art supplies, etc). The guest closet is being outfitted by professional organizers (they’re doing pretty much every other closet in the house too, as well as the pantry) so our task was to tackle the kids closet, which we wanted to make open and accessible – and cute enough to be in plain view 24/7… so our first step was to remove the sliding doors.

I realize that “doors off” approach could sound counterintuitive since the fastest way to clean up for guests is to just throw stuff behind closed doors, but we’ve found that can also breed Monica closets (especially when toys are involved). Plus this is an idea house… how fun would this room be if we just had kids stuff hiding behind a closed door? So instead, we got to create this little nook full of functional storage that looks good too (the stenciled dresser is such a great piece that’s easy on the eyes yet super smart for storing things out of sight).

chairs | table | beanbag | dresser | shelves | wallpaper

So at least consider creating some storage like this in your home, which can fend off the urge to shove everything into a closet, and instead create a manageable and simple system for things (both concealed and out in the open) so that you love looking at it. When everything has a legit spot to go back to after it’s done being played with, it really isn’t very hard to maintain (and even kids can clean up on autopilot).

Another example of this concept is the back wall of our bonus room in our house, where we have concealed cabinets for storing games and art supplies and puzzles and even bonus guest blankets and pillows for when people sleep in there, but also has fun open shelving so you walk in and see some playful and very functional items right out in the open.

But back to the idea room. These shelves were actually our biggest hiccup in the plan, and they’re what ended up taking up the biggest chunk of time during our install day. Our original shelves were backordered, but we didn’t find that out with enough time to order new ones.

Originally we were going to do colorful shelves full of books & toys, but physically being in the room that day made it clear that this wall needed some wood tones to balance out the daybed and the other lovely wood tones on the other side of the space.

HOORAY FOR THE COLORFUL SHELF DELAY! It truly was the best hiccup we could have asked for, because these wood shelves made the room turn out so much better than it would have if those hadn’t been backordered. After we arrived, we immediately began hunting for options that were in stock and available that day, and landed on these LISABO shelves from Ikea. And there was an Ikea like 15 minutes from the house in Brooklyn so we were able to have them in hand by lunchtime!

We filmed a whole segment with Real Simple about hanging the shelves (who knows if we were coherent enough for them to use it but we’ll share it if/when it comes out), and you can see that the more neutral shelves still ended up looking colorful and fun, thanks to the addition of some toys and books and blocks.

And I know the idea of color-coding your shelves can be eye-roll inducing, but it ended up being great for this tiny space. I wasn’t super Type-A about it. I just quickly tossed things together mostly by color… but there’s yellow & pink in that top right corner and orange & hot pink in the top left, so it’s not anything that took too long or was overwrought.

In fact it took us about 1.5 hours to hang these shelves (two words: cinderblock walls) but it took me like 9 minutes to style them. Not kidding. And the cool thing is that as people use items and kids grow and change, shelves evolve too. Open shelves aren’t a museum. Nobody has to painstakingly put things back the same way each time. It’s actually fun to try different groupings, and this rainbow-ish approach made our eyes happy, but the shelves in our bonus room have changed so much over the years. It’s all gonna be ok. Don’t stress. Just put things you like to look at on open shelves and hide stuff you don’t wanna see in concealed cabinets or drawers or baskets or bins. Truly, it’s a simple system that you can actually can keep up with.

A note on the shelves themselves, because they exceeded our expectations by like a million. I had never personally heard of or seen these shelves before (they said “new” on the Ikea site when John dug them up on his phone in that panicked we-have-to-find-something-today search) but I’m SUPER impressed by them. They’re very solid, relatively easy to hang (would’ve taken about 10 mins per shelf if we didn’t have cinderblock walls which required a masonry bit), and the wood tone is perfect. Blonde and casual. Smooth & expensive looking. But not.

And since we know keeping picture-perfect shelves isn’t realistic for all of your toys, we always like to incorporate some closed toy storage too – like the chest of drawers underneath the shelves and those large floor baskets across the room that we mentioned earlier.

Oh, I also think we need to buy a beanbag now. Our kids were obsessed with this one. Like the chairs were chumps. They both wanted to be ON THE BEANBAG AT ALL TIMES.

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

I’m so excited to see the finished pictures of this space in Real Simple’s October issue. Plus there are so many other amazing spaces that we already got to see in various states of near-completion, like Mandi’s master bedroom and Shavonda & Carmeon’s office. Speaking of which, we overlapped Shavonda and Carmeon‘s visit and it was SO. MUCH. FUN. to finally meet them both in person. We’ve been IG buddies for ages (you might remember that Shavonda talked to us about downsizing on our podcast last year) so hanging with them was the perfect end to an extremely fun day.

Plus Shavonda got this sweet picture of me and John where we look like we’re wearing one large black t-shirt with three arm-holes. If that ain’t marriage, I don’t know what is.

Oh, and as for what happens to all of this stuff and this house when the photos are taken for Real Simple’s October issue… well, the house gets sold and the furniture gets auctioned off for a good cause! I love that nothing goes to waste, and in creating such a fun space, everything ends up benefiting people who need a helping hand. They haven’t picked this year’s charity yet, but when they do I’ll let you know.

So thanks, Real Simple! It was Real Fun ;) #MomJokes4Days

P.S. If you’d like to see other rooms we’ve designed for a good cause, we loved doing this very special room makeover for a local family, this teacher’s lounge for a local school, and these three bedroom makeovers for three amazing kids.

*This post contains affiliate links

The post Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House appeared first on Young House Love.

Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House published first on https://bakerskitchenslimited.tumblr.com/

[additionallysad]

Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House https://ift.tt/2OteqeE

Earlier this month we took the whole family (dog included!) up to Brooklyn for a few days to put together the space we’ve be designing for this year’s Real Simple Idea House over the past five or so months.

I realize there’s a lot to unpack in that sentence (especially if you missed our podcast episode or Instagram stories about it) so we’ll catch you up right here and show you the *almost* finished space. And explain what’s still left to be done before their big photoshoot for the magazine and tell you about how some last-minute curveballs actually made the room better. And tell you what they do with everything in the house once the idea home is all said & done. That’s a lot of ands, so buckle up because we have a lot to tell ya.

side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | rug | octopus

This is the second year that Real Simple magazine has taken over a home in Brooklyn, assigned each room to a different “designer” (there’s typically a mix of certified interior designers & bloggers & design TV personalities, etc) and then they photograph the finished spaces for their magazine (this one will featured be in their October issue). Here’s last year’s house which we loved following along (especially since our friends Jenny Komenda & Sabrina Soto each got a room in that house.

We were completely surprised & extremely thrilled when they asked us if we wanted to do a room this year – and they assigned us the “guest room/playroom” – which felt just perfect for us (we love multi-function rooms, especially when it involves balancing the needs of both grown-ups and kids… even if the family is imaginary in this case).

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

So since March we’ve worked remotely with the Real Simple team to make this room happen. They sent us pictures (like the one below) and measurements and floor plans, we sent back design plans and a mood board and a floor plan and links to each product selection. Everything had to be approved by their editors (they didn’t want a certain space to feel wildly incongruous with any of the other rooms and they also didn’t want duplicate or too-similar items or ideas from space to space) so it was a fascinating puzzle to put together from afar.

Once everything that we ordered had arrived in the room, we spent one marathon day putting things in place and navigating some 11th hour challenges that are inevitable in these types of projects. We didn’t get EVERYTHING completed (most notably our long white curtains were back-ordered so they’ll go up later – which will completely soften that industrial back wall so it looks a lot more like the rest of the room) but it’s around 95% done in these pictures, and the Real Simple crew will get it to full 100% before their photographer comes in.

And yes, those are our son’s feet poking out in the picture above and our daughter is laying on the bed under a blanket. We decided to make this a big family trip – mostly because we wanted to see relatives and friends in the NYC/NJ area while we were up there, but also because we thought it’d be fun for our kids to see us tackle this firsthand. It was basically one big “take your kids to work” adventure, and they both got into it and started suggesting what they’d like (our daughter even sketched out some ideas on her little magnetic drawing tablet), and they both served as “quality control” to make sure the beanbag was comfy and the rug was soft enough to roll on. In short: it was a ton of fun to have them there.

In any of these combo rooms, there can definitely be a range of percentages when it comes to the balance. For example, sometimes people have a playroom with a futon in it and it’s 95% playroom, and 5% guest room (that futon is literally the only guest room-ish thing about it, and it’s used very rarely).

mirror | side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | poufs | quilt | rug | octopus

In this case, the brief from Real Simple was to make it look mostly like a guest room, so any grown up would walk in and love it and want to sleep there, but to also work in some kids stuff – both hidden (in storage bins, baskets, behind closed drawers, etc) and on display (on open shelves, in lidless baskets, etc). So I’d call this room’s particular percentage 75% guest room & 25% playroom. When you’re tackling a multi-use space like this, do whatever percentage actually works functionally and feels right for your home (remember, this is an imaginary family).

As for pulling this room’s design together, I’ve been obsessed with this daybed for years, so it was the launch point for the whole room as soon as Real Simple said that a single bed was their preference for the space. Picture me punching the air and screaming “I GET TO USE MY DREAM DAYBED!!!!”

light | baskets | daybed | wallpaper | art | poufs | pillows | quilt | rug | chair | table

Daybeds are also great because they can function as both a bed (when it’s in guest room mode) and a couch (when it’s in playroom mode). We also balanced some other needs for both functions with some other furniture choices. A nice big side table with books & mags for a guest along with a reading lamp checks the guest room box, while some large lidded storage baskets on the other side of the bed checked the playroom box (see photo above).

The wallpaper was also sort of a happy accident too. The original wallpaper we had suggested was also very tone-on-tone and I had picked it because I LOVED how playful the pattern was (look how cute!). Since it was still an extremely neutral color palette, but the pattern was fun for kids, I thought it would be perfect for this dual space, but the editors worried it might skew too playroom so we selected this more affordable palm one instead. We love how the room turned out, but I still love the original wallpaper pick too – so if you’re creating a playroom or a kids room, I think it would be so much fun (heck, as a grown woman I’d like it in my space too).

mirror | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | octopus

I am just in love with that octopus, as were the kids. What is it about a big stuffed animal with a slightly dopey expression that steals your heart? Also, some of our pillow fills hadn’t arrived yet so that droopy bolster pillow below is stuffed with spare bath towels. THE MAGIC OF PHOTO STYLING, EVERYBODY! Also this large print from Juniper Print Shop was such a perfect solution (all the right colors, looked great with the wallpaper, and feels like a kid would love staring at it just as much as a grown up – in fact our kids asked us whose house it was – ha!).

daybed | wallpaper | art | pillows | quilt

Another playroom “must” for us is a table or desk that can serve as a craft/art/game space. This room had very little wall space (aside from the bed wall, it was pretty much all windows, closets, and doors) so we knew a floating desk or table was our best bet. A round table is always great in these scenarios and we knew our drop-leaf table would earn bonus points because the leaves can be folded down to make it more compact if needed. Plus there’s room for two blue-gray chairs that can be moved to any of the four sides of the table. Flexible furniture is always a win.

So we just hoped when we showed up that we could make it work, and we love how it looks by the windows. Imagine coloring or doing a puzzle there while looking outside on a gorgeous sunny day. Please also imagine my double wide white flowy curtains because all of that industrial black frame that you see below will be muuuuuch softer once they’re hung. I can’t wait to see the photos from the magazine because it’s going to be yet another demonstration about how curtains completely change a room. Stay tuned…

wallpaper | rug | chairs | table | beanbag

This room is also great because it had two matching closets along the wall to the right of the window above. Why is that great? Well, it was a no-brainer to make one useful for guests (their clothes, a suitcase, etc) and use the other one for kids storage (games, books, art supplies, etc). The guest closet is being outfitted by professional organizers (they’re doing pretty much every other closet in the house too, as well as the pantry) so our task was to tackle the kids closet, which we wanted to make open and accessible – and cute enough to be in plain view 24/7… so our first step was to remove the sliding doors.

I realize that “doors off” approach could sound counterintuitive since the fastest way to clean up for guests is to just throw stuff behind closed doors, but we’ve found that can also breed Monica closets (especially when toys are involved). Plus this is an idea house… how fun would this room be if we just had kids stuff hiding behind a closed door? So instead, we got to create this little nook full of functional storage that looks good too (the stenciled dresser is such a great piece that’s easy on the eyes yet super smart for storing things out of sight).

chairs | table | beanbag | dresser | shelves | wallpaper

So at least consider creating some storage like this in your home, which can fend off the urge to shove everything into a closet, and instead create a manageable and simple system for things (both concealed and out in the open) so that you love looking at it. When everything has a legit spot to go back to after it’s done being played with, it really isn’t very hard to maintain (and even kids can clean up on autopilot).

Another example of this concept is the back wall of our bonus room in our house, where we have concealed cabinets for storing games and art supplies and puzzles and even bonus guest blankets and pillows for when people sleep in there, but also has fun open shelving so you walk in and see some playful and very functional items right out in the open.

But back to the idea room. These shelves were actually our biggest hiccup in the plan, and they’re what ended up taking up the biggest chunk of time during our install day. Our original shelves were backordered, but we didn’t find that out with enough time to order new ones.

Originally we were going to do colorful shelves full of books & toys, but physically being in the room that day made it clear that this wall needed some wood tones to balance out the daybed and the other lovely wood tones on the other side of the space.

HOORAY FOR THE COLORFUL SHELF DELAY! It truly was the best hiccup we could have asked for, because these wood shelves made the room turn out so much better than it would have if those hadn’t been backordered. After we arrived, we immediately began hunting for options that were in stock and available that day, and landed on these LISABO shelves from Ikea. And there was an Ikea like 15 minutes from the house in Brooklyn so we were able to have them in hand by lunchtime!

We filmed a whole segment with Real Simple about hanging the shelves (who knows if we were coherent enough for them to use it but we’ll share it if/when it comes out), and you can see that the more neutral shelves still ended up looking colorful and fun, thanks to the addition of some toys and books and blocks.

And I know the idea of color-coding your shelves can be eye-roll inducing, but it ended up being great for this tiny space. I wasn’t super Type-A about it. I just quickly tossed things together mostly by color… but there’s yellow & pink in that top right corner and orange & hot pink in the top left, so it’s not anything that took too long or was overwrought.

In fact it took us about 1.5 hours to hang these shelves (two words: cinderblock walls) but it took me like 9 minutes to style them. Not kidding. And the cool thing is that as people use items and kids grow and change, shelves evolve too. Open shelves aren’t a museum. Nobody has to painstakingly put things back the same way each time. It’s actually fun to try different groupings, and this rainbow-ish approach made our eyes happy, but the shelves in our bonus room have changed so much over the years. It’s all gonna be ok. Don’t stress. Just put things you like to look at on open shelves and hide stuff you don’t wanna see in concealed cabinets or drawers or baskets or bins. Truly, it’s a simple system that you can actually can keep up with.

A note on the shelves themselves, because they exceeded our expectations by like a million. I had never personally heard of or seen these shelves before (they said “new” on the Ikea site when John dug them up on his phone in that panicked we-have-to-find-something-today search) but I’m SUPER impressed by them. They’re very solid, relatively easy to hang (would’ve taken about 10 mins per shelf if we didn’t have cinderblock walls which required a masonry bit), and the wood tone is perfect. Blonde and casual. Smooth & expensive looking. But not.

And since we know keeping picture-perfect shelves isn’t realistic for all of your toys, we always like to incorporate some closed toy storage too – like the chest of drawers underneath the shelves and those large floor baskets across the room that we mentioned earlier.

Oh, I also think we need to buy a beanbag now. Our kids were obsessed with this one. Like the chairs were chumps. They both wanted to be ON THE BEANBAG AT ALL TIMES.

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

I’m so excited to see the finished pictures of this space in Real Simple’s October issue. Plus there are so many other amazing spaces that we already got to see in various states of near-completion, like Mandi’s master bedroom and Shavonda & Carmeon’s office. Speaking of which, we overlapped Shavonda and Carmeon‘s visit and it was SO. MUCH. FUN. to finally meet them both in person. We’ve been IG buddies for ages (you might remember that Shavonda talked to us about downsizing on our podcast last year) so hanging with them was the perfect end to an extremely fun day.

Plus Shavonda got this sweet picture of me and John where we look like we’re wearing one large black t-shirt with three arm-holes. If that ain’t marriage, I don’t know what is.

Oh, and as for what happens to all of this stuff and this house when the photos are taken for Real Simple’s October issue… well, the house gets sold and the furniture gets auctioned off for a good cause! I love that nothing goes to waste, and in creating such a fun space, everything ends up benefiting people who need a helping hand. They haven’t picked this year’s charity yet, but when they do I’ll let you know.

So thanks, Real Simple! It was Real Fun ;) #MomJokes4Days

P.S. If you’d like to see other rooms we’ve designed for a good cause, we loved doing this very special room makeover for a local family, this teacher’s lounge for a local school, and these three bedroom makeovers for three amazing kids.

*This post contains affiliate links

The post Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House appeared first on Young House Love.

#additionally sad home renovations

[truereviewpage]

Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House

Earlier this month we took the whole family (dog included!) up to Brooklyn for a few days to put together the space we’ve be designing for this year’s Real Simple Idea House over the past five or so months.

I realize there’s a lot to unpack in that sentence (especially if you missed our podcast episode or Instagram stories about it) so we’ll catch you up right here and show you the *almost* finished space. And explain what’s still left to be done before their big photoshoot for the magazine and tell you about how some last-minute curveballs actually made the room better. And tell you what they do with everything in the house once the idea home is all said & done. That’s a lot of ands, so buckle up because we have a lot to tell ya.

side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | rug | octopus

This is the second year that Real Simple magazine has taken over a home in Brooklyn, assigned each room to a different “designer” (there’s typically a mix of certified interior designers & bloggers & design TV personalities, etc) and then they photograph the finished spaces for their magazine (this one will featured be in their October issue). Here’s last year’s house which we loved following along (especially since our friends Jenny Komenda & Sabrina Soto each got a room in that house.

We were completely surprised & extremely thrilled when they asked us if we wanted to do a room this year – and they assigned us the “guest room/playroom” – which felt just perfect for us (we love multi-function rooms, especially when it involves balancing the needs of both grown-ups and kids… even if the family is imaginary in this case).

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

So since March we’ve worked remotely with the Real Simple team to make this room happen. They sent us pictures (like the one below) and measurements and floor plans, we sent back design plans and a mood board and a floor plan and links to each product selection. Everything had to be approved by their editors (they didn’t want a certain space to feel wildly incongruous with any of the other rooms and they also didn’t want duplicate or too-similar items or ideas from space to space) so it was a fascinating puzzle to put together from afar.

Once everything that we ordered had arrived in the room, we spent one marathon day putting things in place and navigating some 11th hour challenges that are inevitable in these types of projects. We didn’t get EVERYTHING completed (most notably our long white curtains were back-ordered so they’ll go up later – which will completely soften that industrial back wall so it looks a lot more like the rest of the room) but it’s around 95% done in these pictures, and the Real Simple crew will get it to full 100% before their photographer comes in.

And yes, those are our son’s feet poking out in the picture above and our daughter is laying on the bed under a blanket. We decided to make this a big family trip – mostly because we wanted to see relatives and friends in the NYC/NJ area while we were up there, but also because we thought it’d be fun for our kids to see us tackle this firsthand. It was basically one big “take your kids to work” adventure, and they both got into it and started suggesting what they’d like (our daughter even sketched out some ideas on her little magnetic drawing tablet), and they both served as “quality control” to make sure the beanbag was comfy and the rug was soft enough to roll on. In short: it was a ton of fun to have them there.

In any of these combo rooms, there can definitely be a range of percentages when it comes to the balance. For example, sometimes people have a playroom with a futon in it and it’s 95% playroom, and 5% guest room (that futon is literally the only guest room-ish thing about it, and it’s used very rarely).

mirror | side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | poufs | quilt | rug | octopus

In this case, the brief from Real Simple was to make it look mostly like a guest room, so any grown up would walk in and love it and want to sleep there, but to also work in some kids stuff – both hidden (in storage bins, baskets, behind closed drawers, etc) and on display (on open shelves, in lidless baskets, etc). So I’d call this room’s particular percentage 75% guest room & 25% playroom. When you’re tackling a multi-use space like this, do whatever percentage actually works functionally and feels right for your home (remember, this is an imaginary family).

As for pulling this room’s design together, I’ve been obsessed with this daybed for years, so it was the launch point for the whole room as soon as Real Simple said that a single bed was their preference for the space. Picture me punching the air and screaming “I GET TO USE MY DREAM DAYBED!!!!”

light | baskets | daybed | wallpaper | art | poufs | pillows | quilt | rug | chair | table

Daybeds are also great because they can function as both a bed (when it’s in guest room mode) and a couch (when it’s in playroom mode). We also balanced some other needs for both functions with some other furniture choices. A nice big side table with books & mags for a guest along with a reading lamp checks the guest room box, while some large lidded storage baskets on the other side of the bed checked the playroom box (see photo above).

The wallpaper was also sort of a happy accident too. The original wallpaper we had suggested was also very tone-on-tone and I had picked it because I LOVED how playful the pattern was (look how cute!). Since it was still an extremely neutral color palette, but the pattern was fun for kids, I thought it would be perfect for this dual space, but the editors worried it might skew too playroom so we selected this more affordable palm one instead. We love how the room turned out, but I still love the original wallpaper pick too – so if you’re creating a playroom or a kids room, I think it would be so much fun (heck, as a grown woman I’d like it in my space too).

mirror | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | octopus

I am just in love with that octopus, as were the kids. What is it about a big stuffed animal with a slightly dopey expression that steals your heart? Also, some of our pillow fills hadn’t arrived yet so that droopy bolster pillow below is stuffed with spare bath towels. THE MAGIC OF PHOTO STYLING, EVERYBODY! Also this large print from Juniper Print Shop was such a perfect solution (all the right colors, looked great with the wallpaper, and feels like a kid would love staring at it just as much as a grown up – in fact our kids asked us whose house it was – ha!).

daybed | wallpaper | art | pillows | quilt

Another playroom “must” for us is a table or desk that can serve as a craft/art/game space. This room had very little wall space (aside from the bed wall, it was pretty much all windows, closets, and doors) so we knew a floating desk or table was our best bet. A round table is always great in these scenarios and we knew our drop-leaf table would earn bonus points because the leaves can be folded down to make it more compact if needed. Plus there’s room for two blue-gray chairs that can be moved to any of the four sides of the table. Flexible furniture is always a win.

So we just hoped when we showed up that we could make it work, and we love how it looks by the windows. Imagine coloring or doing a puzzle there while looking outside on a gorgeous sunny day. Please also imagine my double wide white flowy curtains because all of that industrial black frame that you see below will be muuuuuch softer once they’re hung. I can’t wait to see the photos from the magazine because it’s going to be yet another demonstration about how curtains completely change a room. Stay tuned…

wallpaper | rug | chairs | table | beanbag

This room is also great because it had two matching closets along the wall to the right of the window above. Why is that great? Well, it was a no-brainer to make one useful for guests (their clothes, a suitcase, etc) and use the other one for kids storage (games, books, art supplies, etc). The guest closet is being outfitted by professional organizers (they’re doing pretty much every other closet in the house too, as well as the pantry) so our task was to tackle the kids closet, which we wanted to make open and accessible – and cute enough to be in plain view 24/7… so our first step was to remove the sliding doors.

I realize that “doors off” approach could sound counterintuitive since the fastest way to clean up for guests is to just throw stuff behind closed doors, but we’ve found that can also breed Monica closets (especially when toys are involved). Plus this is an idea house… how fun would this room be if we just had kids stuff hiding behind a closed door? So instead, we got to create this little nook full of functional storage that looks good too (the stenciled dresser is such a great piece that’s easy on the eyes yet super smart for storing things out of sight).

chairs | table | beanbag | dresser | shelves | wallpaper

So at least consider creating some storage like this in your home, which can fend off the urge to shove everything into a closet, and instead create a manageable and simple system for things (both concealed and out in the open) so that you love looking at it. When everything has a legit spot to go back to after it’s done being played with, it really isn’t very hard to maintain (and even kids can clean up on autopilot).

Another example of this concept is the back wall of our bonus room in our house, where we have concealed cabinets for storing games and art supplies and puzzles and even bonus guest blankets and pillows for when people sleep in there, but also has fun open shelving so you walk in and see some playful and very functional items right out in the open.

But back to the idea room. These shelves were actually our biggest hiccup in the plan, and they’re what ended up taking up the biggest chunk of time during our install day. Our original shelves were backordered, but we didn’t find that out with enough time to order new ones.

Originally we were going to do colorful shelves full of books & toys, but physically being in the room that day made it clear that this wall needed some wood tones to balance out the daybed and the other lovely wood tones on the other side of the space.

HOORAY FOR THE COLORFUL SHELF DELAY! It truly was the best hiccup we could have asked for, because these wood shelves made the room turn out so much better than it would have if those hadn’t been backordered. After we arrived, we immediately began hunting for options that were in stock and available that day, and landed on these LISABO shelves from Ikea. And there was an Ikea like 15 minutes from the house in Brooklyn so we were able to have them in hand by lunchtime!

We filmed a whole segment with Real Simple about hanging the shelves (who knows if we were coherent enough for them to use it but we’ll share it if/when it comes out), and you can see that the more neutral shelves still ended up looking colorful and fun, thanks to the addition of some toys and books and blocks.

And I know the idea of color-coding your shelves can be eye-roll inducing, but it ended up being great for this tiny space. I wasn’t super Type-A about it. I just quickly tossed things together mostly by color… but there’s yellow & pink in that top right corner and orange & hot pink in the top left, so it’s not anything that took too long or was overwrought.

In fact it took us about 1.5 hours to hang these shelves (two words: cinderblock walls) but it took me like 9 minutes to style them. Not kidding. And the cool thing is that as people use items and kids grow and change, shelves evolve too. Open shelves aren’t a museum. Nobody has to painstakingly put things back the same way each time. It’s actually fun to try different groupings, and this rainbow-ish approach made our eyes happy, but the shelves in our bonus room have changed so much over the years. It’s all gonna be ok. Don’t stress. Just put things you like to look at on open shelves and hide stuff you don’t wanna see in concealed cabinets or drawers or baskets or bins. Truly, it’s a simple system that you can actually can keep up with.

A note on the shelves themselves, because they exceeded our expectations by like a million. I had never personally heard of or seen these shelves before (they said “new” on the Ikea site when John dug them up on his phone in that panicked we-have-to-find-something-today search) but I’m SUPER impressed by them. They’re very solid, relatively easy to hang (would’ve taken about 10 mins per shelf if we didn’t have cinderblock walls which required a masonry bit), and the wood tone is perfect. Blonde and casual. Smooth & expensive looking. But not.

And since we know keeping picture-perfect shelves isn’t realistic for all of your toys, we always like to incorporate some closed toy storage too – like the chest of drawers underneath the shelves and those large floor baskets across the room that we mentioned earlier.

Oh, I also think we need to buy a beanbag now. Our kids were obsessed with this one. Like the chairs were chumps. They both wanted to be ON THE BEANBAG AT ALL TIMES.

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

I’m so excited to see the finished pictures of this space in Real Simple’s October issue. Plus there are so many other amazing spaces that we already got to see in various states of near-completion, like Mandi’s master bedroom and Shavonda & Carmeon’s office. Speaking of which, we overlapped Shavonda and Carmeon‘s visit and it was SO. MUCH. FUN. to finally meet them both in person. We’ve been IG buddies for ages (you might remember that Shavonda talked to us about downsizing on our podcast last year) so hanging with them was the perfect end to an extremely fun day.

Plus Shavonda got this sweet picture of me and John where we look like we’re wearing one large black t-shirt with three arm-holes. If that ain’t marriage, I don’t know what is.

Oh, and as for what happens to all of this stuff and this house when the photos are taken for Real Simple’s October issue… well, the house gets sold and the furniture gets auctioned off for a good cause! I love that nothing goes to waste, and in creating such a fun space, everything ends up benefiting people who need a helping hand. They haven’t picked this year’s charity yet, but when they do I’ll let you know.

So thanks, Real Simple! It was Real Fun ;) #MomJokes4Days

P.S. If you’d like to see other rooms we’ve designed for a good cause, we loved doing this very special room makeover for a local family, this teacher’s lounge for a local school, and these three bedroom makeovers for three amazing kids.

*This post contains affiliate links

The post Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House appeared first on Young House Love.

Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House published first on https://aireloomreview.tumblr.com/

[endlessarchite]

Our Room For Real Simple’s Idea House

Earlier this month we took the whole family (dog included!) up to Brooklyn for a few days to put together the space we’ve be designing for this year’s Real Simple Idea House over the past five or so months.

I realize there’s a lot to unpack in that sentence (especially if you missed our podcast episode or Instagram stories about it) so we’ll catch you up right here and show you the *almost* finished space. And explain what’s still left to be done before their big photoshoot for the magazine and tell you about how some last-minute curveballs actually made the room better. And tell you what they do with everything in the house once the idea home is all said & done. That’s a lot of ands, so buckle up because we have a lot to tell ya.

side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | rug | octopus

This is the second year that Real Simple magazine has taken over a home in Brooklyn, assigned each room to a different “designer” (there’s typically a mix of certified interior designers & bloggers & design TV personalities, etc) and then they photograph the finished spaces for their magazine (this one will featured be in their October issue). Here’s last year’s house which we loved following along (especially since our friends Jenny Komenda & Sabrina Soto each got a room in that house.

We were completely surprised & extremely thrilled when they asked us if we wanted to do a room this year – and they assigned us the “guest room/playroom” – which felt just perfect for us (we love multi-function rooms, especially when it involves balancing the needs of both grown-ups and kids… even if the family is imaginary in this case).

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

So since March we’ve worked remotely with the Real Simple team to make this room happen. They sent us pictures (like the one below) and measurements and floor plans, we sent back design plans and a mood board and a floor plan and links to each product selection. Everything had to be approved by their editors (they didn’t want a certain space to feel wildly incongruous with any of the other rooms and they also didn’t want duplicate or too-similar items or ideas from space to space) so it was a fascinating puzzle to put together from afar.

Once everything that we ordered had arrived in the room, we spent one marathon day putting things in place and navigating some 11th hour challenges that are inevitable in these types of projects. We didn’t get EVERYTHING completed (most notably our long white curtains were back-ordered so they’ll go up later – which will completely soften that industrial back wall so it looks a lot more like the rest of the room) but it’s around 95% done in these pictures, and the Real Simple crew will get it to full 100% before their photographer comes in.

And yes, those are our son’s feet poking out in the picture above and our daughter is laying on the bed under a blanket. We decided to make this a big family trip – mostly because we wanted to see relatives and friends in the NYC/NJ area while we were up there, but also because we thought it’d be fun for our kids to see us tackle this firsthand. It was basically one big “take your kids to work” adventure, and they both got into it and started suggesting what they’d like (our daughter even sketched out some ideas on her little magnetic drawing tablet), and they both served as “quality control” to make sure the beanbag was comfy and the rug was soft enough to roll on. In short: it was a ton of fun to have them there.

In any of these combo rooms, there can definitely be a range of percentages when it comes to the balance. For example, sometimes people have a playroom with a futon in it and it’s 95% playroom, and 5% guest room (that futon is literally the only guest room-ish thing about it, and it’s used very rarely).

mirror | side table | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | poufs | quilt | rug | octopus

In this case, the brief from Real Simple was to make it look mostly like a guest room, so any grown up would walk in and love it and want to sleep there, but to also work in some kids stuff – both hidden (in storage bins, baskets, behind closed drawers, etc) and on display (on open shelves, in lidless baskets, etc). So I’d call this room’s particular percentage 75% guest room & 25% playroom. When you’re tackling a multi-use space like this, do whatever percentage actually works functionally and feels right for your home (remember, this is an imaginary family).

As for pulling this room’s design together, I’ve been obsessed with this daybed for years, so it was the launch point for the whole room as soon as Real Simple said that a single bed was their preference for the space. Picture me punching the air and screaming “I GET TO USE MY DREAM DAYBED!!!!”

light | baskets | daybed | wallpaper | art | poufs | pillows | quilt | rug | chair | table

Daybeds are also great because they can function as both a bed (when it’s in guest room mode) and a couch (when it’s in playroom mode). We also balanced some other needs for both functions with some other furniture choices. A nice big side table with books & mags for a guest along with a reading lamp checks the guest room box, while some large lidded storage baskets on the other side of the bed checked the playroom box (see photo above).

The wallpaper was also sort of a happy accident too. The original wallpaper we had suggested was also very tone-on-tone and I had picked it because I LOVED how playful the pattern was (look how cute!). Since it was still an extremely neutral color palette, but the pattern was fun for kids, I thought it would be perfect for this dual space, but the editors worried it might skew too playroom so we selected this more affordable palm one instead. We love how the room turned out, but I still love the original wallpaper pick too – so if you’re creating a playroom or a kids room, I think it would be so much fun (heck, as a grown woman I’d like it in my space too).

mirror | daybed | wallpaper | art | lamp | pillows | quilt | octopus

I am just in love with that octopus, as were the kids. What is it about a big stuffed animal with a slightly dopey expression that steals your heart? Also, some of our pillow fills hadn’t arrived yet so that droopy bolster pillow below is stuffed with spare bath towels. THE MAGIC OF PHOTO STYLING, EVERYBODY! Also this large print from Juniper Print Shop was such a perfect solution (all the right colors, looked great with the wallpaper, and feels like a kid would love staring at it just as much as a grown up – in fact our kids asked us whose house it was – ha!).

daybed | wallpaper | art | pillows | quilt

Another playroom “must” for us is a table or desk that can serve as a craft/art/game space. This room had very little wall space (aside from the bed wall, it was pretty much all windows, closets, and doors) so we knew a floating desk or table was our best bet. A round table is always great in these scenarios and we knew our drop-leaf table would earn bonus points because the leaves can be folded down to make it more compact if needed. Plus there’s room for two blue-gray chairs that can be moved to any of the four sides of the table. Flexible furniture is always a win.

So we just hoped when we showed up that we could make it work, and we love how it looks by the windows. Imagine coloring or doing a puzzle there while looking outside on a gorgeous sunny day. Please also imagine my double wide white flowy curtains because all of that industrial black frame that you see below will be muuuuuch softer once they’re hung. I can’t wait to see the photos from the magazine because it’s going to be yet another demonstration about how curtains completely change a room. Stay tuned…

wallpaper | rug | chairs | table | beanbag

This room is also great because it had two matching closets along the wall to the right of the window above. Why is that great? Well, it was a no-brainer to make one useful for guests (their clothes, a suitcase, etc) and use the other one for kids storage (games, books, art supplies, etc). The guest closet is being outfitted by professional organizers (they’re doing pretty much every other closet in the house too, as well as the pantry) so our task was to tackle the kids closet, which we wanted to make open and accessible – and cute enough to be in plain view 24/7… so our first step was to remove the sliding doors.

I realize that “doors off” approach could sound counterintuitive since the fastest way to clean up for guests is to just throw stuff behind closed doors, but we’ve found that can also breed Monica closets (especially when toys are involved). Plus this is an idea house… how fun would this room be if we just had kids stuff hiding behind a closed door? So instead, we got to create this little nook full of functional storage that looks good too (the stenciled dresser is such a great piece that’s easy on the eyes yet super smart for storing things out of sight).

chairs | table | beanbag | dresser | shelves | wallpaper

So at least consider creating some storage like this in your home, which can fend off the urge to shove everything into a closet, and instead create a manageable and simple system for things (both concealed and out in the open) so that you love looking at it. When everything has a legit spot to go back to after it’s done being played with, it really isn’t very hard to maintain (and even kids can clean up on autopilot).

Another example of this concept is the back wall of our bonus room in our house, where we have concealed cabinets for storing games and art supplies and puzzles and even bonus guest blankets and pillows for when people sleep in there, but also has fun open shelving so you walk in and see some playful and very functional items right out in the open.

But back to the idea room. These shelves were actually our biggest hiccup in the plan, and they’re what ended up taking up the biggest chunk of time during our install day. Our original shelves were backordered, but we didn’t find that out with enough time to order new ones.

Originally we were going to do colorful shelves full of books & toys, but physically being in the room that day made it clear that this wall needed some wood tones to balance out the daybed and the other lovely wood tones on the other side of the space.

HOORAY FOR THE COLORFUL SHELF DELAY! It truly was the best hiccup we could have asked for, because these wood shelves made the room turn out so much better than it would have if those hadn’t been backordered. After we arrived, we immediately began hunting for options that were in stock and available that day, and landed on these LISABO shelves from Ikea. And there was an Ikea like 15 minutes from the house in Brooklyn so we were able to have them in hand by lunchtime!

We filmed a whole segment with Real Simple about hanging the shelves (who knows if we were coherent enough for them to use it but we’ll share it if/when it comes out), and you can see that the more neutral shelves still ended up looking colorful and fun, thanks to the addition of some toys and books and blocks.

And I know the idea of color-coding your shelves can be eye-roll inducing, but it ended up being great for this tiny space. I wasn’t super Type-A about it. I just quickly tossed things together mostly by color… but there’s yellow & pink in that top right corner and orange & hot pink in the top left, so it’s not anything that took too long or was overwrought.

In fact it took us about 1.5 hours to hang these shelves (two words: cinderblock walls) but it took me like 9 minutes to style them. Not kidding. And the cool thing is that as people use items and kids grow and change, shelves evolve too. Open shelves aren’t a museum. Nobody has to painstakingly put things back the same way each time. It’s actually fun to try different groupings, and this rainbow-ish approach made our eyes happy, but the shelves in our bonus room have changed so much over the years. It’s all gonna be ok. Don’t stress. Just put things you like to look at on open shelves and hide stuff you don’t wanna see in concealed cabinets or drawers or baskets or bins. Truly, it’s a simple system that you can actually can keep up with.

A note on the shelves themselves, because they exceeded our expectations by like a million. I had never personally heard of or seen these shelves before (they said “new” on the Ikea site when John dug them up on his phone in that panicked we-have-to-find-something-today search) but I’m SUPER impressed by them. They’re very solid, relatively easy to hang (would’ve taken about 10 mins per shelf if we didn’t have cinderblock walls which required a masonry bit), and the wood tone is perfect. Blonde and casual. Smooth & expensive looking. But not.

And since we know keeping picture-perfect shelves isn’t realistic for all of your toys, we always like to incorporate some closed toy storage too – like the chest of drawers underneath the shelves and those large floor baskets across the room that we mentioned earlier.

Oh, I also think we need to buy a beanbag now. Our kids were obsessed with this one. Like the chairs were chumps. They both wanted to be ON THE BEANBAG AT ALL TIMES.

light | chairs | table | beanbag | pouf | dresser | shelves | rug | wallpaper

I’m so excited to see the finished pictures of this space in Real Simple’s October issue. Plus there are so many other amazing spaces that we already got to see in various states of near-completion, like Mandi’s master bedroom and Shavonda & Carmeon’s office. Speaking of which, we overlapped Shavonda and Carmeon‘s visit and it was SO. MUCH. FUN. to finally meet them both in person. We’ve been IG buddies for ages (you might remember that Shavonda talked to us about downsizing on our podcast last year) so hanging with them was the perfect end to an extremely fun day.

Plus Shavonda got this sweet picture of me and John where we look like we’re wearing one large black t-shirt with three arm-holes. If that ain’t marriage, I don’t know what is.

Oh, and as for what happens to all of this stuff and this house when the photos are taken for Real Simple’s October issue… well, the house gets sold and the furniture gets auctioned off for a good cause! I love that nothing goes to waste, and in creating such a fun space, everything ends up benefiting people who need a helping hand. They haven’t picked this year’s charity yet, but when they do I’ll let you know.

So thanks, Real Simple! It was Real Fun ;) #MomJokes4Days

P.S. If you’d like to see other rooms we’ve designed for a good cause, we loved doing this very special room makeover for a local family, this teacher’s lounge for a local school, and these three bedroom makeovers for three amazing kids.

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